Page 36 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
He looked so handsome, so strong and solid and utterly dependable...and for a moment, Harriet felt a flicker of something deep within her chest, a tiny spark that threatened to ignite into a raging inferno if she let it. But she tamped it down ruthlessly, her jaw clenching with the force of her resolve as she reminded herself of the promise she had made, the vow she had sworn to keep her heart safe and untouched by the dangerous allure of love.
And yet...as she placed her hand in his, as she felt the warmth and strength of his grip, the calluses that spoke of a lifetime of hard work and unyielding determination...she couldn't help but feel a thrill of something that went beyond mere physical attraction, beyond the simple appreciation of a handsome face and a well-formed body.
The vicar's voice rang out clear and strong, filling the hushed silence of the church with the timeless words of the marriage ceremony. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony...”
Harriet barely heard the rest of the introduction, her attention wholly focused on Hugh's face, on the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at her, his eyes glinting with an emotion she couldn't quite name.
And then it was time for the vows, the sacred promises that would bind them together for the rest of their lives. Hugh's voice was deep and steady, filled with a quiet conviction that made Harriet's heart skip a beat in her chest.
“I, Hugh Wilkinson, take thee, Harriet Lourne, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, the simple gold band gleaming in the soft light of the church. Harriet swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly as she repeated the words, her eyes never leaving Hugh's.
“I, Harriet Lourne, take thee, Hugh Wilkinson, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”
Hugh's fingers closed around hers, steadying her, anchoring her in the moment.
The vicar smiled, his eyes twinkling with warmth and benevolence. “By the power vested in me by the Church of England, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Hugh leaned in, his hand cupping Harriet's cheek with a tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs. His lips brushed against hers, soft and gentle and filled with a promise of something more. Harriet's eyes fluttered closed, her heart pounding in her chest as she leaned into the kiss, into the warmth and strength of his embrace.
Around them, the congregation erupted into cheers and applause, their voices rising in a joyous chorus of celebration. But Harriet scarcely heard them, lost in the feeling of Hugh's arms around her, in the knowledge that they were now bound together, for better or worse, until death did them part.
And as they turned to face their friends and family, their hands clasped tightly together, Harriet felt a surge of something that felt dangerously close to happiness, to contentment, to the first stirrings of a love she had never dared to hope for. It was a feeling that both thrilled and terrified her, a feeling that she knew she would have to guard against with every fiber of her being.
But for now, in this moment, she allowed herself to bask in the glow of Hugh's smile, in the warmth of his touch, in the knowledge that they were now husband and wife, partners in every sense of the word. And though the future was uncertain, though the path ahead was sure to be fraught with challenges and obstacles...Harriet knew that she would face them all with Hugh by her side, with the strength and courage that only true partnership could bring.
Around them, the congregation erupted into cheers and applause, their faces wreathed in smiles of genuine happiness and goodwill. Harriet could see the joy shining in her mother's eyes, the fierce pride that radiated from William's every pore. Even Abigail was beaming, her face aglow with a sisterly affection that made Harriet's heart swell with gratitude and love.
But through it all, through the hugs and the kisses and the well-wishes that swirled around them like a whirlwind...all Harriet could see was Hugh, all she could feel was the heat of his hand in hers, the curve of his smile as he gazed down at her with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs.
And though she knew it was foolish, though she knew it went against every rational thought and carefully laid plan...she couldn't help but feel a flutter of something that felt dangerously close to hope, to longing, to the first stirrings of a love she had never dared to dream of before.
It was a terrifying thought, a prospect that filled her with equal parts exhilaration and dread. For she had sworn to herself that she would not let her heart be swayed by sentiment, that she would guard herself against the perils of falling for the man she had married out of duty and necessity.
Only now she was not at all sure that it would be possible.
CHAPTER20
Harriet sat quietly as the grand carriage bearing the newlyweds rolled to a stop before the imposing facade of Hugh’s London manor. A rueful smile appeared around her lips when she listened to the horses - snorting and stamping in the crisp autumn air.
This was her life now, and as she gazed up at the manor with its towering columns and gleaming windows, her heart leaped into her throat. She glanced at the man opposite her furtively.
This was her life now.
It was Hugh who climbed from the carriage first. He paused, then extended his hand to help her from the steps. Harriet hesitated for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed them in his warm, sturdy grip. The sensation of his skin against hers, the gentle strength of his touch... it sent a shiver down her spine, a frisson of something that she had never experienced before.
Harriet shut her eyes and shook her head slightly in an attempt to clear her head from these strange thoughts. With a stiff smile, she allowed Hugh to help her from the carriage and guide her up the steps and into the grand foyer, her skirts swishing softly against the polished marble floor. Harriet glanced around nervously.
Servants lined the hall and their heads were bowed in respectful deference - a silent welcome to the new mistress of the house.
Harriet felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of panic - cut through with the absurd need to burst out laughing. She glanced up at Hugh, suddenly desperate to escape the suffocating weight of expectation that seemed to press down upon her from all sides.
She had no idea how on earth to be a proper duchess. How was she meant to not only navigate the treacherous waters of society with grace and poise, but also run a household? It was too much.
Harriet glanced up at her husband again and her face flushed. There was another danger - one that was far closer. She could not, could not ever, allow herself to fall prey to the dangerous allure of her new husband. She could not let her heart be swayed by the quiet strength and unwavering loyalty that radiated from his very being.
“I um...” Harriet glanced up at Hugh, who looked down at her kindly. “I need rest,” she managed to get out. “Perhaps to... just an hour or so... of sleep.”
