Chapter 8
Madeline’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt vaguely sick.
Wedding-day nerves were normal, she knew that much, but wasn’t that a guideline for women who were about to marry the love of their life? Or at least for women who had chosen their husbands?
A nurse had been procured for Adam. She was a tall, broad, round-faced woman of middle years, who smiled constantly and seemed to get on well with everybody—children, adults, babies, animals, everybody. Her name was Joan, and she seemed nice enough.
This was a surprise, considering that the woman had been hired by the duke and sent over with only a short, terse note of explanation.
The child will require nursing, the note had said bluntly. He will require care. This woman is highly recommended, and is not likely to fall asleep with a gin bottle over our baby.
Our baby. Those words were strange indeed to read. Madeline had read them twice, trying to interpret the strange shivers they gave her.
Of course, Adam was now indeed their baby. What a strange thought!
“Let me put a few sprigs of this lavender in your hair, my dear,” Papa said, heaving himself up from his armchair. In a rush, Madeline came back to herself, clearing her throat and shaking herself out of her reverie. Now was certainly not the time for daydreaming.
She was in the drawing room, where a long mirror had been put down for her to look at herself, while one of the maids made last-minute alterations to her veil.
The lavender had been Papa’s idea. Little bunches of lavender sewn to the underside of her skirt let off a most delicious scent when she moved.
A few sprigs had been added to her bouquet, too.
“Careful, Papa!” Madeline laughed as her father gingerly threaded a short sprig of lavender through the braids at her temples. “If you dislodge all the hard work that had gone into my hair, I am not sure Charlotte will forgive you.”
Papa stared at her for a long moment, but instead of smiling or breaking into laughter, his face began to crumple in on itself.
“Oh, Papa, Papa, what have I said?” Madeline whispered, the smile dropping off her face like a stone. She set aside her bouquet and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him. “I did not mean to offend you.”
“Offend me? Nothing of the sort, my girl,” Papa managed, his voice thick. “It’s only that you look so very beautiful today, and I suppose it has just struck me that you’ll be leaving.”
“We are not parting, Papa,” Madeline corrected fiercely. “You can come and live with the duke and me at his house. Tristan and I, I mean,” she added, flushing. If she was going to marry the man, she could hardly keep calling him the duke.
Papa pulled back, forcing a quick smile. He dashed away a tear, and Madeline’s heart constricted.
“Nonsense. A married couple ought to be alone. They need to strengthen their bond, and that can’t be done with somebody’s old papa tagging along.”
“Nonsense! The house is huge; you might hardly see us if you so wished.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Papa answered, his voice growing a little firmer now. “Now, are you ready? We had better start making our way to the church. A bride can be late on her wedding day, but not too late. We don’t want the duke to think you’ve changed your mind.”
Madeline nodded, turning back to the mirror.
She was surprised at how pretty she looked.
Her reflection showed a calm, elegant woman, albeit one with spectacles.
She had considered leaving them off for the ceremony, but that left her running the risk of walking into one of the pews or accidentally marrying the wrong man.
At the very least, she would find herself squinting at everybody.
That had happened at the poetry night at the Devil’s clubhouse.
Finding it impossible to manage her spectacles and the domino mask, Madeline had given up and slipped the spectacles into her pocket.
She took care to sew pockets into all of her gowns for just such an occasion.
It had helped with her nerves, as she could look out on the crowd and see only a dull blur.
However, when the duke had pursued her and leaned so very close to her face, her vision had actually seemed to sharpen, focusing clearly on him.
Madeline swallowed hard. It was getting harder to deny the pull of attraction she felt toward the man, but deny it she must. After all, this marriage was not a real one.
“He is only marrying me because he doesn’t want to go through the courts, fighting over who has the right to raise Adam,” she said, eyes fixed thoughtfully on her reflection.
“It’s rather sensible, really. He’d win, of course.
He has the legal right, being Anthony’s brother, whereas I am only Betty’s friend.
Even if I were her sister, he is a man, and the law favors men.
However, it would not look very good for him, would it?
I am a lady, and spinsters are supposed to be interested in other people’s children.
He thinks I can make the job of raising Adam easier, but I wish he had just let me take the baby. ”
Papa said nothing, and Madeline immediately wished she had not spoken. Then he stepped forward with a sigh, adjusting the curls of hair at her temples.
“Would you like my opinion, my dear?” he asked, meeting her eye through the mirror and smiling.
“Of course, Papa. You need not ask.”
“In my opinion, the duke is terrified.”
“What? Oh, Papa, that man has never been afraid in his life.”
Papa chuckled. “Nobody ever avoids fear, my darling girl. Nobody. The duke has lost his brother. He is grieving, but he will not allow himself to be seen grieving. It is his duty, plain and simple, to raise his nephew, but it is hardly in his nature to care for a baby. He knows his own inadequacies, and I suspect the duke is a man who is not used to being inadequate. He is frightened.”
“He is afraid of failing this baby and his brother. I suspect he has regrets about the relationship he had with his brother. Everybody knows how the family turned on poor Anthony after his marriage. I’m sure there are more details to the story than meet the eye, but we cannot deny that the duke had been distanced from his brother for a while.
To make up for his failings, he must care for his brother’s child. The stakes, Madeline, are high.”
Madeline lifted a shaking hand to her temple, twisting a lock of hair around her fingertip.
“Why does he need me, then?” she quavered.
“Because you, my dear, possess all the qualities that he does not,” Papa answered, meeting her eye once more and smiling softly.
“The duke, in my opinion, has seen straight through the wallflower that Society sees and has glimpsed your priceless qualities inside. I admire the man for that. That is what has stopped me from putting my foot down about this whole wedding.”
Madeline flinched, turning to face her father. “You disapprove of this wedding? You never said as much!”
Papa sighed. “No man truly disapproves of his daughter marrying a duke, certainly not a man as wealthy as this one. But I love you, Madeline, and I always hoped to see you fall in love the way your Mama and I did. But then, I cannot help but wonder whether it will keep you safe to avoid love. After all, when I lost your mother…” He trailed off, voice tightening.
Madeline saw moisture glitter in his eyes.
He shook his head and plowed on. “When I lost your mother, I thought I would die, Madeline. Perhaps I might have simply faded away, were it not for you. But I had you, Madeline. I have not regretted having true love in my life, but it is painful.”
He took a step back, smiling encouragingly at her.
“I understand your reasoning for marriage, Madeline. I will not stand in your way. But just know that at any moment you may withdraw from this wedding, and I will support you every step of the way, right up until you say your vows. Even after,” he added after a brief pause.
“If marriage proves too painful for you, my darling girl, you can always, always come home.”
Madeline found that a lump had lodged in her throat, preventing her from swallowing.
“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered. “That means a great deal.”
He stepped forward again, kissing her on the forehead. “Are you still ready to get married?”
Madeline let out a shaky breath and glanced at herself once more. She thought of Betty and Anthony, of the promise she’d made, and of how right it felt when she held Adam in her arms.
“Well, it would be a shame to waste the dress,” Madeline said, and smiled faintly.
The wretched girl was late. Tristan was furious. Yes, yes, it was common for brides to be late on their wedding day, but frankly, he did not agree with such a ridiculous custom. Grooms weren’t allowed to be late, were they? No, they had to be on time, or else.
All this to make an entrance, Tristan thought glumly. Unless, of course, she really has changed her mind.
That was something to consider. He wouldn’t have been surprised, not truly, if he had received a note that morning, hastily scrawled, informing him that the wedding was off. If that happened, the nurse he’d hired would be faithful to her employer and bring Adam directly to Tristan’s home.
He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, however. That was a nasty end to things.
At last, the great double doors to the church creaked open, and Tristan was amazed to feel a rush of relief.
She hadn’t jilted him at the altar, then. That would have been inconvenient, not to say embarrassing. He heard a murmur ripple through the crowd, and the sound of voluminous skirts rustling as everybody got to their feet.
Isaac stood beside him as best man, of course. He twisted to look around first and clucked his tongue.
“She looks very pretty, Tristan. I’m rather glad she kept the spectacles on. I’d hate to see her careen into the crowd.”
It was expected that a groom should turn around to look at his bride.
Half of the congregation would be waiting to see what Tristan did.
While it mattered not at all to him what she was wearing or what she looked like, tradition was important, so he turned dutifully around.
He had a pleasant, encouraging smile ready. It died on his lips.
Tristan found himself struggling to breathe. He knew, of course, that Madeline was a pretty girl, pleasant enough to look at. This, however, was something different.
She wore a rich, gauzy gown of a pale green, the exact same shade as her eyes.
Had that been done deliberately? Her bouquet was of colored flowers, with greenery trailing down.
He could smell the faint scent of lavender as she approached, and noticed that sprigs of lavender and a few other flowers were laced into the braids at the sides of her head.
He’d never seen her with such an elaborate hairstyle. It wasn’t too much, but it was exquisitely done, all braids and twists and neat falls of curls. She walked briskly, not mincing down the aisle as some brides did. She was arm in arm with her father, whose eyes were misty.
She had her chin up, eyes set determinedly ahead.
As Isaac had mentioned, she had kept her spectacles, an endearing little choice which sent a shockingly powerful wave of affection through Tristan’s chest. The strength of the feeling made him shiver, and he abruptly turned around, facing toward the altar and the rector.
He caught the rector’s eye by accident. The fellow seemed confused about why Tristan was looking at him rather than his bride.
“Oh, no,” Isaac mumbled, quietly enough that only Tristan could hear.
Tristan swallowed hard, finding that his throat was dry. “Why, what has happened? Has she turned tail and fled? I wouldn’t blame her.”
“Not her, you fool,” Isaac chuckled. “You. I saw the look on your face just now.”
Tristan cursed himself. Isaac was right. He was a fool.
“What look?” he asked, keeping his voice mild. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Oh yes, you do,” Isaac snorted. The rector shot him a glare, which Isaac duly ignored. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, Tristan. I know what it means. Heavens, that poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.”
Tristan allowed himself a small, wry smile. “I think perhaps you underestimate her, Isaac.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. You give her far too little credit.”
He could feel his friend’s amused gaze lingering on his face, but Tristan would not give him the satisfaction of turning to look at him.
At that moment, Madeline reached the top of the aisle.
The congregation sat down, rustling their skirts and squeaking their boot heels on the stone floor.
Lord Beaufort kissed his daughter on the cheek and turned hastily away, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief.
Madeline had her head turned, watching her father bustle toward the front pew.
Only then did she turn ever so slowly to look up at Tristan. Their eyes met. He lifted his eyebrow. She clenched her jaw and pointedly faced toward the rector.
“Dearly beloved,” the rector began, with obvious enjoyment. “We are gathered here today for one reason, and one alone…”
It’s not quite the reason you think, Tristan thought, and bit back a smile.