Chapter 4

CHAPTER4

Edwin scowled up at the quaint manor, the sandstone looking almost yellow in the spring sunshine, while the leaded windows winked back at him. The sprawling lawns and immaculate gardens thrummed with life: diligent bees, fragile butterflies, startled rabbits, and ravenous birds darting in and out of the emerald grasses and gaudy flowers that had not long begun to bloom. Edwin loathed the sight of so much color and vitality, wishing he could skim through spring and summer and delve straight into the gloom of autumn.

Yet, that was not the only reason for his sour mood. It had taken four days to prepare the special license when he had hoped it might be done in one. As such, his back ached from spending too many nights at the town inn, and his stomach was unsettled after gingerly eating the country fare that had been offered to him. It did not suit his constitution. None of the southern countryside did.

Riding on toward the front steps, he was greeted by a stable hand, who took possession of his grand black stallion, Bellerophon. That done, Edwin headed up to the main entrance, though the door opened before he could knock.

“Your Grace, what a pleasure to welcome you again,” said a reedy butler who wore a livery a size too large. Perhaps, he thought it made him look more formidable, but it rather gave the impression of a boy who had stolen his father’s garb.

Edwin sniffed. “Are the family at home?”

“They are, Your Grace,” the butler replied, gesturing for Edwin to enter. “They are currently taking tea in the Rose Room. Shall I have a tray sent for you?”

Edwin shook his head. “There is no need. I will not be staying long.”

“As you prefer, Your Grace.” The butler’s mouth twisted in a grimace as he dipped his head in a bow. A subtle expression that was likely not supposed to be noticed, but Edwin did not miss much of what happened around him.

“Direct me,” he said curtly. “I do not require ushering, as if I am at the opera.”

The butler blinked. “Yes, Your Grace. Of course.” He gestured down a nearside hallway. “If you follow this hall to the end, the Rose Room is the last door on your right.”

Without another word, Edwin made his way to the Rose Room, leaving the butler standing in a state of utter astonishment in his too-large livery. Edwin smirked to himself as he walked, pleased to have discreetly rebuked the fellow for daring to curl his lip at a duke.

At what he hoped to be the Rose Room, Edwin barely grazed his knuckles across the door in a knock before breezing into the room beyond. The Swinton family jolted at his arrival, their heads turning sharply to see who had intruded upon their quiet afternoon of sipping tea and holding tedious conversations about things they had likely discussed hundreds of times before.

“Good afternoon,” was all Edwin said, his gaze drawn toward his future wife.

She sat in the only chair facing the door and seemed the least surprised of the quartet. Indeed, it appeared they had not been expecting guests at all, for Lady Joanna wore her hair loose, with two small braids holding some hair back from her face. It startled him, to see her so informally presented; the simple white day dress she wore resembled a nightdress that took his mind to unexpected places.

The ribbon around her waist was too tight, or perhaps it was the manner in which she was sitting—either way, it accentuated her figure, revealing more of an hourglass than he had anticipated, considering her slender arms and willowy appearance. Her bust was riper and plumper than he had previously believed, making him swallow thickly as he noted the swollen curve of each breast, pushed together to form an enticing valley. There was no gauzy, false collar to hide her bosom, as might have been polite for an afternoon of tea and cakes.

That must cease, when she is my wife, he told himself, imagining how his aunt would respond to such a tawdry display.

Inviting his gaze back up to her face, he blinked at the heat of her glare, her green eyes even more like those of his once-beloved cat. That creature had enjoyed scowling at him when he did not offer it treats and delicacies when it demanded them, but a scratch between the ears had always placated it. He doubted Joanna would be so easily soothed.

“Your Grace, I must apologize.” Nicholas Swinton shot to his feet, fumbling over his words like the ingratiating worm that he was. “We thought you had forgotten us. Please, forgive our informal state—my daughter went swimming in the lake against my wishes, and complained of needing to dry her hair. As we had no plans for visitors, I did not see the harm.”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “Swimming?”

“I find it refreshing, especially when the afternoons are so unseasonably warm,” Joanna replied, goading him with a sly smile. “Do you swim, Your Grace?”

“No,” Edwin said.

“You cannot, or you do not?”

He narrowed his eyes, unaccustomed to such an inquisition. “I do not.”

Is she scheming to drown me? he wondered, half-serious. The scandal sheets would appreciate the irony, I suppose.

“A pity,” Joanna mumbled, sipping from a teacup, decorated with blue flowers.

It was only their second encounter, but already Edwin had questioned himself countless times, believing he might have made a mistake in readily accepting her proposal to take her sister’s place. Even now, Lady Nancy sat poised and refined, her chin dipped to her chest, not daring to look him in the eye. A perfect example of a pretty bride who would be seen and not heard.

“I have acquired the license,” Edwin said, choosing to blame Joanna’s forthright words on nerves. He had heard that young ladies acted queerly when it came to engagements and marriages and weddings, and there had been very little time for Joanna to order her thoughts on their wedding. After they were married, she would settle; he was certain of it.

Nicholas sighed with obvious relief. “That is fortunate news, Your Grace. When might you desire the wedding to take place? There is a charming church in the nearby town, and I am well acquainted with the reverend, if that would please you?”

Edwin resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the eagerness in the Marquess’s voice. Regardless of Edwin’s past and the rumors that ran wild about him, there were few noblemen who would reject the prospect of having a duchess for a daughter and potentially having a duke for a grandson if an heir came along. It disgusted Edwin, in truth, how easy it had been to get Nicholas to agree to his request for a wife, but it did not surprise him. After all, if he had thought he would be rejected, he would not have made the journey down from the north.

“Two days’ hence, if the reverend is amenable,” Edwin answered, observing Joanna’s expression with every word he spoke. She was a difficult woman to gauge, hiding behind a cool stare.

Indeed, her mother and sister were far more open with their feelings, struggling to conceal their discomfort: Lady Nancy fidgeted with the frills upon her pale gray pinafore, while the Marchioness of Tillington drank shakily from her teacup, clattering ceramic against ceramic as she attempted to place it back in the saucer.

Nicholas nodded effusively. “I am certain that the reverend will agree, though I shall have to ride there this afternoon to speak with him. Would you consider joining me?”

“I have faith that you will ensure it takes place, per my request,” Edwin replied evenly. “I shall return tomorrow to discuss details.”

Joanna arched an eyebrow at him. “You will not stay for tea?”

“There is no need.”

“You say that a great deal,” she remarked. “Is it not considered polite to take tea with the family of the lady you will soon marry?”

Edwin sniffed. “Politeness does not concern me much. Nor does tea.”

“You do not like tea? Are you certain you are an Englishman?” A partial smile lifted one corner of Joanna’s lips, intriguing him. What was she so pleased about? She had not seemed so excitable the other evening, when she had offered herself for marriage—instead, she had appeared desperate. The change bemused him, and he neither liked change, nor confusion, for they left him with the sensation of not being in control.

“An Englishman has no duty to like tea. I contend only with my duties. As I have said what I needed to say, I will take my leave of you all,” he answered drily. “Adieu.”

As he had done the other evening, he turned on his heel and departed the Rose Room without another word, though the clink of cups and saucers and the collective rush of held breaths being exhaled pursued him down the hallway. Long ago, he would have itched at the notion that he was being discussed and gossiped about in detail, but years of exposure to judgment and rumor had rendered him immune.

“You there!” he barked, spying the butler lurking behind an archway opposite.

The tall, thin man reluctantly stepped out into the entrance hall. “Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed low. “How might I be of service?”

“Have my stallion fetched,” Edwin ordered, pausing before he demanded that his cloak and gloves be fetched, too, for he realized that he had not taken them off. “Yes, that will be all.”

The butler bowed again, so low that it appeared he might snap his spine in two. “Of course, Your Grace. I shan’t be a moment.”

The butler scurried off and Edwin wandered toward the front door, cursing under his breath that the reedy man had not bothered to open the door first, before disappearing through the labyrinth of servants’ corridors. He was beginning to wonder if the servants had received any education whatsoever in how to welcome and tend to honored guests. In his household, such mistakes would not have occurred.

“Excuse me,” a voice, much too close behind him, made him jolt.

Recovering swiftly, he turned, pretending to fasten the top button of his waistcoat as an excuse for any startled jump that might have been witnessed. He frowned at the sight of Joanna, standing in front of him with a fierce light burning in those exceptional eyes of hers.

If I cared about the beauty of my wife, she would fulfill every requirement, he mused in silence, admiring the faint dusting of freckles that curved from her temples, under her eyes, and over the bridge of her nose like she had caught the sun’s glare in the height of summer. And with her hair long and loose and unfettered by the ridiculous adornments and restrictions of society, he could not deny that his fingertips were curious to caress the silky strands. As for the soft, smooth skin of her pert breasts… they called to his palms like warm, fresh buns that were cooling on a kitchen sill, tempting him to steal a touch and, perhaps, a taste.

“I, too, have duties to consider,” Joanna went on, prompting his gaze to fixate for a moment upon her ripe, plump lips. They glistened with an oil of some kind, stirring his curiosity once more, for he desired to know if that gleam made them taste any sweeter.

Enough of that, a voice that was his and yet not scolded in his mind. This woman is a necessity, not an object of desire. She is the key to society, nothing more.

“Duties?” he asked, his tone verging on bored.

“If I am to be your wife, I wish to be adequate in the role,” she replied firmly. “In order to be a somewhat decent companion to you, should I not know something of you, and you of me? I cannot profess to understand why you are in such a hurry to wed, but I would prefer not to marry an utter stranger. I do not even know your name.”

Edwin adjusted his gold cufflinks, both engraved with a coiling “B” for both his title and his surname. “It is not necessary. Be adequate; that is all I require of you.”

She did not seem to like that response, her somewhat feline nose crinkling, her eyes narrowing. “Your Grace, I would not ordinarily defy a duke—although, I have met too few to be certain—but I require some knowledge of you. Once we are wed, I will live at your residence, I will be a wife to you, and my entire life will change overnight. I ought to know what manner of gentleman you are. I would be a dolt if I did not learn something, and I may be many things, but I am no dolt.”

It was his turn to disapprove of her response. She was too bold, too brazen, too outspoken for the purpose she was meant to serve. He imagined that any young lady would be glad not to know much about their future husband if they were to enter into a marriage of convenience, but not this young lady. What sort of undignified woman chased a gentleman to the front door, just to interrogate him?

And why am I not changing my mind about marrying her? That confused him more than anything, for he could usually trust his own mind. Yet, it refused to let him walk away without answering, and it refused to take back that offer that had already been made. It had to be those eyes, reminding him of better days.

“If you must learn one thing, learn to listen well,” he grumbled. “If I tell you something is not necessary, then it is not.”

She stuck out her hand and he stared at it as if he had never seen a hand before. “My name is Lady Joanna Swinton. Whom might you be?”

“I do not play games.”

“You do not do a lot of things, but I will know your name, at least,” she pressed, wiggling her hand in a most bemusing manner. “And do not reply, ‘The Duke of Bruxton.’ I know that. I mean your actual name.”

He refused to take her hand, but he did find himself answering in a stiff, gruff tone, “Edwin.”

“Was that so difficult?” she shook her head and withdrew her hand. “Now, Edwin, what do you enjoy? What is your favorite season? What books do you relish? Do you read for pleasure, or for punishment? Do you ride often? What is your tipple of choice?”

He blinked at her. “I… read. The rest does not matter.”

“What do you read?” she urged, her cheeks flushing the palest shade of pink. A most inviting color that brightened her entire complexion in a disarming fashion, making her appear younger and more innocent in the blink of an eye.

“Books,” he replied curtly. “There really is no need for this, Lady Joanna. And do not refer to me as Edwin. Do not refer to me at all, if you can help it.”

Her nostrils flared and her eyes burned with outrage, as the pink in her cheeks darkened to a livid red. “Is this why you are in such a hurry to marry, so that your bride does not freeze to death from the coldness of your demeanor before you reach the altar? Or, mayhap, would it kill you to humor your bride before the wedding? Do you suffer an apoplexy every time you partake in a friendly conversation? Does the warmth of polite etiquette cover you in a stinging, itching rash?”

Is she… attempting to be humorous? He could not tell; he had been away from civilization for too long to remember how to recognize wit and humor.

“Moreover, I would do it willingly. You will hear no protest or weeping or wailing from me,” he said, repeating verbatim what she had told him when she had offered to be his bride. “Did you not say that?”

Her face paled, her eyelid twitching in annoyance. “Well, yes, but—”

“So, why are you seeking to argue with me?” He tilted his head to one side, partially curious, partially eager to be away from the intense conversation. “I am telling you that knowing me does not matter, as knowing you does not matter, either.”

She huffed out an exasperated breath that made her bosom rise and fall in a manner that almost softened his demeanor. “Then, I believe I am missing some part of this that you understand, but I am not privy to. At least tell me what sort of marriage this will be.”

“Marriage in name only,” he replied bluntly. “After the wedding, you will reside in my manor, but not with me. We will stay out of each other’s way. You may live your life however you please, but I have one proviso: no lies whatsoever.”

Joanna toyed with a lock of hair as she chewed upon her lower lip in consternation. “However I please—what does that mean?”

“Take a lover, travel the country, drink wine from dusk until dawn, do as you please; it will be no concern of mine, as long as there is complete honesty,” he replied, noting the shocked widening of her beautiful eyes.

“And you will grant me the same courtesy?” she asked haltingly.

He nodded. “Absolute honesty.”

“Is there anything else it is “necessary” for me to know?” She swallowed loudly, and he watched the movement of her throat, admiring it.

He drew in a breath and dipped his head in the smallest nod. “One other thing, yes.” He paused. “There will be no physical relations between us, of any kind. As I said, this will be a marriage in name only. Now, excuse me.”

The stallion had just arrived in front of the manor, providing Edwin with the perfect escape. And he took it, hurrying from Tillington House before the fiery, outspoken, beautiful woman who would soon be his wife could ask another question… or her boldness led him to call the entire thing off.