Her life was about to change. For the past three and even more years, all anyone spoke of was the man she would marry.
And now the time was here. Her life was finally going to begin.
She was past ready. Staring at the medallions and scrollwork on her ceiling, she ruminated on how happy Cassandra had appeared. How content. Willa wanted to be that content.
Of course, she barely knew Matt. Her husband. His Grace.HerGrace. Her Grace.HisGrace.
Her father was very pleased with her. Apparently, he, too, had been anxious about Matt’s prolonged disappearance from London.
But now he was here, and in a matter of hours, Leland Reverly could proudly claim he had a duke for a son-in-law. Willa had no doubt that her father would even have calling cards made up that said, “Leland Reverly, father-in-marriage to the Duke of Camberly.”
Furthermore, the whispers had not been true. Matt was not indifferent to her. He was going to marry her.
However, what the gossips thought was of no importance... because Matthew Addison, Duke of Camberly,wasa prize in Willa’s mind. Points aside. He was tall and exceedingly handsome. Why, there wasn’t a woman in London who didn’t crave his attention. He moved with energy. He had all his teeth. He had all of hiseverything.
And he had come for her. He’d challenged her decision to release him from the betrothal. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that meant he cared, but at least he’d noticed her.
In the dark, she lightly rubbed the pad of her thumb over the place where Matt had kissed her wrist and added another characteristic of her own to Matt’s tally of traits—he was kind. That was a sign of goodness.
He’d been angry when he’d first arrived. No, he’d beenirritated. There was a difference. But he’d listened to her complaints, and she believed he’d genuinely heard her. After all, wasn’t that what anyone wanted? To have someone who listened?
Last night, her father had stayed home. He’d joined her and her mother for a simple dinner. The kitchen had been too busy preparing the wedding breakfast that would be served shortly after noon on her wedding day. Kegs of ale and whisky had been laid in. Port, Madeira, sherry, and even French wines had been acquired. The actual ceremony at the church would be private and quiet, but, in her father’s mind, the wedding breakfast was what mattered. It was his opportunity to display his power and wealth.
Therefore, for once he had not minded a boiled capon and buttered bread. Even her mother had acted pleased about the marriage.
Willa tossed her braid once more across the pillow and, curling up, tried to sleep again. Tomorrow, she would experience the marriage bed. Matt was rumored to be a powerful lover. A line from one his poems echoed in her mind:Lost in her, deep within her, I find solace and grace.
When she’d first read those words, she’d stared at them, trying to divine their meaning. They were both mysterious and earthy, as if the lover had special powers.
The man who wrote those words wasn’t a man like her father, who flitted from woman to woman. No, Matt’s poem told her thathis lovermattered.
If that wasn’t enough to keep a woman awake—?
Especially when she wasn’t quite certain what all would happen.
She did fall asleep, because Annie woke her at half past seven with a breakfast tray. The house smelled of delicious food.
“You should see the rooms downstairs,” Annie said, opening the drapes. “The footmen worked all night setting up tables. They came in by the cartloads. I helped with the coverings. Cream and gold. Mr. Reverly is sparing no expense. Not for his daughter.”
Coming over to the bed, Annie gave her an indulgent smile. She had been one of the constants in Willa’s life. She had joined the staff as a nursery attendant when Willa was five. At that time, it was said that Willa had been a terror. She hated for anyone to brush her hair, and few said no to her.
With patience and the practicality and good humor of the Irish, Annie had coaxed Willa into letting her tame her wild tangles. She’d done it by telling Willa stories of mice who enjoyed tea parties at night in little girls’ hair. Willa still wished to believe any snarls and tangles were the result of too much treacle syrup.
Over the years, she and Annie had made a fast bond, although the maid knew her place. However, whenever Willa fell, Annie was there to pick her up. When the world was confusing, Annie helped her understand.
And when Willa needed to shine socially, Annie primped and ironed to be certain she did.
“Did you sleep all right?” Annie asked.
“Barely. My hair.” Willa rubbed her eyes and yawned.
“It is more than just your hair that kept you up,” Annie said with a twinkle. “You are about to become a duchess. Proud I am, Miss. Now, eat. A bath will arrive in a few minutes.”
While Willa nibbled a hot bun and sipped chocolate, Annie pulled from the wardrobe the wedding dress. It was of the whitest muslin, shot through with threads of silver and gold, and had capped sleeves. It was both innocent, and yet a touch enticing—which was the way Willa thought a bride should be.
The bath arrived with great ceremony. Even though the footmen had been up most of the night and would continue to be on hand this day, their spirits were high in her honor. They were going to be well rewarded for their hard work. There would be extra vails from not only her father but from the other guests.
Willa didn’t dally with her bathing. Her stockings were of the palest silk and she wore white kid slippers. The shoes also had a small heel, so they added perhaps an inch to Willa’s height.
