Page 51 of A Virgin for His Grace
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight, marking the beginning of what would either be the most triumphant or most catastrophic day of his life. Yet as Devon raised his glass in a silent toast to the woman who had taught him the true meaning of love, he found himself surprisingly at peace with the risks he was about to take.
Win or lose, live or die, he would face tomorrow knowing that he had finally chosen love over duty, passion over propriety, and the woman who held his heart over all the empty conventions of a society that had never understood the value of authentic feeling.
The game was about to begin, and this time, he intended to win.
Chapter 16
"Dearest Arabella, you look absolutely radiant."
Lady Greystone's voice carried across the blue suite's elegant sitting room with the sort of forced brightness that did nothing to conceal her obvious anxiety about the day's proceedings. She stood behind her elder daughter's chair, fussing with the delicate lace that would soon frame Arabella's face as she walked down the aisle to meet her fate.
Arabella stared at her reflection in the ornate silver mirror that had been positioned near the tall windows to catch the morning light streaming in from the garden she had come to love so dearly. The wedding gown, delivered at dawn by the modiste’s most trusted seamstresses, was indeed a masterpiece of ivory silk and intricate bead-work that should have made any bride feel like a princess from a fairy tale.
Instead, she felt like being prepared for her death.
The irony of preparing for her wedding in the very rooms where she had experienced both the greatest happiness and most devastating heartbreak of her life was not lost upon her. Every corner of the blue suite held memories of Devon. Their charged conversations, stolen glances, the growing intimacy that had blossomed despite all attempts at propriety. Now she would leave this sanctuary forever to begin a new life as Mrs. James Whitmore.
"Indeed, you appear every inch the fashionable bride,"Lord Richard observed from his position near the window that overlooked Devon's carefully tended roses, though his weathered face bore the expression of a man attending a funeral rather than a wedding. "Mr. Whitmore is a most fortunate gentleman to secure such an... accomplished wife."
The hesitation before the word 'accomplished' made it clear that her father was struggling with his own doubts about this union, yet his sense of duty prevented him from voicing any objections at such a late hour. The settlements had been signed, the announcements published, and all of London society would be gathered at St. George's to witness the culmination of what the gossips had termed the season's most scandalous romance.
"Papa, the veil is perfectly arranged," Arabella said quietly, gently extricating herself from her mother's nervous ministrations. "I believe there is little more to be done except... proceed with the inevitable."
The resignation in her voice made Lady Greystone's hands flutter with obvious distress, yet she lacked the courage to address the source of her daughter's obvious misery directly. Instead, she retreated to the familiar territory of wedding preparations, as though attention to such details might somehow transform this disaster into the joyous celebration it should have been.
"Perhaps a touch more colour?" she suggested weakly. "You appear rather pale this morning, dearest."
"I am perfectly well, Mama," Arabella replied with the sort of mechanical politeness that had become her shield against the sympathy she could not bear to accept. "Merely thoughtful aboutthe magnitude of the step I am about to take."
The sitting room in her chambers felt impossibly small with her family crowded into its elegant confines, their obvious discomfort only adding to the oppressive atmosphere. How different this morning could have been, filled with joy and anticipation rather than barely concealed dread. How different everything might have been if circumstances had not conspired to bring her to this desperate pass.
Before Lady Greystone could respond to her daughter's loaded comment, a commotion in the corridor beyond announced the arrival of another visitor. The sitting room door burst open with a flurry of rose-colored silk and barely contained excitement as Cordelia Greystone swept into the room like a force of nature, her golden curls bouncing with each animated step and her blue eyes sparkling with the sort of joy that had once been Arabella's natural state.
"Bella!" she cried, rushing toward her sister with arms outstretched, her silk skirts rustling against the furniture in her haste. "Oh, my dearest sister, how magnificent you look! I vow I have never seen a more beautiful bride in all my eighteen years."
The sight of her beloved younger sister, whom she had not seen since that fateful night at Lord Godric's folly, nearly undid Arabella's carefully maintained composure entirely. Here was the sweet, innocent girl she had tried so desperately to protect, now glowing with happiness and apparently untouched by the scandal that had destroyed everything Arabella held dear.
"Cordelia," she managed, rising from her chair before the ornate dressing table to accept her sister's enthusiastic embrace."How... how wonderful to see you. I had not expected... that is, I thought perhaps..."
"That I would miss my own sister's wedding day?" Cordelia pulled back with mock indignation, though her eyes held a warmth that spoke to the deep affection between them. "What manner of sister would I be to be absent myself from such a momentous occasion? Besides, I have been positively dying to see you properly wed after all the drama and excitement of your courtship."
The innocent reference to her 'courtship' made Arabella's stomach clench with nausea, though she forced herself to smile with credible warmth. How could she explain to this radiant creature that what society had termed a romantic pursuit had actually been a campaign of systematic coercion and blackmail?
"How lovely this room is," Cordelia continued, spinning around to take in the elegant appointments of the blue suite with obvious delight. "His Grace has certainly provided you with sumptuous accommodations during your residence here. The view of the garden is absolutely divine, I could spend hours gazing upon those roses."
The casual mention of Devon's generosity sent fresh pain shooting through Arabella's heart, reminding her of all the kindness he had shown her before his cruel abandonment. How many mornings had she awakened in these chambers to the sight of those same roses, thinking herself blessed beyond measure to be dwelling in such beauty?
"Tell me," Cordelia continued with the sort of breathless enthusiasm that marked her as a true romantic, "are youdesperately in love? Do you feel as though you might faint from happiness? I confess I have been imagining what it must be like to marry for love rather than mere convenience, and I simply cannot contain my curiosity."
The artless questions struck Arabella like physical blows, each word a reminder of everything she had lost and everything she would never have. Yet she could not bring herself to destroy her sister's romantic illusions with the brutal truth of her circumstances.
"Mr. Whitmore is... a most devoted suitor," she said carefully, her reflection in the mirror showing the strain around her eyes despite her attempted composure. "I am certain we shall be very comfortable together."
"Comfortable?" Cordelia's face fell with obvious disappointment as she perched on the edge of the elegant chaise longue that faced the window. "Oh, Bella, surely you feel more than mere comfort for the gentleman you are about to marry? Where is the passionate devotion, the overwhelming joy that should mark such a day?"
Before Arabella could formulate a response that would not completely shatter her sister's faith in romantic love, Lady Greystone intervened with the sort of maternal wisdom that had guided her through thirty years of marriage.
"My dear Cordelia, your sister is naturally somewhat subdued by the magnitude of the commitment she is undertaking," she said gently, settling herself in one of the blue silk chairs that gave the suite its name. "Marriage is a serious business, not merely the stuff of romantic novels. Comfort andmutual respect are far more valuable foundations than fleeting passion."
