7. Chapter 7
seven
J enny had imagined Heathercote, the Duke of Strathmore’s home nestled among the rolling hills of Oxfordshire, to be a crumbling estate.
Devonworth’s country home had a whole wing with a roof caved in.
It was one of the reasons he’d had to marry her sister.
Lord David had never been interested in marrying an heiress, and Jenny had understood that to mean the family didn’t need money.
Still, some part of her had imagined a dilapidated home.
But Heathercote was the opposite of crumbling. It was thriving.
Jenny and her mother had an unobstructed view of the grand exterior when the carriage that had retrieved them from the train station crested a hill.
The majestic home, very nearly a palace, sat on the next rise, its wings outstretched on either side featuring columns and ornate pediments.
There were towers on each end where she imagined one might be able to look out and see for miles.
It stood at least three stories tall, though she wouldn’t be at all surprised to find an elaborate attic would make it four.
They approached from the east and the setting sun cast the sand-colored building in shades of orange.
“By God, Jenny, it’s magnificent,” her mother said after a rare silence.
“I suppose the private train depot should have given us a clue.” Jenny giggled but it was from nerves more than genuine amusement. Her wedding was tomorrow and she was very nearly convinced she’d made a huge mistake in proposing to David.
This immaculate estate was his home. She didn’t even have a home because they’d had to sell it to afford the passage to London. She’d never belong here, not even for a little while until they could divorce.
Fanny didn’t seem to notice Jenny’s fragile state and laughed, glancing back at the row of carriages that followed them.
Several groups of people had departed the train from London with them.
Jenny had recognized almost all of them, but she’d been very grateful when she and her mother had been shown to their own carriage.
With the wedding tomorrow, she simply didn’t feel like socializing beyond the necessary obligations.
She toyed with the ribbon on her traveling costume, wrapping it around her finger and unwinding it to repeat the process over again.
“Do you suppose those are all the guests? Surely not?” Fanny asked.
Jenny and Mr. Warwick had met a couple times to discuss arrangements.
The duke hadn’t been present, but Mr. Warwick had relayed the duke’s wishes that they have a proper wedding and not hide away at a registrar’s office to accomplish the deed, which had been her suggestion.
Lord David’s future as Duke of Strathmore meant that their neighbors and tenants should be invited, so they were having a ceremony at the estate’s chapel near the village.
She hadn’t had the courage to ask Mr. Warwick if he knew they would divorce in a year or two.
“I hope so. I feel like a fraud inviting people to a sham wedding.”
“A fraud?” Her mother raised an artfully drawn brow at her. “This is not a sham wedding. The banns were read. The license acquired. The officiant decided upon. It is a proper and very real marriage.”
“Yes, I know.” Everything was real…except the intentions of the bride and groom .
“You’re nervous.” She reached over and patted Jenny’s hand. “It’s to be expected. I never had a proper wedding, but I was nervous the first time Mr. Dove took me home to his family.”
“We probably shouldn’t speak of the past.” Jenny glanced to the driver to make certain he couldn’t hear, even though the carriage was enclosed and her mother hadn’t said anything untoward…yet.
Fanny harrumphed and swiveled her head to admire the passing landscape.
Mr. Dove wasn’t Jenny and her sisters’ true father.
Mr. Hathaway was. He’d carried on an affair with her mother, who’d been a young actress in Chicago.
Mr. Hathaway had promised eventual marriage, but after three daughters in quick succession, he had caved to the pressure of his influential parents.
Unwilling to be cut off from his family’s fortune, he’d settled their small family in a Lower Manhattan address and married a suitable New York socialite.
He’d given them a small stipend and her mother a sham husband.
Though their marriage might have been real on paper—Jenny had never asked for the truth—they had never truly been husband and wife.
It had also meant her mother was barred from acting.
Even after the much older Mr. Dove passed away, Mr. Hathaway insisted upon it.
“The point I’m attempting to make, dear, is that I know how you are feeling.
But you must do what we always have. Keep your chin up and remember who you are.
You are entitled to a portion of that inheritance and you’ve also made certain your sister received hers.
” Fanny reached over and gently turned Jenny’s face to her.
“This marriage is a good thing. You’ll see. ”
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t marrying the most renowned rake in London, probably all of England.”
Her mother laughed. “But everyone knows reformed rakes make the best husbands. ”
Now it was Jenny’s turn to laugh at that ridiculousness. “There will be no reforming of this one. I fear he’s a lost cause.”
Fanny tilted her head. “Are you concerned about the wedding night, dear? We have discussed the general way of things, but if you have questions—”
“No, I don’t have questions. I’m aware of how things work.
” She blushed and looked back out the window.
The carriage swayed as they took the final curve up the driveway.
“My fear is that…” She hadn’t meant to be this honest, but the words came anyway.
“I fear I’ll fall under his spell.” And then where would she be left when he moved on?
“Ah, a worthy concern.”
Jenny met her mother’s concerned gaze. “What do I do?”
“You are smart…and you have my looks.” Fanny grinned.
Everyone claimed they looked alike, from their deep mahogany hair to their brown eyes, heart-shaped faces, and full figures.
“I believed Charles when he whispered sweet words to me. Unlike me, you are going into this with your eyes wide open. That will save you very much in the way of heartache.”
Jenny nodded. She certainly hoped her mother was right.
“Now, no more maudlin. You are here for your wedding to a duke’s heir.
” Fanny giggled. “I can hardly believe it. If you’d asked me last summer if I thought such a thing could happen, I would have thought you fit for an asylum.
But that’s not even the best part. You still get to go to Paris and perform. It’s a dream come true.”
“Yes, I can hardly believe it myself.”
The carriage came to a stop and a groom rushed forward to fold down the steps and open the carriage door. A footman held out his gloved hand. Jenny followed her mother out and forced a smile. The Duke and Lord David awaited them at the foot of the steps leading to the front door.
Too late to turn back now.
***
David caught his breath when she emerged from the carriage.
He’d long become accustomed to the abnormal way his betrothed affected him, but he still had to brace himself against the curious fluttering low in his stomach.
He forced his gaze to her mother to keep himself from her spell, but his eyes found their way back to Jenny as she greeted his brother.
They always did. He loved the sooty sweep of her eyelashes, the flush of pink at her cheekbones against the porcelain of her skin, and the fullness of her rosebud mouth.
He was a man obsessed. It wasn’t healthy. He knew that and had accepted that something was very wrong with him when it came to her. But he also knew there was no help for him but to see this through. He’d have her and let her go. There was no other option.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dove, Miss Dove.” He didn’t think he imagined the sharp intake of Jenny’s breath when she curtsied before him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“Welcome to Heathercote,” Alfred said.
Their greeting was cut short by the arrival of another carriage.
A servant ushered them up the steps, where Kit’s voice floated down as he swept them inside in excitement.
The next little while was spent in conversation until their butler, Caffrey, and an array of footmen saw the guests to their rooms, where everyone would rest until a very casual dinner .
When he and Alfred were left standing alone in the marble-floored entry, the din of conversation retreating, David found himself at a loss. He’d planned that he’d use this time to show his bride around, but she was nowhere to be found.
“I imagine Kit has taken her to see the gown. It was delivered yesterday. She’s already had the final fitting but I assume most brides want to do one final check?”
David nodded, mildly disturbed that his brother had read his expression so well. “It’s no matter.”
He’d barely seen her since the night of her performance.
There had been the planned events, of course, dinners mostly.
He’d arrived after her, been seated away from her, and left soon after.
Part of his aloofness had been by design—he’d been determined to keep himself under control and not tip his hand as he had that night when he’d let her know how his want of her had become a devastating need.
Part of it had been the way these things went.
It wasn’t the done thing to appear too attached to one’s significant other.
But this was his home and he had wanted to introduce her to it. It was that annoyance that made him say, “Why is Kit so bloody excited anyway?”
Alfred had been about to walk away but he paused mid-step and David silently cursed because he recognized that he’d exposed too much. “He’s relieved, I suppose. We both are.”
“Relieved?” That had not been what David expected.
His brother stared at him with eyes that were equal parts knowing and calculating. “We’d resigned ourselves to a different type of wife for you. To be fair, it was the type of wife I would have chosen for you.”
“What does that mean?”
“She would have been someone…” He paused as if to find the right words. “Cultured and refined…privileged. Like most of Society. ”
“Aren’t we like most of Society?”
“Indeed, which is why I would have chosen someone like that for you, but I understand the appeal of this one now. She’s authentic, and I understand what about her drew you in.”
David scoffed. “Do you?” As far as he was aware, his brother had never been attracted to a woman.
Alfred rolled his eyes in a rare display of irritation. “I’m not so blind I can’t see her beauty, but that’s not what I meant. I hope you aren’t so blind that you believe her beauty is all you see when you look at her.”
“I haven’t the faintest notion of what you mean. I hardly know her. Don’t tell me you’ve allowed Kit’s whimsy to influence you.”
It was his brother’s turn to scoff. “Oh, David, I fear you have much to learn yet.”