Chapter Fifteen
“You may kiss the bride.”
Olivia faced the groom.
My husband.
Montague stood behind her, the warmth from his body providing much-needed comfort.
Even at the brink her brother had offered her a means of escape.
But a wicked little corner of her soul had whispered of the prospect of pleasure when she saw the dark hunger in the eyes of the man to whom she now belonged.
Swallowing her fear, she tipped her face up, offering her lips for a kiss.
The moment had come. Eleanor said that the bridal kiss was the tenderest gesture a husband could make. It was the first gesture of affection after a bride uttered her vows before the Almighty, and the groom’s duty was therefore to show her, by means of a kiss, that she’d made a wise choice.
It would be the moment when all her fears dissolved, when the spark of tenderness she’d seen in Lord Devereaux’s eyes would flourish and bloom.
She held her breath while he met her gaze and lowered his head.
Then he pulled away.
The organist started to play a march, a victorious refrain that filled the chapel as the congregation stood. But there was no victory. The groom could hardly bear to look at her, let alone kiss her.
How abhorrent he must think her!
Olivia blinked and her vision blurred for a heartbeat, then it cleared, and she caught sight of Eleanor in the front pew, and beside her, Montague’s mother.
When Olivia had first been presented before the dowager, the older woman had stared at her as if she were an insect that needed to be stamped out—understandable, perhaps, given that Olivia was living evidence of the late duke’s infidelity.
But, in the past year, the dowager had softened a little—enough, at least, that she was not averse to kissing Olivia on both cheeks at each greeting.
Her dislike of Olivia, however, could never be completely conquered.
How much more must her new husband dislike her if he couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her on the cheek?
In the second pew behind Eleanor stood her sister Juliette and her husband Earl Staines, together with Miss Lucas, whose pale, sickly complexion rendered her perhaps the only creature in the chapel more miserable than Olivia herself. The poor girl looked as if she might faint at any moment.
Olivia fingered her necklace—a simple gold chain with a pearl pendant that Eleanor had given her last night as a token of love between sisters.
She ran her fingertips over the pearl, seeking comfort from its smoothness.
But there was none to be had. Biting her lip to stem the tears, she caught her husband’s sleeve.
He stiffened and glanced at her, then he stepped along the aisle in long, slow strides, while she hurried to keep up.
They emerged from the chapel. Olivia blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the sunlight, then a coach-and-four came into focus, bearing the Whitcombe crest. The horses stood patiently, their polished harnesses gleaming, while the coachman sat holding the reins.
A footman climbed down from the back, which was already laden with trunks, and opened the carriage door.
This was it—the means by which she would be transported from everything she held dear.
The congregation gathered to wish the couple well, their merry chatter filling the air. Olivia turned to see Eleanor approaching, arms outstretched.
“A word, if you please, Devereaux,” Montague said as he emerged from the chapel accompanied by the vicar. The groom withdrew his arm and approached Montague as Eleanor ran toward Olivia.
“Oh, sister!” she cried. “I do hope you’ll be happy. Write to me often, darling, so that I may be assured of your happiness.”
“I will,” Olivia said, her throat tightening.
“And don’t merely write pleasantries,” Eleanor said.
“You know I care naught for such vile niceties. I’m not the kind of correspondent who only wishes to be told how grand your new home is or how fine the furnishings are.
I want—need—to know how you are. I can only bear the thought of you leaving us if I know that you are happier with”—she faltered—“with him…than you have been with us.”
Olivia glanced toward the chapel doors, where her brother stood beside Devereaux. Both men wore grim expressions, as if a declaration of war had been made.
Perhaps it had.
“Oh, Eleanor!” Olivia said. “If only you knew…” She trailed off as Eleanor’s sister approached, together with her husband and Miss Lucas.
“Dearest Olivia, I’m so pleased to see you happily married as you deserve.”
“And I trust that you will be,” Miss Lucas said, her voice a low rasp. “I wish—” She broke off in a fit of coughing.
“My dear, are you quite well?” Eleanor said. Miss Lucas nodded, but she looked far from healthy. In the dim light of the chapel her skin had looked pale, but in the bright sunlight it carried a sheen of moisture, as if merely existing was taking its toll on her constitution.
“I-I know that Olivia will be happy with such a fine-looking husband.”
Olivia opened her mouth to voice her fears, then took in Lady Staines’s smile of pure happiness—how she had one hand placed over her already-swelling belly, her delicate features flushed with pleasure.
Olivia had no wish to dampen her joy, not when the overprotective Earl Staines stood beside his wife.
“Lady Staines, I’m sure that—”
“Did I not tell you to call me Juliette? We’re sisters by marriage, after all.
” Lady Staines glanced toward Montague and Devereaux.
“I cannot think why my brother-in-law insisted on your marrying here, and such a quiet affair. It would have been no trouble for my husband to have presided over the ceremony in London. The bishop’s a particular friend, and he would have approved.
You are equally as deserving to have your wedding take place in St. George’s as any other bride, is she not, Andrew? ”
Lord Staines patted his wife’s hand and smiled at Olivia.
“Miss Whitcombe—pardon me, Lady Devereaux—was quite right in insisting on a quiet ceremony here at Rosecombe. And I’ll wager much of her decision is due to her consideration for her guests, for you wouldn’t have wished to travel to London in your condition, my love. ”
“I’d have made the effort in Olivia’s case. Surely she deserves…”
“She deserves to choose the manner of her own wedding,” he said, lifting his wife’s hand to his lips. “The ceremony is not about the pomp. It’s a sacred vow made by two people in love.”
He placed his hand on Olivia’s sleeve. “I wish with all my heart that you’ll be happy.” He glanced toward the chapel doors. “Devereaux is an honorable and honest man. With your sweet nature, you cannot fail to make him happy.”
“But will he make Olivia happy?” Eleanor said.
The corner of Lord Staines’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Duchess, I daresay he’ll find a bullet in his heart courtesy of your husband if he does not. What say you, Miss Lucas? You’re very silent on the matter. Are you unwell?”
Miss Lucas nodded and gave a watery smile. “It’s the heat,” she said. “Do forgive me.”
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Olivia’s skin tightened as the air seemed to shimmer with the masculine essence of…
him. She lowered her gaze and his shadow appeared, stretching across the pathway until it engulfed hers.
The faint scent of wood and spices filled her nostrils, and though she anticipated his touch, a fizz of apprehension still rippled through her body as he took her elbow, cradling it in his palm in a gentle but determined gesture.
“I fear it’s time to take your leave,” Montague said, joining them. “You’ve a long journey ahead.”
“B-but your carriage…”
“Is at your disposal until your husband arranges the purchase of a carriage of his own, which I trust he’ll do without delay…in addition to certain other pledges he’s made.”
Olivia glanced at her husband to see him glaring at Montague, his eyes almost black with anger. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Good,” Montague said. “In which case, I see no further reason for delay.” He took Olivia’s hand and squeezed it. “Write to Eleanor as soon as you’re settled.”
“I’ve already made her promise, my love,” Eleanor said. Then she turned to Devereaux. “What shall we make you promise, sir? To abide by your vows?”
The groom frowned, then nodded.
“Then take my hand as a gesture of good faith,” Eleanor said. “For we are now brother and sister.”
He paused, then took her hand, as delicately as if plucking a flower, and lifted it to his lips.
“There!” she said. “Montague, did I not tell you he was a decent sort of man?”
Then her eyes darkened. “I trust my faith will not be misplaced, sir. You have gained more today than Olivia can ever have hoped to gain in her lifetime. But of course, in this world, men always have the better bargain.”
His mouth twitched into a smile that did not reach his eyes.
“I don’t refer to my sister’s fortune,” Eleanor added, “though I trust you will treat it, and her, with the respect they both deserve.”
She turned to Olivia. “One last farewell, dearest, then you must be on your way before I cry. I hate to cry at weddings, for I fear that tears cannot bode well for a happy union.”
Olivia blinked, willing the tears in her own eyes not to fall, as she found herself embraced once more. Then she hugged Lady Staines and finally Miss Lucas. On impulse, she handed her posy to the pale young woman.
“Oh no, Miss Whitcombe—I mean, Lady Devereaux. I couldn’t possibly…”
“Take it, Miss Lucas,” Olivia said, “as a symbol of my friendship, in the hope that you’ll find happiness in your marriage, whenever that may be.”
“Very well. I hope I shall be as happy as you.”
Olivia forced a smile. Then she caught her breath as a large hand touched the small of her back.
For a moment, it remained there, Devereaux’s body heat seeping into hers—then, gently but determinedly, he propelled her toward the carriage and helped her inside.
He followed suit then beckoned for his valet to climb in.
“Oh no, sir!” The valet laughed. “I have no wish to disturb a newly married couple as they travel to their wedding night. I’ll be content seated outside.”
With that, he closed the door and the carriage tilted sideways as he climbed aboard.
Then, with the crack of a whip, they set off.
Olivia leaned toward the window to see her brother and sister-in-law arm in arm, waving her off with their love and good wishes.
Then the carriage turned a corner, and they disappeared from view, leaving her alone, for the first time, with the beast of a man who’d been forced into marrying her against his will.