Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

One Month Later, St. George’s Chapel, London

W alking down the long church aisle gave Gemma far too much time to think. As if she hadn’t done enough thinking daily ever since she’d got herself into this predicament.

She could run. She could turn right now, lift her white satin skirts, and sprint back toward the doors of the church, down the steps, into the street, and— Then what? Where would she go? What would she do? And how would she explain herself to the groom, who was currently standing at the altar with a resigned look on his face, waiting to marry her?

No. She couldn’t run. This was all her fault, and if Grovemont was going to go through with it, she owed it to him to do the same. Not a day had gone by since their betrothal that Gemma hadn’t been racked with guilt for her mistake. And she remained racked with guilt even now. There had been the hint of scandal, of course. But nothing that a wedding between two dukes’ families couldn’t squash.

In fact, the closer it got to the wedding day, the more well wishes she’d received. It seemed everyone in town wanted to see the most eligible bachelor marry the least likely debutante. Oh, Gemma knew she wasn’t much to look at. Yet. And she could only hope the yet proved to be true. Ever since she could remember, Mama had told her the stories of how, until the age of twenty, Mama had been too tall, too thin, and had far too large of features for her face. But once Mama had grown into her swan-like beauty, she’d been declared an incomparable. The belle of the ton . She’d been the most sought-after debutante her third Season out, dimming all the younger ladies into the shadows with her gorgeous countenance and graceful limbs. Her chest had developed too, Mama had assured her. Currently, Gemma’s was as flat as a platter.

But how was Grovemont supposed to know that Gemma would blossom? She was certain Griffin hadn’t mentioned it to him, and Mama wouldn’t have done so. Of course, Gemma had no intention of trying to convince him either. What if Gemma wasn’t like Mama? What if she didn’t turn into a beauty? What if she spent the rest of her days looking like a baby giraffe?

Oh, it was too depressing to contemplate. The only thing that cheered her was the fact that Griffin had assured her that Grovemont had been pleased with her dowry and that Griffin had added a few items to make the wedding contract even more agreeable. What those items were, Gemma wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to know. And didn’t members of noble families marry each other all the time without the hint of love? She would just have to get used to being in a loveless marriage. She did, however, hope that she and Grovemont would become friendly at least. They could, couldn’t they?

But those weren’t the only things that worried her. What would her new life be like? How would Grovemont treat her? Griffin and Mama insisted Grovemont was a good man, but they didn’t know how he acted behind closed doors. What if he were secretly a monster?

She’d never even spoken to Grovemont. Beyond the few moments they’d shared in the study that night, she’d only seen him a handful of times. Frankly, he always seemed to be…controlled. Stoic. If not grim, then also not particular…happy.

In fact, the one memory of him that she kept replaying in her mind was the moment just before he’d opened the study door wide to find her standing there. He’d been sitting behind the desk, staring across the room, and he’d looked…lonely, alone. It had only lasted for a flash of an instant before she’d spoken to him, but she still couldn’t dispel that one moment from her memory. It gave her hope. Perhaps…just maybe…the Duke of Grovemont needed her.

Though if he did, he certainly hadn’t given any indication of it. Meredith and Griffin had hosted a betrothal dinner one night. Gemma had sat next to her fiancé and smiled until her cheeks ached, but they barely spoke two words to each other save for “good evening” and “good night.” Their interactions had been nothing but awkward and stilted. Didn’t he want to talk to her? Ask her what had happened that night in the study? Why she’d been running around trying to get him to refuse to dance with her? If she’d been Grovemont, that would have been her first question. Apparently, the duke wasn’t even curious. Meanwhile, she was exceedingly curious about him.

One thing was certain. She’d made a lifelong enemy of Lady Mary Costner. If the young woman hadn’t particularly liked Gemma before, she was her sworn enemy now. Mary’s desire to secure an offer from Grovemont had been common knowledge before the debacle in Griffin’s study. Each time Gemma had seen her since, Mary had given her a look that could freeze fire. No amount of explanation on Gemma’s part would convince Lady Mary that she hadn’t tricked her into agreeing to the dare with the sole purpose of wringing a betrothal out of Grovemont that night. Which was ridiculous, of course, but not in Mary’s scheming little brain.

And in addition to all of that , there was something else to consider… Something quite terrifying.

The wedding night .

A lump formed in Gemma’s throat every time she thought of it. She wasn’t frighted of the act itself. After all, Meredith, who’d insisted on telling her every detail so she would be properly informed, claimed the act was quite enjoyable .

Gemma was much more worried about being seen naked by a man she barely knew. But she’d already decided that she would just have to slip into bed wearing the lacy gown Mama had commissioned for the occasion. She’d cover up with the bedclothes when it came time to disrobe. Surely, she wasn’t the first young bride with such qualms. She would figure it out.

“Focus on the good parts,” Mama had insisted when it came to her wedding and everything after. Mama had always been one to look on the happy side of any situation. She’d taught Gemma to do the same. And after considering it for a while, Gemma had to concede that there were, indeed, at least two good parts.

First, the Duke of Grovemont was not difficult to look at. In fact, the man was downright swoon-worthy. She’d never really thought much about him before. He was her brother’s age and had been declared off-limits by Lady Mary, after all. But that night in the study, when she’d got a close look at him, Gemma had to admit he was uncommonly good-looking. With his dark-blond hair and hooded cobalt eyes, his chiseled jaw and perfectly straight nose. He had a way of sweeping her with his gaze, too, that was downright disconcerting. It made her shudder in a very good way. Perhaps the wedding night would be quite enjoyable , after all.

Second, marrying the Duke of Grovemont meant that Gemma would become a duchess. And while the thought was somewhat daunting, she had Mama and Meredith to help her. They’d both been duchesses long enough to know what they were about. And if one had to marry a man one didn’t know, becoming a duchess wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. Duchesses wielded great power in Society and could do things others could not. She just might enjoy being a duchess once she got the right of it.

Gemma took another deep breath and forced herself to lift her chin and look down the final length of the aisle. Her bridegroom stood at the altar, his hands folded in front of him, his perfectly fitted black morning coat, white shirt, waistcoat, and cravat looking dapper and expensive. His hair was slicked back, and those hooded blue eyes bore into her as she came closer. He had an inscrutable look on his face. There was no smile. Nothing. Was he angry? Indifferent? Apprehension bubbled in her middle.

For a moment, she paused and held her breath. The urge to turn and flee was nearly palpable. Griffin felt her hesitance and stopped with her. You must do this , she told herself. This is your fault . Grovemont would be humiliated if she ran away. Swallowing the large lump that had formed in her throat, she forced herself to take her next step, then the next, then the next, until she and her brother made it to the altar.

When they stopped in front of the archbishop, Griffin took her arm and placed it on Grovemont’s black sleeve. She glanced up at him, attempting a smile. The look of cold, hard indifference on his face made her smile instantly whither. She swallowed.

Oh, God. It was too late to run.