Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ” the minister asked.
The parish was far quieter than it had been days ago.
Alice stood at the altar in a borrowed gown of pale blue silk that had been altered overnight by a seamstress whose fingers must surely ache still, and counted the assembled guests on one hand with fingers left over. She was hardly aware of anything happening.
Beside her, the Duke’s hand covered hers. His skin was warm. She had not anticipated the warmth. She kept staring ahead.
“I do,” the Duke responded.
The priest repeated the question, now directed at her.
“Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?
Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live? ”
“I will,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
The priest’s mouth moved through the closing words, though she was hardly aware of it. Somewhere behind her, Freddie’s boot scraped across the stone floor. A witness coughed.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Afterwards, the Duke offered his arm. Alice took it with a trembling hand, allowing him to lead her.
Outside, her father waited by the carriage step, his expression arranged into a careful neutrality.
“Father.” She released the Duke’s arm and stepped toward him. “Please don’t stop searching for Rachel.”
Her father’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I do not require instruction from you on that score, Alice.”
“It is not an instruction,” she stuttered. “I just… It is a request.” She kept her voice low, conscious of the Duke waiting a few yards away, his back turned indifferently. “She is my sister. She would not run without reason. If she is in trouble…”
“She has made her bed.” Her father’s voice was sharp. “As have you. I suggest you attend to your own affairs now, Your Grace.”
The title landed like a slap. Alice felt the sting of it travel through her chest and settle somewhere behind her ribs. Twenty-one years of being the overlooked one, the too-plump disappointment, collapsed into two words delivered by a man who had never quite managed to see her.
The Duke’s hand settled on the small of her back. The touch was light, almost impersonal, but the warmth of it penetrated the thin silk of her gown.
“It is time,” he said.
Her father sketched a bow, and the Duke responded with a polite nod.
Moments later, the carriage door closed.
Alice knew that the Duke had forgone the wedding breakfast, as he didn’t want the frivolity of it. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed about that. On the one hand, she’d hate to face the pity of the guests and the whispers about her sister’s disappearance. It’d be awful.
On the other hand, this was her wedding. Only a week ago, she’d never considered how her wedding would go, but today had been… efficient, yes, but also without sentiment.
She sighed. This was her life now. She was tied to a stranger, on her way to an unfamiliar country house. She could only watch as the London streets and her old life faded in the distance.
About an hour later, Alice saw the Duke shift in his seat.
“Duchess.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. She’d have to get used to her new title. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“There are some things I’d like to make clear, as your husband,” he began.
“You require someone to care for your sons.” Alice looked down at her gloves. She spoke quietly, without feeling. “You made that abundantly clear to my sister. I assume the same extends to me.”
The Duke’s head turned. She could feel the weight of his gaze without meeting it.
“I do not appreciate being interrupted, Duchess.”
“Alice,” she corrected.
She looked up then. His eyes were dark, the color of good sherry held to light, and currently fixed on her with an intensity that made the carriage feel smaller.
“We are married; you might as well use my name. And I interrupted because I wished to spare you the trouble of an explanation I’ve already deduced. You need a mother for your children. I was available. The arrangement is, as you noted previously, efficient.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. He sighed and leaned forward, his shoulders filling the space between them with an immediacy that made her press herself against the cushions.
“Let us establish something, shall we? I am a duke. You are now a duchess. The manner in which we conduct ourselves…”
“Has nothing to do with efficiency?” Alice arched an eyebrow.
The gesture felt borrowed, something she had observed Rachel use a hundred times in drawing rooms and never dared attempt herself.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I had the impression that practicality was the governing principle of this union.”
“Practicality and rudeness are not synonymous.”
“Nor are efficiency and compassion. Yet here we sit.”
His eyes narrowed. The carriage hit a rut, jolting them both, and for one disorienting moment, his knee pressed against hers through the layers of silk and wool.
He did not move away. Neither did she.
“Alice, then,” he relented. “You are… not what I expected.”
The observation hung between them.
Alice felt the warmth of his leg against hers, the proximity of his broad frame, and the peculiar fluttering sensation that had taken up residence beneath her breast whenever he fixed her with that dark, assessing gaze.
“What did you expect?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the carriage slowed, stopping him. “Ah,” he said instead. “We’ve reached Bearmoor Castle.”
Alice glanced out the window.
Bearmoor Castle rose against the spring sky like a monument to ducal consequence: stone and slate and windows beyond counting, set amid grounds that stretched toward a distant line of trees with the confident expansiveness of property that had never needed to justify its existence.
“Oh,” Alice gasped, her eyes wide.
She had grown up in an earl’s residence, which was by no means modest, but Peltbury House would have fit into Bearmoor’s east wing with room to spare for a ballroom. Even Bearmoor House had in no way prepared her for the opulence that stood before her.
The Duke descended first and offered his hand. Alice took it, feeling the strength in his fingers as they closed around hers, and stepped down onto gravel that crunched beneath her borrowed slippers.
The housekeeper materialized at the top of the steps and curtsied with the fluid precision of long practice.
“Your Graces. Welcome home.”
Home. The word settled over Alice like an ill-fitting garment.
“Mrs. Finch.” The Duke inclined his head. “The Duchess will require a thorough orientation. The household accounts, the daily schedule, the—”
The front door burst open. Freddie and Charlie bolted into the entrance hall with the velocity of projectiles, followed closely by their governess.
“Papa, I must ask you an important question!” Freddie skidded to a halt on the polished marble, his shoes leaving faint streaks. “Did you bring cakes?”
“Frederick.” The Duke’s voice did not change volume.
Freddie straightened, his grin dimming but not disappearing.
Charlie, standing half a step behind his brother, executed a formal bow. “Father. Duchess. Welcome home.”
Alice’s lip curved at the young gentleman.
“Boys.” The Duke placed a hand on her shoulder. “This is the new Duchess of Bearmoor. Your stepmother. You will listen to her as you listen to me, is that understood?”
The twins studied her with great interest. She had expected to get to know them at Bearmoor House, but the Duke had sent them back before she could spend so much as a luncheon with them.
And now they were her stepsons.
Freddie looked at her directly. “Can you climb trees?”
“I…”
“Can you ride? Papa says ladies aren’t supposed to ride astride,” Freddie went on. “And can you read stories? Real ones, not the boring ones with morals. I don’t want to know the last one, I don’t care for stories, but Charlie—”
“Frederick.” The Duke’s voice carried a warning. “That is enough.”
“But I only asked—”
“The Duchess needs to rest first. You’ll speak with her afterwards. Upstairs. Both of you. Now.”
The twins fell silent.
Charlie’s face did not change, but something in his posture suggested a child familiar with the topography of paternal displeasure.
“Perhaps,” Alice chimed in, “they might stay for a few moments. We have only just arrived, and—”
“No.” The Duke’s tone brooked no argument. “They have lessons. They have routines.”
The governess herded the boys toward the staircase. Freddie went with visible reluctance, turning twice to look back at Alice with an expression that mingled disappointment and calculation. Charlie followed without turning, his small back straight beneath his rumpled jacket.
The Duke watched them go without a single emotion on his face.
“I am done for the day.” He did not look at her. “Mrs. Finch will show you to your chambers and acquaint you with the staff. Dinner is at eight. I take mine in the study.”
He turned and walked away, his boots striking the marble with measured cadence, and disappeared through a doorway that swallowed him as completely as if he had never been there at all.
Alice stood in the entrance hall and felt the vastness of it settle on her shoulders. Marble beneath her feet. Vaulted ceilings above. Staff moving through distant corridors with the hushed efficiency of a machine that had been running smoothly long before she arrived to witness its operations.
Mrs. Finch cleared her throat. “Shall I show you the residence, Your Grace?”
“Yes.” Alice straightened her spine.