Chapter 13

The preparations for the wedding of the Duke of Valebridge were completed efficiently and without incident. Marcus set his London solicitor, Mr. Elliot Russell, the task of securing a special license and other arrangements. He had no concerns that the relatively young man, operating a one-man practice for a single client, would not be up to the task. Nor did he have any questions about his loyalty.

On the sixth day since Selina's arrival, they were sharing breakfast once again. Their first breakfast together had been awkward, filled with stolen glances, small talk, and shorter mealtimes. Selina had decided on the servings in a clear attempt to impress him and the subtle pokes of whether the setting was fine and the food was to his taste was proof enough of it. It was also a gladly accepted diversion from the inquiries into his supposed ‘past'. After that, it wasn't long before she had him sitting with a napkin tucked into his cravat, and abiding by rules of etiquette he had last followed when he was a mere child, organizing dinners with his brother at Lancelot's round table.

By now, however, breakfast had become customary.

Marcus received two letters this morning, both of them placed in front of him, not evading the inquisitive gaze of his betrothed.

"That is the confirmation from Russell in London. The license is secured, and invitations have been sent to ensure witnesses and a degree of respectability and authenticity to our…wedding," he said, looking at the first.

Selina sat sweetly, sipping tea, seated to Marcus' left. High cheekbones were framed by two delicate curls on either side of her face as she fluttered her lashes at him whenever he spoke. She wore a modest dress of white, borrowed from Gracie as the two women were of similar size. Marcus had arranged for a modiste to visit so that a wedding dress, followed by an entire wardrobe could be made for Selina. Not that she needed it. He glanced at her, purposefully keeping his eyes from lingering too long. She was so beautiful that even while wearing the plain garb of a servant, she looked radiant.

Some women needed fine clothes and jewels in order to shine. Marcus was sure that Selina would be beautiful in hessian. Hell, just a few nights ago, he saw that she was beautiful in nothing. The thought of that night had haunted him since, and he tugged uncomfortably at his breeches to hide his arousal. He had promised to make things work between them, but deep down he knew, that could not involve every aspect of their marriage. Not while he was deceiving her. Though he wasn't sure how much longer he could control his desires when she looked at him this way.

Coughing, he held out the letter for Selina's perusal as he made to open the second.

But it made him stop with a teaspoon held in mid-stir within his teacup. His eyes skimmed the lines to text while his hand remained frozen. Selina looked up from the letter.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.

Marcus' eyes went to hers and he immediately sensed his own danger. The dilemma was whether the truth would fit his lie that he was Arthur. Or would it destroy the facade he had created? A facade that had been partially responsible for his reclusive life since inheriting the Dukedom.

But life will be impossible if I cannot be honest to some degree with her. The trouble is trying to frame everything in terms of what Arthur would have known or would have told her of.

"My mother," Marcus said, resuming the stirring of his tea.

"Your mother? She passed away, did she not?" Selina replied helpfully.

Marcus nodded, feeling a surge of relief. "That is what I believed. What my father told me."

In a letter written on his deathbed. Until then I had believed that my mother lived and cared no more for me than my father did. What kind of mother would be content to let her son live his life in exile hundreds of miles away?

"When I inherited, I set in motion certain work to gauge the extent of my father's…business."

That much was true, but he was omitting to tell her that he had also sought information about Arthur and his mother. Selina nodded, picking up a slice of toast.

"I understand. Does that letter touch on this work?"

"It does. It tells me that my mother is alive and in a lunatic asylum," Marcus said in a rush.

Selina gaped, toast in one hand, forgotten. "You are not serious."

Marcus grimaced, throwing the letter to the table face down. "I wish it were a macabre joke but there you have it. I had thought myself abandoned but it seems that…well, perhaps it was not her fault entirely. She is not in her right mind."

"Or that is what your father believed," Selina suggested carefully.

Marcus looked at her. "Interesting idea. Are you suggesting that my father had my mother incarcerated?"

"I just remember some of the stories you told me of him. The thrashings, the tyranny and cruelty."

She reached across the intervening space to clasp his hand. Marcus could never get used to the unusual bouts of intimacy he had begun experiencing daily, like the simple trace of her thumb against his skin, or a kiss on his cheek. He had never experienced such things before and did not know how to feel about them now.

"But how long might a sane person remain so in one of those places?" he replied sadly.

Selina's eyes told him that she agreed. They brimmed with sympathy.

"Are you going to see her?" she asked.

Marcus shook his head, steepling his fingers and looking ahead intently. "No. Not right away. I do not know yet how I feel about this."

Or about her. Whether she was in league with my father over the cruelty he showed me when exiling me. Perhaps it is her just desserts.

Selina shuddered. "What an awful fate."

Marcus brooded; her words faint in his ears. He did not know if he could see her, did not know her role in events, and had only the vaguest of memories of her. The journal that he had found, belonging to his father, dwelled excessively on the worthiness of his two sons. He had come across much of the cruel games his father devised to test them, to pit them against each other and see who would emerge victorious. Marcus remembered the beating he had received when refusing to compete against Arthur. He still had the scars on his back to show for it.

It had been around then that he had been packed off to Cumbria, to the home of a distant cousin of his father.

Perhaps that was the final confirmation that Arthur was the one worthy to succeed. It must have been galling for the old man when Arthur turned to drink.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Selina said gently.

Marcus blinked, the room slamming back into immediate focus. "Oh, I am sorry. I was quite literally miles away."

"Thinking about your mother?" Selina asked, "I do not mean to pry. You have been the perfect host these past few days and I have loved being here. But our conversations have been somewhat…shallow?"

She winced while saying this, as if expecting a reaction. Marcus nodded sombrely. "Perhaps you're right."

He knew that she was right and knew the reason for it. How could he become too close to this woman, as much as he wanted to most desperately. The closer they became, the more likely it was that she would realize that he was not Arthur Roy.

"We do not even talk of…the old days," Selina said. "I think I would enjoy reminiscing with you."

Marcus felt the clenched fist of fear around his heart. That was the one thing he could not do. It would be disaster.

How would she be able to stay when she knows I have been lying to her on such a scale? It would be intolerable. In such circumstances, she would feel no safer here than at her father's house.

Frantically, he cast around for an excuse, a way out. His eyes fell on the letter from Russell.

"Yes, well. As would I, and we'll have plenty of time for it. As you can see from Russell's letter, we will be getting married on Saturday. The modiste will be here this afternoon and will produce your dress overnight. I think that I should not be here. It is unlucky after all for the groom to see the wedding dress before the wedding."

He picked up both letters, folded them, and put them into the inner pocket of his coat. As he did, he stood from the table, snatching up a napkin and wiping his mouth before dropping it to his breakfast plate.

"You will be in good hands with Beveridge and the rest of the staff. I have much to prepare, so I will head to town until the auspicious day."

Selina stood, folding her hands in front of her and looking up at Marcus with a neutral expression. He could see through it to the hurt beneath.

This must feel like a rejection, and I am desperately sorry, but I cannot see a way around it. Damnation but this is more complicated than I thought!

Once again, he considered Luke's advice to send Selina away to Windermere. Out of sight and out of mind. But he could not bring himself to do it. He wanted to be away from her, to avoid awkward questions. But at the same time, he wanted to be at her side, in her arms. He wanted her to be his wife in the truest sense. Except that was the thing that he could not expect from this marriage. It was a marriage of convenience and one in which he held the power.

He would not, could not, force himself on her.

If we become man and wife truly, then it must be because she has fallen in love with Marcus Roy, not the memory of Arthur.

"I am sorry for that. I shall miss you," Selina said formally.

Marcus felt a sting at her reaction, but lifted her hand and kissed it anyway. "It cannot be avoided. But I will see you on Saturday morning at the Valebridge chapel for our wedding."