Chapter 19
T he evening before the wedding arrived like a storm with lace trimmings, and it could only be said that the Tolliver household had entered a state best described as bridal siege.
There were violinists rehearsing in the east parlour, a milliner had been summoned, dismissed, and summoned again, someone had mislaid Benedict’s waistcoat, one of the dogs had devoured a place card, and Hetty was perilously close to locking herself in the linen closet.
Instead, she had taken refuge in the library with a decanter of sherry she’d rescued from beneath a crumbling bust of Cicero.
The room was blessedly quiet and entirely devoid of daisies, soprano rehearsals or her mother.
She curled into the corner of the settee, tucked her slippers beneath her, and let herself breathe.
For a brief and shining interval, she felt almost at peace, which was precisely what unsettled her most. For what was a Tolliver – what was Hetty, in particular – without a crisis to wrestle, a door to slam, or a scheme to concoct?
She had very nearly begun drafting a most dramatic exit: not a true escape, of course, but the mere idea of climbing out the window, decanter in hand, just to see if she might, had become terribly appealing.
At that moment, the library door creaked open, and Theo stepped inside. He paused upon the threshold, looking about the room until his focus landed upon her curled form, half-shadowed and cradling a glass like a woman gone to sea.
Hetty sighed and tipped her head back against the cushions. “If you are here to speak of seating arrangements, Theo, I fear I must refuse. I have only just survived the calamity of the missing pudding moulds, and I fear I am not equal to further trials.”
Lady Tolliver had insisted – under the guise of benevolent concern – that he remain at Tolliver House to complete his recovery.
Ostensibly, the arrangement was intended to allow the family ample opportunity to nurse him back to health.
Hetty, however, strongly suspected it had rather more to do with keeping the prospective bridegroom firmly within reach until Thursday, lest he make a desperate bid for liberty and disgrace them all before the altar.
She could not help but observe – as he entered the library, somewhat breathless from the stairs – that he looked thoroughly dishevelled and, to her great irritation, utterly devastating.
His coat was unbuttoned, his cravat uneven, his hair in that artful state of tousled disarray that suggested either great exertion or careful intention.
Even the walking stick at his side lent him a certain romantic air.
“I bring no news of seating charts, I promise you,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Though I must confess, I am quite relieved to have discovered you. I feared you had absconded altogether… But I thought, if you were anywhere in the house, it would be here.”
“I am hiding,” Hetty replied without shame, not bothering to rise from her seat. “I had hoped that if I remained here long enough, Mama might take it into her head that I had succumbed to a sudden and tragic ailment and postpone the entire affair.”
Theo crossed the room with slow ease, as though he had not recently been shot and lowered himself carefully into the chair opposite her. “You underestimate your mother’s resolve. She would simply drag your corpse down the aisle and insist the violinists play something cheerful.”
Hetty groaned and raised her glass. “You jest, but she has already asked the baker whether the wedding cake might convey a theme of resurrection.”
“Good God. Has she truly?”
“Oh, yes. She asked whether he could produce a sugared dove rising from a bed of candied wounds.”
His laugh came low and helpless. “I cannot explain it. I do so adore your family.”
“You are utterly deranged.”
“I was shot by one of them. I believe I have earnt the right to be so.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You were shot by me, technically.”
“Ah, but you are also the one I am marrying on the morrow. So I daresay the scales have been balanced.”
With a reluctant smile, she passed him the sherry.
He took it with a nod of thanks, sipped, and let out a contented sigh. “If I must be tethered to anyone for life,” he murmured, “let it be a woman who smuggles spirits into the library and shoots to wound, not kill.”
Hetty let out an exasperated breath that was, against her better judgement, nearly a laugh.
“I am sincere,” he said, setting down the glass, rising with care, and extending a hand. “And perhaps something more besides.”
She narrowed her eyes warily. “What are you about now?”
“I am,” he said, in a tone almost solemn, “attempting not to kiss you while seated, because I rather think this ought to be done properly.”
Slowly, very slowly, Hetty placed her hand in his. Theo’s hand was warm as it closed around hers and he drew her to her feet, cautious of her balance and his aching ribs.
“I mean it, Hetty,” he breathed. “I should like to do this well.”
Hetty swallowed hard, pulse fluttering beneath her stays. “Is that… is that what this is?”
“I believe it must be,” Theo murmured, his voice low, imbued with that quiet assurance that often heralds the most dangerous resolutions in a gentleman.
He drew her towards him with a care so deliberate it made her breath catch.
His hand came to rest at her waist lightly, splaying his fingers over the fine muslin of her gown.
The heat of his touch bled through the fabric and into her very skin, until all rational thought began to slip from her grasp .
At last, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers with exquisite restraint, a kiss so gentle it could scarcely be called such, and yet it sent a shiver through her limbs all the same.
When he spoke again, it was against her mouth, his words coloured by mischief and warmth.
“You wanted a scandal, did you not, Miss Tolliver? Well, I confess I am strongly inclined to render you most scandalously late to your own wedding tomorrow morning.”
“Well, I suppose if I am to marry you, we ought to have a very, very good reason for it.”
He kissed her once more. “I shall endeavour to provide you with several.”
Before she could forget herself entirely, Hetty stepped back from him, only a pace or two, and turned towards the door.
He straightened as well, clearing his throat in a manner that might have been dignified, had it not been so wholly betrayed by the disorder of his cravat and the flush across his cheekbones. “Is this the part where you come to your senses and flee?”
“No,” she replied, with something very like a giggle, though she mastered it at once. She crossed to the door, and with the utmost dignity, turned the key in the lock. “My senses are precisely where they ought to be.”
—
?—
Theo could not quite believe he was kissing Hetty Tolliver in the library of her family’s townhouse – dishevelled, half-dressed and only half-mended, with a bandaged rib and a devil’s worth of temptation in his blood .
“You are quite certain?” he asked again, though it taxed every ounce of gentlemanly restraint he possessed merely to ask.
“Yes,” she breathed against his lips. “But you must not laugh at me. Do you promise it?”
“I do,” he said, gravely. “Upon my honour.”
“And you must not tease.”
“Well, now you are being unreasonable. That may be beyond the bounds of my nature.”
She pulled back, bracing her hands against his chest. Her expression, so often all sharp wit and mischief had settled into something far more uncertain. “Theo… I do not think I entirely comprehend what it is I am consenting to. Beyond… well… the kissing.”
He stilled at once. Ah. Of course. She was clever, ferociously so, but even the cleverest of well-bred young ladies – perhaps especially those – might remain quite in the dark when it came to certain matters.
“You are not permitted laugh at me,” she repeated, quietly but with great dignity.
“But you must forgive me if I am not entirely certain what is expected of me… I have been taught how to curtsy before a duchess, how to embroider without bleeding on the linen, and how to ensure one’s dance card is never too full nor too empty.
But no one ever thought it necessary to explain what comes after the wedding breakfast, or indeed after a kiss. ”
“Yes,” Theo said gently. “I believe that is the accepted definition of a young lady’s education… comprehensive in all things irrelevant, and silent on everything of importance. ”
She let out the ghost of a laugh, though it was tinged with nerves. “I do not wish to be foolish or na?ve, but I cannot pretend to know what I do not.”
“My dear Hetty, there is no foolishness in honesty. And no shame in inexperience. The fault lies not with you, but with the world that insists a woman must walk blindly into her own marriage while all the knowledge is locked away in the heads of men and scullery maids.”
“Then I must ask,” she said, “what happens now?”
“That is entirely up to you.”
“And if I should say – ”
“Then we shall proceed no further than you desire,” he said at once.
She blinked up at him. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course. And if you would prefer to wait until after we are wed, then wait we shall.”
“I do not wish to stop,” she said at once, breathless and blushing. “Not altogether. I simply… I should not like to make a dreadful muddle of it.”
His smile was slow, fond, and he knew it to be a little wicked. “I do not believe you could ruin it if you tried.”
“Oh, I might,” she returned, attempting dryness, though her voice wavered with some small degree of wonder. “I possess a particular talent for things going horribly awry. You may ask anyone in London.”
He huffed a soft laugh and caught her hand again, raising it to his lips with a kiss.
“Then allow me, if I may, to make you a promise. Tonight, I shall kiss you as thoroughly as honour permits. I shall acquaint you, if you are willing, with such pleasures as may be shared between two persons on the very cusp of marriage. But I shall not take from you what is not yet mine to claim. Not until you are truly my wife. Not until I may undress you by right and adore you in ways I believe you shall enjoy most thoroughly.”
Her lips parted on a breathless sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and he kissed it from her mouth before it could fully form.
“Is that acceptable to you?” he asked against her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I must urge you to begin at once, Lord Langley… for I find I am now most curious about these so-called pleasures.”