Fortunately, Colonel Kingston had taken him in hand. She had no idea what the colonel had said to soothe her father’s ruffled feelings—the most he’d confided to her was that the colonel had spoken plain sense, one military man to another—but eventually her father had given her his reluctant blessing.
And so, here she was, mere hours away from becoming a duchess.
Goodness, howstrangethat sounded.
After the ceremony, she and Montford would remain in Kent only long enough to enjoy a small, private wedding breakfast, then they would leave for London, and Montford’s lavish townhouse in Berkeley Square.
What they would do once they arrived there . . . well, that was anyone’s guess really, but presumably they’d each of them get on with the business of pursuing their own lives. Montford had made it clear this was no love match, but merely a marriage of convenience. She had every expectation he’d go on in much the same way he’d done before their marriage, though one would hope he’d be a trifle more discreet about it.
That thought made her chest tighten with a curious pang, but she took care not to dwell on it. How had Montford put it? They’d made their bed, and now they’d be obliged to lie in it, together.
But there were worse things than becoming a duchess, and it must be acknowledged that since she’d accepted his proposals, Montford had been exceedingly polite to her.
Excruciatingly polite.
Theirs would be a courteous marriage, if nothing else.
But there was no sense in worrying over those things she couldn’t control. Instead, she would focus on the ways in which her marriage would benefit herself and her father. It would take the burden of debt from their shoulders, as well as the burden of any future financial worries. Then there was Thornewood, her beloved home, which would soon be restored to them.
She might go back to visit it at any time she wished.
But most of all, she thought about freedom. In the end, she’d turned out to be dreadfully selfish, because it was that promise above all the others that had swayed her in favor of the marriage.
Oh, she wasn’t so foolish as to believe marriage was her winged horse, her cloudy castle turrets. Marriage never was, for a woman. Any lady of sense recognized that marriage would take far more from her than it gave in return. If anything, most women were more constrained after their marriage than before it, husbands upon the whole being troublesome, demanding creatures.
But then most women didn’t marry a duke.
She and Montford had an understanding. Neither of them would seek to curtail the other’s freedom. They would each be at liberty to do as they pleased—within reason, of course. And if it sounded a bit lonely, and not much like a marriage at all, the disappointments she endured would be well worth the opportunities she’d receive in exchange.
The trick would be in having the courage to seize them.
She returned her gaze to the garden below her window, to the deserted stone pathways dotted with marble benches, the peaked roof of the stables visible above the spindly aspen trees that bordered the lake. They were young trees yet, their pale bark glowing in the moonlight, but they’d be beautiful one day, with their fluttering leaves soaring into the sky.
London wasn’t going to welcome her.
Thetonwas sure to disapprove of their new duchess, an unfashionable upstart from goodness only knew where—some tiresome country village or other. Such an ordinary lady, too, without any accomplishments to speak of, and not even very pretty.
There was only one way she could have caught the elusive Duke of Montford’s eye.
By shooting him in the backside, of course.
No doubt thetonwas already whispering about her, but that scandal was sure to explode with a vengeance once she arrived in London. It would be difficult once it did, and she didn’t anticipate Montford would help her much.
So, she’d have to make her own way through it, and there was only one thing to be done in such a situation as that—only one way to manage such overwhelming censure coming from every corner of London.
It was quite simple, really.
She’d survive only if she made up her mind right here, and right now, not to care one whit about any of it. Let the tongues wag, if they must, because cringing and cowardice would only encourage more abuse.
She was giving up a great deal for this marriage, just as every woman before her had done, and by God, she’d seize every little bit of freedom that came her way in return, because she would haveearnedit.
She didn’t have to answer to theton, nor did she have to answer to Montford.
She would answer to no one but herself.
She was Prudence Thorne, and Prudence Thorne she would remain, even in the face of theton’s scorn and disapproval. She wouldn’t allow herself to be erased once she became the Duchess of Monford.
That was all.
