Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“ G ood luck, Your Grace.” Betsy giggled in a delighted manner and took the second candle, hurrying to the chamber door with it. “I shall see you in the morning. Ring the bell if you need me for anything at all. I will have a bath prepared for you first thing. I hear it is often how ladies like to spend the morning after their first time.”

She blushed crimson red then left, leaving Margaret staring at the door in wonder.

The maid knows more than me about what is supposed to happen tonight.

Margaret turned to the vanity mirror on the dresser table before her, staring at her reflection. As Margaret had first prepared for bed, Betsy had insisted on finding Margaret’s prettiest nightgown. With embarrassment, Margaret had tried to hide the fraying ribbons on the sleeves and the lace across the chest that was now rather worn.

Betsy had also insisted on styling Margaret’s rich brown hair so that it was loose in soft curls down her back. At every turn, Margaret felt as if Betsy was preparing her for something. The maid had even left out an extra basin of water for Margaret, and a washcloth, if it was needed.

Margaret stared at her reflection, chewing on her lip, feeling her hands begin to shake.

Whatever was supposed to happen tonight between her and Theodore, she had a feeling the nightgown would not be staying in place for long. It made her tingle, both with nerves and excitement, then dwell for too long on thoughts of how he had kissed her hand the day he had offered to marry her.

Turning on the stool, she faced the door that adjoined their chambers. It remained firmly closed.

Frustrated to find herself still alone, Margaret looked around her chamber.

Just like every other part of the house, it felt faded. The bedhangings were no longer the rich ruby red they must have been once, but almost dusky pink. The bed covers were much the same. Some of the furniture was still beautiful, but other bits were a little worn, including her dressing table, which wobbled every time she leaned on it.

Standing from her seat, she turned to the window. Though darkness had fallen, the moon was shining brightly tonight, glowing white across the beautiful gardens and illuminating every nook in a silverish glow.

It seemed more money was spent on the gardens than on the house itself. There were flowers and pretty borders everywhere, along with well-pruned trees and shrubbery. She could even spy a little kitchen garden, with freshly growing vegetables and herbs.

“Then why is the house like this?” she whispered, turning to face the room again.

Had Theodore been short of money, then his garden would not be so grand, and he never would have offered up money to her father that night in the gambling hall. This was strange though. She had a strong suspicion it wasn’t that he couldn’t afford to improve the décor of the house, simply that he was not fussed to.

The candle resting on her dresser was beginning to burn down. With increasingly less wax left, Margaret turned to the adjoining door.

He gave me a rule. I was not to use that door to access his room, but he said nothing about me not knocking?

Angered to be waiting for him for so long, she walked toward the door and raised her hand, about to knock when suddenly the lock clicked back. Margaret shuffled away as Theodore appeared in the doorway.

Unlike her, he was mostly still fully dressed, though he had shed his tailcoat, his cravat was undone, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her.

“I…” Her mouth turned dry like paper. All the coldness, all the distance he had shown that day, suddenly seemed unimportant, for that look spoke volumes. It suggested a heat, hinted at a sort of liking that she had perhaps only hoped for in na?ve romantic dreams. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Then the look was gone, and the statue made of alabaster returned to her chamber.

Theodore’s heart was thundering so hard in his ribcage, he thought it might burst.

This is not the first time I have seen a pretty woman. Who cares if she is only in her nightgown?

Yet he vowed to not let his eyes sway from her face again. He would look at her face and nothing else, for he didn’t think his inner demons could bear it if he looked elsewhere.

“I had to come.” He found his voice.

Realizing they were standing too close, he walked away from her and around the room. It had originally been a guest chamber, but he had determinedly asked for this to be his duchess’ chamber.

There was no chance I was going to give my mother’s old bedchamber to Margaret.

He could remember well enough standing in his mother’s doorway as she shouted at him, hurling all sorts of abuse and insults.

“Demon! The devil’s spawn!” She had grabbed a candle once and flung it across the room.

He’d fled then, sprinting across the landing as quickly as he could, hearing the brass candle holder smash against the wall.

That room held darkness int it. Though he was no superstitious man, if a chamber could hold memories of the past, then that room certainly would.

“Do you like your chamber?” he asked, clearing his throat and moving to the window, looking out at the fine view it had of the garden.

“Very much. Thank you for it.” Margaret spoke with the same wooden tone he had employed.

“I came to check you were well looked after today by the staff. Of course, you can make any changes to the staff arrangements you wish to.”

“That will not be necessary. They all seem very kind and competent.” Margaret took a seat at the end of her bed.

Distracted, Theodore kept his gaze firmly outside. The memory of her torn dress from that night of the ball was hardly helping matters now as she sat there beside her bed, draped in nothing but a very thin and very lacy nightgown.

“Good. Over the next few days, I have much business to attend to. I will spend most of my time in my study. You are free to do as you like in the house in the meantime.”

“You will surely take mealtimes with me?”

Theodore didn’t answer her. Margaret was a wife in name, but he would not fool himself into thinking he could actually have a wife.

The memory of his mother’s words as she had pursued him across the heathland, cursing him, shone brightly in his mind.

“Will you force another woman to marry a demon? Will you really insist on this misery perpetuating itself forever more?”

“I have made arrangements for our story to be left out of the scandal sheets from now on.” He turned on his heel and moved back toward the door adjoining their chambers. “There will be a short announcement in the papers this week, detailing our wedding. In a few weeks’, none will be gossiping about us.”

“I see.” Margaret nodded.

Theodore clasped the door handle, about to escape when she spoke again.

“Wait…”

“Yes?” Theodore stood there, the door ajar as he looked at her.

She had stood and was now nervously wringing her hands together.

“It is our wedding night.” She looked rather nervous, even chewing her lip for a second before she stood that inch taller. “Aren’t you going to stay?”

He felt as if he had been kicked in the gut by her words.

“You expect me to?”

She blushed such a deep shade of red, it was a wonder her cheeks hadn’t been set alight.

“I may not know exactly what takes place here at night –”

“I beg your pardon?” he cut off in alarm.

“But I do know a husband and wife are meant to spend their first night together. You asked me to marry you, Theodore.” Her use of his Christian name at that moment wasn’t helping matters.

He turned in a mad circle, struggling to look at her at all.

“I presumed you would at least want this first night –”

“I do not.” He stood his ground, balling his hands at his sides. “For one matter, I am not about to stand here and detail to you exactly what passes between men and women, though I’m alarmed you have got this far into life without knowing it –” He regretted those particular words very quickly.

She looked down at the rug beneath her feet in shame.

“I also have no wish for a real wife.”

“A real wife?” she repeated, her brows furrowing together as she jerked her chin upward. “I am a real woman. I made very real vows to you today in church. It sounds like a real wife to my mind.”

“I thought I made it plain.” He hardened his voice so much that to even himself it was something now completely unrecognizable. “We are to be a marriage in name only. A marriage for appearance’s sake. For convenience. I will not be a devoted husband to you, I will not be your lover,” he cast a dismissive wave toward her bed, “and I will not be fathering children with you. Do you understand?”

She blinked rapidly, then turned her back on him.

“You have made yourself plain enough, Your Grace.”

“I thought I told you to call me Theodore.” His ire was rising by the minute now.

“In front of others, if that is what you wish to give the appearance of an intimate relationship, then I will do it, but I will not address you in private with any sort of affection or intimacy as you have made it perfectly clear you want none of it. Goodnight to you. Please lock the door as you leave.”

With a rather regal manner, she stepped away, moving toward the candle on the dress and blew out the candle.

Cast into darkness, Theodore stood in silence for a minute, listening as she clearly climbed into bed.

There was anger racing in his veins, his blood boiling, for she had irritated him so much, but what could he do?

She has agreed, hasn’t she? She has just given me what I wanted?

Baffled at his own anger, he left fast, opening the door and shutting it much louder than he had intended behind him.

Margaret blinked dry and irritated eyes open. Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows. The obviously hot and sunny day seemed to be mocking her, its cheery air a contrast to what she felt inside of her.

Slowly, she sat up in the bed, throwing off the covers as she looked out toward the window and the hot day.

The bright sun shining down on London had no knowledge that her new husband had broken her heart last night.

His coldness had not been a surprise, nor his harsh manner. In truth, she was not even startled that he had no intention of spending the night with her that particular night, but there was one thing he had said which had hurt her deeply. It was as if he had taken her heart and crushed it into the palm of his hand.

“I will not be fathering children with you.”

Slowly climbing out of the bed, Margaret stood and wiped her dry eyes. She had cried for about an hour before sleep had eventually claimed her, dulling the pain inside her for a few short hours.

“I shall never be a mother,” she whispered.

A light knock at the door disturbed her.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Besty, Your Grace. Would you like that bath?”

Rather eager to think of anything other than what had passed between her and Theodore the night before, she readily accepted. Some minutes later, she stood beside a steaming bath, wrapped up in her robe, as Betsy threw in the last of the steaming water.

“Well? How was it?” Betsy asked cautiously, blushing pink on the other side of the copper tub. “Are you sore? I hear so many ladies say they are sore.”

Confused, Margaret frowned. She was now quite certain that the maid knew much more about such things than she did.

“You have been crying.” Betsy chewed her lip. “I have heard that’s not unusual, too. I shall fetch you a cloth for your face. I shall not be long.” She hurried toward the door.

Somewhat touched by Betsy’s care and cheery manner, Margaret called after her.

“Betsy?”

“Yes?” She halted in the doorway.

“I have three younger sisters. I should like them to come here. Often, if possible.” Margaret wrung her hands together nervously. Her mind was working fast now, trying to seek out a way to be happy.

Even if I can never have children of my own, my life will not be wasted. I shall be aunt to Evelina’s future child, and I shall help Louisa, Alexandra, and Penelope escape my father so they can have lives of their own.

“Would that be all right, do you think? To have them visit often.”

“Yes, of course!” Betsy smiled eagerly. “I hear the current master’s grandmother was quite the hostess, always having her family around. The master’s mother… I do not think it was her way, but it would be lovely to have this house full of smiles and laughter again.”

Curious at the second mention of Theodore’s mother, Margaret frowned a little.

“Perhaps we could consider some improvements to the house?” Margaret mused aloud, looking around the room. “If I am to have my family to stay, I’d like them to be comfortable.”

“Even better! I know Mrs. Lancaster has wanted for years to improve the place. Would the Duke approve such changes, Your Grace?”

Margaret remembered something Theodore had said in the carriage. She was permitted to change anything in the house she wanted, as long as she left his chamber and his study alone.

“I need not seek his approval.” Margaret stood taller. “I can make what changes I like to the house. He has already said as much. I intend to make it my home, Betsy, if you will help me?”

Betsy giggled joyously.

“It’s about time this house felt like a home.”

Margaret hesitated before getting into her bath as Betsy left the room.

What did she mean by that?