Page 95 of Marry in Scarlet
He knew why he’d chosen her. He wanted her, wanted in a way that he didn’t care to examine too closely. It was enough that he desired her and that she was independent enough not to be the sort of wife who would cling and want to live in his pocket.
He went inside. There was no point in going round and round and round with the same unanswerable questions. It was simple: either she’d turn up at the church tomorrow or she wouldn’t.
He held out his glass for a refill.
Chapter Seventeen
She is loveliness itself.
—JANE AUSTEN,EMMA
George stood in front of her looking glass, contemplating her reflection while her maid, Sue, fluttered around her, making a few last-minute adjustments. “Lordy, m’lady, I never seen a bride dressed so bright before. My sister wore her best Sunday-go-to-church dress for her wedding, and it was a lovely bright blue, but this—”
“It’s a new fashion,” George said.
“You don’t say. I was thinking maybe you’d wear silver tissue like the poor late princess, but I suppose people think it’s a bit of a sad fashion now.” Sue tweaked the skirt to adjust the fall. “In the country if a girl wore red to her wedding, well, people would talk...”
People would talk in London too, George thought. That was the point. They’d called her a hussy, a jezebel, a strumpet, and today she would flip it back in their smug, hypocritical faces. She’d show them she didn’t give the snap of her fingers for their stupid opinions.
Besides, white made her look sallow.
“Fetch me the black silk domino from the wardrobe, would you?”
“Domino, miss?”
“A black silk cloak thing with a hood.”
Sue looked horrified. “You’re not going to wear black to your wedding, are you, m’lady?”
George laughed. “No, just to the church. It’s a bit chilly outside—that breeze—but I’ll take it off before I get out of the carriage.” Really the domino was to stop any potential argument from her family. Who knew what aunts, especially skinny old busybodies, might still be lurking about.
A knock sounded on the door. “His lordship is waiting downstairs, Lady George,” Burton called. “The carriage has arrived.”
“Coming.” Sue settled the domino around her and George pulled it close so that not an inch of dress was visible.
Right, this was it. She was off to marry the duke. An hour from now she’d be his duchess. Or not.
She hurried down the stairs. Cal was pacing back and forth in the hallway. “Cutting it fine, George. Emm and the ladies have gone ahead—” He broke off, staring at her. “Good God! What the devil are you up to? You’re not wearing black to your wedding, George. Not even you—”
“Of course I’m not wearing black. It’s chilly outside, that’s all.”
His frown didn’t shift. “There are any number of cloaks in this house that are better suited to a wedding.”
“I didn’t have time to find one, and anyway I’ll take it off before I get out of the carriage. Now, come on, I don’t want to be late.”
Cal glanced at the clock in the hallway. “Hell, no.” He hurried her into the carriage, oblivious of the various servants who’d gathered in the hallway to wish her well.
George waved to them as the carriage set off. Cal sat opposite her, his arms folded and his face grim. “What kind of mischief are you up to, young George—and don’t give me that innocent look. I know mischief when I see it.”
“Mischief?” She grinned.
“You won’t be able to play your tricks on the duke, you know. He’s a very serious fellow.”
She quirked her lips and gave a careless shrug.
“Every man is a bundle of nerves on his wedding day,” Cal continued, “and Everingham will be more on edge than most, given what happened with Rose.”
“He’s the one who forced this wedding on me,” she said lightly.
