The banns were read at the church in Neithern where they were all still staying, though Mr. Bingley was thinking about returning to Netherfield where Jane could be with her family until their marriage could take place. They stayed with Mr. Houseman at Barralds until Caroline’s wedding. They were the last guests to depart, for everyone else had left after the ball at Neith Abbey.
Caroline had very little occasion to be alone with her prospective husband, for he wasn’t one for courting her or taking her on walks or holding her hand or anything of that nature. When he did speak to her, it was as if he was planning a business proposition for the two of them, and it was on their wedding night that he outlined exactly what his plan was.
He told her, pacing in the bedchamber, his eyes flashing, that he didn’t see any reason to leave Bartholomew, the current duke, in the position. “He’s an imposter, and that dukedom is mine,”he said. “I know my mother is in the way, however, so we’ll have to get her out of the way, by any means necessary. You’ll help me, won’t you, though, my new bride? You are a schemer, are you not?”
Caroline was nervous, sitting on the bed wearing only her shift. She nodded. “Yes, whatever you wish me to be, I shall be, husband.” She was nervous because she had heard all manner of awful things about Sulles, including that throwaway comment from Mr. Houseman about Sulles and the women he used badly for sport, and Caroline didn’t want to be used badly.
She’d had a very detailed explanation of marital relations from Louisa the night before, complete with a description of pain and blood. It had not sounded as if it were going to be pleasant in the best of times. How much worse would it be with Sulles?
She had considered, the evening before, trying to get out of it, but she had obviously not done that. It had seemed impossible. She would never get another offer of marriage. She could not jilt Sulles without bringing down his rage on her. She would live a miserable life if she did not go through with it.
She did not know if she would be miserable with Sulles or not, but there was at least the chance that she would not, so she decided to take that minuscule chance that things would be better with him.
Now, she simply nodded and agreed with him.
“You do wish to be a duchess, do you not, my dear?” he said, looking her over.
“Oh, yes,” she said, nodding again.
He chuckled. “You don’t seem properly moved by that notion.”
She really was only thinking about the present. “I am sorry. I suppose I’m nervous.”
“Nervous? Whatever about?”
“It is my wedding night,” she said, looking down at her shift-covered knees, feeling self-conscious.
“Oh,” he said, as if he had forgotten all about whatever might occur on a wedding night. He stopped pacing. He drew in a breath. “Yes, indeed. Well, stand up, then, wife.”
She stood up. Her heart was pounding.
He gestured. “Off. All of it.”
Her hands were shaking as she gathered up the skirts of her shift, but then she noticed he was stripping off his own clothes, staring at her as he did so, making little mind as he tossed away his jacket and cravat and waistcoat.
She was wearing less. It look her less time to be bare.
He hummed his approval as he freed his shirt from his trousers. “Turn round in a circle,” he said, careless.
She obeyed.
“Stop,” he said.
She was facing away from him. She stopped.
“On the bed,” he said. “Face down, if you please.”
She did that.
He settled behind her. He did not kiss her. He knelt there and pushed into her and it only hurt a little, not nearly as bad as she had worried it would.
She glanced back at him at one point, and he was looking down at where they were joined with a leer and his face was red and he was making an expression as if he was concentrating very hard.
She looked away.
It was over fairly quickly.
He did kiss her afterward, a sloppy, sleepy, sweaty kiss after he crawled up to lie on top of the covers.
