The ceremony in Westvale Park’s grand reception chamber began, ended and then was over in a complete blur. Even in the immediate aftermath of the service, Rose struggled to remember any of the details. She knew only that she had stumbled over her words and that the Duke of Ravenhill’s handsome face had been patient at her side.
The duke’s expression was neither happy nor loving, of course, as she had always assumed her husband’s would be. Maybe it was even slightly tense, although he hid it well and his own voice did not shake, stating the required formulae swiftly and evenly in response to the vicar’s instructions. For him, the service was likely merely an administrative formality to be completed quickly.
For Rose, however, this cold, dispassionate wedding was the final blow for all her romantic hopes and her despair felt like astone sunk in her belly. Even so, she managed a smile for her father, brought downstairs by strong footmen and wrapped in warm blankets in a comfortable chair at the front of the small gathering of relatives and close friends.
“Congratulations, my little Rose,” the Duke of Westvale had wheezed as she came straight over and embraced him after the register had been signed, with Edwin and Magnus as witnesses. “My daughter is now Duchess of Ravenhill, no less."
Rose saw a tear escape her father’s eye and her own eyes welled uncontrollably in sympathy.
“If we must cry, let it be always for happiness,” remarked her father, holding her back and thankfully misconstruing what he saw in her face. “Your young duke will take good care of you, I’m sure, Rose. Do not fret about being homesick. You’ll be back here to visit us all again before you know it.”
“Rose is free to come and visit you whenever she wishes,” put in the Duke of Ravenhill, having appeared at Rose’s side and made a polite bow to his new father-in-law. “I would not keep her from her family.”
“There, you see!” crowed the old man, patting Rose’s hand and then placing it on the arm of her now-husband. “I told you all would be well, didn’t I, Rose?”
She smiled weakly at both men and then perceived various relatives and friends hovering nearby. They were all presumablywaiting to congratulate her and Dorian on their marriage before the wedding breakfast was served.
“The Duke of Ravenhill is very kind,” Rose murmured and then allowed the dark haired man to steer them both towards the eager guests.
Having spent most of her life since adolescence anticipating her wedding day, Rose now wanted nothing more than to run away from it all. Away from the well-meaning congratulations, away from the deception of her beloved father, and most of all, away from the tall, dark almost-stranger who was now her husband…
It was mid-afternoon before the Duke and Duchess of Ravenhill left Westvale Park, and early evening by the time they arrived at Ravenhill House. The latter was a grand and well-proportioned house, if rather gray and gothic-looking in the miserable November darkness. As a manservant opened the carriage door, Rose shivered at this first sight of her new home.
“There should be a big blaze for us in the library,” Dorian assured her, misunderstanding this reaction. “That’s the most comfortable room at this time of year, I find. Come, let’s get inside.”
He stepped down from the carriage and offered Rose his gloved hand. Having no choice in the matter, she took it and alighted onto the gravel path, feeling so nervous that she was almostnumb with it. Her mind had turned ceaselessly and her stomach churned, all the way from Westvale Park.
What would happen now? How would she learn to be a duchess? How could she ever be happy again without any hope for love? Rose knew that there was no one she could ask such questions. It was up to her now, to set the course of her life within its new constraints and she did not feel equal to the task.
“How imposing it is,” she said quietly as she stood before the ducal seat, speaking as much to herself as to the duke. “What a very large house for only one person!”
“Well, now we are two people,” Dorian laughed and Rose blushed to see that some of the servants were smiling at her remark too.
In the bright torchlight around the front door, she could now perceive quite a crowd of staff come to welcome the new duchess. Maids, footmen, kitchen and garden workers, a dignified middle-aged man and a similar woman in black who must be the butler and housekeeper…
There seemed so many and Rose could not quite make everyone out. She tried to nod and smile, as best she could. The Duke of Ravenhill himself evidently did not stand on ceremony. He greeted this staff assembly with an informal nod and smile, exchanged a few words with the butler and housekeeper and then proceeded through the front door, Rose carried along in his wake.
In the spacious hall, the duke shrugged off his winter overcoat, scarf and hat and passed these to the butler while a maid unwrapped Rose from her cloak and other outside garments. When both were dismissed by the duke, the various manservants and maids in the background dispersed too.
“You may meet the staff properly tomorrow when you are rested, Rose,” he pronounced, as if this was obvious. “Mrs. Jennings will show you the house in the morning, won’t you, Mrs. Jennings?”
“Of course, Your Grace,” said the black-gowned housekeeper smoothly. “The staff are eager to meet the Duchess of Ravenhill and will be entirely at Her Grace’s disposal. For tonight, dinner is at seven o’clock. Unless you wish it earlier, Your Graces?”
Dorian smiled at the first part of this speech and shook his head slightly at the final question. Considering the conversation over, the housekeeper began to withdraw after the other staff.
“Oh…thank you,” Rose said, fleetingly catching the appraising brown eyes of the woman and wondering nervously what the housekeeper thought of her. “I…I…Thank you. I must…”
Casting an expectant look towards Rose, the duke was now striding away down the hallway and she broke off and hurried after him, although frustrated with her inability to complete a coherent sentence. Mrs. Jennings might think her a simpleton but she did not want to lose sight of the only even slightly familiar feature of this new environment.
What role must she play in this house? Would they be staying there permanently? Would they have a family one day? Rose was lost in a sea of uncertainty.
Opening a heavy oak door, the Duke of Ravenhill entered the library. There was indeed a large blaze in the fireplace of that high-ceilinged room, just as he had promised. Comfortable leather chairs, wooden desks and tables abounded on the left side of the large room, near the fireplace or windows.
To the right lay a dizzying maze of bookshelves, mezzanines and winding staircases, all presently unlit. Rose could not even imagine how many books this place must contain.
“You’re still shivering,” the duke observed, glancing back at Rose again. “We will get warmer in here soon enough. Shall I have Smithers bring you a brandy?”
Dutifully following the duke across the room, Rose stood before the fireplace with her hands clasped tightly in front of her traveling dress of fine gray wool. If she was cold, she did not know it, but she certainly longed for warmth of some kind.
