As they reached the top, the Duke finally stepped forward, his face now blank of any emotion. He held out his hand towards her, and Grace swallowed convulsively as she offered one last pleading glance up at her father. The Reverend simply nodded his approval and gently pushed her towards her husband-to-be with an encouraging smile.
Everything seemed to slow down as Grace reached for the Duke’s hand, stumbled forward and finally felt the threatened bile surge up unbidden as she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach right at his feet.
Chapter Five
It was the chit from the orchard.
Nicholas nearly laughed aloud at this twist of fate as he watched the Reverend and his daughter move up the stairs, wondering what she was thinking about this nuptial. He imagined she’d known of her fate before he had, but the woman before him bore no resemblance to the harridan who’d taken him to task the last time they met. This version looked as though she was about to faint. Her colour was that of someone at death’s door. The Duke frowned, wondering if Reverend Shackleford was trying to pull the wool over his eyes by wedding him to someone who was gravely ill. Although it had to be said, she was a little on the buxom side to be suffering from any serious malady. Despite her obvious discomfort however, her eyes did not leave his as she slowly climbed the steps, and Nicholas felt the first stirrings of an unwilling admiration.
She seemed taller than he remembered. Her dark hair was artfully curled with fresh spring flowers threaded through it. Her green dress clung to a voluptuous form he’d certainly not taken note of during their last meeting. Indeed, she was quite lovely. As she got closer, her eyes flared with barely concealed panic, and she appeared to be panting slightly, leaning heavily on her father who was smiling broadly, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s discomfort
She was certainly pretty enough to turn a few heads, andproviding her manners proved to be acceptable, she would do well enough.
And then she threw up all over his immaculately polished hessians.
∞∞∞
“I cannot apologise enough Your Grace. I have no idea what came over her. Grace is usually so … so, well, composed. I’m sure it’s simply a trifling attack of the vapours. Any young woman would indeed swoon at the prospect of being wed to such a fine specimen of a man.”
Nicholas raised his eyebrows but forbore to mention that swooning wasn’t usually accompanied by vomit.
“No matter,” he finally answered coolly, just as the Reverend looked as though he was going to throw himself on the nearest sword. "As soon as my wife-to-be makes an appearance, we will begin the ceremony.”
The Reverend breathed an audible sigh of relief.
Grace had been sent off with the housekeeper to freshen up while the Duke and her father waited in the drawing room. Both men kept glancing at the clock, and as the minutes ticked by, the Reverend began nervously blotting his forehead with a kerchief. After half an hour had passed, Nicholas decided she was either dead or possibly halfway to London by now.
He was about to call for Huntley when the door finally opened, and the butler announced his wife-to-be.
Reverend Shackleford hurried over to his daughter, and Nicholas was mildly gratified to observe that he did seem genuinely concerned about her. After a few seconds of whispered conversation, the Reverend mopped his shiny forehead one last time, and turned back towards theDuke who remained motionless.
“Your grace,” the Reverend said, relief colouring his voice. “This is my eldest, Grace.”
She dutifully executed a curtsy. “Your grace.”
Nicholas was glad to note her colour was much improved. However, her eyes were downcast, and her manner remained meek and submissive - nothing at all like the sharp-tongued woman he’d experienced in the orchard. He told himself this was entirely the right and proper conduct for a woman soon to be wed, and if a small part of him felt the slightest disappointment, he determinedly ignored it. He stared down at her, vaguely nonplussed. Women had not hitherto played a large part in his life, and he was sorely lacking in the art of polite conversation. He wondered what she thought about their arrangement. Not a lot, if her earlier faux pas gave any indication. Had her shock been the same when she’d learned the name of the man she was to marry?
“I must beg your forgiveness for my rudeness earlier,” she was saying in a low voice, her eyes firmly directed towards the floor.
Nicholas took a deep breath. “I trust the state of the flooring meets with your approval, Miss Shackleford. Welcome to Blackmore, your new home.”
She straightened, finally meeting his eye. “Is it?”
“Grace,” her father admonished nervously. “Apologise.”
Perhaps the chit in the orchard hadn’t entirely disappeared. He raised his eyebrows at her slip, and she quickly lowered her eyes back to the floor. However, he made sure to keep his voice polite but distant. “No apology is necessary. Come, Miss Shackleford. Let us retire to the chapel and get the ceremony underway. It is clear the flooring is not to your satisfaction, and the sooner we can make you the lady of this house, the sooner the polishing will no doubt be up to the required standard.” He wasn’t sure if he imagined the slight twitch at one corner of her mouth as sheplaced her hand on his arm.
The chapel was located off the family dining room. Huntley and Mrs. Tenner were brought in as the required witnesses, and in a span of half an hour, Nicholas found himself stating his vows to a woman he didn’t even know before pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek as her father announced them man and wife. Stepping back, he looked at the unsmiling face of his new Duchess, words refusing to form on his lips. A woman should hear some sentiment on her wedding day, some measure of affection, yet there was none between them.
Only a measure of regret.
And then it was over. Reverend Shackleford closed his book of common prayer and glanced at each of them uncertainly.
“Well,” he stated with forced joviality, depositing the book back into the cavernous folds of his cassock. “Perhaps I should take my leave now. Let err, you err, give you some time to err, get to know each other?” He ended the sentence with a question mark which was directed to the Duke. Nicholas nodded curtly and bade Huntley lead the way back to the entrance hall.
Once there, he stood back to allow father and daughter to bid each other farewell. The Reverend took Grace in an awkward hug, then hurried out of the front door, leaving his daughter staring after him, her eyes glistening with tears.
To his relief however, she didn’t succumb to a flood as the door closed with frightening finality, leaving the two of them standing in the entrance hall, the silence deafening.
