Why Lucas had denied the obvious from the start, and why the lady had denied it too, the duke had no idea whatsoever. They werea handsome enough couple, by God. And Lucas was a good half head taller than she. The way things ought to be in a perfect universe.
They would learn. Perhaps they would begin to learn tonight. There was nothing like a good, vigorous bedding to begin turning a couple’s thoughts in the direction of love. Not that even the best of beddings equated love, of course, but they could certainly help.
He gazed broodingly at the couple while the clergyman, his interminable prayers and psalm readings and even a sermon on the duties and blessings of marriage, for God’s sake, having come to an end, turned to the table behind him and opened the register for the bride and groom to sign and Stratton and Gerald to witness.
To sew everything up right and tight.
Her Grace sniffed, and the duke reached out a hand—his arm still worked, he was pleased to discover—to cover hers. May never sniffed and never wept. Except on the most momentous of occasions, that was. Kitty’s wedding, and Franklin’s. Now Luc’s.
The two witnesses hugged the bride and shook the groom’s hand. The clergyman bowed solemnly to both and shook their hands. There was a murmuring among the family members gathered behind the duke and hidden from his sight by the wings of his chair. One tiny voice spoke up.
“Aunty Pippa.”
Another voice—young Susan’s—whispered so audibly that she might as well have shouted aloud. “Aww. Isn’t shesweet, Mama?”
The duke assumed she was referring to the owner of the tiny voice rather than to Aunty Pippa.
And then the newly married couple turned from the table and the bridal party. The groom offered a hand to his bride, she set her own upon it, and he led her forward the few steps to the wing chair and the one next to it. Luc’s eyes were burning in his head, the dukesaw with approval. His bride’s were bright as though lit from within. Her cheeks matched the color of the rosebud she had taken from her sister’s hand.
Luc bowed. His bride curtsied.
“Grandmama, Grandpapa,” he said. “May I present the Marchioness of Roath. My wife.”
Her Grace’s hand turned beneath the duke’s and she squeezed it tightly enough, it seemed to him, to break bones—it would not take much.
“Oh. My dears,” she said.
“I am content,” the duke told them. And if it sounded a bit of an anticlimactic comment to them, what did they expect? That he would leap from his chair and cut a caper?
Then he almost did just that. For the marchioness leaned over May’s chair and kissed her gently on the cheek before doing the same thing to him.
“Andnoware you happy?” she murmured to him, and he would swear there was laughter in her voice even though he had not seen her crack a smile yet today.
“Ecstatic,” he said gruffly. And frowned.
That harp was playing again. Quietly, in the background. The duke had never thought too highly of the Welsh and the Irish, even when his granddaughter had married one of the latter. They tended to have emotions that were too volatile for his taste. But heaven had certainly singled them out for particular favor when it had dropped that instrument in their midst.
—
Philippa found herself enfolded in the arms of her own family and then the marquess’s. But oh goodness, could she continue to think of him by his title? He was herhusband.They all huggedher and kissed her cheek and told her how lovely she looked and wished her many years of happiness. All except him. Both families hugged him too and congratulated him and wished him well. Everyone except her.
They had been drawn apart by their families. They had not spoken a word to each other since her arrival except what had been required of them by the wedding service.
The servants had left the drawing room while the register was being signed. Gwyneth played the harp for a while and then stood it upright and got to her feet to shake the outstretched hand of Lord Patterson. She crossed the room to hug Philippa and tell her what a very beautiful bride she was and what a handsome husband she had.
“Marriage iswonderful,” she said, holding both of Philippa’s hands tightly. “Take it from an old veteran. You are going to besohappy, Pippa.”
“Is my wife saying things to make me blush?” Devlin asked, stepping up to them and setting an arm loosely about Gwyneth’s shoulders. “It was a very lovely service, Pippa.”
“It was,” she said. “Thank you for your surprise, Gwyneth. The music made me want to weep.”
“Thank heaven you did not,” Gwyneth said, laughing. “Imagine my embarrassment if you had. And imagine what it would have looked like to poor Lord Roath if he had seen you coming toward him with tears streaming down your cheeks.”
All was bustle and celebration after that. Cake and champagne were being carried in and set out on a table at the other end of the room. Susan, her hands on her knees, was bending over Joy and talking to her in a baby voice, inviting her to come and play with her cousins Matthew and Patty. Joy was bouncing up and down on both feet and reaching for Susan’s hand, her papa forgotten for the moment. Roger Quick, blushing hotly, was talking with Stephanie.Sir Gerald Emmett, Viscount Mayberry, and his brother were turning the Duke of Wilby’s chair, with the duke still in it, to face the room instead of the window. His Grace, not surprisingly, had refused to retire to his bedchamber, which he ought not to have left in the first place. He still looked far from well. Devlin went to talk to the clergyman and then shook his hand and walked with him to the door, where the marquess was waiting to escort him downstairs. It seemed the man had declined any invitation to stay for refreshments.
The duchess stood while her chair was turned and then reached for Mama’s hand, Philippa saw, held it in both her own while they spoke, and then kissed her cheek. Lady Catherine and Mama were then hugging each other and making sounds that were suspiciously like girlish squeals. They were celebrating the fact, perhaps, of the new connection between their families. Owen and Nicholas and then Ben were talking with Jenny, who was smiling happily and waved at Philippa when she caught her eye. She said something that caused Philippa’s brothers to turn their heads her way and beam at her. Uncle George was deep in conversation with Timothy and Raymond Bonham. Uncle Charles was chatting with Lady Patterson, Aunt Marian and Cousin Angeline with Charlotte and Laura Bonham.
Everyone appeared to be in high spirits. No one seemed to be mourning the fact that this marriage had been a rushed, passionless affair.
