She Tempts the Duke (20 page)

Mary giggled, then leaned over, and hugged Alicia tightly. “I shall miss you and your wisdom.”

“The boring balls will be frightfully more boring.”

She drew back. “So few are left that it hardly signifies.”

A brisk knock sounded on the door before her aunt waltzed in.

Alicia popped off the bed as though someone had pinched her bottom. “Did you have any luck?”

“I’m afraid not, no.” Aunt Sophie glided up to Mary and took her hands. “Your father wishes to see you in his study. You will want to straighten up a bit as Keswick is there as well.”

“What does he want?”

“I’m afraid he didn’t confide in me.”

To say good-bye perhaps? Had he heard that she was leaving? Or had he come to let her know he was well on the way to recovery and she would have to inform him that she would be returning to Willow Hall?

With Alicia’s assistance, she prepared as quickly as possible to meet with her father and their guest. The pink dress she chose was unadorned with a high collar and long sleeves. Everything was left to the imagination. Rather than put up her hair, she simply pulled it back and tied it in place with a ribbon. She wanted to more closely reflect the girl of the moors rather than the lady of London. She wanted it to be a comfortable parting, so she felt no need to fancy herself up. She wasn’t attempting to impress anyone.

When she strolled into her father’s study, she realized the same couldn’t be said of Sebastian as he turned from the window to greet her. He wore a dark blue jacket over a striking red waistcoat. She was so accustomed to him striving not to draw attention to himself that it seemed slightly out of character, but it was the perfect foil to his pristine white cravat. He was freshly shaven with no shadow across his jaw. His once unfashionably long hair had been expertly trimmed. He bowed his head slightly. “Lady Mary.”

“Your Grace. I’m glad to see you so recovered.”

“I still have a way to go I think, but at least I’m well on the right path, thanks in large part to your tender and generous ministrations.”

Blushing, she turned to her father who stood near the fireplace, an amber-filled glass in hand. No fire burned, and yet his forehead was coated in dew. He took a quick swipe at it with his handkerchief before downing the liquid courage in his glass, and she wondered why he felt a need to shore himself up.

“His Grace has asked for your hand in marriage,” her father said as though she’d spoken her musings aloud.

She jerked her gaze to Sebastian. He met her regard with a steady one of his own, although he looked far from happy.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss things,” her father said, setting his glass aside before striding toward her. He stopped just shy of her. “Under the circumstances I encourage you to accept.”

He was offering her the illusion of choice, for she saw in his eyes that he would take the matter out of her hands if need be. He was worried about her future. And who would have her now?

The snick of the door closing vibrated through her almost like the ringing of a death knell. She thought back to the night she and Sebastian had kissed. When he had blanketed his mouth over hers, he’d caused her to lose all sense of propriety. She couldn’t deny that she became lost in the sensations he elicited, but that was hardly enough to indicate that they were well suited to marriage.

“Your marriage at the end of the month can go on as planned, with just a different groom at the altar,” he said quietly.

“You consider that a proposal?”

“I’m attempting to make right a wrong that was done to you.”

“A wrong I brought upon myself.”

“I kissed you in the garden.”

“Which Fitzwilliam forgave. He forbade me to see you and I went to see you because of the awful rumors that you forced yourself on me.”

“And stayed to nurse me back to health.”

“My choice. You should not suffer because of it.”

“How in God’s name do you think I would suffer if you were my wife?”

“I bring with me scandal.”

“You are no more notorious than I.”

She bit her lip, gave a curt laugh. “I suppose our notoriety is tied together, isn’t it?”

“Very much so.”

“Do you love me, Sebastian?”

“Did Fitzwilliam?”

He sounded truly baffled as though the thought of someone being madly in love with her was beyond the pale. It irritated.

“He had a care for me.” She strolled to the window and gazed out. “What are your plans?”

“To marry you.”

His tone yielded no doubt. She might have laughed, relaxed, welcomed the notion of marriage to him if she heard even a hint of teasing. “I meant beyond that.”

“Return to Pembrook with as much haste as possible.” He removed something from his pocket, unfurled his fingers to reveal a disgustingly filthy bit of rag.

She wrinkled her nose, but then she paused in wonder at the frayed and faded ribbon that held everything together. It was nearly white but once it had been a bright yellow. “My ribbon.”

“It holds the soil from Pembrook, soil I took that night. It is all that kept me alive, all that kept me going through the interminable years when I fought to find my way back. I could smell the richness of the dirt, the centuries that my ancestors had fought and died there.” He closed his fist around it, clutching it tightly. “It’s everything to me, Mary. It’s all that mattered.”

The daughter of an earl, she appreciated the value of land and titles, but for Sebastian, it almost seemed to be an obsession. Family, flesh, blood, his brothers. Surely they mattered more.

As though reading her thoughts, he said, “All that my brothers and I endured was so that I would one day again have Pembrook in my hands. It is now mine, and I will let nothing—no one—deprive me of it. As my wife, you will share this with me.”

“I don’t know that I can love it as you do. It is a harsh foreboding place, and with your uncle’s dealings, it has such a sordid history.”

“It is my home.”

Those few words, succinctly spoken, said it all.

“And what of us?” She shifted her gaze and found his on her. As always. But there was no warmth there, no yearning. He had erected a wall to his soul that she doubted she had the power to break through. “What do you envision for us?”

He looked away then. She watched as he tightened his jaw. “I know I am not your first choice for husband, and I rue the circumstances that forced you to have to choose me at all. But I will do all in my power to see that you never regret it.”

Choice. Choose. Words that had no meaning. She was already considered on the shelf, and it would no doubt take years to put this incident behind her, for another gentleman to gaze on her and think her worthy. She would be far older, and perhaps wiser. Perhaps not.

She’d misjudged Fitzwilliam. What if she was wrong about Sebastian? They’d been friends once. Could they be more?

If not, would friendship be enough for her? For them both?

“I fear we know so little about each other anymore. What if we don’t suit?”

“I should think the kiss in the garden indicated that we will be well suited to each other.”

“That was only the physical. I need more. I need your heart.”

His jaw clenched. “I can’t promise you that.”

She released a sad laugh. “At least you’re honest. But what if one day you do meet a woman who steals your heart?”

“Do you honestly think a woman will look at what I’ve become and love me?”

She had to believe that, had to believe there was something in him worth loving. “Yes.”

He laughed harshly. “You’re blinder than I.” He cupped her chin. “What choice do you truly have? Your reputation is in tatters. What sort of life will you have when you return to your father’s estate? And when he dies, who will watch over you?”

“I can watch over myself. I could become a governess or a nurse. I could take my dowry and invest it. Find a small cottage.”
Live out my life in loneliness, with no children, no love.

“I owe you,” he said quietly, “more than I can ever repay. I will be as good a husband to you as my father was to my mother. I will never stray. I will never beat you. I will give you a generous allowance.”

They’d been friends once. She knew his childish heart had belonged to her. She refused to believe that she couldn’t possess his adult heart as well. She took a deep breath, released it, and hoped she would not live to regret the words. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Once again he slipped his hand into his pocket, only this time he withdrew it to reveal the dangling emerald.

With a soft smile, she took it from him. “I hated sending it back to you, you know.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because Fitzwilliam asked.” Demanded. But he didn’t need to know that. “Would you have returned it if I’d said no to your proposal?”

“Of course.”

Licking her lips, she watched as his gaze dropped to her mouth. She wondered if he would kiss her.

Instead he said, “Well, I suppose I should see to getting a license.”

“Yes, I suppose you should.”

Chapter 21

A
s Mary waited in a private room at St. George’s, she wondered if she should be this calm. She almost felt nothing at all.

“I wish your mother were here to see you,” Aunt Sophie said as she adjusted the veil one more time. She alternated between fiddling with the veil and the train, as though each time Mary moved didn’t undo what had just been done. She wanted to tell her aunt to just leave everything alone until the last moment. Instead Mary tolerated her fluttering, drew reassurance from it.

Alicia came in through the door, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. “The church is packed to the rafters.”

Mary had been a pariah, a woman shamed, a woman scorned. Now it appeared she was a romanticized figure. “Of course. Scandalous Lady Mary and the barbaric Duke of Keswick.”

“This wedding shall polish your reputation, m’dear,” her aunt predicted. “And his as well.”

Not that their reputations would matter after today. They’d be holed away at Pembrook. A far cry from the parties and balls of London. She would miss them, but not the gossip. No, she could do without that for the remainder of her life.

A knock sounded on the door. Alicia opened it.

“It’s time,” her father announced in a tone Mary imagined a guard used when telling a condemned man the moment had arrived to pay for one’s sins and head to the gallows.

Her aunt gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, adjusted her veil once more, and headed out the door after Alicia. She would take her place in a pew while Alicia would serve as Mary’s maid of honor. She had no bridesmaids, even though Lady Hermione had offered to stand with her—to be closer to Lord Tristan no doubt. Mary had politely declined. Her cousin would serve her well enough.

Her father stood in the doorway, looking no more comfortable than he had any other time when Sebastian had called. She knew he was here not for her but for image. People would notice if he wasn’t there, and who knew what speculation would follow.

She wanted him to say something. Tell her she was pretty or that he wished her happiness or that the Duke of Keswick was a good choice as a husband.

“Let’s get this done,” he said.

So much for wishes.

She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and tried not to be disappointed that all of this was a result of poor judgment. If only she’d held her silence on what she’d heard at Pembrook, she’d have not been sent to the nunnery; she would have had a Season when she was of a more marriageable age. If only she hadn’t followed Sebastian into the garden. If only she hadn’t traipsed into his residence.

It should have been a day filled with joy and instead, it was simply an attempt to undo harm. Sebastian didn’t love her. Perhaps he never would. Pembrook held his heart. She would always be second fiddle. But that didn’t mean she was doomed to unhappiness. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than contentment.

She placed her hand on her father’s arm and allowed him to lead her into the vestry. She could hear music playing, could see Alicia. She didn’t understand why Alicia had not been spoken for this Season. Perhaps next year without her troublesome cousin at her side, she’d have more luck. She deserved happiness.

Alicia smiled at her. “Ready?”

Mary nodded.

Alicia stepped into the church and the music changed, announcing the bride’s arrival.

“Be happy for me, Papa,” she pleaded.

“What is happiness, daughter? You will not want for anything, he promised me that. He said I was to have your dowry set aside. That it was yours to do with as you pleased. He has no need of it. It is a rare man who will take a woman to wife without a dowry.”

“Yes, it is,” she rasped.

“He has more spine than Fitzwilliam. I’ll give him that.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

He nodded. “As I said earlier, let’s get this done, shall we?”

Before she could even think of a response, he was leading her into the church. She was vaguely aware of the vast number of people standing as she strolled down the aisle. Hundreds crowded onto pews.

At the altar stood the man she was going to marry, facing her completely, because he had no choice if he wanted to watch her approach. His place put his scarred side toward her, toward everyone.

He, who strived so hard to keep his scars hidden, was revealing them now with the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. He had to have known that they would have a grand audience. Had to have known that he would be denied shadows.

They could have traveled to Pembrook and been married there in a small church in a quiet ceremony. But as she neared and could see him more clearly, she realized that they weren’t being married here because it was convenient, because all the plans had already been made.

No. This was his gift to her. The wedding she’d been dreaming of for months. The gown she had selected, the ceremony she had envisioned. It was more. It was a public acknowledgment that regardless of how tattered her reputation, he would stand proudly beside her.

As she moved her hand from her father’s arm to Sebastian’s, she smiled brightly, fought back the tears. Perhaps theirs would not be a marriage filled with great love, but she realized that they would have moments such as this one when she was ever grateful that he was at her side.