Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
T he sound of the ringing church bells came faintly through the windows as Cecilia tried on her wedding dress.
It was beautiful, no doubt, all sumptuous fabrics and delicate embroidery. How her mother had managed to get the modiste to create such a lovely piece, let alone the rest of Cecilia’s trousseau, in so scandalously short a time, was nothing short of a wonder. Any other bride would have been thrilled to wear a dress such as this down the aisle.
Looking at herself in the looking glass, Cecilia thought she might weep.
She didn’t, though. She had done far too much weeping in the past two days, always when she was able to secure a moment alone—which, given the scale and timeline of the wedding preparations they had to make, was not very often. She had, at last, reached a place where she felt as though she had cried out most of the tears, and primarily walked around replacing the sadness with cold, unfeeling anger. Much like what she’d seen in the duke the night he proposed.
If nothing else, she reasoned, at least we will have this in common. A total and utter lack of any pleasant or positive feelings towards each other.
It was not the prettiest or most comforting thought for a bride to have before her wedding day. But it was certainly the most comforting thought Cecilia could muster up.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Lady Lindbury ventured, standing to Cecilia’s left.
“Yes,” Nancy agreed. “You will look most wonderful walking down the aisle towards the altar.”
Cecilia shook her head. “It should be you, Nancy,” she said. “You in the veil, preparing to marry my brother. Not me, preparing to marry that awful man?—”
“The duke is a perfectly respectable gentleman,” her mother said sharply. “Indeed, it is most honorable of him to have agreed to marry you, even as you both insist nothing has happened. He is a man of title, as well as kindness.”
Cecilia closed her eyes. It felt as though she had been constantly reprimanded by her mother and brother the past few days, in silence more than words. “Yes, Mother,” she said.
Lady Lindbury’s eyes softened. She turned to the veil, placing it over Cecilia’s honey-blond locks and pinning it in place.
“I know this is not as you may have hoped,” she said softly. “Or I. I had hopes that you would have time to speak to many suitors and find a match at your own pace. I had even hoped that you might find a love match, even though I know how logical and sensible and like your father you are…” She trailed off.
Cecilia saw in the looking glass that her mother’s eyes were damp with tears. Lady Lindbury cleared her throat. “But there are worse men to marry, Cecilia,” she continued. “And I am proud of you. You have always acquitted yourself most wonderfully in the worst of circumstances, and you will make a wonderful duchess.” She finished her adjustments on the veil and smoothed her hands down her daughter’s head. “And a beautiful bride.”
“Besides,” Nancy chimed in. “Whatever your feelings for the duke now…” She winced, then hurried to continue, “Well, who is to say love will not blossom between the two of you? My mama always has told me that marriage is the most beautiful thing precisely because of the depth of connection you must make with someone. She said that there is no deeper bond in the world than the quiet intimacies of knowing and cherishing someone’s presence in your life, day after day. Isn’t that right, Lady Lindbury?”
A small held-back sob. The girls both looked at Cecilia’s mother. The tears were now threatening to spill over. Nancy’s face reddened as she realized what she had said.
“Oh. Forgive me, my lady?—”
“No, Miss Banfield,” Lady Lindbury mentioned. “It is quite all right. And your mother is quite right, as well. Marriage is a beautiful thing, not least because of the love it builds. I loved your father more and more with every passing day, Cecilia. If he were here, we would say the same. And I have no doubts that you and the duke will similarly join in understanding and unity as the years go on.”
I doubt it, though Cecilia, though she couldn’t say as much. Watching her mother wipe away the tears sent a pang through her chest. She nodded.
“Good girl,” Lady Lindbury said, wiping away one final tear. Then she went to the door, opened it, and turned back to face the girls. “Well. Shall we?”
Leaving the church, Ian could not help but feel as though the whole day had been a dream.
A nightmare, really. Or, rather, it should have been. He had never intended to marry. He certainly had never intended to marry his best friend’s sister, or a woman who so clearly wanted to be on the opposite side of the room from him at all times. He was not the sort of man who was cut out for love, for marriage, for anything more serious than a sensible dalliance with a similarly sensible lady. He had decided that long ago.
Fate had decided that for him, long ago.
And yet…if he were being truly honest with himself, there was a moment, as the wedding march played and Lady Cecilia arrived at the foot of the aisle, that he damn near forgot how to breathe.
She was beautiful. Somehow even more beautiful than she had been at the ball, or in the sun bickering with him about Pall Mall, or that first night they met, candlelit in the library. On the outside, she looked the picture of the perfect bride, well-behaved and draped in white. The dress, though appropriately modest, fit her perfectly, causing him to inadvertently imagine her body beneath. She held on to her brother’s arm, taking small, well-practiced steps toward him.
When she arrived at the altar and faced him, he had to take a small breath to steel himself before lifting the veil off her head.
The look she gave him was electrifying. The steel and resolve in those green eyes. In an instant, she became even more beautiful still. So what if his wife didn’t love him? He had never wanted her to. His past had taught him that nothing good would come of such a thing.
His wife .
A few words, and suddenly Cecilia was no longer Lady Cecilia Forbes, but Cecilia Repington, Duchess of Harwick.
It almost was enough to make one’s head spin.
If Lady Cecilia—no—his wife, his wife— if his wife’s head was spinning, she gave no indication, sitting across from him in the carriage.
It had been strange, after the wedding. Watching her bid goodbye to her mother, and to Miss Banfield—who, of course, promised to visit her in a week; he made a mental note to tell the staff to prepare for guests—before accepting the hand he offered her to step into the carriage, where she then settled into her seat and said not a word more to him.
He took advantage of the fact that she was not looking at him—was, in fact, staring resolutely out the window—to study her. Her smooth skin, the delicate nose; the perfectly formed lips.
She was mostly still, other than the fact that she was fidgeting. Non-stop, in fact, the fingers of one hand persistently twisting at the edge of her glove. Her face remained resolute as it had been at the altar, but there was something in that movement that made him wonder, was she…nervous?
Certainly, he realized. Even if she didn’t show it. While the rest of the ton may have drawn their own conclusions, nothing had happened between them in the garden, and he was certain that Lady Ce—the Duchess had never had any dalliances with any other gentleman. Meaning she was a virgin. A virgin expecting to experience a wedding night with a husband she did not know very well and, based on all appearances and behaviors, loathed.
Guilt twisted his stomach.
“You need not worry,” he said before he could stop himself.
She froze, then looked at him, surprised, as though she thought she might have imagined him speaking. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
It was so easy to lose his head at the sight of her. Once again, her eyes held him where he sat, clear as the reflection of trees in a still pond.
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze so as to avoid distraction. “I said you need not worry,” he repeated, “of me bothering you tonight. I do not know how much you know of what goes on between man and woman on their wedding night.”
“I—” Twin pink spots appeared on her cheeks as she sputtered. “I—I have been told enough.”
“Good. Well, rest assured, you may pass your evening in peace.”
“Would you like me to thank you for that?” she scoffed.
“I am not seeking your thanks,” he replied sharply. “I am only seeking to assure you that this is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more.”
Her cheeks flamed redder. “I am well aware of that fact, thank you.”
“Good.”
She huffed out a breath, turning back to face the window. “Though I hardly think convenient to be the right term to describe this particular union.”
He laughed. “Is there something you would like to discuss with me, Lady Cec—wife?”
Her eyes flickered back to his, though whether it was because of surprise at the address or the rage that filled those jade irises, it was difficult to tell.
“Perhaps I would,” she said. “Not discuss, but inform. Since you wish very much for me to know that this is nothing but a marriage of convenience, I think it only fair that you be well assured that, given any other circumstances, you are the last man on Earth I would marry.”
“How kind to say to your new husband.”
“You nearly ruined my reputation mere days ago. I would say you are ill-equipped to lecture me on kindness, husband.”
He tried to ignore the heat that lit in his stomach hearing that word pass through those petal-soft lips. “I assure you, it was through no intention of mine. I was not the one who all but threw myself into the other’s arms.”
“Threw myself—I fell! You know very well I fell.”
“Alone in a garden, unchaperoned.”
“I am allowed to take the night air if I see so fit. One might accuse you of throwing yourself at me, being as you are the one who followed me as I was just trying to find some peace and solace from the crowd for a moment.” She was now facing him entirely. He found himself leaning forward. “And being as you are the one who caught me when I fell.”
“Would you rather I have let you cut your face on the ground?” he snapped, heat rising in his chest and cheeks now, as well. Looking at her, she appeared to be as flushed as he felt. “Would that have been preferable?”
“Certainly more convenient than this,” she cut back at him. “It is ridiculous. For such a destructive rumor to form, over something so minor.”
“Ridiculous indeed,” he said. “All we were doing was talking. And then you fell.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And you caught me. And somehow that was construed as…” She scoffed again. “Ridiculous,” she repeated again. “As if I would ever let you kiss me.”
It was the word kiss that did it. The suggestion of a kiss, from her tongue. For the first time since they had turned to face each other, he allowed his eyes to flicker down to her lower lip. That perfect pink, perfectly formed and plump and soft to the appearance. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to lean forward and capture those lips in his. What she would taste like. The sounds she would make.
They were closer than he had realized. Based on the way her eyes flickered down and then up, it appeared she had reached the same conclusion. Against his better instincts, Ian allowed himself a moment of play, dropping his voice down. “You couldn’t handle me kissing you, wife.”
Cecilia scoffed. The fire in her eyes burned brighter. “Believe me, husband,” she said, dropping her voice to match his, so perfectly that he would have almost laughed in delight if she weren’t looking at him with such disdain. “It would be a walk in the park for me.”
His brow lifted. “Once again,” he said, voice rasping, “You speak with such confidence on matters with which you are entirely unfamiliar.”
“Unfamiliar is not the same thing as uninformed,” she said, though he noted that her voice wavered as she said it. “And I think it funny you would claim to have any experience in this area. You have never been married, my lord, and I have not forgotten the precise and thorough nature of your disdain for love. At least I am aware of my honor. What duty means to me, as a wife.”
“I have married you to save your reputation. Willingly. And still, you lecture me about honor?”
“You married me in order to spare yourself the pain of a bullet,” she said back cuttingly.
“Quite the opposite. If anything, I was quite loath to kill your brother.”
She scoffed. “Truly, my lord, your humility knows no bounds.” They were barely an inch away from each other now; he could feel her breath as she spoke.
It would be the easiest thing in the world to close the distance between them. He was more and more inclined to believe that she would welcome his touch; that she would give in to pleasure and consummate their marriage right in this carriage.
“If you were to kill a man in a duel, you would be forced to leave London. My point still stands: you married me to save your own hide. I hardly think that the pinnacle of chivalry, particularly when it is primarily your fault that I am in this situation.”
“Our fault. You must at least be willing to share the blame.”
“I will share your name, my lord,” she said. “I will share your life, as much as required. You surely cannot expect anything more.”
Expect? No. But it was difficult to deny that he wanted more. Wanted to feel her lips against his. Wanted to peel that delicate gown from her and taste every inch of flesh. It was true that they now shared a name and a life, but that wasn't enough. He wanted her to share his bed.
He wanted her.
And under the surface of frustration, there was a look in her eyes that told him that the fire in her was made of more than mere anger alone.
That she wanted him in the same way.
He leaned forward?—
At once, the carriage jerked to a halt.
Once again, Cecilia stumbled, catching herself with a hand on his chest as he reached out instinctively to steady her. Immediately realizing what had just happened, they both recoiled to their respective sides of the carriage, settling into their seats and refusing to meet each other’s eyes. The carriage was silent but for the sound of unsettled breathing.
“We have arrived at home,” he said, still unsteady.
She cleared her throat, blinking. “Yes,” she said quietly, all of her former bravado seemingly absent all of a sudden. “Yes, I gathered as much.”
“Well, then. Home. Yes.” He tried to clear his head. He straightened his sleeves, and opened the doors, stepping down to the ground. Turning back, he reached up a hand, extending it to her.
“Welcome home, wife.”