She kissed him. Not enthusiastically as she would have liked, but there were many people here and it was a bit embarrassing, even if that bishop said they could do it. She kissed him just once more for good measure. He smiled down at her and patted her cheek. “Well done. Let’s speak to our guests.”
Mr. Bagley and his wife were present. A very nice man, Jessie thought, having met him and his wife at the Duchess’s first dinner party for her. The poor man shouldn’t torture those poor strands of long blond hair, brushing them from one side of his head to the other, pomading them to his scalp. Jessie liked him, but to no avail. The Duchess had said since they needed a special license and no delays, Marcus had spoken to the bishop, more’s the pity. Marcus’s and the Duchess’s doctor, George Raven, and his young bride from York were there as well. Since George Raven, Marcus had said, had saved their respective hides more times than he cared to count, he didn’t mind at all having him close since one never knew what could happen, even at a wedding. And besides, Marcus no longer minded Dr. Raven coming to tend the Duchess now that the good doctor was married and wouldn’t lust after the Duchess the way he had in the past, or tried to.
The Bishop of York would have been gravely disappointed had he but realized that no one else at the wedding wondered how the devil Master Charles’s nurse and Anthony’s horse nanny could be marrying the American male Wyndham. Being a discreet bishop, however, he’d mentioned this distressing fact only once to the earl, who’d carefully begun pulling at the magnificently tied cravat that had taken a good ten minutes to get just right, just so he wouldn’t pound the man into the Aubusson carpet.
Frances Hawksbury, the Countess of Rothermere, congratulated James, then turned to Jessie. “Now that you’ve got him in harness, my dear,” she said, lightly patting her shoulder, “give him his head when he’s kicking at the traces, then rein him in gently but firmly.”
“James,” Marcus said, coming up to them, “I see you’re being likened to a horse.”
“It does seem to fit nicely,” Jessie said, smiling at the Countess of Rothermere.
“And I’ll nip her neck to keep her obedient,” James said, “perhaps nudge her rump a bit to move her in the directions I choose.”
The Duchess laughed. “You’re both abominable. It’s over, finally, the bishop is already at the champagne bottle, and Badger has prepared a wedding breakfast that will have everyone begging to move in.”
“They will all move in or they will all try to kidnap Badger from us.”
“I do wonder how you remain so thin,” Jessie said.
“It’s those damned traces,” Marcus said. “I kick and I kick to try to get to her, but she just smiles and tells me to keep moving, that occasional restraint is good for my manly parts.”
After a half dozen toasts with the very dry champagne from the earl’s cellars, James looked at his bride and whistled. “You’re tipsy, Jessie. Come to think of it, you never drink spirits, do you?”
She hiccupped and asked for another glass.
“Oh dear,” the Duchess said. “Do you still want to go to Candlethorpe for the night, James?”
“Yes. I want to go home.”
“Come along, Jessie,” the Duchess said in that serene voice no one ever resisted, and led her upstairs. Since they were riding to Candlethorpe, the Duchess and Maggie helped her change into a magnificent riding outfit that the Duchess had had made for her. It was a soft burnished gold with darker gold braiding on the shoulders. It was pinched in tightly at the waist, with three layers of thick braiding at the hem. It made her skin glow and her hair look like a fierce sunset.
When Jessie was dressed and Maggie had lovingly placed the last streamer to frame her face, the Duchess set the riding hat on her head and stood back. The dyed ostrich feather curled around her cheek.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Will James say I look like a trollop?” The effects of her two glasses of champagne had long fled.
“If he does, he’s an idiot. If he’s an idiot,” Maggie added, “then you just bite him. Men love little love bites or little correction bites as I call them. Dear Sampson purrs like his lordship’s bloody cat when I nip his shoulder, and then he—”
The Duchess cleared her throat. “Maggie, would you please see if James is ready to leave?”
Maggie, no fool, winked at Jessie, then took herself off, saying over her shoulder, “You look a treat, Jessie. You surely do. I want you to look at every man when you come downstairs. You’ll see that all of them will be undergoing bouts of lust when they lay eyes on you.”
“It’s true,” the Duchess said once Maggie was out of the bedchamber, the door closed. “Now, Jessie, do you wish to ask me anything?”
“Ask you anything? Oh, you mean about sex?”
“Well, yes. Just think of me as your older sister.”
“I think I know everything, Duchess. I was raised with horses, after all. James will come up over my back and stick himself inside me. That’s all there is to it.”
The Duchess gave her an engaging smile. “Well, perhaps you’re in store for a bit of a surprise. But you can trust James to do everything properly.”
“Yes.” Jessie turned away and walked to the wide bank of windows. She stared onto the west lawn. She wondered where Fred and Clorinda were today, on her wedding day. She said quietly, “He was married before. He knows all about wives.”
“Jessie? Does that bother you?”
She waved her hand, as if to ward off unpleasant thoughts, turning away from the windows to face the Duchess again. “No, that would be foolish. I only just thought of it now. He’s had a wife and thus knows all about everything. Was she beautiful, Duchess?”