Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A s it happened, it took just two days for all the arrangements to be made. Everything happened in such a rush that it turned Evangeline's head. All the arrangements that had been made for her former wedding were now put into place for this. For privacy's sake, she assumed, or merely as a display of power, the duke had commanded that the wedding was to take place in his drawing room.

Her father, as he did with all things, capitulated as soon as the duke made his preference known.

"How are you feeling?" Clara asked as they rattled in the carriage to the duke's imposing home in Grosvenor Square. "Perhaps it's not too late to run."

"The time for running has long since passed, and you know it," Evangeline said. "A notice of our marriage has been submitted to The Times, and if I were to lose out on a second husband, I don't suppose there would ever be a third."

The carriage came to a stop.

"Then don't marry," Clara said urgently. "We could set up house together. If I ever marry, you could live with us."

Evangeline's heart gave a small pang. "And how would you find this fine husband without a Season? If the duke is amenable to paying Papa's debts, then you have a chance at making a good match. Without it, I hardly see how it could happen." She patted her sister's hand and allowed a footman to help her from the carriage. "Don't worry. I shall make a beautiful bride."

"Of course you shall," Clara said stoutly. "The most beautiful bride in all of England."

Evangeline doubted that. She knew her worth reasonably well; she was relatively pretty with a good figure, but she was hardly a diamond of the first water. The duke wasn't marrying her because he was bowled over by her beauty; she had seen no particular spark of admiration in his gaze, which had rarely been turned to her. The object of his focus had been George.

Understandable, if what he said about George was true. But she still couldn't quite believe that her childhood friend, the man who had always been there for her when she needed a shoulder, might be so very despicable.

Her parents were already waiting at the duke's house, and by the slightly musty state of the rooms, she gathered they would not be spending much time in this house. No doubt he intended to cart her up to the wilds of the north, away from her friends and family and everything she had ever known.

For a moment, she felt her courage waver.

"Excellent," her father said, at his most jovial. "What an excellent house."

If by excellent, he meant ornate, then certainly he was correct. The duke's wealth was very clearly on display.

"Are you ready?" he asked now.

Evangeline smoothed a hand down her bridal gown, which was the same as she had worn at the wedding just a couple of days prior. Given the speed with which this wedding had happened, there had been no time to change.

"I suppose so," she said.

"Excellent." Her father motioned to a man by the double doors leading into the drawing-room, and the ceremony began.

Very few people were in attendance, only servants on the duke's side, and only her immediate family on her side. From the moment she entered the room, however, her attention was on the duke. The first time they had met, she had not wholly comprehended his appearance, and she took her time to do so now.

He was tall, far taller than she, with dark hair neatly combed to the side and a face that was oddly compelling for its sternness. A hard jaw, blue–gray eyes that made her think of the winter sea, and an aquiline nose. His shoulders were broad, and he barely spared her a glance as she took her place beside him.

She could imagine him being as cold as the northern castle he no doubt lived in. A product of the wild, olden days when men roamed the moorlands and Scottish clans fought against the sovereignty of the King.

The bishop spread his hands, and Evangeline did her best to pay attention, but her mind was reeling. Both because of the man beside her, and his apparent distaste for her.

If he had insisted on marrying her, what could possibly be his reason? Certainly, it was not because he viewed her with any sort of favor. Could it be to save her family from ruin? That was possible, she conceded, but he had shown the same silent derision in the face of her father, not taken in by her father's obsequiousness, and so she doubted that, too.

Her lack of understanding of his motives unsettled her.

The bishop pronounced them man and wife, and Evangeline blinked, realizing just how much of the ceremony she had missed. The duke looked down at her, and she raised her chin, the defiant spark in her chest not allowing her to quail before him.

The corner of his mouth twitched in what she could only assume was a smile—approval, amusement, grim distaste?—but before she could give the expression too much thought, he took her elbow.

"We will not be having a wedding breakfast," he said as he led her down the aisle.

His fingers were tight enough that she could not easily free herself, although she didn't know where she would go.

This was her life now. Beholden to a man who barely looked as though he cared that she existed.

"Bid your family farewell," he said shortly as they reached the other end of the room. "I shall see that our carriage is ready for us."

With a slight incline of his head, he left the room. Her pride smarted, and she gritted her teeth at the order, so summarily given.

"Evangeline," Clara said, already in tears, throwing her arms around Evangeline's neck. "He looks so very horrid. Are you going to be well?"

"A duchess, my dear," her mother said, dabbing a handkerchief to her perfectly dry eyes. "Just think of all the invitations. Think of your consequence. That is worth an unpleasant husband, Evangeline, you mark my words."

"And I would say the man is not so bad." Her father looked after the duke with a contemplative expression. "Consider, Evangeline, the alacrity with which he did the right thing and offered for you. Not all men would do the same. You'll be happy with him."

Privately, Evangeline reflected that her parents didn't care much either way, but she forced a smile for Clara.

"I believe we are setting off immediately," Evangeline said and unwound Clara's arms from her neck. "I can't say when I'll be back, but you must be good, Clara, and next Season you will take the ton by storm. Every gentleman worth his salt will be queueing up to have a chance at your hand."

The door opened and the duke stood in it, broad and imposing. Evangeline could only imagine what lay underneath his clothes—she rather suspected he was like a Greek statue, all lean muscle. No doubt she would discover it tonight.

She shivered.

"The carriage is ready," he said, glancing from her to Clara. His expression didn't change, but she thought she saw a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "Make haste. Have you said your goodbyes?"

"Evangeline," Clara sobbed.

Evangeline's heart lurched at the thought of leaving her sister like this, but it would be better not to make a scene.

"I must go, dearest," she said. "Be good, although, of course, I know you will. I'll miss you very much. I'll write to you."

As Evangeline left the room, walking through the opulent hall to the front door, she could still hear her sister's sobs echoing through the space. Beside her, the duke was as cold and silent as a specter.

With one final glare in his direction, she allowed him to help her into the carriage, and she turned to look at the front door, where Clara stood waving until she was out of sight.