His Duchess to Remember (Dukes of Comfort #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Are you not afraid? You are dealing with this remarkably well.”

Octavia St. Vincent met her sister-in-law’s reflection in the mirror and smiled, shaking her head. “What is there to fear, dear Evelyn? It is my wedding day.”

In truth, there had been moments when she had thought such a day would never come. It was not easy to find a husband when one had all but withdrawn from wider society, but she had been determined enough to find herself a match. A match that suited her needs entirely.

“But it is all so rushed,” Evelyn, the Duchess of Ravenvale, said in earnest, her hand resting gently on Octavia’s shoulder. “You can take more time if you want to, even now. I know your brother will not mind, for he cannot understand the hurry.”

Octavia sighed. “He is my brother; he would complain about anyone I chose to marry.”

“Perhaps,” Evelyn frowned, “but even I am struggling to comprehend this. You barely know the gentleman. He has visited you but once. There has been no courtship to speak of, not really, and yet… you do not seem troubled by that.”

The two women had become very dear to one another since Evelyn had married Octavia’s brother, Hugo, the Duke of Ravenvale.

Indeed, they were as close as true sisters, but there were facets of Octavia’s past that she still did not like to speak about, not even with such a beloved friend.

Things that had influenced this very wedding.

Evelyn was aware of certain events, of course, but they never broached the matter. Octavia could not and would not.

“Because I am not troubled,” Octavia said, as brightly as she could. “This is what I want. I cannot wait for the wedding to be done, in truth, so that I may begin my life afresh.”

Evelyn turned Octavia around to face her, wearing a rather stern expression.

“I do not like him, Octavia. I realize I should have said something sooner, but I… cannot shake this uneasy feeling that I have about him. I did not sleep at all last night, worrying that you might be making a grave mistake.”

“I know you do not like him,” Octavia said with a tight laugh. “You might not have said anything, but your face is not as quiet as you might think. Nor were your endless questions about my opinion of him particularly subtle.”

“I am a surprisingly good judge of character,” Evelyn said, her forehead creased as if in pain.

“You married my brother,” Octavia teased, needing some lightness to return to the bedchamber.

It had to be this way; she wanted it to be this way, but she could not explain to her dear friend and sister-in-law why.

After all, Evelyn and Hugo were besotted with one another, so in love that it was occasionally sickening.

Of course they would want the same for Octavia, but it was impossible.

Impossible in a way that they would not understand, for they were not her; they could not see into her mind.

Evelyn’s face relaxed into a smile. “As I said, I am a surprisingly good judge of character.” Her expression hardened again.

“The Duke of Highcastle is… not right for you, Octavia. He is rude, he is cold, he seems to revel in intimidation, and he did not look at you once throughout the entire dinner we had here at Ravenvale. Did he even speak to you, beyond pleasantries?”

“He did not need to,” Octavia said, a little defensive now.

“What do you mean, he did not need to?” Exasperation tightened Evelyn’s voice, raising the pitch. “Of course he did! You are to be his wife, my dearest Octavia. You are about to marry the man, and yet I see no warmth between you. Why are you doing this?”

It had been a swift engagement, taking just three and a half weeks between the proposal, such as it was, and the wedding day. Enough time to announce the banns and do everything properly, without bothering with the rigmarole of a proper courtship.

“I cannot let you leave this manor to go to Scotland with him,” Evelyn said thickly. “I will not be able to bear it. I do not think he is a kind man, Octavia. Please, reconsider this. Your brother and I can protect you from any scandal.”

Octavia sighed and turned her gaze toward the window, where a foggy summer morning cast an ethereal light upon the country estate. Her home. The one place where she felt safe, where she could be herself.

Of course, there was the London townhouse too, but she had fallen out of love with that residence. The city no longer brought her the joy it once had.

“Then, be reassured, for I am not going to Scotland with him,” she said quietly.

Evelyn tilted her head to one side. “I do not understand.”

“He will escort me to his estate after the wedding, and I believe he will stay for the duration of our honeymoon,” Octavia explained, her face suddenly too warm. “Once the month of our honeymoon has ended… he will depart for another residence, and I shall have my peace.”

With-child, I hope.

She was too embarrassed to say that part out loud, but it was the only reason she was getting married at all: to be a mother.

It was her sole desire in life, to have children of her own.

Seeing her friends with their children, her cousin Dominic and his wife Frances especially, Octavia had been struck with the realization that it was all she wanted.

The trouble was, she did not necessarily want the man that came with parenthood. And the Duke of Highcastle did not want to be part of that happy family ideal.

It was exactly why he was her perfect match.

“What?” Evelyn gasped. “It is to be… a marriage of convenience then?”

“Even less than that.” Octavia swallowed. “It is a marriage of distance, of separation, of being utter strangers. He will take care of me financially, and any children we might have, and will visit once or twice a year, but otherwise he will live his life, and I shall live mine. Quite apart.”

Certain that her cheeks were likely an alarming shade of red, she dropped her gaze and pretended to smooth out a crease in the skirts of her pale yellow gown. Those yearly visits would serve the same purpose as the honeymoon, until such time as Octavia decided she did not want any more children.

“It’s of nay concern to me,” he had told her when they had briefly met a few days ago, out of sight and earshot of her family. “As long as ye have at least one son, the rest doesn’t much matter to me. Ye can have just one son and be done, if that’s yer wish.”

She could still remember the cold, detached tone and the stony, green eyes that would not look at her as he spoke. Not at all romantic or sentimental, which was precisely what she wanted.

His letters, to arrange the deal in the first place, had been much the same: blunt and to the point, devoid of any emotion. A business transaction to suit them both.

“Octavia, no,” Evelyn said, as if her heart might break. “That is no way to live, sweet girl. Why not find a husband who can make you happy, who wants to live with you, who wants to build a life with you? Why not choose a man who adores you, instead of that… coarse brute?”

“I do not want any man,” Octavia shot back, her patience fraying. “I have chosen carefully because I do not want a man. They cannot be trusted, and I shall never trust one. You know why, so please, do not question me further. This is my choice and I shall not change my mind.”

Chagrined, Evelyn’s gaze flitted to the clock on the mantelpiece, ticking down the minutes until the wedding.

Discontent lingered upon the woman’s face, and Octavia could tell that her sister-in-law was fighting down the urge to say more, to beg Octavia not to do this.

“It truly is what I want,” Octavia said, her tone softer.

“But it is so far,” Evelyn urged, her voice thick. “And you will be alone in a strange place, a strange residence. At least stay here after the wedding… or… or return to us once your honeymoon is over. Please, Octavia.”

“I will consider it,” Octavia lied.

Ordinarily, she would never have spoken an untruth to her sister-in-law, but she considered the small lie a kindness, to appease Evelyn’s restless, worried heart.

You will never understand, my dear Evie. I am done with society. Completely and utterly done.

She did not want to attend another dinner, another ball, another party, another gathering. Anywhere that men were, she did not wish to be. A faraway residence in the wilds of Scotland was the remedy.

“Thank you.” Evelyn put her arms around Octavia and pulled her into a fierce hug. “This house is yours, Octavia. Always.”

Octavia embraced her dear friend in return, squeezing. “Do not worry about me, Evie.” She allowed herself to savor the sweet moment before saying with a sigh, “Now, let us get to the church; I do not think there is any more primping and preening to be done.”

“I could put some more flowers in your hair?” Evelyn offered.

Pulling back with a smile, Octavia shook her head. “I am ready, Evie. Truly, I am ready for this.”

And though Evelyn’s eyes carried the gleam of sorrow, she did not argue as she escorted Octavia out of the bedchamber and out of the manor, to where the carriage waited to take her to her new life.

Octavia should have known that she would not be permitted to enter the pretty, gray stone church without further attempts at intervention.

This time, from her dear brother.

“I can put you back in the carriage and take you straight to Ravenvale,” Hugo said, pacing a little on the church porch, the flagstones worn to a marble shine by decades of feet.

“Say the word, and I will help you run from this marriage. You will be protected. Yes, there will be some gossip, but you will recover from it. He is a Scotsman; no one knows him, no one will care if you jilt him.”

Octavia leaned against the church wall, undeterred yet sorry that she had brought such anxiety to her brother. “My mind is unwavering.”

“There is not even the slightest wobble?”

“There is not.”

Hugo pulled a face and came to a standstill, his hands on his hips, breathing unevenly. “I do not think I can walk you to him.”

“Shall I fetch a footman? Or Dominic, perhaps? He would walk me down the aisle in your stead.” Octavia flashed her brother a playful grin.

Dominic Everhart, the Duke of Alderwick, was the siblings’ cousin, and though she did not want to resort to him, he would not protest or cause a fuss. Not unless his beloved wife, Frances, told him to.

Fortunately, Frances was not in attendance at the very small wedding, for she was at home, just a few weeks away from giving birth to their second child. She had wanted to attend and had sent her apologies with Dominic, but the physician had insisted on complete bed rest.

“No!” Hugo shot his sister a look. “No one else is walking you down the aisle but me. I am just saying, I would rather walk you to the carriage and back to our home.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Even if the King of England was waiting at the altar right now, you would fuss and complain.”

“Certainly I would, since he is already married.”

Octavia chuckled, glad to see some of her brother’s humor returning.

“I am your little sister. You do not know what you will do without my wit and charm around the manor. I understand it, but it is time to let me annoy someone else.” She grinned.

“Now, you have exactly thirty seconds to walk me through those doors, or I shall call for Dominic.”

“Have you seen a side of him that I have not?” Hugo said, puffing out a breath. “Is he affectionate in his letters? He would not be the first gentleman to be useless with his words unless they are written down.”

Arm crossed, Octavia began to count.

She managed to reach twenty-five seconds before Hugo broke, offering out his arm to her. “Very well, you win. Who am I to tell my rascal of a sister what her heart desires? You will just do as you please anyway.”

“Exactly.” Octavia smiled up at him. “Fighting me would be a fruitless battle.”

He managed a laugh. “If twenty-four years of knowing you have taught me anything, it is assuredly that. Although at least you grew out of stomping your feet and screaming so loud you could shatter glass.”

“If you had delayed any more, you might have discovered that I still have a scream and a stomp in me somewhere,” she teased, as Hugo reached for the church door and pulled it open.

There were just five guests in attendance: Evelyn, Dominic, his daughter Harriet, Octavia’s friend Victoria, and an older gentleman on the other side of the church whom Octavia did not recognize. None were smiling, but that was no matter; this wedding was for her, not for them.

The moment Octavia’s attention snapped to the man at the altar, however, her legs nearly faltered.

My husband…

He was a giant, blocking out the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass window above the altar.

Far taller than she remembered, his shoulders so very broad, with powerful arms and a muscular chest that seemed to be punishing the seams of his shirt, seeing how far they could be pushed before they tore.

He was not even wearing proper attire, standing there with a glower upon a face flecked with scars, dressed in just a shirt and a kilt.

Octavia’s gaze darted to the bare gap between the hem of his kilt and the top of his red and white socks, matching the pattern of his tartan. Shapely calves made her forget how to breathe for a moment.

Malcolm Gale, the Duke of Highcastle, as scarred as he was dangerous.

Battle-hardened and devoid of warmth… but, goodness, he would have been breathtakingly handsome if he were not so frightening: wild green eyes, a mane of dark brown hair, his features so sharp, so defined they might have been carved by a gifted sculptor.

“Last chance,” Hugo whispered.

“Do not start again,” Octavia whispered back, taking a steadying breath.

Her soon-to-be husband might have been a duke, but he was nothing like any English gentleman she had ever met. And though she was still certain of her choice, she would have been lying if she had said that some of her courage had not begun to waver.

Malcolm barely took her hand when Hugo reluctantly gave her away, and dropped it a moment later. Even through her glove, Octavia had felt how rough his palm was, her eyes tracing the scars that slashed across his forearms, with his sleeves rolled up.

The couple turned to face the priest, standing a polite distance apart, not a hint of affection or the hope of affection between them.

Please, do not let this be a mistake, Octavia prayed, as the ceremony began.