Of course, she had agreed. What had there been to think about? Declining his proposal wasn’t something she had even considered.
She had accepted him and then lifted her chin and allowed him to kiss her. Her first thought was that his mouth felt dry and pinched. Cool, bloodless. And although she’d parted her lips slightly, he’d made no attempt to deepen it.
But she had not hated it.
Although she did hate that Stone Spencer’s questions from earlier had taunted her. Marrying a duke was precisely what she wanted. No doubt she would have preferred that Culpepper declare himself head over heels in love with her, but he was merely treating her respectfully.
Culpepper had ended the kiss abruptly. “I’ll send a carriage for you before dawn. Can you be waiting outside?” He’d been nearly breathless when he’d asked her this. As though he was afraid she would change her mind.
“With my maid?” Emily, who was ten years Tabetha’s senior and particularly loyal to her mother, might make this somewhat difficult, but ultimately, she would support the elopement.
Because once Tabetha was the Duchess of Culpepper, Tabetha’s maid would be elevated as well. Emily would become the lady’s maid to an actualduchess.
Tabetha had imagined herself a duchess since… well, for as long as she could remember.
Not this precise scenario, she conceded. She would have far preferred Culpepper obtain permission from her brother and that they had the banns read. That would have allowed her almost a month to gloat, to accept the congratulations of her peers at a flurry oftonevents.
She’d imagined a grand ceremony at St. George’s. Not like Bethany’s, where the church had been virtually empty, but one where so many guests were in attendance that stragglers would be forced to stand at the back.
“You must come alone.” He’d gripped her arms and pulled her closer. “I don’t want to risk delaying our marriage.” And then he’d kissed her again. More ardently this time. He’d raised one hand and cradled her cheek.
She’d nodded, startled by the burst of affection. “If that’s what you wish.”
“It is.”
He’d walked her back inside then, bowed over her hand, and then disappeared for the remainder of the night.
And just as he’d promised, three carriages had been waiting outside when she’d emerged just before dawn. They’d now been driving for several hours.
She peered across the dim interior of the carriage from beneath her lashes, tired of the scenery outside, and studied the man across from her. His head was tipped back now, his eyes closed, allowing her an unfettered chance to appreciate his appearance.
He had curly light brown hair, not nearly as thick as Mr. Spencer’s, nor as rich a color. But it was brushed forward and styled with pomade. Furthermore, his clothing was of the latest fashion, although the lace on his shirt and at his wrists seemed a little excessive and the heels of his shoes unusually tall.
When he’d embraced her in the garden, he had smelled nice—like an exotic spice. After a moment’s consideration, Tabetha mentally checked that point in his favor.
His nails were clean. In fact, they had been buffed to a high shine.
She trailed her gaze up his torso to study his face. The shape was narrow, his cheekbones high and thin. His lashes were the same color as his hair and his nose… perhaps his nose was his most aristocratic feature. Prominent and proud, it curved outward and then hooked down at the tip, almost like a hawk. He shifted. Were those…?
They were!
She dropped her gaze to the floor when she spied coarse black hairs growing out of the nostrils she’d just been admiring.
I don’t know how he avoids a crick in his neck looking down his nose like that.
Tabetha squashed Stone Spencer’s voice for the second time. Culpepper was not an unattractive gentleman. He was very well groomed, aside from those three hairs poking out…
When she’d suggested that Culpepper speak with her brother first, he’d sighed heavily, looking quite disappointed. She’d worried for a moment that he might rescind his proposal.
“I’d much prefer speaking with him afterward,” he’d replied. She’d been unable to see his eyes in the darkness. “It’s been just over a year since my dear Elaina passed, and it would be unseemly for me to make a fuss over my new bride.” He’d squeezed her hands. “You do understand, don’t you, such a sensitive soul as yourself?”
And she had nodded.
Because at the time, his request had made sense. If he thought she was a sensitive soul, then who was she to disabuse him of the notion?
She wished she knew him better. She wished he’d come to her home, met with Westerley, taken tea with her mother.
An unpleasant tingle slid down her spine, but she dismissed it by forcing herself to sit up straight. She simply needed to get him talking about himself, something she generally had no trouble accomplishing.
