Page 108 of The Heiress's Daughter
She eyed him searchingly, then her face quivered slightly and she flung her arms around him, lifted her mouth to his and kissed him.
Something was wrong.
The wedding arrangements were surging ahead with the speed of a runaway coach. What they’d planned as a small, intimate affair with just family and a handful of friends was quickly turning into a Society Event.
Race knew why. He’d heard the talk. And it infuriated him.
Apparently Lord Randall—the famously elusive Rake Randall—had been snared at last, and by a plain dab of a girl of undistinguished birth and substantial fortune. Society was agog, so much so that even he had heard the whispers and speculation.
How had she managed it?
He couldn’t possibly want her. Why had he allowed it to happen?
Would he break and run at the last minute?
And of course, everyone wanted to come to the wedding.
Ten days earlier, when he and Clarissa had come in from the garden to announce that the betrothal was now official and the wedding was going ahead, she’d been happy, glowing, excited. Now, the last few times he’d seen her she seemed pale and preoccupied. Oh, she made an effort to appear as normal, pasting on a bright smile from time to time, but she was no kind of actress and he could tell that underneath her general happiness, something was eating at her.
Was it the gossip?
But their entire courtship, such as it was, had been riddled with gossip. And she’d told him several times that she didn’t care about gossip. So what was it?
Race led her outside to her favorite spot in the garden, the rose arbor. “What is it, love? You seem worried.”
She seemed flustered by the question. “Oh, do I? Sorry. It’s just—oh, it’s nothing. I’m just being silly, that’s all.”
“You’re never silly. Now tell me what’s worrying you.”
She looked around as if seeking escape, or rescue, or perhaps inspiration, but finding none, she slumped a little. “It’s nothing. I’m just…Everyone is talking about what an unequal match this is.”
“Unequal? In what way?”
“You’re so charming and urbane and handsome and sophisticated and I’m just a girl from the country, shy and plump and plain, and—”
“Stop right there! You’re gorgeous and not the least bit plain and if others can’t see it, well, I’m happy to keep your beauty a secret known only to a handful of people, people who love you.” His kiss was long and lingering. Someday she’d realize she was as beautiful as he knew her to be.
He forced himself to end it. He was aching to make love to her, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Now, is it really the gossip you’re worried about?”
She sighed. “Not completely.”
“Then what?” He waited a moment then said, “Of course if it’s private I won’t press you, but if it’s something I can help with…”
She flushed. “It’s just…the wedding night.”
Was that it? Relief surged through him. Virginal anxieties—he should have expected it, her not having a mother to advise her. Race pulled her hard against him and kissed her again. “Don’t be worried, love. You’ll like it, you’ll see.”
“Oh, I know—Izzy explained things to me, and so did Mrs. Price-Jones—and I can’t wait, truly I can’t. I do want you, terribly. It’s just that…”
“What?”
“I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”
He kissed her again. “You won’t.”
But he could see that she didn’t really believe him, and that only one thing would prove to her that she really was as beautiful and desirable as he found her.
There was such huge pressure on brides on their wedding day. Everyone watching, everyone knowing what was to come, everyone except the innocent virgin bride, kept ignorant right up until the revelations of her wedding night. It was barbaric.
