My American Duchess (20 page)

Just as she reached for the latch, Cedric caught up with her, and spun her around. He leaned in close and Merry recoiled, her head jolting against the door.

“You will marry me,” he stated, eyes holding hers. “My suit against you will not only refer to a broken wedding contract. After your not-so-delightful display this evening, I will also sue for slander.”

Merry could not believe her ears. “No one will credit that foolishness!”

“Oh, but they will.” He smiled. “I have a roomful of witnesses to the fact you besmirched my character. You broke off two previous engagements; obviously you are not to be trusted. Everyone knows that you paid off one of the men. Likewise, everyone now thinks that you paid for me. You are American. People will believe anything of you.”

Despite herself, a tear rolled down Merry’s cheek. “You are nothing but a liar and a cheat,” she managed.

Cedric raised a hand to her chin and forced it up. “Darling, do you really think that I give a damn about insults from a fiancée whom I caught groping my own brother?”

“Then sue me. Ruin me!” Merry cried, choking back a sob and getting control of herself again. “I would rather be utterly ruined than marry you.”

“What of your uncle?” Cedric asked softly. “Your hotheaded, good-hearted uncle. Not even Mr. Pelford has bottomless pockets.”

Merry stared at him. Her uncle stood to lose his fortune because of her inability to keep her promises. Because she was a vacillating fool.

Her heart thumped. Thaddeus would be outraged.

He would challenge Cedric.

“I might add that I am a crack shot, and quite good with a sword,” Cedric said casually.

“Why would you do such a monstrous thing? Who
are
you?”

“There’s no need to be histrionic. I don’t want to sue you; I want to marry you. You owe me money, and you’ve
damaged my reputation. The only way to gloss over that vulgar public performance tonight is for you to walk down the aisle of St. Paul’s looking as if I fulfilled your heart’s every desire.”

Merry pressed her lips together tightly. The nightmare she’d found herself in was growing worse by the moment.

“It’s not as if you have a chance in hell of becoming a duchess. I thought my brother could have been a wee bit more polite when he announced that he would never marry you,” Cedric said. “Don’t you agree? After all, he had just kissed you, for all the world as if he were genuinely interested. Maybe he was; his mistresses are generally fleshy in the bosom.”

Merry might be a plaything between warring brothers but they seemed to have their own queer code of honor. The duke had punctiliously informed her—twice—that he would never be coerced into marriage. He had never allowed her to delude herself into thinking his kisses meant anything.

“You don’t want to marry me,” she said desperately.

“That is true. What you said in the ballroom was so vulgar that I don’t even like you very much at the moment. However, needs must. A lawsuit might get me money, but I’ll end up without a bride, and my reputation in tatters. I won’t be able to find a suitable wife of my own rank. Therefore, we shall marry.”

“I’ll give you ten thousand pounds,” Merry offered. “It cost me five thousand dollars to get rid of Dermot; that’s more than double.”

“I’m worth at least that. I have a title, and I am not graced with the laughable name of Dermot Popplewell. Really, how could you? Merry Popplewell. It sounds like a nursemaid. A governess at best.”

“I’ll give you fifteen thousand pounds,” Merry said desperately. “In a year or two, no one will care whether I paid your tailor’s bill.”

Cedric raked his fingers through his hair. She watched with loathing as a lock fell into precisely the right place over his forehead. “Merry, Merry, Merry. You still don’t understand, do you?”

“Apparently not.”

“My brother
wants
you. He wants you merely because I found you first, but that’s irrelevant.”

Merry felt sick. She edged sideways. “Let me go.”

“As long as you understand that we shall leave this room arm-in-arm, and you will smile with girlish pleasure as you inform everyone that you hadn’t understood the nature of your Uncle Thaddeus’s gift, and that we are quite reconciled. I shall announce that I’ve decided to purchase a special license tomorrow, and we’ll marry the following morning.”

“No,” Merry gasped.

“Oh yes,” he said calmly. “The wedding will be a spectacle to remember; I’m quite certain that most of London will contrive to appear, even with this brief notice. But I do have one request. You’ve had your last kiss from my brother, if you please. I think we’d better say no family dinners for a good period, don’t you think?”

Her heart was broken, but that didn’t matter. She had to protect her uncle. Thaddeus couldn’t lose his fortune, and possibly his life, owing to her mistakes, to a feud between heartless aristocrats.

“Very well,” she said dully. Voices were coming down the corridor. Cedric caught her wrist and pulled her away from the door.

“One complaint to your uncle and aunt, or to my brother,
and I’ll throw down a gauntlet that will end in a duel,” he threatened. “You may take me at my word, Merry.” Anyone meeting his icy gaze would have no doubt he meant it.

The door opened and Aunt Bess walked into the room. To Merry’s horror, Lady Vereker crowded through after her. “My goodness!” the lady cried. “I thought His Grace was with you, Miss Pelford.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Cedric said, bowing. “My brother has been and gone. He played the peacemaker, escorting Miss Pelford to me after my fiancée and I had a most foolish squabble.” He slipped an arm around Merry and gazed down at her lovingly.

“It appears to have worked,” Aunt Bess observed, her tone approving. “I’m happy to see it. Unfortunately, gossip is flowing through that ballroom like water. I cannot understand why people are so convinced that the duke would try to steal his own brother’s fiancée. The very idea!”

“The chatter stems from the fact that we’ve seen these two young men grow up, you understand,” Lady Vereker said. “And they’ve always been . . .” She paused delicately.

“Antagonistic,” Merry put in dully.

“I was about to say competitive,” the lady clarified.

“Only over trifling things,” Cedric said. “Never over something as momentous as marriage, Lady Vereker.”

“Of course not,” Aunt Bess said. “In the end, family are all you can count on.”

“Lady Vereker,” Cedric said, “could we count on you to sort out any little confusion that might pertain in the ballroom as to my brother’s intentions? I certainly don’t want his future bride to have a mistaken impression. As you may know, he has chosen a duchess.”

“Lord Cedric, have you any idea about the identity of the lucky bride?” Lady Vereker asked eagerly.

“It wouldn’t be my place to confirm anything. But I can
say that I have noticed he seems quite taken with Lady Caroline,” Cedric told the lady.

In years after, Merry never could remember how they managed to leave the Vereker townhouse.

She only remembered the moment in which Cedric jerked her to a halt before their host and hostess, and said ruefully, “My fiancée and I owe you our humblest apologies for causing such a contretemps during your ball. What fools we made of ourselves! A lovers’ quarrel. One has to think of Shakespeare’s immortal words: ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’”

He threw her a melting glance. “My darling misunderstood the import of a gift from her uncle. Happily for me, I was able to enlighten her.”

Merry smiled.

Weakly, but she smiled.

Dear Lord Cedric,

I was unable to sleep all last night. I understand that I am nothing more than a tennis ball batted between you and your brother, but please do not make this worse by insisting on proceeding with a ceremony that is surely repugnant in the eyes of God and man.

Believe me, yours respectfully,

Miss Merry Pelford

Dear Merry,

Why, there is no end to the novelties left in store for us. I had no idea that you placed so much faith
in the wisdom of the Almighty. Or was it merely that you believe I shall end up in a dark and thorny place? No, really, my dear, I must insist upon marriage.

Yours ever,

Lord Cedric Allardyce

Dear Lord Cedric,

I will give you £20,000. It is the whole of my fortune, but I am prepared to surrender it in order to extricate myself from this situation.
Please.

With sincerity and respect,

Merry

Dear Merry,

Money is but one of the reasons I am marrying you, and by far the least important, if you will have the truth of it. Imagine: the duke has been rather apologetic about the whole affair. He seems sincerely regretful to have conducted himself so inappropriately with my fiancée.

I am hopeful that this marriage will begin a new era for myself and my brother. I believe it might be the mending of the family.

Yours ever,

Lord Cedric Allardyce

Dear Cedric,

I beg you to release me from my promise. I would embark for America tomorrow morning, if it were possible. You need not worry about the competition with your brother; I would not have anything to do with him if someone were to pay
me
£20,000. As such, there is no need to go to these extremes.

Yours most sincerely,

Merry

Dear Merry,

I am happy to inform you that I have procured a special license from Doctors’ Commons. Furthermore, I have confirmed with the registrar at St. Paul’s that we shall be able to marry at ten of the clock tomorrow morning. Although we are marrying with what some might term undue haste, I dislike the idea of marrying you in a manner beneath our dignity, and I was happy to confirm that the Bishop of London will wed us. Footmen are busily running about London spreading the joyous news.

Ever yours,

Lord Cedric Allardyce

Dear Cedric,

You cannot want a wife who would rather find herself at the bottom of the sea than joined to you in holy matrimony.

Merry

Dear Merry,

The revelations go on and on. Who would have imagined that the stubborn young American lady had such a poetic soul?

On a less poetic note, as I am sure you are aware, your uncle and I have brought our final contractual negotiations to a satisfactory conclusion. I am not sure whether your uncle has informed you, but my brother has involved himself in the business. He has been insistent that your settlements are most generous—not that I would not have been, but I admit to feeling a touch of pique as regards your behavior with him.

He and I have talked extensively today, and he is right: pique has no place in marriage. I am writing to tell you, Merry, that I forgive you. You can trust me never to mention again the kisses you shared with the duke.

It is in the past; we begin with a clean slate.

Ever yours,

Cedric

Merry stared at Cedric’s final sentence for some time. She had spent most of the night sleepless and crying uncontrollably, and the whole of the day composing letters that she hoped would persuade Cedric to relent. But now it was ten in the evening, and they were set to marry in twelve hours’ time.

He wasn’t going to relent.

The duke . . . the
duke
had insisted that her settlements be generous. She understood the impulse behind that: he was ashamed of having kissed her—not the kiss itself, but his motive for it. As well he should be.

Bess and Thaddeus seemed positively ecstatic that their niece would at last make it all the way to the altar. Bess hadn’t even asked whether Merry truly wanted to go through with the marriage. Merry quickly scolded herself for that self-pitying thought. She had to stiffen her spine and get through this.

She went to bed feeling like a prisoner facing the gallows, exhausted and terrified. No matter how fiercely she willed herself to stay asleep, it was impossible. She kept jerking awake, mind whirling.

She had a feeling many women neither liked nor respected their husbands. But was there any woman who had felt such a deep yearning for her brother-in-law that as soon as her eyes closed, she dreamed of kissing him? Especially a brother-in-law who had behaved so despicably?

How would she ever look at the duke without remembering his kiss?

Better question: How would she ever look at her husband without loathing him?

By the time dawn arrived, she had, thankfully, cried herself into a state of numbness. It felt as if she were enveloped in a cloud that moved with her wherever she went. It muffled the world, and made her aunt’s chatter fade away.

She floated through Aunt Bess’s brief but informative discussion of the wedding night, registering just enough information to conclude that she would have to join Cedric in swilling brandy in order to survive that.

During her wretched night, she had somehow arrived at several important decisions.

The first was that, for once in her life, she would keep her promise. She would be honorable, if nothing else. She understood English society well enough to know that if she jilted Cedric and absconded back to America, he would be ruined.

Who would marry him? She suspected that fathers of eligible English lasses already viewed him as a drunk and a fortune hunter.

When would the next American heiress come along, ready to be dazzled by borrowed poetry and ignorant of the fact that a man can be befuddled by brandy and still dance a quadrille?

Never.

No, she had made a final, fatal choice when she had accepted Cedric’s proposal, and she must carry it through.

Second, she would allow a year or two to pass before she encouraged reconciliation between her husband and his twin. She would spare herself the company of the man who had kissed her for such a terrible reason, whether His Grace was repentant or not.

And finally, but certainly not least, Cedric would have to give up brandy. In fact, she would insist he give up wine and spirits altogether. She refused to accept a drunkard for a husband, even if she had to take him to an island off the coast of Wales and keep him there until he forgot what brandy smelled like.

Her life would be good. Even her married life would be good, because she would make it good. She would have
children, and she would love her children, and spend time in the garden.

Her plans churned through her mind even as their carriage rolled up Ludgate and into St. Paul’s churchyard, which swarmed with all manner of carriages. Cedric was right: even with such short notice, most of fashionable London had managed to gather.

A few minutes later, standing with her uncle in the great doorway at the western end of the aisle, her daze finally evaporated and panic took its place. She had gone to bed feeling like a condemned prisoner; at the opposite end of the aisle was her gallows.

Before she stopped herself, an image of the duke laughing at her analogy popped into her head. He would think she was absurd. But
he
wasn’t marrying a drunken, unpleasant lout.

Ice trickled down her spine and her extremities tingled. Her feet wanted to run, just as fast as they could.

Out of St. Paul’s for a start, followed by out of England.

How could she have ended up in this situation? The last two days had passed in a frenzy, each hour propelling her closer and closer to this moment. Yet some small part of her mind had been certain that it wouldn’t actually happen.

Was it too late to change her mind? Merry clutched her uncle’s elbow and peered through her veil up the aisle. The veil was Belgian lace, bought optimistically during their Paris sojourn, and so difficult to see through that it might as well have been fashioned as a tablecloth.

“Uncle Thaddeus,” she whispered.

Of course it was too late. Her uncle couldn’t even hear her over the chatter of the hundreds of people who had congregated to see the wedding.

Were the English always so boisterous? In Boston, guests waited in dignified silence for the bride to arrive,
with merely rustling or a hastily suppressed whisper here or there.

“Uncle!” Merry tightened her fingers around his elbow.

She glimpsed through the veil that he had turned his head to look at her. He may have smiled, but the lace blotted so much of her view that it might as well have been a blindfold. She felt as if she were standing in a very small and very hot white cave.

Thaddeus leaned close, bringing with him a reassuring whiff of the best tobacco and strong coffee. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he rumbled in her ear.

Merry swallowed hard. “I just—”

The organ swelled, downing out her voice with its jubilant announcement of the bride’s appearance. Thaddeus began to guide her slowly forward, as she trembled from head to foot within the grotto of her veil.

There is no going back.
The words beat relentlessly in her head, keeping time with her uncle’s slow pace.

The nave seemed endless. Her veil moved a little with every step, but not so much that she could see anything other than the black-and-white checkers beneath her slippers. The pews and their occupants were nothing but a haze. She couldn’t even distinguish the faces closest to the aisle.

It made her feel like a pawn, advancing up an endless checkerboard. Her uncle played her piece, not she—but again she had to tell herself not to be sorry for herself.
She
made the choice to marry Cedric, and this sorry situation was no one’s fault but her own.

The checkerboard abruptly changed pattern, giving way to radiating circles of checkers. She was fairly certain that meant they’d entered the transept. Not far now. With every step, her heart beat faster, and her hands trembled.

A swell of noise filled the cathedral and she detected
movement at the edge of her vision; it seemed Cedric was walking forward to meet her.

Her uncle brought them to a halt and for a moment all she heard was an excited murmur echoing throughout the vast space.

“Uncle?” she asked, turning her head.

He brought her forward two more steps. “Merry,” Thaddeus said, lowering his voice. “You must trust me, my dear. You will be happy.”

He was wrong, so wrong. Her heart was shattering. Still, there had been brides like her throughout history. They had survived. She would survive.

Merry turned her head toward her groom, but her cursed veil prevented any but a general sense of his person. Wordlessly, he took her arm from her uncle and moved to stand beside her, facing the bishop.

At least Cedric didn’t reek of cologne this morning. He seemed to own more vials of scent than she did, but this morning he smelled quite nice, with merely a touch of wintergreen soap about his person.

“Dearly beloved,” the bishop intoned, and Merry’s heart gave a painful thump. This was unbearable.

“We are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

She heard Cedric take a deep breath next to her. Panic flared again. The bishop rattled on with the rite but she couldn’t concentrate.

She should have stayed with Bertie. True, he had compared her to a red wagon, but he had adored her. Truly adored her.

With a start, she realized that the bishop was addressing Cedric. “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 . . .”

Honor?

She neither liked nor respected Cedric; how could she be expected to honor him? Or, for that matter,
obey
him? Her heart pounded so that she did not hear Cedric’s response over the rushing in her ears.

He must have said, “I will,” because moments later she found herself vowing to honor and to obey, in addition to keeping herself only unto him and all the rest of it.

The bishop turned to Cedric again and rattled on about how he should love and cherish her.

A choked scream pressed on the back of Merry’s throat. But rather than scream, when a hand encircled hers, she obediently parroted everything the bishop told her to say, the words emerging from her mouth like smoke, as if they meant nothing.

Do vows that a woman doesn’t hear matter?

The bishop said something else. A different voice interrupted her hysteria. “With this ring I thee wed,” her groom stated. “With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

What a liar he was.

What a liar
she
was.

A ring slid over her finger. “Oh no,” she whispered under her breath. “No, no.”

But that plea went unaddressed, because hands gently turned her, and then gathered and lifted her veil.

Light struck her face but Merry was looking at the marble floor, at the toes of her elegant slippers.

Slowly, she raised her head, steeling herself.

And met her husband’s eyes.