Page 6 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

The Haworth drawing room was a muted flurry of tension. Caleb stood stoically before the small gathering, awaiting his bride, looking as though he had sent a boy to fetch a newspaper and waited with indifference for his return. Emmeline fidgeted in her seat, keen to attract his eye – if he caught her eye contact, she would feign a ridiculous grin to make him smile. She knew her brother was experiencing a myriad of emotions but that he was a master at masking them. She burnt her eyes into his face in the hope of making him turn so she could communicate to him that it was acceptable to smile – he could lessen his tight grip on boundaries; today, the individuals gathered would expect some manifestation of feeling. He did not look, but instead stared dead ahead with intent focus.

Emmeline wondered at how her brother was so different from her. She was gregarious whereas he was stoic; she would feel grateful that her glass was half-filled with wine whereas he would anxiously look about for a member of staff to refill before he reached the bottom. Perhaps, she considered, she was most similar to her jolly father and perhaps – poor Caleb – he had inherited more of the pessimistic genes of their mother. Or, she countered, it could realistically be the curse of the older son. There was an infinite amount of pressure on Caleb’s shoulders to carry the Montwood family down through the next generation. When Father passed, all his responsibilities and ducal duties had immediately passed to Caleb. She had only been fifteen and so did not entirely appreciate at the time how instantly Caleb probably had to pack away his grief and deal with all the business and estate issues. How exhausting that must have been, even for a seasoned Duke, but for an inexperienced young man coping with the sudden loss of his beloved father – Emmeline felt tears spring to her eyes as she considered how much he had to endure and how little time he had to process the situation. This would explain, she thought to herself, why Caleb was so serious and steadfast in his commitment to his role. Emmeline turned her eyes to her lap, blinking away the emotion that struck her. She hoped that she was gaining a sister and not losing a brother.

Anne also glared into thin air, like her son – but hers was with her signature scowl. The woman had been unable to manipulate the situation to work in the way she had wanted it to. She’d become adept at working positions to fit her own preferences and she was not at all happy when issues were not pliable enough for her coercion to succeed. Her son was marrying Lady Hannah Haworth when Anne felt determined that it should have been Lady Lucinda Fairfax he advanced upon. She hardly exchanged a word of courtesy as the Marquess and Marchioness welcomed her to their home and she sat reluctantly, her disapproval rolling off her.

In extreme contrast, Lady Evelyn Haworth was unable to remove the smile from her face. She could not quite believe how she had gone from the beginning of the week; planning her daughter’s debut and worrying that the season may be a failure due to Hannah’s artistic distractions, to now sitting in wait for her daughter to be wed and confirmed a Duchess! She admitted that she had harboured reservations when Vincent had first announced his intentions. She knew from a long time back that Vincent had promised Hannah’s hand in marriage to the Duke of Montwood, but when the Duke died in that dreadful accident, she had assumed the son would refrain from engaging in the arrangement. It seemed very rushed which did not put her at ease – she would have loved to plan a lavish wedding as they had done for Clara and when the Duke declared his plan to apply for a special license, Evelyn had worried about his reasons for doing so, but her mind had been put at rest by Vincent’s reassurances that Caleb was a good man who was simply timid – and a Duke who could demand an accelerated wedding should he wish.

Once Evelyn’s mind was settled, she allowed herself to feel happy about the arrangement. Sitting at the ceremony awaiting her daughter’s arrival, this happy event had a rosy blush set upon her cheeks and water consistently welled in her eyes. She used a pretty lace handkerchief to tap at the corners of her eyes so that the tears of pride would not affect her powdered complexion.

Sophia sat with her parents, purposely avoiding the fleeting looks she felt coming from Albert, across the room. Sophia had to keep reminding herself to breathe – she had such concern for her friend. Despite her forced merriment and upholding her duty of encouraging Hannah’s positive thoughts, Sophia was anxious for her best friend’s wellbeing. It was true, Sophia considered, that the Duke may prohibit Hannah from painting. Sophia knew that art was the love of Hannah’s life and to refuse her that channel of expression would be to extinguish her flame. She stared at the Duke now, desperate to see an indication that he had empathy and warmth – her eyes analysed his stony face, which was austerely set in a humourless pout. She feared he might rule Hannah with severity and dampen her spirits until Sophia no longer recognised her. She would not voice these fears to her friend, but she felt them all the same.

Sophia looked at each of her parents in turn – they were smiling pleasantly, taking in their surroundings, seemingly unaware of the awkward tension in the drawing room. They had an arranged marriage, Sophia countered – and she had never been aware of any arguments or uncomfortable disagreements. They were both quite mildly mannered people and Sophia supposed this suited them and acted as a benefit to their marital relations. She looked once again over at the Duke and hoped that beneath that steely exterior, he was a mild man.

Albert sneaked another look over at Sophia. She was – if possible – even more beautiful than he had considered her at Hannah’s debut evening. The soft light drifting in through the window complimented her smooth complexion and bounced off her dark curls. She looked worried, he realised, and felt an instinctual pull toward her – wanting to ask what the matter was, wishing he could in some way assist. He noticed that she was staring at Caleb and tried to fathom from her expression what she might be thinking. Albert took a moment to look at his best friend, who was still and stoic. If he did not know the man like a brother, he would find him intimidating and aloof. Was that what Sophia was seeing? Albert wanted to reassure her that her friend would be safe with Caleb; he was an affable fellow who did not care for drama.

There were low murmurs of whispered conversation between members of the small congregation and Caleb tried not to listen to any of them. Should he accidentally hear derogatory comments about his upcoming nuptials, he feared it might shake his resolve. He focused on a knot in the pattern on the wooden panel before him and hoped his bride would arrive soon so that he could fulfill his duty and be done with this production.

***

Lucy held the train of Hannah’s dress as she slowly descended the staircase of the Haworth family home. Hannah clutched at her father’s arm which was linked with hers, wishing he were simply accompanying her to a dinner or the wedding of some family friend – not her own. Just as she had done a few nights previous, Hannah willed herself not to trip on her gown. She could not fathom that it had only been a few days between her debut and her wedding. They took slow steps in time with the piano that played in the drawing room and it seemed as though each step beckoned her closer to a future where all was uncertain and unknown. She had so many fears, so many wishes and she knew not whether any of her concerns would be justified and any of her desires would be met.

With a sigh of relief, they reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner of the hallway, their steps rhythmically gradual. As they entered the drawing room, the small group of family and friends turned to see.

As the music played, Caleb kept his eyes trained on the doorway where his bride would appear on Vincent’s arm. He held his breath as he heard their footsteps approach and the moment she emerged, he found her eyes instantly.

Hannah’s eyes alighted on the man standing ahead of the congregation – broad and strong, looking immaculately refined in his smart bridal suit with a burgundy cravat at his neck. His eyes were sharp and set upon her face the moment she appeared – there was a twinkle of familiarity there; the warmth she had encountered when she nearly fell on the steps and he’d saved her.

Caleb inhaled a sharp breath – she was absolutely beautiful. He had known she was a pretty lady and had seen in her eyes a sparkle that had endeared him to her but in that moment as she took steps down the short aisle toward him, it was as if an angel approached. The moment felt loaded with profound resonance and he had not expected such sentimentality.

Taking slow steps toward Caleb, Hannah felt a smile tickle at her lips – she allowed herself, for a moment, to entertain the idea of this man being her future. She had grappled with the logistical practicalities of it all yet she had not considered the reality that this man was to be her companion throughout the remainder of her life. Possibly the father of her children and the man she should turn to for all her needs. She experienced a flurry of excitement in her chest at the prospect of this. It was true after all, that her father could have chosen an old man, a weak man, an ugly man – the Duke was none of these, and Hannah felt, for the first time, honoured to be marrying such a man.

As Hannah arrived in front of the Vicar, Caleb noted how her shoulders were high; tensed up from the stressful scenario. He felt a peculiar instinct to touch her – to place his palms gently upon her shoulders and suggest she breathe, or to brush a tendril of curl from her neck – any small gesture, just to engage physically. He did not, of course – this would have been inappropriate and highly curious. Simply the instinct driving his desire though was something he internally marvelled at; something was shifting in him and – as with most things that are new – Caleb wished to take it under a microscope and analyse it.

As the Vicar broke the quiet of the room with his solemn, calm voice, the couple turned their attention to his words. To Caleb, they sounded like rules to be studied, adhered to and set in stone. To Hannah, they felt like chains of bondage tying her to a life of obedience and servitude.

Hannah allowed her eyes to divert to Caleb’s face – keen to observe, should there be some semblance of that warmth remaining. She needed the comfort and assurance that the man she was committing to was fundamentally kind and would not rule her with an iron fist. He had recomposed himself – his chin high, his gaze haughty. She looked away, disappointed yet not without hope that the character she wished to glimpse may reappear later that day.

Caleb glanced across at Hannah. Her eyes glistened with a wounded sadness – he hoped sincerely that it was not him who had inspired melancholy in her. He never wanted that. As he considered this for the first time, he felt a pang of guilt strike across his chest. He had been preoccupied with his duty and the coordination of their union – what it meant as a pledge to his father’s memory and how it stood the Montwood dynasty in healthy stead. He realised as he stood before the Vicar, that he had not properly taken into consideration that this was a young lady’s life – within days, he had plucked her from her familiar, secure home and family environment, prescribed her future and would be whisking her away to live in a place she had not yet even visited. It was understandable she should have valid concerns and be experiencing some feeling of loss.

The moment had come when Caleb was to take Hannah’s hand and place his wedding ring on her finger. He was grateful for it – the impulse to offer a touch of comfort had become strangely compulsive and to furnish her hand with this delicate gift felt as though it was the only gesture of compensation he could currently offer.

Hannah was taken aback by Caleb’s touch; his hand was warm and dry. It was not cold in the way she had experienced during their first dance and as she would expect to match his steely demeanour. He lifted her hand with such a slow gentleness that it was at odds with his general brashness. This man had the ability to surprise her – perhaps there were more sides to him than she had anticipated. As he slipped the cool ring onto her finger, the contrast of the cold metal and his warm, tender hand made her shudder very slightly – she flicked her eyes up at him to check he hadn’t noticed and misinterpreted her reaction.

Caleb wondered at the delicacy of Hannah’s hands – they were pale and small, yet he had it on good authority that these were the dextrous, capable hands of a skilled artist. She felt cold to touch and she trembled slightly as he placed the ring gently on her finger. He felt instantly protective – if he’d had a shawl nearby, he’d have wanted to cloak her in it to bring her warmth. It was good, he reasoned, that these instincts were revealing themselves. His marriage had only ever struck him as a logistical operation, but it would appear that the necessary affections were evolving. Caleb wondered if Hannah felt similar sentimentality and found himself hoping she might.

Sophia watched her friend on the most momentous day of her life – she marvelled at how Hannah’s beautiful blonde locks cascaded down from her tiara in barrel curls and how her dainty form clutched at a neat bouquet of red roses. The colour almost matched the Duke’s cravat – a happy accident, Sophia assumed as there had not been the time nor inclination from either party to coordinate colours of themes for this auspicious day.

Sophia listened as Hannah spoke her vows – her voice steady and formal, yet without affection. Similarly, the Duke spoke with professionalism and clarity, but no emotion was identifiable beneath those words.

As the Duke placed his ring on her best friend’s finger, Sophia felt quite overcome with a mix of emotions. This was her favourite person in the world – they had grown together, played together, learned together and now Hannah had to go her own way – whether through choice or obligation. Sophia snatched a lace handkerchief from her small waistband pocket to swipe away a tear that escaped.

The movement of Sophia’s handkerchief attracted the eye of Albert, who was a row across from Sophia. He noticed she was tearful and felt a surge of warmth toward her – how wonderful to be a person who cared so much for a close friend. Many of the debutantes he had met were disappointingly superficial. They took tea with friends and went on to speak snippily about those very same ladies once their backs were turned. Sophia appeared to have such genuine affection for her friend and this spoke volumes about her authentic character.

Sophia felt the weight of a stare across the room and instinctively turned to look. Her eyes met Albert’s and he smiled reverently before respectfully returning his attention to the wedding couple. She was stunned into stillness by that smile – she had experienced the mischievous Albert and his boyish charisma, but in that expression, he imparted acknowledgment of the tone of Sophia’s conflicted emotions. He intrigued her – there was certainly more to him than he usually allowed people to see.

Watching the proceedings, Albert was disconcertingly aware of Sophia’s presence and stole another glance her way. He would not want to make his feelings obvious to the rest of the congregation however it was a struggle to stop his eyes from wandering over to where she sat.

Sophia watched as Hannah and the Duke exchanged an awkward glance, but she sensed a warmth there between them. She could not help but wonder whether marriage might feature in her own life in the not-too-distant future. Whilst she did not envy Hannah’s predicament, she had to admit that a financially secure union, with a high status attached, was an attractive prospect. She would not want it without love though and this was the commodity she desired most – she understood it was a luxury and not a prerequisite. Stealthily, she glanced over at Albert once again. He seemed so tuned in to her that he immediately flicked his eyes to meet hers. This time, she offered him a small, sweet smile and his eyes narrowed fondly in response. She looked away quickly and vowed not to pay him any more attention for the duration of the ceremony – though she did not find this challenge easy.

Hannah and Caleb were pronounced man and wife – Duke and Duchess of Montwood. Hannah inhaled sharply as the title was declared; it suddenly struck her as significantly absolute. She glanced fleetingly over at her mother, who was fanning herself and smiling broadly through tears that stood in her eyes. Hannah felt pleased that she had made her mother proud and simultaneously hoped it would not be to her own detriment.

The Vicar led the couple over to a side table, which had been neatly equipped with the marriage register, certificates quill, and inkwell. The couple were indicated to sit together and Caleb was firstly invited to sign the documentation.

The room of people observed a stiff silence whilst the official proceedings were carried out. Only the scratch of the quill on paper could be heard. Hannah scarcely dared to swallow, the room was so silent and full of anticipation.

Sophia and Albert stood by their friends, awaiting instruction to sign as witnesses. Albert stole another glance at Sophia and – since the ceremony had ended and the focus had been broken – Sophia allowed herself a fleeting look back at him. It had become almost a game between them; a flirtatious small smile in a second they hoped nobody else would catch. Neither could deny the connection that was building between them. Albert was quite resolute though that he should take his duty as witness very seriously and took time to concentrate on the responsibility toward the Duke.

As Sophia and Albert took turns to sign, Hannah granted her eyes the freedom to roam the congregation. She was met with the stark and jolting expression on the face of the Duchess, Caleb’s mother. It was unmistakably a frown – her pale brow furrowed and glinting eyes narrowed viciously at Hannah. Her lips were pursed as if she had eaten something sour and she was not embarrassed; when Hannah attempted a small smile in response, Anne did not look away but continued to intimidate the poor bride with her glare.

Hannah dropped her eyes to the floor, swallowing hard as the reality of her new situation sank in. This vitriolic woman, whose stern reputation preceded her, was now a member of Hannah’s family. There would be no escaping her judgment and Hannah had to accept that to live in her home and exist within her orbit, she may need to exhibit new levels of tolerance that she had never needed to adopt in her life so far.