“But, Lady Tesh,” Bronwyn’s mother gushed, her eyes glowing. “Our daughter is marrying a duke.”
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” the older woman muttered dryly. She heaved a beleaguered sigh. “But one would think there was still room for manners. Such as offering your guests a seat and a beverage?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Pickering exclaimed, jumping forward and taking Lady Tesh’s arm. “Of course. How forgetful of me. Bronwyn, my darling, wonderful girl, why don’t you ring for tea while I get Lady Tesh and His Grace settled.” With that pronouncement, she sent the duke an adoring look, batting her lashes.
His Grace blanched and looked to Bronwyn in desperation. She very nearly scoffed. Did the man think she would rescue him? Let him stew in the repercussions of his deceit. Stalking past him, she grabbed Katrina’s arm and dragged her to the bell pull.
“Did you know he was a duke?” Bronwyn hissed.
“I knew a duke owned Caulnedy,” her friend whispered back, her cornflower-blue eyes wide in her pale face. “Lady Tesh informed me when I discussed it with her last night. But I did not know he was on Synne. Or that you had becomeengagedto him. What in the world could have happened since our meeting with the Oddments two days ago, Bronwyn?”
“I hardly know,” she managed, panic beginning to set in. She yanked the bell pull much harder than necessary, sending the tasseled bit of fabric swaying wildly. “It’s all run together. Everything has happened so fast. Oh, Katrina, I don’t know what to do.”
Which was an understatement. It had been one thing to engage herself to Mr. Hawkins, gambling hell owner. It was quite another to find she was set to marry a duke. Not that she had actively attempted to avoid marrying a person with such a title. She had welcomed—though not exactly eagerly—the lukewarm interest of the Duke of Carlisle last year before losing his possible suit. But though her parents had raged when he’d turned his affections elsewhere, Bronwyn had been secretly relieved. After all, to be a duchess, a position where every move would be watched, every word would be dissected, was a terrifying prospect.
Just as it was now, with His Grace’s revelation. And what else was he lying about? Did he really intend to let her stay on Synne with his wards? Or would she be expected to give up her interests, to put aside her dreams of making a name in entomological circles and take up the duties of a duchess? If she could not hope to please her parents—though they seemed perfectly pleased with her now, she thought bitterly, casting them a dark glance—how could she possibly live up to the expectations of being a duchess?
Katrina shifted Lady Tesh’s dog, who was looking much more interested in their conversation than any canine should be, and placed a comforting hand on Bronwyn’s shoulder. “I’m no good at figuring out how to get out of tight spots,” she said, her lips twisting in a miserable little smile, no doubt recalling her own scandalous past. “But maybe Seraphina or Honoria or Adelaide can help.”
Help with what?Now that Lady Tesh was in possession of the news, and her parents had been apprised that their daughter was marrying a duke, there would be no escaping it.
Before Bronwyn could voice such cold, hard facts, however, her mother’s strident voice carried to them. “Bronwyn, darling, do come here and sit beside your fiancé.”
Katrina gave her a commiserating look as they made their way to the circle of seats. Quite against her wishes, Bronwyn was quickly ushered to the empty space on the settee beside the duke. Painfully aware of his leg mere inches from hers, she busied herself adjusting her skirts, putting as much distance between them as possible. Dear God, she had never seen a limb so well-formed. A thought came unbidden to her, what it might look like beneath the fine gray trousers he wore, how the muscles might move beneath the skin, how they might feel between her own thighs…
She nearly gasped, putting a swift halt to her gawking of the man’s leg. Yes, she was of a scientific mind, had studied creatures, insects and birds and mammals alike, and knew the basics of mating. She had even done her fair share of exploring her own body, wondering what it might feel like joining with another, how they might move together. How it might feel…
Ahem.
But that was no excuse for leering at the man. Especially as he had made it quite clear that theirs was to be a marriage of convenience, with no expectations of physical intimacy.
She should be glad for it. She had known the man but two days, after all; she could not begin to imagine feeling comfortable enough to perform such intimate acts with him.
And yet the naturalist in her was deeply curious to know just what all the fuss was about.
“As our dear Bronwyn will be marrying a duke,” her mother declared, giving Bronwyn a glowing look that was full of more pride than the woman had shown her in all of her four and twenty years combined, “I insist on all the pomp such an occasion deserves. A lengthy engagement; balls and luncheons in their honor; visits to all our dear former friends around the country as we shop for her trousseau. And, of course, a lavish wedding at St. George’s in London.”
“Certainly, certainly,” her father said, hands on his knees, chest puffed up with his importance. “Nothing but the best for our girl. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?”
Bronwyn wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground. They weren’t considering what was best for Bronwyn at all. These were all thingstheywished,theywanted. The better to preen and strut before all those they felt had wronged them; to take, as they often said, theirrightfulplace in the world.
She thought back then to that disastrous trip to London. How many times had she hung back, mortified, as her parents forcibly pushed themselves into circles they had not been invited into? How many events had she watched with a kind of fatalistic horror as they made fools of themselves and her by their blind certainty that they would be welcome at all levels of society, that their sizable bank account made them superior to the majority of the population?
And how often had she sat in misery as they voiced their deep disappointment that their daughter did not conform to societal norms?
They had never once considered Bronwyn when making plans for the future. No, everything had centered around theirstanding and how they would look to outsiders. And this time was no different. No different at all. If anything, it was much, much worse.
“While I am in complete agreement that Miss Pickering deserves only the best,” His Grace said, his deep voice dragging her back to the present, “I would very much like as short an engagement as can be managed. By special license if at all possible.”
And then he did the thing Bronwyn least expected him to do: he looked down at her and said, a deep interest in his eyes, as if her opinion was paramount to him, “What do you think, my dear?”
She stared up at him, shocked. And oddly touched. Surely this was just for show. No one cared what her wishes were in this debacle; it was clear as day that there were much more important things at play than what one mere young woman wanted, no matter she was the bride. And soon to be a duchess. She swallowed hard.
Yet the expression on his face, the dark intensity threaded through with a focused curiosity, made it appear as if what she had to say actually mattered to him.
“Come along, Bronwyn,” her father said through gritted teeth. “Answer the duke. Forgive my daughter, Your Grace. She’s not typically so slow-witted.”
“On the contrary,” the duke murmured, his unusual eyes never leaving Bronwyn, “I think your daughter is one of the most clever, intelligent people I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”