Page 94 of Marry in Scarlet
A moment later she slammed the front door behind her.
She pounded along the footpath. Her head was in a whirl. Rose and Lily were wrong. She wasn’t in love with the duke. She couldn’t be.
They were certain she was in love only because they were in love with their husbands. It wasn’t the same for her. The duke was no Edward or Thomas. They were warm, kind, loving men. The duke was... an icicle.
Except when he kissed her.
Blast and botheration! Why couldn’t she just go back to the way it was before? Before he’d noticed her. Before she’d noticed him. Before he’d kissed her. Life had been so much simpler then, so much more enjoyable. She’d known what she wanted and exactly how to get it. Now...
Now she didn’t know anything. Why hadn’t she taken her freedom when the duke offered it? Rose was right. It wasn’t just because baby Bertie had made her realize she wanted a baby of her own. She pulled her hat off and rubbed her head, as if somehow she could make sense of it all.
Whoever said that love had to make sense?
It wasn’t love—was it? She knew who she loved—her dog, her horse, Martha, her family...
But it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t afire to kiss any of them. The duke was like a fever in her blood.
Aunt Dottie had said that for some people that fever faded after the honeymoon. George wasn’t sure whether the thought of that was a comfort... or a worry.
A comfort, she told herself firmly, because if this was love, it was confusing and uncomfortable and she didn’twant a bar of it. She picked up a stick for Finn and threw it as far as she could.
***
It was the night before the wedding. Hart, much against his inclination, had allowed Sinc to drag him out for a few convivial drinks with some friends. “Not natural for a bridegroom to pass the night before sober and alone,” Sinc insisted. “You need drinks and company to chase the nerves away.”
“I’m not nervous in the least,” Hart lied.
“Not worried about the wagers, then?” Percy, one of the friends said.
“Wagers?” Hart repeated in a steely voice.
“Nothing, no wagers,” Sinc said hurriedly. “Old Percy’s three sheets to the wind—silly fool doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“No, I’m not,” Percy said indignantly. “There’s a dozen different wagers on the wedding not going ahead.”
“Shut up, Perce!” Sinc hissed.
But though Percy might not be three sheets to the wind, he was drunk enough not to take a hint. “You know yourself, Sinc, that the money’s on a second Rutherford girl jilting the poor fellow. Lady George not the sort to make a duchess. No ambition in her. Swore she’d never marry, and I for one, believed her. Anyway, I saw you lay a bet myself, so what are you pokering up and pulling faces at me about?”
Sinc groaned.
“If that’s what you think, you have wasted your money,” Hart said coldly. He rose and opened the French doors to the balcony, hoping some cool night air might calm his temper. After a while Sinc followed him out.
“Did you bet on my wedding?” Hart asked him.
Sinc pulled a rueful face. “You know me, Hart, can’t resist a good bet.”
“And what did you bet on?”
“That she won’t let you down, of course. A straightarrow if ever there was one, Lady George.” He stared at Hart. “You didn’t imagine I’d bet against you, did you?”
Hart relaxed a little. He hoped Sinc was right, but doubts continued to plague him. He still didn’t understand why she’d decided to go ahead with the marriage. She’d fought so hard against it at first, but then, when he’d offered her her freedom, she didn’t take it. Why?
Every other woman who’d ever shown interest in him hadn’t been able to look past his title, his fortune and his estate. What was she getting out of this marriage? She wasn’t ambitious, she didn’t care about titles or his fortune—she’d made that abundantly clear in the settlement discussions.
And yet, despite her lack of interest in his position and assets, she truly did seem to seehim—Hart, not the duke. She saw him, but she didn’t seem to like him very much. They quarreled almost every time they met. So why would she marry him? For a baby? She could get that from any man.
He stared into the golden depths of his glass, then drained it. These were not thoughts to calm a nervous bridegroom. He could think of no good reason why she’d be at the church in the morning. All he had to cling to, like a man in danger of drowning, was that she’d given him her word. And she hadn’t let him down yet.
