“No. Let things play out as they will.” Although he’d had plenty of time to think up this scheme and put it in action, he found he had no eagerness to see his new bride. “What of her appearance?”
Fellows bowed his head. “That is for Your Grace to decide, of course, but I hope you will not be disappointed with her presentation. She seems neat and holds herself as a lady ought.” Fellows’ tone held a modicum of disapproval; Sebastian ignored it. His bones ached, and his head ached, and there was a tight feeling in his chest he could ascribe to no emotion.
Never mind.A night’s sleep would be enough to ease whatever exhaustion he presently felt.
There were so many different forms of exhaustion he had discovered over the past few years.
Fellows still hovered expectantly, and Sebastian waved a hand at him. “You may go. Send Harlow to my chambers.”
Fellows’ brows rose in surprise. “You are retiring?”
“I’m tired,” Sebastian said shortly. “Do you have an objection?”
“Not at all, Your Grace. I’ll have Harlow sent to you immediately.”
Sebastian nodded once and used his candle to light the lamp by the door. Ordinarily, he would stay up rather later than this, but he needed the sleep. And if he was to meet his new wife, then he would need to conserve all his energy for the next few days.
At least Fellows had not implied that she was displeasing to look at. That was something. If he could not haveCatherineback, then at least his new wife would be pretty. Not that her fairness would do anything to appease the rumors that swirled around him, tainting her, too.
He could not have married one of the preening young ladies in London. They might have agreed to become his wife out of greed—they all sought the highly coveted position of duchess. But their life would have been ruined by association.
Most would agree he was a cad. But he had no desire to ruin a lady’s life if he could help it.
Even his knees ached as he climbed the stairs to his bedchambers. And ahead of him, like a ghost, a lady darted from one door and into the next.
Curiously, he stalked her, finding her in the first-floor bookroom, a smaller, far less grand affair than the downstairs library. A petite silhouette lit only by the light of a single candle, she glided a deft finger along the spines of the books.
Arnold and Fellows had done him a bloody disservice by not informing him of his new wife’s beauty. Chestnut hair tumbled down her back, loose from its pins, and in the wavering light, he made out blue eyes, a button nose, and dimples as she smiled to herself. In her openness, she was utterly delightful. A pixie given flesh, to his fanciful mind, delicate and laughing and lovely.
He had expected a plain, serious lady, but this lady looked as though she had been born for joy, only to receive sorrow instead. Mr. Arnold had explained somewhat of her history: she was the daughter of an unnamed gentleman of the peerage, raised by her mother and uncle, and after their deaths, had fallen on hard times. Her education had been adequate, and watching her now, Sebastian could ascertain she had a lady’s bearing.
After all, she had been selected as companion for the Duchess of Fenwick, who was a notoriously fussy lady. That had been a large reason behind choosing her. Not just because that meant she had a respectable education and patience, but also becausea lady trapped in such a situation would welcome a less-than-conventional offer to become a duke’s wife.
As he watched, she tilted back the spine of a book and set her lamp down as she gathered it in her chest. “At least he’s an educated man,” she murmured to herself, and Sebastian almost dropped his own lamp. He turned the wick down very low, unwilling to move away, even though he knew that if she were to see him, it would force the inevitable meeting far sooner than he preferred.
Still, something about her form captivated him.
This was evidently after her maid had changed her into her nightgown; the loose material hung down her body, concealing many of her curves, but he could still make out the press of her breasts, and perhaps the pearl of one nipple.
The sight of it made an unexpected bolt of lust travel through him.
He ought to move, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to.
After all his assumptions about her, seeing a lady who was evidently a lady in her bearing and grace, paired with an elegant form and striking features—that was a fair bit more than he had ever counted on.
She seemed pleased with her choice and on the verge of heading for her bedchamber, and he stepped smartly back before shecould glimpse him. This was not at all the first impression he wished to make.
Tomorrow, he would introduce himself and make his expectations plain: that he had chosen her because he wanted an heir. Not necessarily that he intended to send her away once that had been achieved; that was perhaps not the material for a first meeting.
For the first time, he wondered what she would think of him. Was she aware of the rumors surrounding him? They were widespread—albeit not so much in London—where, althoughsomeknew of his previous marriage and how it had ended prematurely, a few of the penny dreadful publications had published shocking news of how he hadmurderedhis last wife.
Still, he was a duke, and the people there were pathetic enough to excuse said behavior for his title.
The local villages, however, felt differently. Here, they believed the worst about him. They had loved Catherine, and rightly so.
Perhaps once Aurelia found out about Catherine—it was inevitable—she would want to leave of her own volition.
His head stabbed with pain, and he winced, hurrying along the corridor to his bedchamber. First, he would sleep. And then, when he felt a little more like himself, he would tackle the challenge that was his new wife.
