Page 17 of Wedded to the Forbidden Duke
If nothing else,she reasoned,at least we will have this in common. A total and utter lack of any pleasant or positive feelings towards each other.
It was not the prettiest or most comforting thought for a bride to have before her wedding day. But it was certainly the most comforting thought Cecilia could muster up.
“You look lovely, my dear,” Lady Lindbury ventured, standing to Cecilia’s left.
“Yes,” Nancy agreed. “You will look most wonderful walking down the aisle towards the altar.”
Cecilia shook her head. “It should be you, Nancy,” she said. “You in the veil, preparing to marry my brother. Not me, preparing to marry that awful man?—”
“The duke is a perfectly respectable gentleman,” her mother said sharply. “Indeed, it is most honorable of him to have agreed to marry you, even as you both insist nothing has happened. He is a man of title, as well as kindness.”
Cecilia closed her eyes. It felt as though she had been constantly reprimanded by her mother and brother the past few days, in silence more than words. “Yes, Mother,” she said.
Lady Lindbury’s eyes softened. She turned to the veil, placing it over Cecilia’s honey-blond locks and pinning it in place.
“I know this is not as you may have hoped,” she said softly. “Or I. I had hopes that you would have time to speak to many suitors and find a match at your own pace. I had even hoped that you might find a love match, even though I know how logical and sensible and like your father you are…” She trailed off.
Cecilia saw in the looking glass that her mother’s eyes were damp with tears. Lady Lindbury cleared her throat. “But there are worse men to marry, Cecilia,” she continued. “And I am proud of you. You have always acquitted yourself most wonderfully in the worst of circumstances, and you will make a wonderful duchess.” She finished her adjustments on the veil and smoothed her hands down her daughter’s head. “And a beautiful bride.”
“Besides,” Nancy chimed in. “Whatever your feelings for the duke now…” She winced, then hurried to continue, “Well, who is to say love will not blossom between the two of you? My mama always has told me that marriage is the most beautiful thing precisely because of the depth of connection you must make with someone. She said that there is no deeper bond in the world than the quiet intimacies of knowing and cherishing someone’s presence in your life, day after day. Isn’t that right, Lady Lindbury?”
A small held-back sob. The girls both looked at Cecilia’s mother. The tears were now threatening to spill over. Nancy’s face reddened as she realized what she had said.
“Oh. Forgive me, my lady?—”
“No, Miss Banfield,” Lady Lindbury mentioned. “It is quite all right. And your mother is quite right, as well. Marriage is a beautiful thing, not least because of the love it builds. I loved your father more and more with every passing day, Cecilia. If he were here, we would say the same. And I have no doubts that you and the duke will similarly join in understanding and unity as the years go on.”
I doubt it,though Cecilia, though she couldn’t say as much. Watching her mother wipe away the tears sent a pang through her chest. She nodded.
“Good girl,” Lady Lindbury said, wiping away one final tear. Then she went to the door, opened it, and turned back to face the girls. “Well. Shall we?”
Leaving the church, Ian could not help but feel as though the whole day had been a dream.
A nightmare, really. Or, rather, it should have been. He had never intended to marry. He certainly had never intended to marry his best friend’s sister, or a woman who so clearly wanted to be on the opposite side of the room from him at all times. He was not the sort of man who was cut out for love, for marriage, for anything more serious than a sensible dalliance with a similarly sensible lady. He had decided that long ago.
Fate had decided that for him, long ago.
And yet…if he were being truly honest with himself, there was a moment, as the wedding march played and Lady Cecilia arrived at the foot of the aisle, that he damn near forgot how to breathe.
She was beautiful. Somehow even more beautiful than she had been at the ball, or in the sun bickering with him about Pall Mall, or that first night they met, candlelit in the library. On the outside, she looked the picture of the perfect bride, well-behaved and draped in white. The dress, though appropriately modest, fit her perfectly, causing him to inadvertently imagine her body beneath. She held on to her brother’s arm, taking small, well-practiced steps toward him.
When she arrived at the altar and faced him, he had to take a small breath to steel himself before lifting the veil off her head.
The look she gave him was electrifying. The steel and resolve in those green eyes. In an instant, she became even more beautiful still. So what if his wife didn’t love him? He had never wanted her to. His past had taught him that nothing good would come of such a thing.
His wife.
A few words, and suddenly Cecilia was no longer Lady Cecilia Forbes, but Cecilia Repington, Duchess of Harwick.
It almost was enough to make one’s head spin.
If Lady Cecilia—no—his wife, hiswife—if his wife’s head was spinning, she gave no indication, sitting across from him in the carriage.
It had been strange, after the wedding. Watching her bid goodbye to her mother, and to Miss Banfield—who, of course, promised to visit her in a week; he made a mental note to tell the staff to prepare for guests—before accepting the hand he offered her to step into the carriage, where she then settled into her seat and said not a word more to him.
He took advantage of the fact that she was not looking at him—was, in fact, staring resolutely out the window—to study her. Her smooth skin, the delicate nose; the perfectly formed lips.
She was mostly still, other than the fact that she was fidgeting. Non-stop, in fact, the fingers of one hand persistently twisting at the edge of her glove. Her face remained resolute as it had been at the altar, but there was something in that movement that made him wonder, was she…nervous?
