Prologue
London, December 1809
“I … I should still be in my mourning clothes,” Diana muttered the words. A harsh tap came to her chin, jerking her head higher. It was always the way these days, no matter how many times she tried to hide in public, away from people, her father would be thrusting her forward.
“Diana, dear, it is hardly like I have a choice, is it?” her father said in a seething whisper. Diana looked into his eyes, biting her lip to stop herself from replying as she truly wished to.
You did have choices, Father. You could have maintained a good reputation; then I wouldn’t be forced to walk down this aisle.
“If you complain about wearing white when you should be wearing black one more time, I swear …” He trailed off and shook his head.
“You will what?” Diana asked, aware that he was walking around her, checking everything was in place. She glanced down at her gown, seeing the wedding dress that was so expensive she had been afraid to touch it.
Made of silk gauze and madras lace, it had to be the finest gown she had seen for some time. At the very least since the days her father had started gambling, tipping their fortunes and their reputation towards something very despondent indeed.
It is a wonder the duke is willing to marry me at all.
The church organ music started up before her father had time to answer her. Together, they turned to face the open doorway into the church, looking along the aisle. Diana fidgeted between her feet, brushing together her slim white slipper shoes fastened with ribbons around her ankles, and passed the bouquet of white and yellow roses between her hands a few times. This was not the wedding she had pictured for herself.
“Are you ready?” her father asked, proffering his arm to her. She shakily took it, sliding her hand across his elbow, though her body did not move forward just yet. “Diana, move your feet.”
It was as though she couldn’t hear him. She was too busy thinking of the last time she had been standing in this church, less than a month ago, draped in the darkest of black gowns, with an ebony veil over her face to mask the tears she was shedding for her mother.
How I wish you were here now. You would never have allowed this to happen.
“Diana, walk into this church, or I swear, I will carry you in.” Her father hissed the words, making her move forward at last into the church. As they walked along the stone floor, over the plaques and graves of other people who once attended this church, Diana’s eyes turned to the far side of the building, looking between vaulted archers, but she wasn’t looking for her husband to be that awaited her, she was seeking out her mother’s own plaque. “You know this is for the best, dear.” Her father was speaking again, making her eyes flutter closed briefly before turning to look back down at the far end of the aisle.
“You only ever call me dear when you are telling me bad news, Father,” she said softly.
“You know such tart replies will not do when you are married. The duke wants an obedient wife, not one with a sharp tongue.”
“I know,” she said and clamped her lips shut again. It was something that had been drilled home to her, again and again leading up to this event.
“It is for the best,” her father said another time, whispering now they were so close to the altar where the duke waited and their guests sat in the pews. “It was the only way to fix my reputation.”
“Why did the duke agree?” she asked with the last few seconds she had left of freedom. “I thought my dowry was gambled away.”
“Fortunately, I had a windfall,” her father said, betraying a smile for the first time. His ageing and haggard face looked unnatural with a smile, for it had been set in a frown since the day her mother had died. “It was quite a windfall, and the duke wanted it for your dowry. Our deal was made, Diana.”
She would have liked to ask more, to discover anything to assuage the coiling fear in her stomach. She thought it was rather like an adder, moving over itself repeatedly and stinging her from the inside out. Yet, she was out of time, and she did not have the confidence to challenge her father anymore.
A dutiful wife keeps her lips shut and obeys her husband. That’s what my father tells me.
As they reached the end of the aisle, the duke turned at last to greet her. She tried to smile, though it didn’t last long, about as long as his own smile did, as he took her hand from her father and steered her towards the vicar.
Being so close to the duke, she finally had time to appraise him in detail. He was a tall man, with shockingly bright fair hair and such piercing blue eyes that he was considered handsome indeed by the ton.
His countenance was a noble one too, earning him a good reputation wherever he went, but when Diana looked at him, she felt cold. It was as though she were looking at the face of winter itself, with his hand ice cold beneath her fingers and those blue eyes moving impassively over her.
“Dearly beloved,” the vicar called to the congregation as the organ music came to a close. “We are gathered here in the sight of God to join together this man and this woman, the Duke of Somerset, Gilbert Dowding, and Lady Diana Morris, daughter of the Earl of Bath.”
As the vicar continued, Diana felt the coldness spread up her arm from where her new husband was touching her hand, spreading through her body.
I am to be Duchess Dowding,she thought to herself, glancing at the plaque that bore her mother’s name.I wonder what you would think, Mother?
Chapter 1
Farleigh Hungerford, February 1810
