Chapter 3

"Really, Mama," Emmeline said, as she did every time a new purchase was made. "This is quite unnecessary."

A stubborn expression crossed her mother's face, one she had rarely seen. "This is part of your duty as a wife, dear. You know what is expected of you, do you not?"

Although the Countess made it clear she disapproved of the marriage, she took Emmeline out to get her wedding clothes and bought a vast selection of nightgowns and ball gowns that Emmeline was certain she would never wear.

Emmeline eyed the frippery scraps of material dubiously. "I doubt they should prove any obstacle or encouragement. When he lies with me—no, Mama, do not attempt to explain the act for both our sakes—he will do so out of obligation."

"Do not speak of yourself so, Emmeline! You are a… You are a lovely young lady, and to be sure you could be a little more buxom, and those freckles are such a shame, but?—"

"Mama!" Emmeline said, laughing. "He would not like me any more if I were buxom, I am certain of it. He does not like me at all and has no interest in liking me. He wants me for my dowry only."

Her mother pressed her lips together briefly. "I wish you did not have to marry him."

"It is an excellent match," Emmeline said reassuringly. "I will be perfectly fine, Mama, I promise."

Her mother said nothing more, the matter was dropped, and all too soon the wedding day arrived. The Duke had sworn he would come to collect his prospective bride, and her mother was determined that when he did, he would come to find a beautiful lady waiting for him.

Just like with the purchase of the nightgowns, Emmeline had no illusions in that regard. No amount of pretty fabrics would make her freckles disappear, and she would never have Aurelia's golden blonde hair. Her hair was plain brown, her complexion ordinary—the worse for the freckles—and although her eyes had been described as ‘pretty' once or twice, they could hardly compare to Aurelia's innocent blue eyes.

Still, once her mother had finished fussing over her, she had to admit that she looked well. There were pearls clasped around her neck, giving her complexion an added glow, and emeralds in her ears brought out the elusive green that lurked in her eyes.

Now if only she could contrive to be somewhat less tall. And if only her freckles would disappear.

"Thank you, Mama," Emmeline said anyway, reaching out to clasp her mother's hand. "Perhaps he will be marginally less furious with me."

"Oh, Emmy!" her mother said and promptly burst into tears. Aurelia did the same.

"Oh, now." Emmeline rose from the chair in front of her dressing table and led them both to her bed. "What is there to cry over? I shall be a duchess. We agreed that it is a good match for me."

"But he is such a heartless man," her mother sobbed.

Aurelia raised watery blue eyes to her sister's. "I should be going in your stead. You did this to protect me, but it is not fair, and it is not too late to change your mind."

"Nonsense." Emmeline smoothed down Aurelia's hair affectionately. "You are both being ridiculous. He would eat you alive, Aurelia, but I am as tough as old boots. I am going to be his wife, and you shouldn't worry that anything will happen to me."

"Who knows what that man is capable of," her mother said darkly.

"Well," Emmeline said pragmatically, "he likely will not have me killed in his rambling old castle. After all, no doubt he wants heirs, and a dead woman cannot provide those, can she?"

"Emmeline! Do not be so crass." Her mother mopped at her eyes with her handkerchief. "I have heard such things be done. If he has a lover elsewhere?—"

"Then no doubt he will continue to see her once we are married. I doubt either of us is expecting him to stay true to his vows, Mama. I certainly am not." Emmeline turned to her sister. "As for you, Aurelia, I did this for you. For us."

"But—"

"I was unlikely to marry anyway," Emmeline said firmly. "I am practically on the shelf. Three failed Seasons behind me and not a single reputable offer of marriage." Something she was well and truly resigned to, but no one could predict the future, after all. "There are worse things than being a duchess, after all. Besides, I am not afraid of him."

Aurelia frowned. "Do you mean it?"

"Yes," Emmeline lied.

There was something worryingly stern and autocratic about the Duke, but she was relatively certain that he would not have her killed, and anything else she could endure.

And if he thought he was getting an easy bride, then he was truly mistaken. Evidently, his rules were important to him and he expected his word to be taken as law.

"I will be back in town in less than two months," she said, giving them a mischievous smile. "You will see."

"You cannot be serious," her mother said, blinking rapidly at her. The woman's large eyes and the emotion in them made her look a little owlish. "How do you propose you will do that?"

"Do you think he will listen to your requests?" Aurelia asked seriously.

Emmeline laughed. "Of course not. But I have a plan, and if I am right about him, he will send me back to live with you again. Or at the very least, to live in town without him. After all, it is not as though he makes any effort with Society. No doubt he dislikes the very idea of attending social events, and so he will be more than content for me to do so alone, or with you all. You see? I shall not be parted from you for very long."

"But how?" Aurelia asked. "How will you compel him to send you back?"

Emmeline leaned in. "Well, firstly I shall?—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Emmeline?" her father called. "Are you ready? The Duke's carriage is here, and the ceremony will begin soon."

Emmeline took a deep breath. "Trust me," she said to her sister and mother, squeezing both their hands. "I shall be perfectly fine. And I will write to you every day until I return."

"Be safe," Aurelia pleaded. "Think of us."

"Of course, I shall. Farewell, my loves." Emmeline kissed them both on the cheek and left to join her father.

* * *

The ceremony was to be held in St. Dunstan's Church on Fleet Street, as St. George's Church on Hanover Square had not been available at such short notice. Adam loosened his cravat from where he stood at the front of the church, wishing this entire nonsense could be over and done with. Naturally, the ceremony was a necessary part of the marriage, but it felt so unnecessary and overdone. He would have been happy saying his vows in front of the vicar and no one else.

Instead, the doors opened, and his bride entered the church, dressed in a pale blue silk dress that hugged her curves in an indecent way. She was almost the same height as her father, a fact he reminded himself ought to be unbecoming, and her chestnut hair hung in ringlets around her flushed cheeks. Her eyes sparkled green.

Abruptly, he turned his attention back to the front and did his best to ignore her. It was impossible to ignore the force of her presence, however, and she remained very much in his line of vision as he bored a hole into the vicar, who smiled at them both and began the ceremony.

Several times, he sensed Lady Emmeline glancing at him, perhaps wondering at his coldness. He was at his most severe, he knew, dressed almost entirely in black as though he was in mourning, and with no hint of a smile.

He was no expert, but he suspected that smiling was somewhat expected at one's wedding. Nevertheless, that was probably on occasions when one wanted to marry. This was not a want, and it transpired that those two things could exist entirely separately from one another.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the vicar said.

Adam spared his new wife the briefest glance he could muster. She had turned to face the congregation present, who were almost entirely made up of her family. Her mother, father and sister were sitting in the pews, each face a little pale and mournful.

Perhaps no one was expecting smiles today, after all.

He had invited no one; there was no one he might be tempted to ask to attend his wedding. Had his brother still been alive… but that was a dangerous train of thought to go down.

"Come, wife," he said, holding out his arm to her.

She accepted, slipping her small hand in the crook of his elbow. Despite her height, her hands were small and dainty, with neat, half-moon nails and elegant fingers—two facts he did his best not to notice.

The less they had to do with one another from now on, the better.

He led them down the aisle and out the door, where a carriage was waiting. Not entirely bereft of manners, he handed her into the carriage and climbed in after her. Knocking twice on the door, he signaled for the driver to take off, and the carriage lurched forward.

"Wait," his new duchess said, pressing a hand against the window and peering out. "Wait. What about my family?"

"I presume you bid them goodbye before the ceremony began?"

"I was not expecting us to leave so abruptly. What about the wedding breakfast?"

He settled back in his seat and gazed out the window instead of at her lovely face, which was flushed with irritation. "I did not think you were celebrating any more than I was."

"Where are we going?"

"My seat."

"And where is that?"

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, trying to come to terms with her talkativeness. "Not far."

"Well, I suppose I expected we would not remain in London," she mused. "Not far. Does that mean it is in Kent?"

He closed his eyes.

"Not Kent. Surrey, perhaps? My father's seat is much further north. We have several estates, actually, but I spent the majority of my childhood in Cheshire." She gave him a sidelong glance. "Have you ever been to Cheshire?"

"That is hardly your concern."

"Oh, but I am your wife now. You insisted on marrying at least one of us, and so you have. I presume it was for my dowry?"

"That is none of your business."

"I heard that your brother was very fond of cards," she mused, and he clenched his teeth so hard, he was surprised none of them cracked.

"You will not speak of my brother," he snapped.

"Very well," she said after a long pause. "I suppose it is good to know now which subjects you would rather I steer away from. After all, I would hate to irritate you." The way she said it suggested that she was not as opposed to the idea as she made out. "Do you have any younger sisters or younger brothers?"

He remained silent, wishing he could somehow block off his hearing so he was not obliged to hear all her impertinent questions. Admittedly, he could accept that now that they were man and wife, she might expect to be entitled to these answers, but he had not married her with any expectation that they would share their lives in any meaningful way.

"Do you keep horses, My Lord Duke?" she asked, and as another wave of irritation shot through him, she smirked as though she knew exactly what he was feeling. My Lord Duke. What an intolerable turn of phrase. No one had ever called him that before. "I am an avid rider, you know. And I love to read. Is there a library?"

"Do you have an endless well of questions?" he demanded.

"Well, what else is there to do in a carriage? Do you propose we sit in silence and do nothing but stare at one another for the duration of the ride?"

"Yes."

"Then I am afraid you are in for a disappointment, My Lord Duke. I am incapable of sitting still and not speaking. My mother says it is because my mind is always busy, but I believe it is because my mind is doing nothing at all, and so my mouth must take up some of the work."

This had been a terrible mistake. Marrying her had proven one of the worst things he ever could have done.

"And if you are so determined to say very little, then you leave me with no choice but to speak more to make up for it."

He could endure this. He had been in the Navy, after all, manning cannons and surviving the sea when it had been at its worst. He had eaten nothing but dry biscuits for days and watched his fellow men succumb to seasickness and other illnesses. He had learned how to sail, climbing the rigging with a skill and speed few men had.

Through everything, he had endured. And so he would endure this harpy, even if she was both tauntingly beautiful and infuriatingly loud.

"Why do you not look at me?" she asked after a moment during which he stared out the window. They had left London now and were heading toward Surrey, just as she had predicted. At least they would not be trapped for very much longer. "Do you think me so very plain?"

In surprise, his gaze flashed to hers. From the very first moment he had seen her, he had noticed her beauty. Nothing that he could put his finger on, but something about her called to him. Her clear eyes, perhaps, the way they sparkled with challenge and defiance, or the flush in her cheeks when she opposed him. Or perhaps, as now, it was the perfect Cupid's bow of her lips. Soft and lush.

How odd that she was not immediately aware of her charms. He glanced away. He could not afford temptation of this magnitude. When they arrived at his estate, he would expect her to carry out her marital duties and bear him heirs, but he had not married out of desire, and so he would not act out of it, either.

His primary concern was to get to the bottom of what had happened to his brother, and nothing and no one would distract him from that fact.

* * *

Emmeline pursed her lips as she stared at the silent, forbidding man in front of her. The way he had looked at her just now, the way his eyebrows had drawn together, and he had not answered her question about if he thought her plain, irked her in a way she had not expected.

Perhaps it was because he was so handsome in a way she could never compete with. He was scowling, sure, but if one could get past that, they would notice his blue eyes, his strong chin, the sensual slash of his mouth that seemed to her a promise of desire.

He was obnoxious and almost cruel in his treatment of her, but there was no doubting how handsome he was.

And now he had the gall to suggest she was not his equal, a fact that would not have stung so much if she had not known it to be true.

She was not the daughter of a duke, and she was not as beautiful as her sister—a fact she did not begrudge at all. In fact, it had almost come as a relief. One of them had always intended to stay home and look after the house, given their mother was at best a neglectful mistress, and Emmeline much rather sacrifice her future than watch Aurelia do it.

Of course, had a love match come along, she would have thrown herself into matrimony with the enthusiasm she gave anything she was passionate about, but it had not, and before the Duke, she had not been expecting one, either.

It made her role as an old maid easier. Old maids were not respected as married ladies were, but her mother needed someone to care for her, especially seeing as their father was not the devoted husband her mother appeared to require.

At least, Emmeline thought grimly as she stared into her husband's face, she was under no illusions in that regard. She had never expected the Duke to dote on her. His rudeness was unpleasant, but not wholly unexpected.

After all, it was not as though she was entitled to his good temper merely because she was his wife now.

By the time two weeks were up, he would be shipping her back to London just so he could be rid of her.

Fixing another overly bright smile on her face, she continued the barrage of conversation that seemed to irritate him so much. "Well, no matter if you do think me plain—you did not marry me for my looks, did you not?"

His jaw flexed, and she rejoiced inwardly at his irritation.

"If that had been a concern, you would have married Aurelia."

"And endure her histrionics? I think not."

"You would be wise to watch your tongue when speaking about my sister." Emmeline allowed her smile to slip and a little of her steel to ring in her words. "I will endure what I must, but I will not endure criticism of my family. Any young lady would be overwrought at the announcement that she was being sold to a man she barely knew."

He raised an eyebrow. "You did not."

"I volunteered for the duty. That is entirely different."

Dismissing her comment, he turned back to the window and seemed content to pass the time in this fashion. Emmeline gritted her teeth.

"Will you not tell me more about your estate?" she asked. "Is it large? Or perhaps it is falling apart like an old ruin. That would be deeply romantic, I think." She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Byron would adore it, I think. Do you like poetry?" At his continued and determined silence, she nodded. "I suspected not. You do not strike me as the poetic type."

A muscle twitched in his jaw; she thought she saw a vein pulse in his neck.

Excellent.

"Although no doubt you brood excellently. I do think you make a good brooder. What would you say, My Lord Duke?"

"Must you prattle on with such nonsense?" he barked.

"Oh yes, Sir. How else would we get to know each other?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "You see here, I have a captive audience, if not a very participatory one. Would it hurt to answer my questions?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Oh, and I have so many in mind." She sighed and allowed herself to lapse into silence, having run out of things to say to this rude, infuriating man.

He made a noise of undeniable relief, and she began to plot what things she could do to persuade him that he had made a mistake in marrying her.

The miles rattled past as they sat in silence, and Emmeline had decided that she would interfere with the cook, bidding him to make the Duke's least favorite meals on a regular basis, when the man himself leaned forward.

"There it is," he said, nodding out the window.

Emmeline twisted, trying to get a good look. The avenue was long but poorly maintained, overgrown and untidy, and beyond was the house. It was evidently a manor house that some ancestor in the past had built to resemble a castle. There were two towers on either side of the building, and the roof resembled parapets. The windows were, she saw with relief, not arrow slits, and ivy rambled up one side of the building, diminishing its imposing aura.

The Duke's eyes were on her, but for once she was not trying to hide her true feelings from him. They were married, this was to be her new home. Whether or not she would be staying there for long, it was nevertheless going to be an important part of her life. There would be no avoiding it forever.

But if she was going to persuade him that they were ill-suited, she could not be honest with her first impressions.

She wrinkled her nose as the house approached. "It looks very old," she said. "And drafty. Are there many drafts, Your Grace?"