Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“.. a nd charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment…” the curate intoned, his tiny round body quivering with excitement as he read from the Book of Common Prayer. “...if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined…”

Elizabeth tried as hard as she could to listen to each word. She could feel the beat of her pulse hammering under the delicate skin of her neck, the heat of the gazes of her family burning into her back.

Perhaps in another life she would have been able to stand here with Mrs. Adams at her side giving her away and Sally and Annie in the little chapel, smiles splitting their faces. Instead, the Duchess and Duke of Rosenburg were there, stiff and still as they listened to the ceremony, each step burned into her mind from the single lesson she had been given.

It had clearly burned her father’s wife to be in the same room as her for even that long but they wouldn’t want their precious reputation to be sullied by rumors of a ruined wedding day, and if there was one thing the Duchess cared about more fiercely than anything else it was the safety of her children from more Wilkins blades.

“Wilt thou have this woman,” the chaplain said, turning to the Duke of Westall. He was standing next to her, his tall frame dwarfing hers. She could almost feel the heat from his body and her own skin felt flushed.

She couldn’t think .

“...so long as ye both shall live?”

The Duke didn’t look at her, his eyes on the Chaplain, his face serious. “I will.”

The Chaplain then turned his attention to Elizabeth and she felt her flush grow hotter as she tried desperately to concentrate. The mixture of fear and anxiety and awareness of him whirling in her mind. Any mistake would be picked apart for months, any slip…

He had finished speaking, Elizabeth realized and said, “I will,” as carefully as she could, hoping she had not taken too long.

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the chaplain asked, looking in broad satisfaction towards the others in the chapel.

There was no pause, though Elizabeth had almost expected there to be one. No one pointed out that she didn’t belong to them or with them so they couldn’t give her away. Her father didn’t turn up his nose or scowl. He stepped forwards instead and said ‘I do’ as though it was something he was pleased about.

That remained with Elizabeth as the ceremony continued. He looked pleased with her for once, and yet he was marrying her to his biggest enemy.

The Minister was reaching for her hand now, giving it to the Duke, putting her hand into his large, scarred one. “Plight your troth, my dear,” he said encouragingly to Elizabeth as though maybe he knew how anxious she was.

She swallowed and had to read the words, but that didn’t seem to cause a stir. She said she would take him as her husband as though she had a choice in the matter, that she would hold to him in sickness and in health, that she gave him her troth before God and this holy man who had kind eyes in his tiny old face.

The Duke let go of her hand and Elizabeth glanced cautiously up at him, and wondered if he had imagined this day, who he had imagined at the altar with him. His expression was still serious as he received the ring from the Minister and placed it on her fourth finger.

“With this ring I thee wed,” the Duke said in a low, thrumming voice. “And with my body I thee worship.”

They said more, but Elizabeth couldn’t hear any of the words. Her part was done. She was married. And she was filled with the thoughts of this tall strong man worshiping her with his body.

“Oh Selina, do pass me some more chocolate!”

“I shall not until you’ve had more buns to fortify yourself with, my dear, you shall not subsist entirely on chocolate.”

“It’s a special day,” Diana, the younger of her two new sisters-in-law, formed a mock pout as she appealed to the elder. Clearly practiced at puppy dog eyes there was still none of the spoiled pettishness that underlay everything Elizabeth’s own sisters did. “It is indeed, but that is no excuse to sup your breakfast only,” Selina said, moving to pile buns onto her younger sister’s plate. “I shall bring you another cup to drink but only when you have finished something more substantial.”

Elizabeth envied them their free laughter and jostling. She could barely bring herself to move, she was sat so close to the Duke - her husband - that moving made her all the more aware of his presence. Her plate had on it a few pieces of fruit and a little bit of cake and of that she had not eaten any.

The wedding ceremony had been bad enough but the madness of the breakfast was quickly making her feel suffocated, hemmed on one side by Dudley and on the other by the new man she belonged to, the man who would decide her whole existence soon.

They were ensconced in a long room in the Westall Estate, the table laden with everything one could hope for at a breakfast and lined with enough chairs for both families and the friends that the Duke of Westall had invited. It was a vast place, sprawling out over beautiful grounds.

It was overwhelming, the luxuriousness of it all. It was too much. She wanted her room and Sally. She wanted to get away from all the people watching everything that she was doing.

Would this breakfast ever end?

She glanced over at the Duke, or Stephen as she supposed she had the right to call him. He was still very severe, the lines of his face like they were cut from stone. There was no gaiety or joy in that face, though it was handsome. His lips were set into a firm line, his eyes focused on a conversation that his brother was having with her father.

What would he look like if he smiled, she wondered.

“May I have your attention,” he said in a low commanding voice that she thought for a moment was directed at her. Then she realized he was standing, glass in hand and addressing the room. “I ask you all, ladies and gentlemen, to raise your glasses with me to my new bride. I am sure you will agree that her loveliness is only surpassed by how ardently one must feel that I am a lucky man to have secured her affections. To my wife, Elizabeth, the Duchess of Westall.”

She stared up at him, eyes round. The words were so kind, so sweet and unexpected and yet as he finished his speech he turned his gaze on her and it was cold as ice. There was no affection there for her, nothing kind.

All this time she had been sitting here feeling drawn to him, aware to her very bones of how well he looked and he saw her as nothing but a tool to bring two warring families together as one. She was his enemy and she could see as plainly as day that she was not welcome here in his home.

There was a murmur of appreciation from the gathering, who raised their glasses in response and sipped the light, fragrant champagne.

Elizabeth barely touched hers. The anxiety in her chest was in her throat now, threatening to choke her. It only got worse as Dudley finished a long draught of his drink and leant over towards her seat.

“What a lucky girl you are, dear sister, to have found a man who values you so highly.”

“Indeed,” she said softly, her eyes on her plate.

“I wonder how high that value really is,” he said softly, his lips red from berries and his smile wide with cruelty. “I wonder how high anyone here would value you if they knew more of your true background.”

This did not seem safe to reply to, so she did not.

“Have you ever seen a finer spread? Have you ever seen such a fine group of people gathered together? I simply cannot imagine how you will manage in this world, sister dearest. You are such a poor, clumsy thing. You are sure to embarrass yourself and the Westall name before long.” He put a hand on her arm, his grip tight and painful even as his voice was dripping with fake kindness. “I am only speaking for your own good, sister. You will have to learn very fast to know your place, after all.”

“Her place is at my side,” said a deep calm voice, and Elizabeth glanced up to see Stephen take Dudley’s hand and remove it firmly from her arm. “I am sure my wife, the Duchess, is aware of how much good you mean her, Lord Barnes. It’s hardly the right conversation for a wedding.”

There was a moment where the tension between them was a frisson of hate, Dudley’s face pale with two spots of flush high on his cheeks in fury at being given so stern a warning.

Elizabeth almost smiled. She had never been defended before, never had a name or title of her own to defend herself with. It made a little of the fear and anxiety filling her ebb away.

“Of course, one simply can’t interrupt a wedding,” Dudley said sweetly, staring at Stephen. “I have to congratulate you on your felicity. It’s very appealing. Perhaps I should be looking for my own wife. You could introduce me to your sisters. The young one looks particularly delectable.”

It felt as though thunder had entered the room with them. Stephen leaned forwards, his voice never raising, his tone never sharpening, and said simply, “I shall not and you will never speak of them again.” However, the expression on his face and the taught lines of his body made Elizabeth shiver.

He was a man who meant what he said. He was a man created for danger.

“How dare you -” Dudley started up a little from his seat, grasping the opportunity immediately to cause trouble as he adored to do but their father was there and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sure whatever this is can be explained as wedding day spirits, is that not so, Westall? My son?”

There was a moment when Elizabeth thought Dudley might do it anyway, a moment when she was sure there would be no bringing this back from the edge.

But then he nodded slowly and sank back into his chair.

It was the first time in her life she had ever seen Dudley not get his way. A small flame that felt like joy lit in her heart and she turned to Stephen, ready to thank him.

He was glaring at her, stormy eyes full of anger. It was as though he felt she was to blame, like he was angry at her , and Elizabeth shrank back a little, turned back to her plate and swallowed her thanks.

After only a little more time, the Rosenburg party decided it was time to leave and with them went the rest of the guests, laughing and complimenting the couple and wishing them the best as though Elizabeth had not sat as still as a mouse for the entire affair.

Once the farewells had been said, Stephen stood again from his seat and glanced at his own family with a small nod. Both young ladies rose and exited the room, soon followed by their brother who seemed a little more reluctant to go.

For the first time since the proposal, they were alone. Elizabeth felt her heart begin to pound once more and she stood too, hating to be so much at a disadvantage to him.

Why was he so tall! So frustratingly handsome? Why couldn’t he have been at least a little ugly so she could look at his face and not feel heat in her veins at the same time?

“Wife,” Stephen said seriously, turning to her, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am aware it has been a trying day, but I ask you to remember your position as the new Duchess of Westall. You are no longer the kind of person that Lord Barnes may speak to the way that he was doing.”

Was he scolding her? Elizabeth felt a little of her anxiety fade and be replaced with anger. “I am distressed that family matters should have so upset you, Your Grace,” she said with slow deliberation. “Perhaps you could educate me on how you would like me to respond in future since you are the expert on all matters.”

“You would do well to listen to such instruction,” he said, the muscles in his jaw bunching a little as though he were grinding his teeth. “You are clearly ill-prepared to take on the part of being Duchess and you have a lot to learn. It is not my fault that this is true and I shall not apologize for pointing it out.”

“And I shall not apologize for pointing out that you are speaking like a pontificating old school master trying to teach a class of children,” Elizabeth snapped back. “I shall treat my brother how I decide to treat my brother, it is not for you to tell me the way I should act.”

“It is my business if you act in a manner which undermines the respect our family is due!”

“Oh please, Your Grace, do tell me,” she knew that she was speaking too much, saying too much but his words hurt and she could not help but battle back. She would never again be part of a world where all she could do was suffer in silence. “Exactly what respect is that?”

“The respect that you are failing to show me, as your husband and as the Duke of this estate.”

“I am a quick study, Your Grace, I learn from experience. I shall show you the same respect I receive from you and no more.”

Stephen made an explosive gesture with one of his hands. “Why must everything be a battle with you, woman!”

“I cannot be blamed for waging war on a battle ground that has been picked for me,” Elizabeth retorted. “Perhaps you should reconsider your approach, my husband.”

“Perhaps,” he said, stepping closer to her in a long stride, his height looming over her. He leaned down and caught her chin in his scarred fingers, his touch warm even as his eyes were burning with anger and heat. “Perhaps I should introduce you to this new approach when I come to your chambers tonight, my wife.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard, her words evaporating in her mouth as he leaned close, his face near to hers, their eyes locked on each other's. It seemed her body was intensely aware of his, of the mere inches between them. It felt as though she might break apart with how he made her feel, it felt as though she might die if he were to ever know about it. It was like being pinned by a hunter, waiting for him to strike.

“Until then,” he said softly, let her go and walked from the room, leaving her weak, her chest heaving and her face aflame. What had happened? What was that ? What was she going to do?