Chapter 7

“I have never seen such a beautiful bride,” Bridgette sighed happily. “Look at you! His Grace will be unable to keep his eyes off you.”

Tabitha gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her blonde ringlets were pulled up carefully and embellished with tiny pearls and pink blossoms. The gown was a work of beauty. It was white and covered in white lace flowers and ivy. She did look beautiful. Tabitha looked precisely like a bride who was soon to be a duchess. It was strange to see herself looking like that, so unusually beautiful, and for marriage to a man she had known less than three weeks.

“I thought it would be …” Tabitha trailed off.

“Yes?”

“With Cassius,” Tabitha said, sighing. “I imagined myself looking like this for him and beaming with happiness as I thought of our future together.”

Bridgette’s smile faltered. “Oh, Tabby, I am so sorry. Truly.”

“So am I,” Tabitha replied. “But His Grace is not an unkind man. He will be a good husband.”

At least, His Grace seemed like he would give her the freedom to do as she wished as long as she gave him an heir. That was more than some ladies could hope for. He had also promised they could try being friends, probably the closest Tabitha would ever allow herself to get to love. They would be the dearest of friends with an unconventional activity each morning. There were worse fates.

The door opened, and Tabitha’s mother entered. Tabitha saw Lady Mayhew’s face in the mirror. Her expression was soft and fond, and Tabitha felt a lump rise in her throat.

“May I speak to Tabby Cat alone?” she asked.

“Of course,” Bridgette said, giving Tabitha’s shoulder a fond pat. “Congratulations.”

Tabitha smiled. Her friend left the room, and Tabitha’s mother wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I am so proud of you. I hope you know that.”

Tabitha’s breath shuddered inside her chest. “I am glad,” she said. “Thank you for letting me make everything right again.”

Her mother sighed. “I do wish that the world was different. I know you wanted a love match, and I am sorry that you could not wed Lord Fatherton.”

“So am I.”

“But His Grace is a smart match,” her mother continued. “You have saved your reputation and managed an advantageous marriage.”

“Due in no small part to you,” Tabitha said.

“Her Grace and I have been friends for a long time,” she said. “That is all.”

“Thank you, nevertheless. You did not have to help me.”

“Of course I did,” her mother murmured. “You are my daughter. My strong, independent daughter.”

A wave of affection came over Tabitha all at once. “I learned from my strong, independent mother.”

“Well, your strong, independent mother wants to offer you some advice,” Lady Mayhew said.

“About?”

Her mother looked vaguely uncomfortable, but she rallied quickly. Lady Mayhew squared her shoulders and fixed Tabitha with a determined expression. “The wedding night.”

Tabitha laughed, anxiety bubbling up from her belly and through her chest. “Oh? And did your mother tell you what to expect on your wedding night?”

“No,” said Lady Mayhew, “but I wish she had. If my mother had told me what the wedding night would entail, I imagine it would have been far more pleasant.”

“Was it unpleasant?”

Lady Mayhew paused, seeming to consider something for a long moment. Tabitha felt heat rise to her face, though she was not quite sure why. She supposed that she ought to be charmed by her mother trying to educate her on the topic, but somehow, the whole conversation felt terribly awkward. “It hurt,” her mother said at last, “but only a little. If the man moves slowly and is very gentle, it is only a little pain. It can become pleasurable very quickly.”

Tabitha turned around and placed her back against the mirror. She remembered that night with Cassius, where he had climbed over her atop the settee. They had started something that night, which might have ended in an amorous congress.

She remembered his hands on her shoulders and imagined instead that it was His Grace’s fingers brushing against her bare skin and undressing her in the darkness. The sensations that swept through her that night had not been painful per se, but they had been just as conflicting. She had both wanted and not wanted him all at once.

“Do men know that they must be gentle?” Tabitha asked.

Surely, they did, right? After all, men were allowed more freedom than ladies. The Duke of Hillsburgh did not have a reputation for being a rake, and Tabitha had heard no stories about him being one, even in youth. But surely, during his long marriage to the late Duchess of Hillsburgh, he would have learned some of the finer art of intercourse.

“Some of them know to be careful,” she said. “His Grace was married previously, so I imagine he knows more than many men.”

Tabitha nodded, comforted to learn that her mother’s thoughts had followed her own.

“Simply tell him if you experience any discomfort,” her mother added, “and I am sure he will be more careful.”

“Right,” Tabitha said.

She did not like the idea of being in pain, particularly on her wedding night; however, a part of her was terribly curious to know what it would feel like.

“And if he is especially good, you will experience the most marvellous sensations,” her mother continued.

Tabitha smiled. “I know,” she said.

“You know?”

She laughed. “I have read about what happens in an amorous congress, and it seems simple enough. He sheaths his manhood inside my maidenhood, and we will move against one another. After some time, he will spill his seed inside me.”

Her mother’s jaw dropped. She looked somewhere between scandalized and baffled. “How do you know all that?”

“I am exceptionally well-read.”

Her mother laughed. “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I hope you know that not all books are like the wedding night, though.”

“Noted.”

Tabitha had to admit that—despite His Grace’s insistence that her daily duties to the marriage bed were only so that she could bear an heir—a small part of her was excited to spend a night with her husband. The wedding night was an undiscovered mystery, and now, there was no danger of damaging her reputation. A married woman was allowed to share a bed with a man, and no one would say otherwise.

The door opened again, and Tabitha’s father smiled at them. “My two beautiful ladies,” he said. “It is time for the wedding.”

He offered his arm, and Tabitha’s pulse quickened. She placed her fingers on his elbow and gazed at him, beaming with pride.

“I will see you after the ceremony,” her mother said, sweeping past them.

“My dear Tabby Cat,” Lord Mayhew said. “Are you ready for this?”

Tabitha did not know if she would ever be ready, but it seemed as though it was much too late for her to turn away. “I am.”

They left the room. Tabitha felt as though her chest was tying itself into knots as she and her father slowly made their way to the chapel. The wedding was a comparatively modest affair, unlike the opulence that Tabitha most often saw at the weddings of the ton. His Grace had justified their small wedding by declaring that he and Tabitha were simply too in love with one another to wait a moment longer. Planning an extravagant wedding would take time, which neither was prepared to take. Those were lies, of course, but Tabitha still appreciated them. The Duke of Hillsburgh had successfully explained why they were getting married so quickly.

When they entered the chapel, Tabitha’s heart beat so loudly that its echo reverberated inside her skull. As she approached the altar, she felt like a swarm of butterflies had taken residence in her chest. His Grace waited for them not far away. Tabitha’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed at him.

He waited for her, stately and handsome, with his hands clasped behind his back. The flickering firelight from the candles cast bright shadows on his black hair and traced along the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Tabitha reached her betrothed. “You look beautiful,” His Grace murmured.

Tabitha smiled and clasped her hands before her. “Thank you,” she said.

The priest began to speak, going through the ceremony. Tabitha kept her gaze on the Duke of Hillsburgh. Once this ceremony was finished, he would be her husband, and she would be his wife. It sounded unreal to her. She would really be a wife and a duchess.

Tabitha felt like she was sinking beneath an onslaught of water, as if she had leapt into a lake with a great stone tied around her neck and was slowly submerging. The pressure of the water closed around her on all sides, and she was too aware of her own breathing and how quickly she panted.

He said his vows, and Tabitha watched him, searching his face for any sign that he regretted this decision or was as anxious to marry her as she was him. At last, he concluded, “I do.”

He had agreed that they were to be wed. Now, it was all left to her. When it was her turn, she said her vows. Then, there were the softly spoken words. “You may kiss the bride.”

She was wed. More or less.

The Duke of Hillsburgh curled a hand around the back of her neck and drew her close. His Grace’s breath was hot against her neck, and Tabitha’s toes curled in anticipation. She thought of that night with Cassius, where he had trailed kisses over her neck and down lower still.

He lowered his head, his large body bending towards her slight form. When their lips met, lightning seemed to trace down the path of Tabitha’s spine. Heat spread from her lips and down to her very core. She curled her hands in His Grace’s hair, acting on instinct. His lips were soft and warm against hers, and with each breath, she inhaled the sweet scent of citrus mingled with the faint sharpness of lavender. She kissed him, pressing her mouth insistently against his.

A dull ache formed in her core, and Tabitha pressed her legs together. A low groan, muffled by the kiss, tore from her throat. He tipped his head back, his breath audibly fast. “My duchess,” he murmured.

His duchess. Tabitha panted for air and tried to regain her composure. She felt utterly undone by his attention, and everything inside her was hot and ached with need. If Tabitha had not stood before a crowd of people, she might have reached between her legs right then and soothed the growing ache, but she could not. Any reprieve would have to wait.

“We have the party next,” he murmured.

Tabitha smiled, but her thoughts lingered on the wedding night. Would it hurt? Would he know that he needed to be slow so as not to hurt her, and if so, would he be? Tabitha did not imagine him purposefully hurting her, but the activities of the marriage bed were still something of a mystery to her. Even if she knew something of what such activities entailed, she still had no clear idea of how those ideas all worked in practice.

“Shall we?” her groom asked, offering his arm.

“Indeed,” she replied.

His shoulder brushed against hers, and Tabitha felt a shiver of delight. There would be a party to celebrate the wedding, which would take some time. But after that party was at an end, they would go to the wedding night, and Tabitha would discover something exciting and new. Her thighs quivered with the thought of what might happen in the future and all its possibilities. She and His Grace left the altar and walked through the church amidst the cheers and well wishes.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself, Your Grace,” His Grace murmured. “You are a duchess now, the envy of so many.”

Tabitha glanced at him, her attention lingering on his bright, enchanting eyes. Indeed, she was to be the envy of many. She was his wife now, the Duchess of Hillsburgh. The wedding night was fast approaching, and Tabitha’s heart raced. Heat curled inside her, fierce and enduring.