So, here they were, one week later, standing at the altar. He was dressed in a dove-grey morning suit which his tailor had quickly made for the occasion, and Miss Whitmore was dressed in the white gown she had presumably worn at her coming out, and gripping a bouquet so tightly she was in danger of ripping the pink flowers to shreds.
The two bridesmaids stood behind her, looking as surprised to be in this chapel as everyone else. Only a smiling Mrs Whitmore gave the appearance of being exactly where she wanted to be.
The vicar conducted the service with the required solemnity. When it came to the vows, Jacob did as expected and promised to love and to cherish till death do us part, although in reality the best he could do was promise to try. The honour should not cause any problem. He admired Miss Whitmore immensely and held her in the highest esteem. He would also attempt to cherish her whenever it was needed, but love, well, that might be asking more of him than he was capable of giving.
Having never known love, the giving or the taking, he had no idea what it actually entailed. Unlike Miss Whitmore, he had not been raised by loving parents. One parent he hardly remembered but he’d been told she’d never wanted him. The other had made it clear at every opportunity that nothing about him was deserving of love.
The vicar turned to Miss Whitmore and asked the same questions, including a vow to obey.
The quiet chapel became completely silent as they all waited for her response.
‘I will,’ she mumbled.
Jacob expected her to add a defiantnotat the end, or at least to enter into a debate over theobeypart of the vow.
She did not.
The vicar then proclaimed them man and wife and informed him he could kiss his bride.
It was done. He was married. He lifted her veil tentatively and braced himself in preparation for the sight of an unhappy bride.
Instead of seeing an angry young woman’s icy expression, as expected, he looked down on a woman whose beauty all but took his breath away. It was as if every time he saw her she became more attractive. How she managed to do that he had no idea.
She lifted her gaze to meet his. He looked into those hazel eyes, flecked with gold, and detected an unfamiliar shyness as she waited for the kiss that would seal their union. His heart yearned to do what he had just promised, to give her comfort, to make this better for her, but, not knowing how to love, he was uncertain how one achieved that end.
‘It will be all right, I promise,’ he said quietly, before leaning down and lightly caressing her lips with his.
Then he drew back but continued to gaze down at her, hoping he had not just told her a lie. All he could really do was try, and hopefully he would succeed in making this all right for her, although whatall rightwould be he had no idea.
Neither of them wanted to be in the situation they now found themselves, but there was nothing they could do about it, apart from trying to make the best of things, and for him that meant doing nothing that would make marriage to him even more intolerable for her than it undoubtably was.
He gently took her arm and they walked out of the church, followed by her family. He exchanged a few pleasantries with the members of her family and was introduced to the two bridesmaids, Alice and Primrose, both of whom eyed him with suspicious, assessing looks.
No wedding breakfast had been arranged. There would be no speeches. Instead, with almost as much haste as they had been married, they were boarding the night train up to his estate in Northumberland to begin their life together.
Feeling as awkward as a teenage boy in the company of a girl for the first time, he led her to their private compartment. They sat on opposing benches and looked across at each other, her look of stunned disbelief no doubt mirroring his own.
‘Well, Miss Whitmore…’ Jacob began, ‘although I suppose I should call you Margaret now that you are no longer a miss.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘And you must call me Jacob.’
‘Jacob,’ she repeated and the sound of his name caused an unexpected stirring in him.
That was something else he would have to come to terms with. He was becoming increasingly attracted to his new wife, and that would never do. Despite being married, they hardly knew each other, and she had made it abundantly clear on as many occasions as she could that she did not want to be with him. That kiss they’d shared in the carriage had surely been a momentary lapse in judgement, one for which she had been soundly punished, and now the feisty Miss Whitmore had turned into a timid Duchess of Rosedale, all because she had been forced into this marriage.
That was so unfair and would never do. It was time to address her fears and provide some of that comfort he had promised at the altar and put her mind at ease.
‘Miss… Margaret, now that we are married, we should discuss the terms of this arrangement.’
‘Terms?’
‘Yes,’ he said slowly, surprisingly embarrassed about what he needed to say. ‘We both know you do not want this marriage.’
‘I believe that is mutual, Your Grace… I mean, Jacob.’
‘Hmm, well, yes.’ He ran his hand around the back of his neck, unsure how he should phrase this. ‘I dare say your mother gave you a talk about what to expect on your wedding night.’
