Chapter 9
This was it, wasn’t it? There was no turning back now.
Oh, Papa had said that Madeline could back out at any time she liked, but the plain fact was that turning tail at the very altar and fleeing for the exit was simply not acceptable at a certain point of the proceedings.
I suppose we reached that point long ago, Madeline thought miserably.
The rector continued his well-rehearsed speech. He clearly enjoyed weddings. And generally, she supposed, weddings were a very lovely occasion. In most cases, the bride and groom would at least be happy.
She had done her best not to look at Tristan’s face as she progressed up the aisle toward him. He was staring at her; she’d known that.
He is probably comparing me to other, much more beautiful women he knows, Madeline thought bitterly. I could never compete with the women of his acquaintance, I’m sure.
She flinched a little when Tristan leaned toward her, his broad shoulder brushing hers.
“You look very beautiful,” he murmured.
She glanced up at him, brows drawing together.
“Are you making fun of me?”
He blinked momentarily, disconcerted. “What? No, of course not. I am merely giving you a compliment.”
“Well, don’t. There’s no need for compliments. We have a bargain, remember? Your charm has no place here.”
“Charm has no place at a wedding, eh?” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
The rector gave Tristan a steely, reproachful stare. At least he tried to. He stared at Tristan for several seconds before losing his nerve, flushing, and glancing back down at his Bible in a flurry of anxiety. He stuttered a little, coughed twice, and resumed his place in the wedding speech.
Madeline felt Tristan’s eyes on her again.
She pointedly kept her body turned away from him, her eyes fixed on the rector as if he were the most fascinating man in the world.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that Tristan was turned toward her, his whole attention fixed on her. He wanted her to look at him.
Well, she wasn’t going to look. Tristan, Devil Duke that he may be, would simply have to get used to not always getting what he wanted. She lifted her chin, staring at the rector until his round, sweating face blurred.
“I am not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Tristan said, his voice low and a little soft. Wheedling, almost. No, that wasn’t the right word to use for a man like Tristan.
Madeline shivered. Seductive. That was the tone of his voice.
“I am not uncomfortable,” she hissed back. “Be quiet. We should be listening to the sermon.”
“What, you haven’t heard a wedding sermon before? I can assure you, they’re all very similar. But surely you can spare a smile or two for your husband-to-be? There are a lot of women who would kill to marry me.”
“Perhaps you should have married one of them, then? Although I think the vows are coming soon, I am afraid you are running out of time.”
Madeline was not sure where her sharp retorts were coming from.
Generally, in society, her tongue tied itself into knots.
She found herself groping for words, struggling to finish a sentence, and generally appearing like a stuttering wreck.
There was something about the wretched duke that seemed to loosen her tongue, sparking her irritation and making her bold along with it.
How very strange.
“I must say, not every hind leads me on a chase as infuriating as this,” Tristan murmured, his voice dropping to a deep whisper.
It sent a shiver down her spine, no matter how firmly Madeline tried to suppress it.
She could see him in her peripheral vision, watching her still. She could feel his eyes on her.
“I wouldn’t know,” Madeline responded calmly, struggling to keep her gaze level. “I don’t hunt.”
She wanted to look at him, and that in itself was worrying news. This man was not her husband, not really. Yes, he might legally hold that title, but what else would there be between them?
Abruptly, the rector was speaking to Tristan. He barely spared a glance at the man, keeping his gaze fixed curiously on Madeline.
“I do,” Tristan said, his deep baritone ringing out confidently in the quiet church. Everybody, Madeline realized, was leaning forward to listen. She’d forgotten, ever so briefly, that there was an audience at all. For a few moments, it had only been her and the duke.
She cleared her throat, working moisture into her mouth.
“I do,” Madeline managed, her voice a weak little chirp in comparison to Tristan’s.
“It is my great honor,” the rector said, beaming, “to pronounce you husband and wife. May I present Lord and Lady Lovell, the Duke and Duchess of Tolford!”
Applause broke out. Madeline turned mechanically, clutching her bouquet so hard she thought the stems might twist and break.
She barely recognized half of the faces in the audience.
There was dear Papa, of course, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.
Charlotte sat beside him, whispering comfortingly in his ear.
She glanced up, giving Madeline a reassuring smile.
Tristan’s mother, Dorothea, sat there too, also dabbing her eyes. She smiled encouragingly at Madeline.
“I think I am expected to at least walk you down the aisle,” Tristan murmured, leaning down to put his lips far too close to her ear. “I promise I won’t compliment you on the way.”
Madeline bit her lip, risking a quick glance up at him. He was watching her with an intensity that made her shiver, and so she averted her eyes quickly, holding out her hand. He took it and began to stride confidently down the aisle. She was obliged to scurry beside him.
“Where are we going?” Madeline managed when they were about halfway down the aisle. His fingers were warm and strong, wrapped firmly around hers. It was more reassuring than she would have liked to admit.
“To our carriage, of course,” Tristan responded brusquely. “Which will take us directly back to my house for the wedding breakfast. Will that suit you?”
“I suppose so.”
“You suppose so?” he echoed, grinning down at her. “How magnanimous you are.”
“Don’t tease me,” Madeline snapped, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. They exited the church, and, sure enough, a carriage awaited. It was draped in white ribbons and garlands of flowers; the door already held open for them by a man in Lovell livery.
“You are my wife now, my sweet,” Tristan responded with a wry smile, gesturing for her to climb inside. “You are mine to tease forever.”
Madeline was faintly aware that other guests were coming out of the church, watching them with clear interest. To avoid looking odd, she climbed into the carriage at once. Tristan climbed up behind her, the door closed, and they were off. Just like that.
“I am not yours to tease!” Madeline huffed, trying her best not to sound like a petulant child. “That is not our bargain.”
Tristan flashed her an indulgent smile. “No, I suppose not. You’ll notice that I omitted the customary kiss after our announcement as husband and wife. I thought you would prefer it that way.”
Madeline was momentarily taken aback. Now, why had he done that?
Surely not for her benefit. Perhaps he simply did not want to kiss her?
Yes, that was entirely more likely. She said nothing, folding her hands in her lap and directing her gaze out of the window.
It would not take them long to travel from the chapel to the wedding breakfast.
“You really do look very beautiful, you know,” Tristan said, breaking the silence. There was something odd in his voice, which seemed almost stripped of its usual teasing.
Madeline swallowed, keeping her eyes on the passing scenery.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Who organized this, Madeline? It’s a triumph!” Charlotte chirped, appearing from the crowd at Madeline’s elbow.
“Oh, there you are, Charlotte,” Madeline responded, giving a faint smile. “When are people going to start leaving?”
“Leaving? It’s a wedding breakfast. We’ve only been here for an hour.”
She gave a faint moan. “Only an hour? You must be joking.”
Charlotte tilted her head, her smile fading. Reaching out, she took Madeline’s arm, towing her out of the crowd to a quiet corner.
“What’s the matter, Madeline?”
Madeline swallowed, trying to find the words to explain. Tristan had, of course, organized the wedding breakfast, and it was as complex and fancy as a ball. The ballroom was prepared. There were tables and tables and tables of food, and endless drinks.
Footmen wound their way expertly through the crowds, offering drinks on silver trays. There was a huge cake dominating the sweets table, and the food—well, Madeline had not sampled even a tenth of it. There was enough food to feed ten thousand people; she was sure of it.
Although perhaps there were ten thousand people here. Madeline did not know a fraction of them. Some of her friends must be here, but she could not find them in the crowd. It felt as though Charlotte was the first friendly face she’d seen.
“People will not leave me alone,” Madeline whispered at last, voice cracking. “I don’t know all of them. Some of them are pleasant, but I feel as though some of them are looking at me, trying to find something wrong. I feel as though they are judging me, Charlotte.”
She had expected Charlotte to say that she was being silly, of course, they were not judging her, and that everybody here was her friend.
Instead, Charlotte bit her lip, glancing away.
“Many women dream of marrying a great man,” she said at last. “You’ll notice that I do not say a good man.
They want to marry dukes and marquesses, rich men with titles.
Many women are attracted to men who can command a room, who can command respect.
Such men do not come easily. When those men choose to marry, a great many women will look at their new wives and think, ‘Why not me?’ What I mean to say is that you are now envied by half of the women in London. ”