Page 109 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
Shaking his head, Robin backed up a step. “I don’t want to leave. Me mum will look for me here.”
The duchess appeared sad. “You are too young to be one of my husband’s by-blows as I’ve no doubt he had many, but not so old that you couldn’t be the son of one of his offspring. Think about it, young Robin, and when you are ready for grander things, you let me know.”
With a nod, he dashed off.
“You wouldn’t take him in, surely,” Gillie said.
The duchess stood and tugged at her gloves, avoiding Gillie’s gaze. “I have recently come to believe I might acquire a soft spot for orphans. And my residence is so terribly, terribly quiet.”
Gillie couldn’t help but think that it might be possible she and the duchess would indeed become allies—if not friends—in the end.
He’d stood here before, and it had been much different then. He’d stared at his father’s timepiece that had been placed in his hand with his father’s dying breath, and he’d watched the minutes ticking by, thinking of all the things he could have been doing that day, wishing his bride would arrive so they could get the burdensome exchange of vows over with. Now he had no desire to monitor the slow movement of the hand on a watch or to do anything that would distract his attention away from the opening into the church because he wanted to see his bride as soon as she appeared, wanted to be the first to lay eyes on her, as he stood with Collinsworth beside him, signaling to all of England that his friend approved of this match and that whatever had transpired that caused his sister not to show was water under the bridge, had not lessened the strength of their friendship.
Before he’d felt nothing at all, just another chore to be done in a long list of duties that he was to accomplish before he died.
Now he felt everything: excitement, potential, anticipation. He no longer thought about dying. Instead he thought only about living, living each day with Gillie. With her smiles, and her laughter, and sex. Most decidedly sex. He would love her until she couldn’t stand to be loved any longer.
And then he would love her some more.
Suddenly everyone rose to their feet and she was there, strolling up the aisle, on the arm of her brother, Mick Trewlove, her sister leading the way, her other brothers following behind. He could see them all at the edges of his vision, but she was at the center of it. Had his father truly lived his entire life without this, without knowing what it was to feel complete and whole when a woman smiled at him with all the love she felt reflected in her eyes?
She wore a light beige gown of silk and lace. White was for virgins, she’d told him, and even though he was rather sure that a good many women who weren’t virginal wore white on their wedding day, he didn’t argue with her. Whatever she wanted to wear was fine with him. Orange blossoms held her veil in place.
Fancy took her place near the altar. As Gillie neared he was incredibly glad she had changed her mind about where the marriage would take place, that he had this day to let everyone see how much he adored her.
Unexpectedly she stopped at the front pew where his mother stood, studied the woman who had given birth to him, then before all of theton, she dipped into the most graceful, elegant curtsy he’d ever seen. If he weren’t wearing his spectacles so he could clearly see all the details of Gillie’s face as they exchanged vows, and if what he viewed in the distance wasn’t a bit blurred as a result, he thought he might have detected a fine sheen of tears in his mother’s eyes as she gave Gillie a curt nod.
Gillie rose and, with her brothers in tow, took the last few steps toward him.
“Who gives this bride?” the reverend asked in a thunderous voice that echoed up to the rafters.
“We do,” her brothers announced in unison. One by one they each gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking their place beside their mum on the first pew, until only Mick was left. He placed her hand on Thorne’s arm and gave him a look that promised retribution if he disappointed her. If he disappointed her, he’daskfor their fists to be directed his way.
“No false hair today?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I come to you as I am.”
“I’d have it no other way.”
Then as one they turned to face their future together.
Following the wedding, they’d held a reception that had gone into the late afternoon. Then Thorne had bundled her into a coach and brought her to Thornley Castle. Her trousseau and an abundance of clothing the duchess had insisted were necessary had been delivered earlier in the day. On the morrow, she and Thorne were heading to the vineyards of France and then Italy.
Upon their arrival at his estate, he had taken her on a leisurely tour of the manor. Room upon room upon room.
“I shall forever be getting lost,” she told him now.
Chuckling, he drew her near, kissed her. “Simply find a bell pull, tug on it, and a servant will come lead you to safety.”
“It’s impressive, Thorne. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have something else to show you. I’ve been saving it for last.” Taking her hand, he led her along corridors and finally down a narrow set of stairs. At the bottom was a small alcove. At the end of it was a door. He lifted a lantern, the flame inside flickering, off a hook on the wall, and held it aloft. “I instructed the butler to leave this room unlocked for tonight.”
He shoved open the door, took her hand, and escorted her into an enormous room with a long table in its center, and cask upon cask upon cask lined up on shelves along three of the walls.
Releasing her hold on him, she pressed a hand to her tightening chest and raced to one of the oaken barrels. “Oh, my God. So many.” She trailed her fingers over one after another, recognizing some of the names etched in the wood, knowing they were a vintage far superior and more expensive than anything she’d ever carry in her small tavern.
She swung around and faced him. “If you’d offered to show me this fine collection instead of your horses, I’d have come when you invited me.”
