Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nicholas lingered outside the college hall, staring across the grounds. The wedding breakfast was mercifully drawing to a close, and the fresh air soothed the worst of his megrim. He sat on one of the steps, turning the new golden wedding band on his finger.
The doors creaked open behind him, and the raucous sounds of the party slipped outdoors. Samuel emerged with George, laughing at something someone inside had said, before dropping his buoyant expression the second the doors closed behind them.
“There has never been so boring a fellow as that Lord Gainsbury,” Samuel complained, fishing into his pocket for his snuff tin as they walked down the steps. He offered it to Nicholas once he arrived, who refused. “Suit yourself.”
“Is she still indoors?” Nicholas asked, peering up at George.
He nodded. “Discussing Michaelmas with Miss Ashwood, if my ears did not deceive me. Were you concerned she had fled while you escaped outdoors?”
“Hardly,” Nicholas muttered, fixing his band in place and standing. “But we should retreat soon. This gathering has gone on long enough by my count.” He raised a brow at Samuel. “You will be fine in town for the night?”
“Oh, Lord. I do not count on returning to Riverside Court so long as you and your new bride are there. Me? An inconvenience? Perish the thought,” he said, laughing.
He slipped his snuff tin back into his pocket.
“But if I should tire of the hotel, perhaps Georgie here could host me at his apartment in town.”
George did not look pleased, but gave a polite smile nonetheless.
The gentlemen shared a few japes before Samuel decided to return indoors, leaving George with Nicholas.
The men were quiet for a moment, standing in companionable silence. A murder of crows flew overhead, disappearing behind the western spires into the great grey beyond.
“I could not have imagined, in my wildest dreams, that this would have been the outcome of your return to Oxford. A marriage for you, it beggars belief,” George murmured, contemplatively.
“The talk indoors is positive. I doubt the country has ever seen you so favorably, despite the unconventional manner in which you met Miss Tate.”
“The Duchess of Avon now,” Nicholas exhaled. “A queer turn of events. I never imagined I should know a Duchess of Avon in my lifetime.”
“She will prove worthy. Miss Ashwood has sung her praises for years, despite what is known about her condition,” George added. “Glad though I am for you both… No, I should not say it.”
“You shall.”
“I fail to understand why you felt a marriage was necessary.”
Nicholas, tired, smiled softly. “That rather contradicts your previous endorsement of the woman.”
“I only ask…” George paused, staring across the lawn. Clouds formed a thick blanket on the horizon, carrying the threat of more rain that autumn. “For Philippa’s sake, do try not to break Amelia’s heart, old boy.”
That had not been Nicholas’s plan. He had barely thought about Amelia’s heart at all. A woman of her virtue could not fall in love with him. And he could not fall in love at all.
“You need not worry,” he assured George, the clouds coming nearer on the wind. “In so far as her heart is concerned, the Duchess is in no peril with me.”
And yet, when it came time to depart an hour later, her heart was the only thing Nicholas could think about.
Amelia pressed her nose to the carriage window as it rolled away from the college hall. The guests had piled in the courtyard, waving farewell to the duke and his new duchess. Rice was thrown over the carriage as it drove away, handkerchiefs waving in the air to the sound of congratulatory shouts.
Nicholas observed his wife as they approached Folly Bridge, drawing his eyes down the back of her exposed neck, two ringlets of hair curling against her skin, tickling the back of her pale purple dress.
“How far is it?” she asked, turning halfway toward him. Her face was flushed with wine, her eyes half-lidded. “How far to Riverside Court, I mean?”
“A twenty-minute drive at most.” Nicholas was relieved when she settled into her seat. She removed her pelisse and folded it on her lap. “You may retire to your rooms immediately upon arriving. I have informed the housekeeper that you should not be disturbed.”
“Ah,” she laughed. “You lock me away already.”
“Not at all. If you do not wish to retire, I could sic the staff onto you at once. There has not been a woman at Riverside for decades, and they are eager to meet you. Would that be more to your liking, Duchess?”
“I have no idea what is to my liking anymore.” She blinked down at her coat, hands furling into the soft purple garment. “Where will you go?”
“I have not decided.”
“But it should not be with me?”
Nicholas cocked his head to the side in confusion. “What are you trying to ask? There is no need to be so cryptic with me. In fact, it would behoove us to be honest with one another if—”
“If we are to make this pretend marriage work,” she finished for him, finally meeting his eye. “Never you mind, Your Grace. I shall be perfectly content to rest a moment in my quarters once we arrive.”
Nodding, Nicholas turned his attention to the view outside. Oxford passed by slowly. The drumming of the horses’ hooves and the gentle swaying of their coach were a paltry distraction from his wife’s restlessness.
“Your brother is a funny gentleman,” she said after a moment. “He spoke to me while you were outside and wished us well. He said I looked like his late mother, but stated that I was much shorter, and that her eyes had been green while mine are blue-ish.”
“Blue-ish,” Nicholas repeated.
“I did not take offence. They are blue-ish.” Amelia smiled. “What was your mother’s name? Samuel—and he did ask me to call him Samuel—did not say.”
A lump formed in Nicholas’s throat. For a second, it crossed his mind that Samuel had put Amelia up to this. That he had spoken about his mother on purpose to force this exact conversation.
“…Felicity,” he spoke at last, the name itself lodging in his breast. He had not spoken it for years. “But her eyes were not green.”
“Your brother was mistaken?”
“My brother and I have different mothers.”
The carriage grew quiet again, much to Nicholas’s relief.
It only lasted a short time, as Amelia eventually crept toward him on the bench. Nicholas, surprised, leaned back and found Amelia staring up at him. Her delicate, pale face was contorted with a frown. Her breath smelled like Champagne.
“There is so much I do not know about you…” she murmured, eyes roving his face before settling on his mouth. “Does it make you angry that I wish to know more?”
“You are well within your rights to want to know,” he replied slowly.
“So, will you tell me?” She tilted her head to the side slightly, playing with him. “What if I say the word lover?”
Nicholas chewed on the insides of his mouth, not sure whether it was to stifle a scream or a smile. He hated to admit that he liked Amelia like this—brave, daring, swaying toward him with the look of a woman who wanted him.
“Yes,” he growled low. “What if?”
She snickered. “I know you think I should fear you. But I believe you have more to fear from me. First, you promised me your money, and now you have promised me the answers to any questions I am brave enough to ask. This marriage of ours may be short-lived. But what more is there to give a woman?”
Oh, he thought, looking skyward for some divine aid. She has no idea what more I could give her. But I shall not. Not now, while she is like this. And not ever, for it would ruin her.
“For now,” he said, “I will give you the chance to rest.”
Before you do something that we will both regret.