Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ten minutes later, Rosalie walked into her wedding breakfast on Lucian’s arm, studiously avoiding the gaze of every person in the room. Her hair was listing to the side, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips had a swollen, almost bee-stung appearance.
Unfortunately, she was not speculating that this was how she might look. Oh, no—her mother had hung a huge, gilt-framed mirror over the sideboard, so Rosalie knew it with dreadful certainty.
Beside her, Lucian’s appearance was somehow pristine, drat him. How did his hair look so perfect? She knew she’d pulled it eight different directions, but it somehow looked artfully rumpled. The only sign he bore of what they’d been up to was the huge, shyte-eating grin that graced his lips.
They looked, in short, like they had just consummated their marriage in a closet between their wedding ceremony and their wedding breakfast.
Rosalie started as she noticed a strange red mark on her neck in the precise size and shape of Lucian’s lips.
She leaned toward Lucian’s ear. “What is the red mark upon my neck?”
“It’s known as a love bite,” he murmured.
She gave him a sharp look. “This is your doing?”
He solicitously pulled out her chair. “I don’t recall you complaining.”
“Just look at me!” she hissed. “It’s patently obvious what we’ve been up to. I thought you said you were as good as a lady’s maid!”
“I said I was good with clothes,” he whispered as he slid into the seat next to her. “I never said anything about hair.”
Rosalie chanced another glance in the mirror. She had to admit, her gown was immaculate.
She sighed. “I’m not the sort of girl who loses her virginity in a closet.”
He arched a single brow. “Obviously, you are.”
Rosalie still couldn’t bring herself to meet anyone else’s eye. “Who do you think has guessed?” she whispered.
Lucian’s gaze combed the room. “Absolutely everyone.”
Rosalie sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. She decided her brother would be the safest place to start. Gathering her courage, she turned to Robin and smiled. He gave her a look of faux outrage in return. Beside him, Howard’s face was disinterested, as usual.
Lucian’s friends Lord Trundley and Mr. Beauclerk were shaking their heads, as if this were a new low, even amongst their circle. Mrs. Beauclerk boldly met Rosalie’s gaze and mouthed the words, “Good for you!” Beside her, the archbishop looked aghast.
Her father sported a forced smile, as if he were determined not to acknowledge what he was seeing.
Bracing herself, Rosalie turned toward her mother.
She shouldn’t have worried. The duchess’s smirk was as big as Lucian’s, and when Lucian caught her eye, she inclined her head toward him, as gracious as a queen.
It seemed that her mother’s primary concern was that her daughter might find some way to weasel her way out of the respectable match she had finally managed to make. There would be no annulment, which was the only thing that mattered, as far as the duchess was concerned.
Rosalie might have known. Sighing, she reached for a plate of tea cakes and prepared to endure the longest meal of her life.
Two awkward hours later, their guests assembled in the foyer, ready to see the newlyweds off as they prepared to make the short journey to Deverell House.
While Lucian’s friends clapped him on the back, Rosalie kissed her father on the cheek. She was startled to see him pull out his handkerchief and dab at his eyes. She had never seen Papa cry before, not once in her life.
She stepped forward and gave him a hug. “It’s all right, Papa! Don’t be upset. I’ll come over all the time. I promise, I will!”
The duke had the good humor to chuckle at himself. “I know you will, Rosie-Roo. I do know that. I’m happy to see you wed to a man who so clearly adores you. But, well. You know. Things will never be quite the same.”
Rosalie squeezed her father more tightly.
Her mother strolled over. “I daresay I know one thing that will bring you some comfort, Arthur.” She gave Rosalie a pointed look. “The pack of grandchildren we will soon be welcoming.”
Rosalie laughed nervously as she released her father. “I don’t know about a pack.”
The duchess’s whisper was waspish. “Well, if you mean to continue the way you’ve started, I can assure you, a pack will soon follow.”
“Don’t embarrass her, Henrietta,” her father admonished.
Her parents began softly bickering. Rosalie glanced over at Lucian to see if he was ready to depart, only to see that Mrs. Beauclerk had accosted him. She was speaking to him sternly about how he was to treat his new bride. Lucian was submitting to her lecture with grave sincerity.
Robin stole up beside her. His expression was fraught.
Rosalie gave him a quick hug. “Oh, Robin! Don’t look so glum. I’ll miss you, too, but I’ll come to visit. And I hope you know you’ll always be a welcome sight at Deverell House.”
“I need to speak with you,” he whispered urgently.
Rosalie dropped her voice low. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s about your investigation,” Robin murmured.
“My…” Rosalie could scarcely believe her ears.
Her investigation was over! She had learned that Lucian wasn’t the beast she had long believed him.
To be sure, he had made that cruel bet with Edmund Reeves, but the joke was on him, because while he had been busy charming her, she had charmed him right back, and he had come to regret choosing the three-pound payoff over her.
She trusted him!
Mostly.
Oh, all right. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she was working on it. And, considering the circumstances, and the fact that she honestly thought he was the only man with whom she stood even a chance of finding happiness, she had gone ahead and married him.
And made that marriage irrevocable by consummating it in a closet.
And so, in spite of the fact that she only trusted Lucian approximately sixty-three percent, he was the star to whom she had hitched her wagon, her only hope of happiness at this juncture.
If Robin had discovered something horrible… she wasn’t sure that she could bear to hear it.
Her brother did not seem to have intuited all of this from her stupefied expression, because he was still speaking. “Something occurred to me the other day. I went down to White’s to perform some additional investigating, and you won’t believe what I learned!”
“I’m not sure that I want to!” Rosalie hissed.
Robin drew back, startled. “This is important, Rosie.”
“It’s too late!” she blurted. “Can’t you see? It’s too late. It doesn’t matter what he’s done. I’m stuck with him, ‘til death do we part!”
Robin seized her hand. “It’s not too late, Rosie.”
She laughed, and it came out sounding slightly hysterical. “Oh, but it is.”
Robin cursed. “That’s not what I meant. You’ll want to hear this. I swear. As I was saying, I went down to White’s, and this time—”
“What’s going on over here?” Her mother’s voice cut through the air of the foyer like a whip. The duchess took one look at her daughter’s face and fixed Robin with an accusatory glare. “You’re not upsetting Rosalie on her wedding day, are you?”
“Of course not!” Robin protested.
Their mother narrowed her eyes. “Well, one thing is for certain—you’re not going to torment her any further.”
She grasped Robin by the shoulder and led him away with surprising strength. All Robin could do was cast a pleading look over his shoulder.
Rosalie stood by the door, trembling. Part of her was relieved that she hadn’t been forced to hear about whatever dastardly thing Lucian had done.
But part of her also thought that perhaps she ought to have listened.
“Rosalie?”
She looked up to see Lucian standing before her, his arm outstretched. He looked almost absurdly handsome in his wedding finery.
Oh, God. What had she done? She was married to this man, and suddenly, she felt as if she didn’t know him at all.
Giving him a tight smile, Rosalie accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her out the door and into an uncertain future.