Chapter Four

By the time Reverend Shackleford reached the vicarage, some of his early euphoria had evaporated, replaced by apprehension at the thought of the conversation he would have to conduct with Grace. Especially the question of whether or not his eldest daughter’s virtue remained intact.

The more he thought about it, the more Augustus Shackleford was afraid that what ailed Grace was simply a fall from that state.

If some rake had thought to ruin his daughter, the Reverend feared he would not be accountable for his actions. No matter how fortuitous the Duke of Blackmore’s offer had been, he nevertheless dared not risk trying to pass used goods onto him.

Should Grace prove to have been less than virtuous, he would be forced to choose another of his daughters to take her place in the Duke’s bed. And if Grace had a reputation for unruliness, it was nothing compared to her younger siblings.

The Reverend sighed, hovering at the foot of the stairs, unsure whether to simply question Grace himself or to involve Mrs. Shackleford whose diplomacy skills were actually worse than his own. Not to mention her complete lack of discretion.

Nevertheless, this kind of delicate questioning required a woman’s touch, the Reverend decided. Beggars could not be choosers, and as a man of the cloth, his wife was the only female he was on any kind of intimate terms with. Therefore, she would have to suffice.

∞∞∞

“Fustian nonsense.” Agnes Shackleford’s response to her husband’s concerns was unusually loud, given the fact that most of the time she affected an air of fragility, speaking in breathless whispers. “Grace is no more a fallen woman than I am.” The Reverend truly had no ready response to either statement, so for once, he elected to remain silent.

“If you were to accuse her of spending too much time with her nose in a book, or climbing a deuced tree, then that would be more to the point, Augustus. No, our biggest problem should the Duke of Blackmore go through with his hare-brained plan to make her a duchess will be how much she is likely to embarrass us in polite society. And I am not concerned it might be due to any premarital indulgence in sins of the flesh.” The Reverend winced as his wife’s voice rose an octave, showing a side to her he’d hitherto not suspected. The effort was clearly too much, and she collapsed dramatically back against her cushions before continuing.

“Should she drag our name through the mud, then surely dear Anthony will not ever be able to mix with the fashionable elite again.” She finished the end of the sentence on a tremulous whisper, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief as she did so.

“To be fair Agnes, the boy is only five.”

“The ton have long memories,” his wife responded with a sniff.

The Reverend sighed irritably. The whole thing was becoming devilishly complicated, and his head was beginning to ache. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked with a frown. “After all, Agnes, this is a golden opportunity we cannot expect to see the like of again. “Do you propose I choose Temperance in Grace’s stead, or perhaps Hope?”

“Definitely not.” Agnes Shackleford shuddered.

“Then, that’s settled. Grace it will have to be. As long as you are of the mind that she’s not surrendered her maidenhead to some devious scoundrel, I’m content she will understand her duty and make his grace a pious and biddable wife.” The Reverend felt as if a lead weight had been removed from his shoulders. “I’ll call for her to attend us right this minute to deliver the happy news.”

Agnes Shackleford’s only response was a long-suffering sigh. Plumping her cushions, she lay back and closed her eyes. “Could you ask her to bring my salts while she’s about it?”

∞∞∞

“He’s what?” Grace jumped to her feet, her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief.

“I said his grace has done you the very great honour of asking for your hand in marriage.” The Reverend stifled his irritation and repeated his statement slowly in the mistaken belief that his eldest daughter had misunderstood the first time.

“Why on earth has he done that? He doesn’t even like me.”

“What has liking got to do with it?” the Reverend asked, genuinely nonplussed. “As long as you do your duty and provide the Duke with an heir, I’ll wager you’ll not have to see the man from one month to the next.”

Grace stared at her father’s baffled face and suddenly felt the need to laugh bubbling up inside her. It was all so ridiculous. The Duke of Blackmore could have any highborn lady he wanted, but for some reason had set his sights on a woman of low birth - one he clearly disliked, after only five minutes of conversation. Why on earth would he do such a thing?

She became aware that her father was speaking again, this time in the earnest voice he usually reserved for parishioners who remained unconvinced that a lifetime in poverty on earth would secure them a better hereafter and were subsequently refusing to contribute to the collection box.

“You have no cause to worry Grace. It’s my belief that when he gets to see you, he’ll be more than content.”

Grace opened her mouth to ask what in the world he was talking about when it suddenly struck her. The Duke of Blackmore had no idea who she was.

Oh God, that was even worse. How the devil was he going to react when he saw her face for the first time as they said their vows? He may not even complete the ceremony. Grace couldn’t decide which would be worse – if he cried off, or if he actually went through with it.

“You know quite well Father that we don’t mix in the same social circles,” she countered desperately. “I’ll be a laughingstock.”

The Reverend couldn’t help observing that his daughter was now wringing her hands, and alarmed, he looked over at his wife who actually appeared to be asleep. Grace’s response had been the last thing he’d expected.

“Agnes?”

His wife’s only answer was a gentle snore. Hastily, the Reverend pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time before tucking it back into his waistcoat. “Now there will be none of that,” he finally said gruffly. “You are my eldest and far past marrying age. The Duke has agreed to a more than generous offer, and you will wed him.” He finished on a suitably decisive note which he hoped would put any ideas of rebellion out of her head once and for all.

Grace’s thoughts conjured up the man who’d haunted her every waking moment since their meeting, his cold, piercing eyes and deep frown sending shivers down her spine. What would it be like to be married to such a man? He would most likely lock her in her room and throw away the key.

“I cannot,” Grace said once more, her voice this time trembling in a fashion most unlike her. “I cannot Father. Do not make me.”

The Reverend was at a loss. Not for one second had he imagined Grace would be against the match. Faith, it was far, far better than the chit could have hoped for. And to top it all, the Duke was hardly in his dotage, but a man in his prime and handsome to boot. A war hero no less.

“Grace,” he said finally in exasperation. “What exactly is it you wish me to do? Do you wish me to refuse the man who has our livelihoods in his hands? We would likely end up in the workhouse. Is that what you want for your sisters?”

Grace stared wordlessly at him, stricken. The Reverend knew he’d struck a chord and shamelessly pressed his advantage. “Should you refuse to wed him, I will be forced to choose another of your sisters to take your place,” he stated matter-of-factly. “The decision is yours.” With that, he climbed laboriously out of his chair and pompously exited the parlour in the manner of a man accustomed to having his commands obeyed by his offspring. At the door, he paused and turned back. Grace hadn’t moved. “I will expect your decision before dinner,” he said, ensuring his tone was firm, and brooking no argument. “The wedding will take place the day after tomorrow.” Grace frowned and opened her mouth to speak, at which point the Reverend decided that stateliness be damned and beat a hasty retreat.

∞∞∞

“The day after tomorrow! Oh Grace, how can Father expect you to get married so quickly?”

“I thought the Duke was dead.”

“He’s so old!”

“Is this the new Duke?”

“I didn’t know there was a new one.”

Temperance and the eldest twins, Faith and Hope, were the three sisters closest to Grace in age. They had been hurriedly dispatched to attend their sister by their father in another obvious attempt to force his eldest daughter’s hand. So far, it seemed to be working. There was no way Grace could, in good conscience, allow any of her sisters to be sacrificed in her place. Nevertheless, their horrified faces weren’t exactly helping matters.

Grace fell back on the narrow bed, her body still numb with shock. She was going to be a wife in two days.

To the Duke of Blackmore. The man she’d told not two days ago that she had no intention of ever taking a husband and would never belong to anybody.

Looking about the room, Grace briefly contemplated gathering a few things and climbing out of the window to escape the fate that her father had bestowed upon her. She could smuggle a few notes from the drawer in his study and beg a ride out of the village.

But where would she go? She had no extended family to reach out to, and everyone she knew lived in this village. And she simply couldn’t leave any of her sisters to endure the same fate.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She had no recourse but to marry the Duke.

Temperance reached out and patted her sister’s knee. “I know how you must be feeling dearest, but surely it could be worse. He could have promised you to Percy!” She frowned at a sudden horrified thought. “Surely father wouldn’t consider any of us for Percy…”

“Faith,” Grace muttered, “it’s certain poor old Percy would have an apoplexy at the thought of being saddled with any of us.” She refrained from commenting that their father was going to find it difficult to provide all eight of them with suitable matches – or any one of them for that matter, so it wasn’t entirely a bag of moonshine to imagine their father might be desperate enough to consider his curate.

The only reason the Duke of Blackmore considered her suitable was because he’d only recently returned home and didn’t know of her. Or her sisters…

“And you will move into that grand house,” Temperance continued, determinedly avoiding the thought of Percy as a possible husband, “with your own servants and beautiful gowns. Oh, and the parties. You can throw wonderful parties.”

Grace looked at her sisters. “I don’t think the Duke will be holding any parties. He doesn’t appear to be in the least frivolous or prone to enjoying himself. I will be wed to a man who has spent all his adult years up to now away at sea. I know very little about him, but if he’s willing to take a local vicar’s daughter, it’s clear he has no truck with high society.”

“Well, if he’s not in his dotage, I’m sure you will get to know a lot more about him,” Faith replied, her eyes now sparkling with mischief. “Quite quickly, in fact.”

Grace’s cheeks burned as she thought about actually sharing a bed with a man. With eight females residing in the same household, there had obviously been no lack of discussion about the opposite sex, but she would be facing her new husband without her sisters around.

She’d have to face the cold, intimidating man entirely alone.

∞∞∞

There were no last-minute reprieves, and two days hence, the morning of Grace’s wedding day dawned. Resigned now to her fate, Grace rose in the predawn light and pulled out her best day dress. It was clearly not fitting for a soon-to-be duchess, but it was the best she owned.

She carefully bathed and washed her hair before donning the gown and allowing Temperance to arrange her hair into a simple chignon. The twins tucked flowers into her curls and helped Grace gather her things before she said farewell to each of her sisters, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she did so. “Be strong Gracie,” Temperance whispered against her cheek as she embraced her sister. “Mother would be so proud of you.”

“Their care falls to you now,” Grace whispered back as she released her. “Do your best to curb their greater excesses, Tempy. If any of you are to make suitable matches, you will all need to start behaving like young ladies.” This was the first time Grace had spoken thus to her younger sister, and Temperance widened her eyes in bewilderment. “They are your responsibility now,” Grace insisted, turning away before she disgraced herself completely.

Her father and Agnes were waiting at the door, the Reverend dressed in his finest cassock with a wide smile on his face. To Grace’s surprise, Agnes grasped her hands, tears in her eyes. “Look at you, about to become the Duchess of Blackmore.”

“Come,” her father stated, motioning to the carriage the Duke had sent for them. “Blackmore awaits.”

Grace looked back, seeing her sisters crowding the doorway to wave goodbye, and blinked back the tears that continually threatened. They would do her no good now.

The drive to her future residence was short, and with every passing minute, Grace felt her anxiety rise until it threatened to swamp her. By the time the carriage halted in front of her magnificent new home, Grace felt the first onset of queasiness. She had eaten nothing since rising, and now her body was reminding her of her folly in no uncertain terms. Swallowing nervously, she accepted the hand of the footman as he reached for her, carefully stepping down out of the carriage .

There in the imposing doorway, stood the Duke, silently watching. Grace felt her queasiness increase as she met his eyes and chanced to observe the shock on his face when he finally realised who he’d signed the marriage contract for.

Taking her father’s arm, she ascended the stairs slowly, taking in shallow panting breaths in an attempt to quell the rising nausea and feeling as though she were going to the gallows rather than her marriage bed.

As they reached the top, the Duke finally stepped forward, his face now blank of any emotion. He held out his hand towards her, and Grace swallowed convulsively as she offered one last pleading glance up at her father. The Reverend simply nodded his approval and gently pushed her towards her husband-to-be with an encouraging smile.

Everything seemed to slow down as Grace reached for the Duke’s hand, stumbled forward and finally felt the threatened bile surge up unbidden as she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach right at his feet.