Chapter 5
“Don’t cry,” Emma held Cecilia’s hand tightly as the carriage trundled through the streets heading to the church. “And please don’t fret.”
“I am not fretting,” Cecilia promised her second bridesmaid while smoothing a hand down her gown.
Cut in classical fashion, it had a square neck and delicate puff sleeves, gathered under the bosom, and the bodice was tucked into her nipped-in waist. The gorgeous dress was not the one she had put away to marry Gabriel with as she could not make herself use it.
This feels like a horrible nightmare.
It will be over soon enough.
Sixty days shall fly by if we keep out of each other’s way.
“Are you sure?” Rosie patted the comb in her chignon. “You do look like you are with that knot in your brow.”
“It is…” she sighed. “It’s simply not how I’d planned my life, you know. I do accept my fate as I had put myself into it, but it’s so… frankly, it is my worst nightmare come true.”
Cupping the back of her neck, she added, “To be fair, I do not think I would be any happier with Gabriel either, now that I know his true colors.”
Emma twisted her hands. “Do you think you can be happy, even with him being… him?”
“When he came to discuss the marriage, he made it clear that we’d separate after sixty days of our cohabitation,” she reminded them. “An annulment, we’d both be free of this mistake, and eventually we’d move on to have different lives.”
Both Emma and Rosie shared a look before Rosie said, “He’s a rake with a moral compass, at least. That sounded like a good thing, so why are you still not happy?”
“I…”
A knock came on the door to the bridal party room. Cecilia’s father was at the door. “I apologize for the interruption, but His Grace has arrived, and the priest is ready for the ceremony to begin.”
Rising, Cecilia set her shoulders back and, taking her father’s arm, walked from the hallway to the main room of the small cathedral. Cassian was standing at the altar, and his gaze met hers as she entered.
As much as she tried to look away—at the priest, at the altar, at the many white roses placed in two vases bookending the altar— Cassian’s gaze captured her attention and held it captive.
His gaze had the ephemera of smoke. Handsome and virile, he was majestic in an inky jacket which emphasized his broad shoulders and lean torso. His trousers fit like a second skin over his muscular thighs, tucking into polished Hessians.
He looks as handsome as the night I first met him.
Another man stood by him, one she did not recognize, but that mattered little. The priest was at the pulpit, the bible or the Book of Common Prayer in his hand.
“Are you alright, dear?” Henry whispered.
Chin up.
“Yes,” she replied.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother, Marcus, step in. His darker blond hair looked like a dusky gold coin and not the bright flax hers was, but there was no denying they were related.
What shocked her more was that he went to stand with Cassian, greeting the other man with a familiar ease.
“Who is that man, Father?” She asked. “And how does Marcus know him?”
“Benjamin Hadleigh, Earl of Somerton,” he answered. “I believe Marcus said they’d met during his first years at University, and they kept in touch even after he left.”
“Wonderful…” she muttered under her breath. At least I am saving his lecture too.
Her friends went to stand on the other half of the pulpit, and when the organ music began, her father led her down the aisle.
Cassian studied the new Cecilia without shame.
Her opinion of his character notwithstanding, she looked lovely. Incredibly irate but lovely.
He was not enthused about this marriage but assumed it would give to not only right the wrongs he had done to her, but also give him time to force her to admit the feelings she once harbored for him.
He knew she had them—even if they were buried deep inside.
Where is the young na?f that looked at me with such infatuation?
The rose silk nestled against her petite body seductively, emphasizing her tiny waist and pushing her delectable breasts up in an almost wanton manner. And she did have a tendency toward wantonness; he’d experienced such a thing firsthand when she’d kissed him.
The little wallflower is a bit wanton, isn’t she? I hope it doesn’t always take getting her tipsy with sherry to pull it out of her.
The ceremony passed by him in a haze as he only paid attention to the most important parts.
I wonder what she will do when I tease and taunt her. I know for sure she never had anyone be her lover.
The priest intoned, “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ”
As the priest paused, he held Cecilia’s hand and slipped the wedding ring on her finger. “I do.”
When the question was turned to her, the pointed pause before she replied told him she was still ruing the day she had kissed him by mistake.
“I do,” she said finally while fitting his broader, flatter ring on his hand.
The death knell of his bachelorhood Cassian anticipated to hear felt more like a gnat buzzing in his ear. It was not a demise, only a small delay before he could regain his standing.
A sixty-day delay.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest declared.
And get my face clawed off. Leaning in, he brushed his lips across her cheek, while wondering if the only way she would kiss as passionately as she did that night was to ply her with sherry.
Pulling away, she gave him a warning look that he ignored.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest announced.
The smattering of applause did not seem to comfort her as her finger sank into his bicep as they walked from the pulpit to sign the register.
“I hope you are not thinking of whiling the wedding breakfast away as we need to leave to get to the country house before night.” He dropped his voice so only she could hear.
“Not even for a slice of cake or a glass of champagne?” Cecilia asked dully.
“We can,” he offered, “and during that brief respite, you can have the very delightful conversation with your brother I am sure he is bristling to the brim to have with you.”
Instantly, she stiffened. “I think I’ll take my glass of champagne with me.”
“Good choice,” he shrugged. Plucking a fobwatch from his inner pocket, he looked at the time, “You have five minutes to say your farewells.”
She slid a narrow eye to him. “Why so little time?”
“I’d rather not linger and chance some gossipmonger weasel their way into this church,” he said. “You are now down to four and a half, sweetheart. You’d better hurry.”
While she went off to hug her friends, he went over to Ben and Marcus. The younger man was mainly Ben’s friend and protégé, but Cassian had crossed paths with him enough times to be friendly. Spying his approach, the younger man opened his mouth, but Cassian got to it first.
“Before you say anything, yes, Hartwick, I will treat your sister with honor, she will have all the comforts her father afforded her or more, there will be no more scandals when she is with me, and she will have all the bonbons, books, and whatever banal fripperies women like her need to be occupied.”
Hartwick clamped his mouth shut.
“Did I cover your demands, Hartwick?” He asked while keeping a simultaneous eye on the clock and on Cecilia. She was hugging her mother now.
“Err, mostly,” Marcus said. “But you said, women like her. There are no women like my sister.”
“Meaning what?” Cassian asked nonchalantly. “You know what, you needn’t answer. I am sure I will discover what you mean as the days go by. Now, Hadleigh, I trust you have those papers at the ready to file, yes?”
“As soon as the time comes,” Ben replied with a curt nod.
The minute hand dropped on the five past ten, and he clicked the watch shut. “I—we will be taking our leave now.”
“When may I come and visit?” Marcus asked.
Considering it, Cassian replied, “I will send you notice after a month. Let the furor of this die down a bit first, and then we can consider taking social calls.”
“I’ll be keeping an eye out for that note, then,” Marcus assured.
Cassian went to collect Cecilia while she spoke to her friends, Miss Rosalind Winston, the daughter of some belligerent Baron, and Lady Emma Montrose, the daughter of some equally quarrelsome Countess. Or as he secretly called them, the Cat and the Mouse, respectively.
Moving to them, he dipped his head in greeting. “My ladies. I do apologize for the sudden interruption, but I need to collect my wife so we can head out to the countryside. How is Lord Theo Notley, by the by?”
Cecilia looked to her friend, who was now furiously blushing, “Lord Theo? Who is that?”
“A… friend,” Rosalind muttered.
“A friend,” Cecilia echoed. “This is the first time I’m hearing about this friend.”
“It is time for us to leave, my lady,” Cassian grinned. “The carriage is waiting for us.”
Sipping her glass of champagne as the carriage cleared the city of London and headed north, Cecilia asked, “Who is this Lord Theo?”
Quirking a brow over the top of his newspaper, Cassian replied, “Is that what you truly want to talk about?”
“It is my first advance before I lunge,” she cautioned. “Are you going to keep in step with me or not?”
“Lord Theo is an Earl that your friend Lady Cecilia is actively pursuing,” Cassian turned a page. “Oh look, Felton and Co. have phaetons on sale.”
She finished her glass. “You have the attention of a sparrow. How do you know this lord and from where?”
“Whites, my lady,” he answered. “The Gentlemen’s Club is a hub of information, willingly given and shared. Your friend is not as demure as you think she is. Thankfully, Theo, or Theodore Roswell Notley, is as forthright as she is. The two of them are a match made in termagant heaven.”
“My friend is not a termagant,” Cecilia muttered. “And she certainly would not be brazen enough to court a husband herself.”
“I’d say it’s mutual perusal,” he replied while turning another page. “Now, what is this lunge of yours?”
“What exactly do you want during this sixty-day marriage?” she asked. “What I mean is, how do you care to pass the time?”
“Coffee over poached eggs at breakfast, mutual newspaper reading, you’ll read the scandal sheets, I’ll read the parts where our lovely Prince Regent is condemning us to the hell of raised taxes because of his spending.
“We shall part ways, me to the outbuilding that I am reconstructing myself and you to your rooms or the library, or to the drawing room where you’d reign over your mouse army,” he turned another page. “The one that you train to scalp me in my sleep.”
She looked at him flatly. “As much as I admire mice, they are the epitome of indifference. I cannot touch them. I sneeze hard enough that my diaphragm feels as if a battering ram is smashed into it.”
“Feral ferrets then,” he suggested.
“Are you a candidate for Bedlam?” Cecilia asked.
“My professors did say I had the making of a mastermind. I am not sure if they meant that in a good way.”
She sighed, “Are we to ignore each other aside from the cordial greetings here and there? If you are going to be occupied with this outbuilding of yours, I feel like I will be left unoccupied.”
“There are numerous projects in Fitzroy Manor, in Hertfordshire, too,” Cassian reassured. “I hear there is a Coven of Witches somewhere. They might be looking for new initiates.”
Exasperated, she said, “You do not have a good opinion of me, do you?”
“On the contrary, Cecilia. I have the highest regard for you.”
“If so, then I have a few demands.”
“I’d begun to wonder when you would get to that,” he said, infuriatingly turning another page. “Which of the twelve labors of Hercules shall I be bound to today?”
“No affairs,” she ordered. “Whatever mistress or mistresses you have, they will be released.”
“I have no mistresses,” he said calmly. “Like any other obligation, a mistress is one, and I am averse to obligations.”
“I would like to point out a marriage is also an obligation,” she said pointedly. “Does your philosophy also pertain to your new wife?”
“I misspoke,” he smiled disarmingly. “A mistress is a debt, and I cannot be beholden to anyone.”
“Anymore.”
“Not at all,” he answered, setting his sights on the paper again. “Like I said, I do not keep mistresses.”
“Then what do you do for—” she paused, “—Oh, I forgot, jump out of widow’s windows at witching hour.”
“What is your next rule?” Cassian rolled his eyes.
“We sleep separately.”
“Done. And your third?”
“I think I’ll keep that one in reserve for when I know what sort of marriage I am faced with,” Cecilia said as she reached for her pearl-studded reticule and pulled out a book.
“You do not have an abundance of choice,” he reminded. “You will have five demands, and that is it. And that is fair since I have mine.”
Her fingers drummed three times on the book. “And what are those?”
“First and foremost, I do not like being addressed as ‘Your Grace’, or ‘My Lord’, or ‘Devilish Duke’, or whatever humorous moniker that your intrepid mind can come up with. Call me Cassian.”
Cecilia nodded, indicating to him that she understood, but it was not enough for him. “I need to hear you agree.”
“I will call you Cassian,” she repeated.
“Good. Now, the rest of the rules are just as simple: You may not meddle in my business or any of my past relationships by playing detective and asking my friends about them, either. My third rule is, you may not enter the outbuilding that I am refitting. That place is my hallowed sanctuary.”
She shrugged. “You will not have any disagreements from me.”
“Also, how well do you get along with dogs?” he asked.
“Dogs?” Cecilia almost jumped. “What kind of dogs?”
“The large variety,” he remarked at her reaction, “with teeth. Sharp, sharp teeth.”
Cecilia swallowed. “I—I don’t like dogs.”
“I own three Great Danes, two English Mastiffs, and a very aquatic Newfoundland,” he grinned, folding the paper and setting it to the side. Crossing his legs, he slumped to the window and cocked an elbow on the ledge. “His webbed feet are as big as your pretty little face.”
She swallowed again and looked down at the book on her lap, trying hard to stabilize her trembling hands. “Are those dogs free in the house?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Good god,” she shuddered. “I will not sleep a moment in the house. Are there barricades on the other side of the doors?”
“No.”
“You’ll want to install some,” she instructed.
“And deny you the lovely chance of a loving dog cuddling you at night?” He mocked her by pressing a hand to his chest as if struck through the breastbone. “For shame, Cecilia, have you no heart?”