Chapter 25

CHAPTER25

Silas had never expected to have a wedding day, so he had never had to consider how he might feel when such a day came. As such, he could never have anticipated the monumental stampede of nerves that jittered through him, making the simple act of sipping tea and dressing for the occasion absolutely impossible.

“Ye’re a wee bit shaky this mornin’,” Duncan remarked. “Did ye imbibe too much last night with the other fancy dukes?”

There was a note of disapproval in his voice. He had not been invited to the gentlemen’s gathering, and clearly wished for Silas to know how annoyed he was.

“I did not drink a drop,” Silas shot back, fumbling with his buttons. “Damn it all! Could you help me, instead of sitting there, drinking my tea?”

Duncan’s eyebrows raised. “I beg yer pardon?”

“I… need help,” Silas muttered. “Apologies, Duncan. I am not myself today.”

“Aye, I can see that.” Duncan got up and came over to aid Silas with his buttons. “What are ye so nervous for, eh? Are ye nae marryin’ the lass of yer dreams today?”

Silas took a breath. “It is the spectacle of the thing. I do not see why we could not have just eloped.”

“Ye ken why,” Duncan replied with a chuckle. “It would’ve sent them scandal sheets of yers into a spin. The runaway and the rogue, ridin’ off to Gretna to wed in shame.”

“I am not ashamed,” Silas hissed. “Certainly, not of her.”

Duncan made mocking, hushing sounds. “I wasnae sayin’ ye were. I was speakin’ like them gossipmongers would.”

“I fear I might be apologizing to you a great deal today,” Silas said, taking another deep breath. “Is a groom supposed to feel this anxious? Do you think this is the very feeling that has made my beloved flee twice?”

Duncan helped with Silas’s waistcoat. “Similar, but nae the same,” he said. “The two of ye are mad for each other. I’ve seen it with me own eyes. The nerves that made her run were formed by terror of marryin’ unsuitable lads—that’s me guess, anyway—but she wants ye. I daenae ken why, but she does. And ye want her, which I can understand. Ye’re just nervous because ye havenae done this before and ye’re worried it might change somethin’ between ye.”

“Will it?” Silas gulped.

“If ye’re worried about yer trysts in the study and yer bedchamber comin’ to an end, I wouldnae,” Duncan remarked, smirking. “But, aye, things will change. Ye’ll have to live with each other, for one thing, and I reckon ye’re goin’ to be unbearable for the rest of us. We’ll have to stuff our ears with wax before we sleep each night and avert our eyes whenever ye walk into a room together, lest they rot from the sweetness.”

Silas mustered a smile, relaxing. “I knew there was a good reason I kept you around.”

“Well, ye would be attendin’ the church half-dressed if I wasnae,” Duncan replied, aiding with the last piece of Silas’s attire: his morning coat.

Silas turned serious for a moment. “I mean it, Duncan.” His throat tightened. “If it were not for you, I would not be marrying her today. I would not know her. I might not even be here at all. So… thank you.”

“Did that hurt to say?” Duncan teased.

“A little.” Silas smirked, managing the last few buttons on his own.

Duncan clapped Silas on the shoulder. “Ye’re a lucky man, Silas. So, stop actin’ like a wee bairn about to wet his breeches. Ye’ve nae reason to be nervous.”

“You do not think she will run, do you?” Silas had not slept at all that night, with that question repeating over and over in his mind.

If Emma had been in the bed beside him, he knew he would have slept like a log, holding her close, but she and her family had stayed at the dowager house so that bride and groom would be kept apart until the actual wedding.

Truly, after three decades of mostly sleeping alone, he had not realized how much he would miss having her with him. Her absence had been a tangible shadow, lurking on the cold side of the bed. And as she had taken Snowy with her, he had not even had the puppy as a smaller, wrigglier replacement for cuddles.

“It hasnae crossed me mind once,” Duncan assured, his tone sincere. “But ye might worry her if ye daenae move yerself. Yer maither said ye and the other gentlemen were to breakfast nay later than nine o’clock and it’s five-to-the-hour now.”

Silas cursed under his breath. “It will be a quick breakfast anyway. I do not think I can eat a thing.”

“Och, ye’d best believe I’m goin’ to be tellin’ Lady Emma about all of this quiverin’ and whimperin’ when I get the chance,” Duncan said, laughing, as the two men headed for the bedchamber door.

Silas flashed his friend a wicked grin. “By this evening, my good man, I hope that she will be the one quivering and whimpering.”

“Aye, and I’ll be runnin’ around the gardens, gettin’ as far away from the manor as possible. Everyone ought to do the same, if they ken what’s good for them,” Duncan replied, injecting some good cheer back into the anxious morning.

But as Silas stepped into the breakfast room, the atmosphere was more funereal than celebratory. The three other dukes, husbands to Marina, Joanna, and Nancy, were sipping coffee in sullen silence, while Luke sat at the head of the table, holding a pamphlet that Silas would have recognized anywhere.

“Too much brandy last night, gentlemen?” Silas kept his voice light, determined to hold his nerves at bay.

Jasper raised his head. “You will have a greater headache when you hear the news.”

“Nonsense,” Adam, the Duke of Stapleton and husband to Nancy, interjected. “It is all nonsense. I have told them all as much, but they seem to revel in being morose. Truly, I have heard worse on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no gossip whatsoever. They are scraping the barrel, that is all. Take no heed of it, duke.”

Silas bristled. “Take no heed of what?”

“They have written about her,” Edwin Bolt, the Duke of Bruxton and husband to Joanna, replied drily. “I am inclined to agree with Stapleton, though. He and I have assuredly both read worse things about us and our wives, and we never paid it much attention. These gossips are bored and prone to prattling. Put a drop of brandy in your coffee and do not let it ruin your day.”

Jasper nodded. “After today, it will not matter.”

“What have they said?” Silas turned to Luke, his hackles rising at the sight of those wretched scandal sheets. “I will pay it no attention, but I will know what it says.”

Luke sighed. “Very well, I will give you the gist of it, but I also agree with the others. Do not listen to it and laugh about it instead with your wife when you greet her at the altar.” He took a breath. “It says how deeply they wish they could save the poor Duke of Hudson from the imminent humiliation of being jilted on this, his wedding day. However, they have, rather generously, mentioned that a tide of young ladies will rush to comfort you in the weeks to come, to ensure you forget that you ever knew the wretched runaway, Lady Emma Bennet.

“We doubt it will be long before the duke finds someone worthy,” Luke continued, switching to the voice of the piece. “Unless, of course, he suffers from the same cruel fate as Lady Emma’s first betrothed, the Marquess of Pennington—a victim of her wickedness, sentenced to years of bad luck, who has yet to find a wife after the chaos she caused. Let us hope that⁠—”

Silas snatched the scandal sheets out of Luke’s hand and stalked to the fireplace, tossing the disgusting thing into the flames. He glared down at the paper, watching with prickling rage as the fire caught the edges, and consumed the lot, turning it to ash. Even then, he wished he could stomp on it, to truly be rid of it.

“She will be there,” he seethed; to himself, to the gossipmongers, to the gentlemen present, so no one would be in any doubt of his faith in her. “Finish your breakfasts. I do not care if we are early; we are leaving imminently.”

None of the other men dared to speak, chewing and drinking up the last of their tea and coffee in nervous silence. A silence that did nothing to help quell Silas’s own nerves.

She will be there, he told himself, picturing the last moment they had shared together before she left for the dowager house. A soft, lingering kiss behind one of the drapes in the entrance hall. A promise that she would be there; that he was different from those who had come before.

What sort of husband would he be if he started doubting her now?