“Wait until you see the church, Bronwyn,” she said quietly. “My sister and cousins and I have turned it into a veritable fairyland. My father—who looks quite dashing in his new vestments, by the way—said he had never seen it look so beautiful.” She sent a meaningful glance Adelaide’s way.
“Oh! And the cake is quite possibly my best work yet,” Adelaide chimed in. “Lady Tesh gave me free rein, and I don’t think I have ever had so much fun. It’s a garden of sugared flowers and candied fruits. And, of course, I insisted on the cake itself being your favorite, lemon with buttercream.”
Honoria and Adelaide looked to Seraphina. That woman pursed her lips, looking for all the world as if she had just sucked on a lemon herself. Then she heaved a world-weary sigh and reached up to scratch Phineas on the neck.
“My sisters have been to Danesford,” Seraphina said, referring to the Duke and Duchess of Dane’s home, “to help with preparations for the wedding breakfast, and they have come back in raptures over the state of the grounds.”
They all fell to talking and laughing, a seemingly merry bunch. But Bronwyn sensed the undercurrent of tension to it all; their laughter had a hollow ring to it, their smiles just a touch too bright, their eyes tight with strain.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. She’d hardly had time to think the past two weeks over the monumental change her life was taking. But as she sat at her dressing table, which would soon be her dressing table no more, in a room that already felt no longer hers, in a house she could no longer call home, the beginnings of panic took hold. What if this was a huge mistake? She didn’t know this man. And had she truly requested, in a moment of curiosity, still vibrating from the aftereffects of his kiss, that they consummate their marriage and live together as man and wife for a fortnight?
No, she reminded herself brutally, she had not requested it. She had all but demanded it, then practically begged him when he refused. Her cheeks flamed hot just thinking of her audacity. The man was gorgeous, and utterly delicious; no doubt he had women throwing themselves at him all the time.
But those women had not been engaged to him. She paused. Or had they? For all she knew, the man had been engaged multiple times over the years. Mayhap he had previously been married. Or he could have a mistress. He could have a battalion of mistresses housed all over London. Didn’t men of his station have mistresses? Perhaps he would keep them on after his marriage to Bronwyn. He would continue his affairs in London, his marriage a mere bump in the road.
Bitterness filled her mouth. She forcefully attempted to swallow it, but it remained, souring her already low mood. Why? She could not possibly be jealous. She and Ash were nothing to each other, after all, merely convenient means to an end. He required someone to raise his wards; she required a husband to escape her parents’ quick destruction of her life. It was all neat and perfectly tidy.
Why, then, did the thought of him lying with another woman sit so very wrong with her?
As that question swirled uncomfortably in her brain, Katrina burst into the room, a whirlwind of rose-colored silk and blond curls. She came up short, her blue eyes widening, hands clasped to her chest, when she spied Bronwyn.
“Oh, you look like a fairy princess.” She sighed.
“If the fairy princess was marrying the dragon instead of the knight,” Seraphina muttered before Honoria quieted her with an elbow to her ribs.
“Bronwyn, we must make haste,” her mother said, bustling over. “If Miss Denby is here, then so is Lady Tesh, and it is time for us to depart for the church.”
Everything became a blur as everyone bustled about Bronwyn. She felt, quite frighteningly, as if she were in the eye of a hurricane, that if she took one step in either direction she would be swept away in the chaos. Before she quite knew what was happening, she was whisked from the room, accepting greetings and exclamations of delight as she was paraded before Lady Tesh and her father, and bundled into the waiting carriage with her parents.
Years later, when she looked back on this day, she would remember only disjointed images: the trip to the church seeming at once achingly long and frighteningly short; her parents waving gleefully at each person they passed on the street; the small crowd, gathered before the church, that cheered as she arrived. And then she was inside the small stone building, nearly as ancient as Synne itself, and her eyes met Ash’s. Good God, had he always looked quite so handsome? Out of the corner of her eye she saw Adelaide mouth “Oh my God” as she gaped at Ash, caught Honoria and Seraphina gawking in disbelief at him as they whispered furiously to one another. As if she needed the reminder that the man was the most sinfully gorgeous person she had ever seen. A fact that did not help her nerves one bit, especially when she considered what tonight would bring.
But she would not think ofthatwhile she was in achurch. Mortified, she locked those particular thoughts up tight.
All too soon she was standing beside him, and they were speaking their vows, and he was slipping a plain gold band on her finger. When he turned her toward him, however, and lifted her veil to kiss her, everything else melted away. As his lips pressed against her own for a second longer than was proper she knew she would always remember this very moment, when they became husband and wife. A single moment in time, caught in amber and preserved in her memories where, with a spark of electricity and desire coiling through her, they were bound together.
***
There were certain benefits to having perfected a cold stare, Ash thought as, finally having evaded Mr. Pickering’s constant attempts to cart him about like some trophy, he looked out over the lavish gardens at Danesford. He had been gracious to his new father-in-law as long as he was able. But everyone had their limits. And Ash had reached his long ago.
A group of young men he could not remember the names of spied him and made a beeline for him. Not caring that he was being an utterly rude arse, Ash deepened his scowl and leveled a stony glare in their direction. He was well aware how dangerous he appeared when adopting such a look and had used it often over the years for keeping at bay those who would seek him out for the sole purpose of befriending a duke. And, of course, he had the added benefit of his father’s reputation for violence and cruelty adding even more fuel to that particular fire. As expected, the gentlemen’s faces turned ashen, and as one they spun about and scurried off. Thank goodness. If he had to make pleasant talk with anyone, he would scream. He wanted the privacy he preferred and, in this moment, required, as he was still reeling from the ceremony and that not-so-perfunctory kiss with his bride.
What had he been thinking? His lips twisted, for therein lay the problem: the moment he had caught sight of Bronwyn walking down the aisle toward him, he had not been thinking at all. Perhaps it would have been different had they seen each other before the ceremony. He had been gone a fortnight, after all, dragging the girls to London, making certain their things were packed up and sent off to Synne, securing the special license, and coordinating with Beecher on the business of Brimstone for his extended leave. Two weeks apart from his intended was a veritable age when they had gone from meeting to engaged in less than two days.
He had hoped they might find a moment to talk during the drive from the church to Danesford. After all, with her wooden way of moving and the blank look in her eyes, Bronwyn had seemed just as dazed as he himself was. They did manage to greet one another and comment on the loveliness of the weather and the wonder that the church had been. It was a strange thing, as they were now irrevocably married in the eyes of God and man, that their first words to each other could be so mundane. But being seated in an open barouche that was bedecked in ribbons and flowers, followed by a cheerful line of carriages, with groups of people waving and calling out wishes for a long and happy marriage as they drove past, one could not necessarily indulge in deep conversation.
Once they had arrived at Danesford, they had not had a moment alone either. Separated the second they stepped foot on the vast property, whisked from person to person, from toast to toast, there was not a second to breathe. Ash, thank goodness, had managed to finally extricate himself from the loudly guffawing group of men Mr. Pickering had dragged him into with the excuse that he needed to check on his wards—who were blessedly being closely watched by Miss Denby. Bronwyn, on the other hand…
He finally caught sight of her as her ridiculous parents dragged her to yet another group of guests. They treated their daughter like a possession, displaying her to all and sundry, as if she were some golden ticket, a pass to be used to access the highest levels of society. And though his wife—hiswife, he thought, still stunned that it was over and done with and they were married—attempted to smile and converse with the people around her, he could not fail to see just how utterly miserable she was. Her shoulders would stiffen and her smile wobble before falling away altogether when she thought no one was looking.
Damnation, no matter how much he dreaded diving back into the fray, he could not leave her to their mercies a moment longer. His scowl deepening, he placed his untouched glass of champagne on a nearby stone wall, but then a voice stopped him.
“I was hoping I would get you alone, Your Grace.”
He turned, spying a vaguely familiar fiery-haired young woman, one of the many ladies he had met during that long day. A quick glance at the brilliant red and green parrot on her shoulder, however, supplied him with her identity.
“Miss Seraphina Athwart, isn’t it? Of the Quayside Circulating Library?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Impressive. But not impressive enough to get you out of this conversation, I’m afraid.”