Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he ceremony passed in a blur, yet it seemed to take an eternity. Arabella stood at the front of the chapel, listening to the vicar as he recited prayer after prayer. They exchanged vows, followed by yet more prayers.

Throughout, Arabella felt as if she were in a dream. Not a pleasant one, but not a nightmare either. Just a dream where she watched herself perform these actions and speak these words without truly having any control over them.

Harry stood beside her, looking handsome and smiling that crooked smile of his at times, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile back.

His uncle stood next to him, his shoulders squared as though he were a soldier in a regiment, his eyes cold, suggesting his displeasure with the proceedings.

Arabella was only grateful for the company of her sisters. Though she couldn’t see them from the altar, she knew they were seated behind her with their father. Some of the household staff were present as well, and she thought she heard someone crying softly at the back. She suspected it was Viola, her maid, who had been informed she would not be moving to Ridlington Estate.

After the ceremony, she felt as though she stumbled out of the chapel on Harry’s arm, into the garden, where, during the service, their guests had assembled.

“Well,” Harry said as they stepped onto the pristinely cut lawn, “that’s done.”

“That’s done.” That was how he chose to acknowledge the start of their marriage.

“It is,” she replied.

“Your trunks are packed?” he asked as they made their way toward the top of the steps, where their guests would soon file past, offering greetings and congratulations.

“Everything is packed and ready. I believe a carriage left this morning to transport some of my belongings to Ridlington Manor while we…” She paused and looked up at him. “While we were getting married.”

She thought she saw him grimace when she said the word ‘married,’ but she couldn’t be certain. Sometimes she imagined things that weren’t really there.

“Very well. We will leave soon after the wedding breakfast. I wish to introduce you to the staff today so that you might meet your new lady’s maid and become acquainted with everything. After that, your time is your own.”

“I assume you will wish me to attend events with you?” she asked, feeling foolish for not having broached the topic earlier.

“There will be time to discuss such matters—now is neither the time nor the place,” he said coolly, his tone making her hackles rise.

But there was no time to dwell on his words or what they might mean, for their guests were arriving.

For the next hour, she stood beside her beaming father, who already smelled of spirits, while Harry and his uncle shook hands, received kisses and congratulations, and pretended to be pleased about it all.

When their guests were finally seated, and the garden had erupted into a symphony of chattering voices, clinking glasses, and the strains of the orchestra her father had arranged, Arabella allowed herself to relax. Wine and other cordials flowed freely despite the early hour, and the guests appeared merry, though the same could not be said for her and her husband.

“Are you not enjoying your meal?” she asked, noticing the untouched hare on his plate.

“I do not care for hare,” he said. “Nor do I like carrots.”

“Neither do I,” she admitted, glancing down at her plate.

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “So, the guests of honor sit before plates containing food we do not like, at a wedding neither of us truly desired?”

There was an amused note in his voice that somewhat disarmed her.

“I also do not like the traditional wedding cake,” she whispered, as though sharing a secret.

He chuckled. “Nor do I. I much prefer a good flummery.”

“As do I,” she said.

“Good. We shall inform the cook, and we shall have it for dinner tonight. The advantage is that we won’t have to share with anyone.”

She smiled at this, pleased that the tension between them had eased, if only for a little while.

“Eat your food,” her father commanded from across the table, taking her aback with his abruptness.

“I am not hungry,” she replied. “Besides, you know that I do not care for hare.”

She felt a sudden bitterness toward her father for serving the one dish she disliked most on her wedding day.

“You will eat it,” he hissed, forcing a smile for their guests.

She thought it was Harry who had paid for all the food, not her father. His smile took on a menacing edge as he placed a hand on her arm and squeezed hard, making her wince. Beside her, she felt Harry’s gaze turn toward them, his eyebrows rising. He opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by his uncle, who sat to his left.

“Come inside with me,” the Earl ordered.

“I would rather not,” Arabella replied.

“This is still my home, and you will do as I say,” her father hissed.

Arabella considered making a scene. She was the Duchess of Sheffield now—she was not to be ordered about by an earl, even if he was her father. But she thought of her sisters, who still had to live under his roof, and she complied.

She rose and walked into the manor, her father right behind her.

“Arabella!” Harry called after her. She looked over her shoulder. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter at all, Your Grace,” the Earl said in a fake cheerful tone. Once inside, he shut the door behind them. “Arabella, I will have you know that I will tolerate no arguments from you in front of our guests. If I tell you to eat your food, you will eat it.”

“Father, I am not a child. Nor am I subject to your will any longer. I am a duchess now, and if I do not wish to eat hare, I shall not eat hare,” she declared defiantly.

Her father’s bushy eyebrows drew together as he looked at her. “You think you are better than me now, do you not? I will have you know that becoming a duchess does not make you any better than me. And let us not forget that it is because of me and my actions that you are a duchess at all. Otherwise, you would still be as useless as your sisters.”

“I will not have you speak of my sisters in such a manner.”

“I will speak of my daughters as I see fit. And I will not have you ridicule me. Everyone will think I have failed to provide you with the wedding feast of your dreams.”

“You know I despise hare. You know I do not care for carrots and peas. You know I dislike dining outside. Or do you know nothing of your children’s preferences? Perhaps you have always been too deep in your cups to notice.”

“You will not raise your voice at me!” the Earl snapped, his hands curling into fists. A whiff of whatever he had been drinking reached her nostrils, and she turned away. “You will be grateful,” he warned, wagging an accusatory finger in her face.

The creak of the door drew their attention, and Arabella looked back to see Harry enter. To say he looked out of sorts would be an understatement. His usually soft lips were pressed together into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared.

“Your Grace,” the Earl said, though it was clear he was nervous, as sweat beaded on his hairline and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “You really didn’t have to abandon your guests. My daughter and I were merely having a conversation, parent to child.”

“Is that so? Arabella, are you quite well?”

“I am,” Arabella replied. “Though my father took offense to my not enjoying the meal he so thoughtfully provided for us”, she added, unable to keep the snide tone out of her voice.

Her father turned to her, and she saw he wanted to raise his voice again but did not dare.

“I must say, such anger seems rather ridiculous when directed at the Duchess, My Lord,” Harry said smoothly. “We shall be dining at the Palace, with the Prince Regent and his wife. I hardly think it appropriate for you to chastise your daughter about what she does or does not wish to eat. Besides, I distinctly recall asking you what meal we should serve your daughter, and you assured me that this was her favorite, only for me to find out that she dislikes it just as much as I do.”

“You did not enjoy the wedding feast?” the Earl sputtered, rounding on his daughter. “Arabella, how could you let me prepare this knowing your husband does not enjoy it? What sort of wife will you be if you cannot even ensure your spouse has the type of food he likes on his wedding day?”

His voice had risen, and Arabella took a step back, shocked by his outburst. Her father, always temperamental, usually kept his emotions in check in front of company. To hear him speak this way in front of Harry was most shocking.

But to her surprise, this time her father was not going to get away with it. She was going to put him in his place. Harry had just made it clear that she now outranked her father, and she was not going to let him continue this behavior. With Harry on their side, as unconventional as their marriage might be, she and her sisters would have some measure of protection.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, ready to say the things she had long wanted to say but hadn’t dared to. However, before she could summon the last bit of courage needed, Harry intervened.

“My Lord, I will not have you speak this way to my wife. For that is what she is now—my wife. By law, she answers to me, and you no longer have control over her. I will not allow my wife to be mistreated, regardless of whether the person raising his voice at her is her own father.”

The Earl raised his hands in surrender. “I meant no offense.”

“I know exactly what you meant. I have been standing at the door for a little while. I will not have you belittle my wife or treat her like a child. And I will not have you weaponize her affection for her sisters against her,” Harry warned.

“I had hoped we might be cordial, given that we are now related by marriage, but I must make it clear that your behavior is unbecoming of an earl and most certainly unbecoming of the father of a duchess and the father-in-law of a duke. I will not stand for it. In the future, you will have to think twice about the way you address my wife and her sisters.” Then he turned to Arabella. “I think it is time we left.”

“B-But we haven’t even eaten the cake yet!” the Earl exclaimed, looking suddenly desperate.

“May I suggest you enjoy the cake with your guests and tell them that your daughter and son-in-law have decided to depart to begin their life as a married couple, undisturbed and in private? Arabella, it is time to say your goodbyes to your sisters, and then we shall go to the carriage.”

Harry opened the door for her, but for a moment, Arabella could do nothing but stand there. She didn’t know how to feel. Harry had rebuked her father most severely, and it had been a delight to see her father shrink with each word as if he were slapped. Yet, she felt uneasy because Harry had taken this from her. Many of the things he said, she had wanted to say herself. Rationally, she knew it was better coming from Harry—he was a man, he outranked her father, and his words carried more weight. By speaking the way he did, he had also protected her sisters.

But still, she resented him for taking this opportunity from her. Now, however, was not the time to dwell on such things. She looked at her father, rolled her shoulders back, rose to her full height, and then walked past him like the Duchess she now was.

As they stepped into the garden, Harry placed a hand on the small of her back, and she shivered at the touch, which was both soft and unexpected. As she looked up at him, the sun illuminated his face in a most pleasing way, and she noted once more how perfectly sculpted his face was. The way he had rebuked her father had reminded her of one of the heroes from her romance novels. Yet, she reminded herself once more that this was no fairytale romance.

As they made their way to the carriage to begin their new life together, she had to wonder—who exactly was this man with whom she had just exchanged vows?