Page 10 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
Michael shrugged, his irritation rising again.
“Well, what's the point of all this?” he asked. “Can't I just go to the church and get it over with? I don't see why we need to impress anyone.”
Lark sighed, and Michael was instantly angry with himself. But he was angry with the situation, too, and he didn’t feel like continuing to try to be nice and pretend that he wasn’t. Lark continued with his task, leaving Michael to inwardly brood about how he had managed to become a duke with such a lack of social graces. For the nth time, he cursed his late brother. Had it not been for his death, Michael never would have been duke. Michael was still bitter about the fact that he’d had to inherit the dukedom. He was as ill prepared to be duke as he was to be a husband. He had little doubt that the upcoming weeks would be a challenge for everyone. Even his own trusted servants.
Despite the vase, which was so close to him that he could almost smell it, Michael was beginning to regret his rash decision to get married. He was dreading the next three weeks of dealing with people at social events. It was going to be torture. He desperately wished that Marcus hadn’t brought it all to his attention. Better that each one take him by surprise than for him to have time to dwell on it all.
And the evening ahead was even more terrifying. He was going to meet his bride and her family, and he couldn't help but picture her as dowdy, mousy, too plump, or too thin, probably obtuse, and highly opinionated. She had had two seasons and was still single, after all. The Duke was confident that she wouldn't object to marrying a man who wore spectacles. That couldn’t be any worse than a woman who had an unreasonable fascination with education, right?
Once he was shaven, and his unruly hair was styled so that it hung neatly around his shoulders, Lark stepped back. Michael looked at himself in the looking glass, sneering. He thought he looked ridiculous, and he thought that the dinner awaiting him even more so. But he felt terrible for having been so rude to one of the servants who had been with him since he was a boy. He gave Lark a nod, not looking at the valet as he spoke.
“Thank you,” he said curtly. “You are dismissed.”
The valet bowed wordlessly, turning to leave the room. Michael followed soon after, heading down to the drawing room, where his mother waited for them to depart.
Her grace was dressed in a red velvet dress. She looked Michael over, nodding slowly.
“You look very nice,” she said. “Are you ready to go?”
Michael frowned. He wanted to express his displeasure about his situation. But he also knew that would be futile with his mother. She already had dreamy aspirations about his wedding day. And she didn’t know his true motivations for taking the bride who awaited him. Thus, he had to keep his thoughts to himself. He had to go through the motions and pray that he could get through the evening ahead of him.
“You look lovely, Mother,” he said, trying to change the subject.
The dowager beamed at him, touching his arm affectionately.
“Thank you, darling,” she said. “Oh, this is most exciting.”
Michael sighed.
“It’s sure to be an evening,” he said bitterly.
His mother continued smiling brightly, oblivious to her son’s unhappiness.
“Indeed, it will,” she said. “I have heard that Lady Lydia is a lovely young lady.”
Michael nodded without enthusiasm. He very much doubted that there was anything lovely about a young woman who had had no marriage prospects and was interested in education. But even if he did regret his decision to marry her, he doubted that he could change his mind now. He would create a scandal throughout the entire ton. And worst of all, he wouldn’t get the vase.
As he and his mother left for the dinner at the castle, Michael’s last thoughts were about his goal. He needed to keep his eyes on the prize. He reminded himself that he wouldn’t need to worry himself with his wife after they were married. He would stay out of her way, and he would keep her out of his. If he could just stand all the horror for three more weeks, it would be worth it. He would get his hands on the coveted vase that he had been after for so long.
And as for his bride-to-be, she would just have to look out for herself. She was part of the deal he didn’t want. And he had no intention of acting like he did want her. In fact, after their wedding day, he intended to try to forget she existed. He could go overseas to search for more collector’s items, and stay gone as long as he possibly could. He didn’t care what his future wife did. So long as she didn’t bring scandal to his name or get under foot. Lady Lydia Townsend would just have to cope with being married to an absent husband.
Chapter Five
Lydia stood frozen in front of the full-length mirror, staring at her reflection with a mixture of dread and resignation. The gold satin dress that Hester had helped her choose from her mother’s selection of three, in preparation for her betrothal ball, was indeed very lovely. But Lydia was too distracted to care. She felt like she would be violently ill at any moment. Or like she might throw herself out the window. Either would be preferable to the evening that lay ahead of her.
Hester rubbed her bath dampened hair with a towel before combing it to roll it in fabric rollers. Lydia was happy to sit quietly while her lady’s maid worked on her hair. Her mother had been very specific about how she expected her daughter to look, and Hester was very gifted in dressing Lydia and styling her hair. Lydia couldn’t have cared less how she looked. She would be counting down to the end of the night from the moment she set foot outside her bedchamber door.
Hester finished with her hair, guiding her back over to the tall looking glass to help her into the gold dress. Matching gloves, reticule and shoes completed the outfit, and a gold, diamond studded tiara would sit atop the ringlets that Hester would pin up when her hair was dry. Lydia couldn’t watch her reflection as Hester dressed her. She felt like a life-sized doll, being tugged and tossed at her mother’s whim.
The dress was a lovely fit for her. The skirt flowed nicely almost all the way to the floor, and it clung to her curves in all the right places. Lydia hardly noticed, however. Her mind was a chaotic mess of fear, anxiety, and despair. Whether the duke and his mother thought she looked exceedingly lovely or terribly plain, she would still spend the evening under heavy scrutiny. And she wouldn’t even have Mary there to help distract her. She was on her own for the evening. And she already hated every minute of it.
She looked up from her brooding and saw Hester, her lady’s maid, watching her with concern. Hester had been with her since childhood, and she had always known when something was troubling her mistress. Lydia had always confided in her, just as much as she did Mary. Lydia glanced at her reflection, noticing that Hester had done her best to help her mistress look her best for the night ahead, but Lydia couldn't seem to find the energy to care.
“Are you alright, milady?” Hester asked, concern etched into her face. “Do you need a moment?”
Lydia scoffed softly.
“I need a whole night,” she said mournfully. “Maybe the rest of my life.”
