“No one else can tolerate you,” reminded North. “And you enjoy my company. I make you feel good about yourself because I’m the only man more terrible at being a duke than you are.”
“‘Duke’ in name only,” scoffed Ian. “Doesn’t your sister manage your estate?”
“She does, in fact, and she’s doing a crack job. I thank Christ for her every day. And my wife contributes. Perhaps your new duchess will help improve your outlook on Avenelle and the lot.”
“I cannot say how much time she’ll spend at Avenelle,” Ian admitted glumly. “She hopes to open a finishing school in London. It’s been her dream these many years. I’d be a rotter to disrupt her plans because she’s been forced to marry me. We may... live apart for much of the year.”
“Live apart? Bloody hell, Ian—no,” said North, sobering. “Bollocks to that. Find some middle ground. Have you discussed a compromise?”
“Have you not heard what I’ve said? We are literalstrangers. She is a very lovely, very proficient... stranger. We’ve discussed almost nothing about this union except the need to fling it together in five days to curtail gossip.”
They heard footsteps in the corridor; the old priest greeted them indifferently and ushered them to the alter.
“But will she allow you to touch her? Tonight?” whispered North hurriedly.
“I don’t know,” Ian ground out. It was painful to say out loud all the things he did not know.
“Well, here’s my advice,” North whispered quickly. “Instigate some . . . private discussion about the arrangementinto which you’ve both just entered. Talk about where you will live, for how long, how you could make her new school happen alongside your commitments in Dorset. If nothing else, this will make the future feel less slapdash. Meanwhile, perhaps the ol’ drunk-anticipation-can’t-breathe feeling will strike. If she’s amenable, kiss her again. Where’s the harm? The longer the two of you regard kissing as a rare fluke instead of a custom, the stranger and scarcer it will become.”
“Thank you for the advice,” sighed Ian smugly, reseating his hat. “I bloody well know how to kiss a woman.”
“Obviously,” muttered North, turning to smile at the waiting priest.
Ten minutes later Ian married Miss Trelayne before a crowd of three family members, the Duke of Northumberland, and a royal Princess.
After communion, Timothea played her lute.
Imogene slept through all of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Drewsmina Trelayne’s Rule of Style and Comportment #33: Proper sleeping attire for respectable ladies should include: night rail; dressing gown—preferably a matched set secured with a ribbon belt—wool stockings; slippers; and a night cap. In the winter a shawl may provide added warmth.
At the end of a truly exhausting, trulyoddwedding day, Drew returned to her room to find that all of her possessions had been removed.
“Never you fear,” said a maid who was fussing with the curtains. “I’ve seen all of Your Grace’s things moved into the duchess’s suite on the third floor.”
“Oh,” said Drew, looking around the cold dark space.
“I’m Chappy, by the way; it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look so very forward to serving you in the role of lady’s maid, Your Grace.” She dipped a small curtsy.
“How do you do,” Drew ventured, staring at the woman. She was exactly the sort of roundish, shortish, kind-faced servant for whom Drew would’ve, in her former incarnation, made life wretched. Now, for a reason Drew couldn’t explain, she wanted to hug the woman.
The maid turned back to the curtains and yanked them closed, sealing out the moonlight. “I’d be happy to showyou to your new rooms, if it pleases Your Grace,” Chappy said, taking up a candle.
“Alright,” said Drew, a little dazed. They were halfway down the stairwell before Drew found the words to ask, “Did Lady Tribble install you in this position, Chappy, or...?”
Drew could not imagine Lady Tribble hiring maids or rearranging rooms, but the alternative meant... Lachlan had done it.
Lachlan, who’d been cordial but evasive these last five days; who’d made the wedding happen but in the most practical, no-nonsense manner. They were married with as much feeling and sentiment as might be given to a carriage purchase.
He’d thought of everything but said almost nothing.
He’d kissed her on the cheek at the end of the ceremony—a slow, gentle swipe of his lips that hovered, just a breath, beside her ear—then he’d ridden his own horse outside the carriage from the church to the breakfast.
Drew had followed his lead, throwing her energy into the girls and relying heavily on Cynde for conversation and encouragement.
Butsomeonehad installed her in the duchess’s suite on the family floor. And hired personal staff. It could be only him. Lachlan made her a duchess in grand gestures but allowed the small, sweet, personal details of life to go... if not undone, at least unremarked.
