Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The wedding took place with dizzying speed.
One moment, Aurelia was accompanied to Grillon’s Hotel by a maid and Mr. Arnold himself, who assured her she would be accepted no matter her appearance.
And although Aurelia was certain the servants gossiped about her, everyone had treated her with the utmost respect.
A dressmaker had come, muttering under her breath about the depths to which she was obliged to sink, but measured and pinned every aspect of Aurelia’s body, promising a wedding gown for the following day, and a full wardrobe to be delivered to the duke’s address.
Aurelia had merely nodded.
Her maid had ventured out to purchase all the other necessary wedding garments—stockings and nightgowns and silky chemises that, in private, Aurelia rubbed her cheek against and wondered at. She had never worn anything so fine.
Then the wedding had taken place.
Aurelia’s gown was a soft rose pink, embroidered with tiny flowers, and gathered below her bust. The silk glimmered whenever she moved, and she thought it was the finest gown she had ever seen.
When she reached the church, however, a fresh wave of alarm washed over her. Instead of the duke, she found Mr. Arnold standing in the duke’s place before the priest.
“I—” Aurelia started when she saw him.
He smiled kindly at her. “I know, this must be a shock. I don’t blame you for your surprise.”
“But His Grace—”
“I will be attending the wedding as his proxy. Fear not; you will not be legally married to me.”
Aurelia attempted to draw herself up. A few ladies and gentlemen sat in the pews, watching them and whispering behind their hands. Although most of their words were lost in the acoustics of the church, she caught a few:
How very like the duke to have done this.
Do you suppose he’s too ashamed to show his face in London?
Poor mite, she looks terrified. I would be too, in her place.
Aurelia squared her shoulders. Over her years, she’d had more than enough time being whispered and pointed at to know both how easily people latched onto perceived differences, and how cruel and hurtful it could be.
She would not let their vile whispers get to her.
Even if a small part of her wondered what reason the duke had for being ashamed. What could his reputation be? The Duchess of Fenwick had courted his interest still, so surely it couldn’t be that terrible.
Or perhaps—could the duchess have been searching for gossip? The woman did enjoy gossiping, as little as Aurelia liked it.
She stood opposite Mr. Arnold as required, nerves squirming in her stomach as the priest ran through the barest bones of the ceremony.
Fortunately, Aurelia had not expected romance, for she found none in this declaration of marriage.
They were to be united as husband and wife, but her husband was absent, and they certainly did not care for one another.
The instant the ceremony ended, Aurelia was officially the duke’s wife in the eyes of the law and God. Mr. Arnold took her arm and led her back down the aisle.
“I had your belongings packed,” he said matter-of-factly as they emerged back into the sunshine.
Perhaps the passers by would think him her husband; truly, she felt as though she knew this strange man more than any shadows her husband left behind him.
“This carriage will take you to the duke’s estate. ”
“There will be no wedding breakfast?” she asked timidly.
“I’m sure the duke will offer you a hearty dinner when you arrive,” Mr. Arnold assured, just as amicably as ever, but Aurelia had the distinct impression his kindness was now tinged with pity. “Your maid, Jane, will accompany you.”
“Thank you,” Aurelia managed, gripping his hand for a moment. The tiniest part of her waited, hoping perhaps he would tell her this was a terrible dream—a lie cast into being out of desperation and hallucinations. But he merely extracted himself from her and bowed formally.
“Your servant, Your Grace.”
Oh Lord, that was her now. She was a duchess. Numbly, Aurelia climbed into the carriage, finding her maid sitting opposite her.
“I hope you don’t mind me darning these stockings,” Jane said cheerfully as the carriage lurched into motion. “They’re mine, see, so the quality of the stitching don’t matter, and I may as well have something to do before we get there.”
“Do you know how long the journey will take?”
“A few hours, if I recall the coachman correctly. The duke lives by the sea.” Jane’s eyes gleamed with honest excitement. “I’ve never seen the sea before. Lawks, this is so exciting. My ma will never believe I’ve gone and seen the ocean, and as a lady’s maid at that.”
Aurelia attempted the thinnest of smiles—though it didn’t feel right on her lips. If the servants knew she had been one of them—or near enough—they would never respect her, but she wanted nothing more than to confide in a friendly face.
I can’t do this, she wanted to scream. I will never be able to do this.
Instead, she murmured, “I’ve never seen the sea either.”
“I’ve no doubt the sea air will do you good, ma’am.”
“No doubt.”
Until she saw her husband and knew what manner of man she was to call her husband.
The journey took four hours, with a brief stop to change the horses and partake of a light luncheon.
By the time they arrived at the duke’s estate, the sun was beginning its inevitable slide toward the horizon, and the distant sea gleamed.
The salt smell had reached her from miles earlier.
It hung in the air—thick, briny, ancient. It coated her tongue, stung her nose.
London had smelled of coal smoke and horse dung. Ravenhall Manor smelled like the sea had claimed it.
Although… perhaps she ought to call it more of a castle. The great house rose from atop a small hill, salt-stained ramparts built above a luxurious expanse of glittering windows. From there, they would have a direct view of the sea.
“Lawks,” Jane breathed, peering from the window.
“Quite,” Aurelia replied.
Of this house, she would be mistress.
She had never felt so unequal to a task before. Her mother had run the small home she had lived in with her uncle, and when they had died and she had become the duchess’s companion, she became more of a servant than a lady, in charge of nothing but seeing to the duchess’s whims.
Now she would be at liberty to have whims of her own. And she would have servants to obey her every command.
As the carriage came to a stop on the gravel front, the door opened, and two servants emerged.
The butler and the housekeeper, Aurelia surmised from their uniforms. Neither looked particularly pleased to see her.
If anything, as she stepped out of the carriage and onto the gravel, the housekeeper’s mouth pressed together in an unusual display of displeasure.
“Your Grace,” the butler declared, endeavoring to imbue the word with copious quantities of disdain. “'I am Mr. Fellows—formerly Sergeant Fellows, Coldstream Guards. This, here, is Mrs. Hodge, and we are the butler and housekeeper. Welcome to Ravenhall Manor.”
It may once have been a manor, but the house now had far outgrown that, expanding into a vast display of wealth and grandeur.
Aurelia shivered, in part due to the cool sea breeze.
“Is His Grace inside?” she chattered.
“He is.” Mr. Fellows made no further attempt to clarify his answer and instead gestured at the door. “Your luggage, such as it is, will be brought through shortly.”
“You are to have the Duchess’s suite,” Mrs. Hodge explained as she followed Aurelia with the sharp clack of keys. Aurelia had always gotten along with housekeepers at her previous places of work and employment, but this was entirely different.
She was now mistress, and the housekeeper would answer to her.
It was obvious from the coldness of Mrs. Hodge’s demeanor that the elder woman disliked the notion greatly.
Well, Aurelia could hardly blame her. She would hardly have chosen herself as a duke’s wife; when Mr. Arnold had found her, she had been summarily dismissed, though she doubted Mrs. Hodge knew that.
Whatever the housekeeper did know, it was enough to ensure Aurelia could not make a favorable impression. After all, she wore the wedding clothes that had been made up especially for the wedding—the wedding the duke had not arrived at.
“I gather His Grace must be very busy,” she said, hurrying after Mrs. Hodge.
The housekeeper sent a brief, derisive glance back.
“He has his things to be getting along with, ma’am.
Now, you’ll find this is the Red Parlor.
We use this for guests if we do not want to invite them further into the house.
” By her tone, Aurelia could only imply she would have been one of those guests if she had not been married to the duke.
Married.
There was a gold band on the third finger of her left hand. It felt like a chain, tying her to a gentleman she had never met and felt nothing for. And whom, she could only presume, felt nothing for her in turn.
Mrs. Hodge took her on a tour of the house, all the rooms bleeding into one another and blurring into a confusing mass of grand spaces. The drawing room had a high, Stucco ceiling and a fireplace larger than Aurelia’s former bed.
The library had more books than Aurelia could ever have dreamed of reading, and the chamber centered around a fireplace in the center. Comfortable sofas framed with tables lined that spot, and Aurelia presumed that was where one chose to read, if one read.
There were other rooms, of course. A music room, a room that had once been used as a nursery for the current duke; a schoolroom used for the same purpose.
As they made their way upstairs, Aurelia happened to glance down the corridor—purely by chance, of course—and saw a man emerging from a room. He closed the door behind him and walked away with long, assured strides.
She stared after him, her thoughts skidding to a halt. That could not be her husband. Her husband was supposed to be elderly, stooped, possibly asleep in a chair at all hours. Not… that.
Tall. Capable-looking. Broad enough through the shoulders to make a doorway consider its life choices. And from the brief angle she caught, his face seemed precisely the sort a sculptor would chip into marble when he wished to ruin other sculptors’ confidence.
Aurelia blinked hard.
What color were his eyes? She didn’t know, and yet she felt absurdly determined to find out. Gadz, she hadn’t even seen the man’s face fully, and already her stomach was performing a small, mortifying flutter.
Would he look at her kindly? Or at all? And if he did, would he see a bride—or a girl who’d been polished up for the occasion and was trying very hard not to gape at him like a country cousin in a London sweet shop?
Would he find her as pretty as she found him… handsome? She doubted it, though if ever there were a time for him to find her pretty, it would be in her wedding gown, her hair made up as though she were a lady.
Because she was a lady now, she reminded herself. A duchess, no less. She should not forget it.
But this sighting—the man could be no one else except the elusive duke—proved beyond doubt that he was here.
If he was avoiding her, presumably it could not last forever.
He had not sent a proxy in his stead because he was too senile to leave his bed or out of the country on urgent business; merely that he did not care to.
That realization stung more than it ought, given the circumstances.
“There are certain rules you must abide by,” Mrs. Hodge announced suddenly, interrupting Aurelia’s gaping.
Her lips pressed tight with more of that lemon-tinged disapproval.
“You may venture where you will, except for the east wing, which is the duke’s suite.
He is a busy man, and you may not interfere with his schedule in any way.
When he is in his study, he is not to be disturbed.
If you wish to address him, you may let me or Mr. Fellows know, and we will apprise the duke of your intentions.
He may then seek you out at his leisure. Do you understand?”
Aurelia frowned, her heart in her mouth. “I… I thought I was also a duchess? And this is my house too?”
“This is His Grace’s house,” Mrs. Hodge corrected. “You are his wife, admittedly, but nothing more, and he did not invite you to live here so you could upend his life.”
Then why? she wanted to demand. Why had he invited her here if he wanted nothing to do with her?
“His Grace has—” Mrs. Hodge continued as she led Aurelia through the second-floor rooms, “—done you a great favor by taking you out of your situation and bringing you here. You ought to be grateful.”
“Oh,” Aurelia replied hastily, “I am very grateful. And I have no intention of being a problem for His Grace in any manner. I—I merely wished to speak with him and express my gratitude in person. We have yet to meet.”
“You will meet when the duke wills it,” the housekeeper said dismissively.
“What can you tell me about him?” Aurelia asked. “Is he well-liked by the servants?”
“Of course!”
“Can you tell me anything more? His personality, his likes and dislikes?”
“When you meet him, you will see all this for yourself.” Mrs. Hodge’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “And whatever opinion you come to, I advise you keep it to yourself. The duke does not care for sentimentality.”
So, Aurelia surmised, even if she were to dislike the duke on sight, even if he were to be cruel, she would have no recourse. No one would hear her out. No one would so much as care, it sounded like.
What else had she expected? He had come from nowhere with an offer of marriage, having never met her.
Had she expected that he would be a young, charming man with no dark habits and nothing in his past to warrant such an unusual course of action?
The young ladies had whispered about his reputation, and now seemed the perfect time to ask.
But the housekeeper was leading her back down the stairs, past a small wooden chamber organ, and seemed disinclined to answer any further questions. Aurelia picked up her skirts, resigning herself to knowing nothing until she finally met this enigmatic duke in person.