10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

M elior appeared pale to Nathaniel. Then again, the white veil she wore made her complexion appear lighter. She'd paired it with a dark blue traveling dress, which, while practical, seemed to resemble mourning clothes rather than wedding attire.

It surprised him. With Melior's penchant for fashion, he'd expected her to clad herself in one of those flowy, gauzy gowns gaudily embroidered and accented with an ample amount of jewelry.

He glanced down at the gloved hand she'd rested upon his arm. Not one piece of jewelry. As far as he could tell the only piece she wore was a small silver locket around her neck. Her head bowed as the vicar recited the words of the ceremony making it evidently clear that she'd not woven anything into her hair. In fact, the riotous mass of curls he'd come to expect was also absent. Only a few tight ringlets lined her face and a few lackluster curls fell from the bun upon her head.

He needed no clearer indication of her displeasure with their union. Then again, they would be leaving directly after the ceremony. Was it possible that flighty, pompous Melior actually had a practical side?

When it came time to repeat after the vicar, his mouth seemed full of cotton. Melior had lifted her mystical blue eyes to his gaze and the magnitude of what he was about to promise settled in his chest. He would promise to have and to hold her in all conditions. For richer or poorer and in sickness and health seemed like the easy part, but to cherish her? It seemed almost impossible. Not without her consent. Would she really follow through and make the same vows?

When he finished and it was her turn, her voice, while hesitant, was clear. She focused on his cravat and repeated the words that would bind her to him until death parted them. As a young man he'd imagined this moment. It had been his sweetest dream, but not the least obtainable. She was a duke's niece; he was a lowly baronet. They did not make unions. And yet here he was, staring into the face of perfection.

Someone held out a ring in front of him, and Nathaniel realized he'd become so engrossed in viewing his bride that he'd stopped listening to the vicar's words.

"Rein it in, Nate," Eddie whispered as he placed the ring in his hand.

Nathaniel grasped the small gold band and turned to Melior.

Did he place the ring over her glove? No, that could not be right. If so, it would not fit.

She stared at him a moment, holding up her hand. Then she sighed softly and removed her kid glove. Perhaps he should have removed her glove before taking the ring from Eddie.

"With this ring, I thee wed." That part seemed easy.

"With all my worldly goods I thee endow." Something he had plenty of and to spare. "With my body, I thee…" A lump formed in his throat.

How could he make such a promise? They hardly knew one another. Yes, they'd been acquainted over a decade, but the woman standing before him was not the same girl he'd become infatuated with all those years ago. He could not say what colors she preferred, whether she preferred tea or coffee to begin her day, or even if she broke her fast in the morning. Any time he visited Kendall House, it seemed like she never exited her room until midday.

Even if he had known those things, her lack of interest in him made it nearly impossible to think about sharing a—he nearly choked as the lump in his throat grew bigger—a bed with her.

The vicar repeated something and Nathaniel stared at him in confusion.

"I thee worship," the older man whispered.

Nathaniel swallowed the lump. "I thee worship."

"In the name…" the man motioned to Melior's hand and Nathaniel realized he'd become so lost in the concept of truly becoming man and wife that he'd not finished the ceremony.

He repeated after the vicar as he laced the ring over each finger, eventually slipping it completely onto the fourth finger of her left hand. It was done. He'd forever tied himself to this lovely creature.

If he were a shallower man, he would have rejoiced in his good fortune for securing such a beautiful, well-connected wife—and, in truth, he did find some pleasure in it—but he was grounded enough to realize that he'd just thrown away any chance for a love match.

Memories of his father tenderly holding his mother's hand, or lightly kissing her cheek as her eyes glowed bright with love, flitted across his mind. He would never have that with Melior. At least not with the Melior that stood before him now, her eyes cast down.

As he lifted her veil, he finally got a good look at her face. She appeared ill. He gently hooked a finger under her chin to raise her gaze to his. Tears glistened in her perfect blue eyes. She looked broken, not carefree and happy like the glittering jewel that had pranced around ballrooms refusing suitors for the last five years.

She had waited and planned and hoped for a man of high rank, and she would have gotten one too, if it were not for Mr. Fairchild. His heart softened.

Even if she was frivolous and overly ambitious, she was still a person. There had to be normal human emotions somewhere inside that perfect body of hers. Perhaps in time, she would change. He knew better than to think he could make her change, but a man could hope and encourage, could he not?

Her eyes flicked nervously to the crowd. Ah, yes, the kiss. He leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he gave her a quick chaste peck on the cheek. They flew open and she stared at him in confusion.

Had she wanted him to give her a real kiss? He could not tell, for the next instant she turned to face the small group of people gathered in the pews.

A good many of Nathaniel's friends and acquaintances were there. Eddie and John had agreed to stand up with him, while Al had flatly refused, insisting he'd not stand up at a wedding unless he was dragged to the altar by some half-crazed female. So he sat among the other onlookers.

Across the aisle, Melior's family sat. At the beginning of the ceremony the duke had appeared cheerful, but now his face was creased, a slight frown upon his lips. Melior's parents sat resolutely next to him, their eyes focused directly forward, neither one looking at them nor showing any sign of acceptance. If he were to guess their feelings, he'd say they were entirely done with the situation and perhaps smarting from the disgraceful connection.

Disgraceful connection indeed. If they only knew what sort of a man their daughter might have been forced to marry.

His eyes flitted over the rest of the pews. Other than Osborne Kendall, only his childhood friend Miss Javenia Harris and her father occupied the seats. Where were Melior's myriad of London friends? He knew she had many, but Lady Edith and Lady Agatha were the most notably absent. How could they be absent on an occasion like this, especially Lady Edith? She did not bow to the dictates of her parents as easily as Lady Agatha, so he doubted their displeasure would have kept her from attending the wedding of her dearest friend.

"Let us go," Melior said, pressing gently against his arm to propel him into motion. He'd woolgathered so much today she probably thought him daft in the head.

At the carriage Javenia handed Melior a small nosegay of flowers. The smile that touched Melior's lips as she received them was genuine if a bit sad.

"Thank you," Melior said.

To his surprise, the two ladies embraced, and Javenia whispered something in Melior's ear.

"I'd like that very much," she responded softly.

His mind churned through the possibilities of what Javenia might have said, until the door to the carriage shut and the conveyance began to rumble down the streets of London.

They were utterly alone for the first time since the night they'd been found in the cloakroom. Awkward silence filled the space between them. Without thinking, he'd taken up the backward-facing seat making it impossible not to see the emotions that played across Melior's face as they left the city. He wished he had not.

It was like watching a flower be slowly crushed by a boot. With each mile she seemed to wilt more and more in her seat, her face the picture of torture. And he was the one crushing her. Oh, he knew it was not him particularly. Mr. Thomas Fairchild and most likely Lord Caraway were the real ones at fault. But no matter how much he tried, he still felt her pain keenly. So he resolved to give her the space she needed. There was no need to burden her more than was necessary with his presence, especially when she appeared as if she needed a full week's worth of sleep.

The grey coated buildings of London gave away to fields dusted lightly with snow. It was odd seeing the pure white after the filth of the city, but the glistening of the sun off the iridescent surface helped to soothe her aching heart. There was nothing like a beautiful view to lighten one's burden.

Then again, beauty had always been her reprieve, whether it be in a lovely dress, a well-done painting, or the enchanting words on a page. It brought her peace in an ugly, unforgiving world.

She gazed down at her traveling attire and frowned. At the door of the church, Sir Nathaniel had helped her into her burgundy pelisse. Thankfully, the warm woolen garment hid the hideous dress her mother had chosen for her, since a baronet's wife, she had insisted, could not put on airs with such finery as she was used to.

It was a punishment, and Melior knew it. As was the noticeably absent trunk on the carriage. Her mother must have kept back the one containing her ballgowns.

Thank goodness she'd repacked her jewelry this morning into the new box Uncle Percy had given her. She fingered the locket at her neck. It had been her grandmother's—the same grandmother she'd been named after.

Her memories of her father's mother were vague at best, but thanks to Uncle Percy's generosity, she now had something tangible of the first Lady Melior Kendall.

Only she no longer shared the name Melior Kendall with her long deceased grandmother. She was Lady Nathaniel Stanford. She sighed softly. With her new name, it was almost as if she'd disappeared entirely.

Her eyes flitted to the beautifully carved jewelry box on the floor of the carriage, but her attention caught on Sir Nathaniel's shiny black Hessians. The boots were of the finest quality. How had she never noticed his expensive footwear?

Her gaze slowly rose, sweeping over his buckskin breeches and landing on his arms which were crossed over a snug fitting coat. His eyes were closed, but she did not fool herself into thinking he slept. His breathing was too unsteady for rest.

When they opened, she quickly turned her focus to the window, embarrassed to be caught openly gawking at him.

"How much longer until we reach Havencrest?" she asked.

"Twenty, maybe thirty minutes."

She rubbed her hands together.

"Are you cold? Of course you are. My apologies. I should have given you the lap robe when we first entered."

He stood, half hunched, and lifted the seat top to reveal a cubby filled with thick fur blankets. After extracting a tan one, he turned and carefully laid it across her lap. The gesture was by no means uncommon and yet in the confines of the small coach, with only the two of them, it felt exceedingly intimate.

Melior cleared her throat. "Thank you."

"You are welcome."

He retook his seat without removing a robe for himself, and she wondered at his imperviousness to the cold. Several seconds passed as she soaked in the warmth of the blanket. She'd had enough of the silence. While she liked her solitude, she was also not used to the amount she'd been given over the last week.

Her yearning for conversation finally overcame her discomfort and she said the first appropriate thing that came to mind.

"My uncle visited me this morning before the wedding."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he came to give me a wedding present and wished me well." And to beg her forgiveness, but only after she'd refused to see him. But she would not tell Sir Nathaniel that part.

Not one to be waylaid at the front door, Uncle Percy had shown himself to her personal parlor where he'd teased and cajoled her until she'd finally admitted why she was put out with him. He'd apologized for not including her in the details, insisting he was only trying to spare her the pain of planning a wedding he knew she did not desire. But when he'd realized how hurt she was, he'd immediately gathered her in his arms, soggy tears and all.

Of course she'd forgiven him. How could she not? At least he'd wanted to see her before she had to be shipped off to hide this ridiculous scandal. Her parents had not even given her that much.

She waited for Sir Nathaniel to make a remark on what she'd told him, but he simply nodded and glanced out the window. Her spirits sank.

Fine. If he was going to pretend she'd not spoken, she would too. They did not need to talk, even if they were married.

A minute or two passed.

"His Grace will be coming to visit in six weeks to see how we are getting along," Sir Nathaniel finally said.

"Yes, he told me he would pay us a call." Melior clamped her mouth shut. Where was her resolve? She'd just promised not to speak to him and yet the moment he opened his mouth she'd jumped on the sentence like a love-starved puppy.

She bit her lip and shook her head at the terrible analogy. She was not love starved nor anyone's dog.

"Also, John mentioned he would be returning to the neighborhood in a fortnight. He has had his fill of London, poor man." Sir Nathaniel finally looked at her.

"I had forgotten that Lord Newhurst lived near you. How far away is his estate?"

"Three miles at most. His mother and mine were dear friends, so we have known each other from our cradles. I am sure he will pay a call to announce his return, so we will not be entirely without friends."

He said the last bit to himself, and Melior wondered if he was dreading the next few months as much as she was, but Lord Newhurst would be of little comfort to her. The man rarely spoke with her, and when he did it was only to elaborate on some obscure word or phrase. He was an odd man, to be sure.

"And who else can I expect bridal visits from in the next few weeks?"

Maidstone she'd come to understand, was a decent-sized village with a bustling trade industry. There must be some sort of Society there to fill her time.

"I…" Sir Nathaniel laced his fingers together and stared out the window. "I am unsure. It will depend upon who is aware that I am married."

"Was it not put in the papers?"

"Your uncle mentioned it, but…"

When he did not finish she leaned forward to attract his attention. "But what?"

He pinched the fingers of his left glove one by one before answering. "It takes a few days for London papers to reach Maidstone and my mother does not get out much to speak with friends, so it might be some time before you will receive your first visitor."

Excuses. His mother was quite capable of writing letters, or at least her lady's maid could write them for her. And Maidstone was not that far from London that papers should take days.

It was the scandal; she was certain of it.

No one would want to visit the fallen daughter of a second son, even if that son was in line for a dukedom.

Sir Nathaniel peered at her. "I am sure when word gets around, you will not want for company. You are likely to have ladies from all over the county coming to call, that is, if you will receive them."

The inflection he used made her bristle. What did he mean by if ? Did he think her capable of being remiss in her duties as a hostess? Or perhaps he thought her too proud. Maybe she should be. If all of Maidstone society was as disdainful as Sir Nathaniel then she'd rather not spend her mornings entertaining them.

She raised her chin. "I see you have quite the high opinion of my hospitality. Is there anything else in my character you feel the need to question?"

His brow furrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I simply meant to ascertain your willingness to meet with people so decidedly below your station."

If he thought to placate her with those words, he was more obtuse than she'd previously thought. Disdain dripped from his lips like saliva, quivering and disgusting in its existence. Never mind that a week ago she'd avoided several gentlemen at assemblies because of their low station. When it came to women, she was quite liberal. Did she not have friendships with mere baron's daughters? Perhaps she had not been as willing as Eddie to accept the company of all, but one must have their standards.

"I understand you completely, sir." She turned her shoulder toward him so she could more fully stare out the window.

"I do not think you do. As my wife, I expect you to treat my neighbors and friends with kindness and equity."

"Something I am wholly lacking. Yes, sir. Do you have any more orders for me?"

"Yes. You will keep your sharp tongue to yourself and not inflict my mother with it. In fact, perhaps it would be best if you limited your interactions with her. She is a gentlewoman and I would not want her hurt by your haughty attitude."

A lump caught in Melior's throat. She'd never been so insulted in all her life. Her eyes began to burn. She closed them to trap any tears that could betray her.

"As you wish." She pulled the lap robe to cover her arms and leaned her head against the squabs, feigning fatigue. While she'd been beyond tired all day, her mind was now wide awake with the agony of unjust accusations.

She'd known Sir Nathaniel's mother most of her life, and not once had she ever treated her with less than was her due. Yes, their acquaintance was a superficial one, but from his assessment, one would think she'd been unforgivably rude at every interaction.

The rest of the ride was silent, presumably because he thought her asleep. When the carriage shuddered to a stop, she gave up her pretense and sat up straight.

A footman opened the door and Melior caught sight of the staff lining the drive, their breath fogging in the frigid air. Sir Nathaniel exited and waved the footman away.

She stood and glanced at the hand he extended to her. A choice had to be made, and while Melior would rather have shown the utmost propriety in front of the staff, her heart could not handle one more beating. So she carefully stepped down from the carriage… without taking Sir Nathaniel's hand.

He frowned.

She removed a linen square and dabbed the moisture from the tip of her nose. It would be the only water to dampen her face, for she swore to herself she'd not let Sir Nathaniel see her cry.

Straightening her posture, she gracefully met each member of the staff with a word of appreciation. It would take some time to remember all their names, but right now it was near impossible with her mind in such upheaval.

The top of the three-story building resembled a castle, but on a decidedly smaller scale. The turrets that lined the top gave the earthen-colored structure a stately appearance, if a bit cold and unwelcoming. The dark wood of the grand double doors at the top of the stairs were polished to a shine, circular brass handles hanging from each.

Melior's gaze skittered to the butler and footmen. Each was large in stature with an impressive amount of brawn. That strength was probably necessary in order to heft such expansive doors every day.

Sir Nathaniel waited beside her as she took in the home. "Are you ready to proceed?" he asked quietly. His patience with her almost won him a small smile until he continued. "I will not insult you again by offering my arm, since my hand was so odious to you."

The man was impossible. He was the one who broke her trust and then insulted her, and yet behaved as if it was her fault. How could he possibly think she would want to touch him after being used so badly?

Grasping her skirts, she marched up the stairs. Unfortunately, Sir Nathaniel kept pace with her, his hefty butler leading the way.