All four of his sisters, two of them happily married, gathered around, wishing him well.
“Lady Ophelia is so pretty,” said Louisa, the eldest. “She seems…very sweet.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “I’m happy that we’ve wed.”
It wasn’t the truth, but well-mannered gentlemen followed the script. His father joined them, along with Wescott’s only brother, Gareth, who’d taken a rare day away from his studies to attend the “happy event.” So many kind wishes, so many congratulations from his family, and all Wescott could think about was how much he didn’t want to be married, and how mournful Ophelia looked.
“I cried on my wedding day too,” his mother confided, once her other children had left.
“I know, Mama.”
“Some brides can’t help the tears. There’s so much anxiety, so many emotions. Once your father and I came to understand one another, there was plenty of room for love to develop between us.”
“Once we ‘came to understand one another,’” the duke echoed with a half-smile. “Was it as easy as all that?”
His mother’s smooth skin deepened in a blush. “Marriage is never easy, but it’s worth it to try your best. I agree with Louisa. Ophelia seems a lovely girl.”
“She is lovely,” said Wescott, watching her across the hall, chatting with some members of her family.
“And she’ll adore Wescott Abbey. Oxfordshire is so pretty at this time of year. The two of you will have time to learn more about each other as you set up your home.”
He wasn’t sure Ophelia would adore doing anything with him, but his parents had been kind enough to refurbish his ancestral estate several years ago, when they first started hounding him about marriage. Wescott Abbey was the original seat of the Arlington holdings, a castle-like stronghold that had served as a religious retreat in ancient times. It was considered one of the most striking manors in England, with multiple towers, hidden rooms, winding stone staircases, and expansive gardens and meadows.
“I’m sure Ophelia will love the Abbey,” he agreed. “It’s the perfect time to go there, now that the Season’s nearly over.”
“And now that you’re married.” She tapped him lightly with her fan, then snapped it open, fluttering it in a rare show of nerves. If only a marriage could succeed on his mother’s hopes alone, but he feared it wouldn’t be so easy.
As he turned with her, he saw Marlow and Augustine lingering by the door. “Excuse me, Mama.”
“Yes, go say goodbye to your friends. Oh, Jack, what a shame Townsend couldn’t be here today.” Her gaze flitted over what remained of the bruises on his face. He wished the damned things would fade away. He walked to his friends, affecting a light, easy manner. Knowing him as they did, they weren’t fooled.
“Good show, Wescott,” said August. “You played the contented groom very well. I only saw one or two instances of the Arlington frown.”
“I tried my best.” He glanced across the room at Ophelia. She too was forcing a smile, conversing with some of her parents’ friends.
“Uh-oh, there’s the frown a third time,” said Marlow, elbowing August. “Honestly, Wes, she seems a good sort, your new wife. Augustine and I conversed with her for some time, and to me, she seems the kind of bride who won’t cause a lot of trouble. She’s thoughtful, well-spoken, and polite.”
“Indeed she is.” August kept his voice low, but Wescott caught the note of reproof. “Don’t see how you mistook her for a strumpet.”
“Are you here to support me or scold me?”
“A little of both. See here, Wes.” Now Marlow’s tone darkened, too. “What were you thinking, bedding that lady while London was burning? Does nothing dampen your libido? Now you’re getting married before any of us were ready for it, and you’ve betrayed Townsend—”
“Didn’t betray him,” Wescott said. “I didn’t realize he was in love with her. Ophelia had no idea who he was.”
“Not betrayal then, but you’ve angered him to the point he’s bolted for France. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t join the godforsaken army, the mood he’s in. Now August and I are on our own, when there used to be four of us.”
“With Pearl’s closed by the fire,” August added morosely. “There’s no point even staying in town.”
The damned fire. Wescott wished he knew who’d started it. He’d run him through with a sword a dozen or so times, or if it was a woman, give her a hiding she’d never forget. Now he was married, his best friends were cross, his parents were disappointed, his in-laws were embarrassed, and his bride… Well, she cared for him about as much as one cared to slop through a pile of muck in the gutter.
“You’re welcome at Wescott Abbey over the winter,” he said. “It’s an old, drafty place, but there are beautiful views from the towers.”
Marlow shuddered. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll enjoy those views while I’m shivering under a pile of blankets before the fire.”