Page 34 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A distant church bell—the church where Valeria would soon be married—chimed out nine clanging strokes, each one juddering through her heart, clattering down her spine, turning her stomach into a seething mass of writhing anxiety.
“The air is so fresh here!” Amelia said brightly, sticking her head out of the sash window of the Dower House.
Valeria and her wedding party had been accommodated there to prepare for the occasion, while the dowager herself had moved back to the main house. A cold sort of woman who had made no secret of her doubts, asking snide questions about Valeria’s age, and why she had been seven years in society without a single offer of marriage.
“One could easily get used to such a view,” Isolde added encouragingly, as she slotted fresh lavender into the ribbon band of Valeria’s bonnet.
The view was extraordinary. Campbell Hall perched upon a cliff, overlooking the twinkling sea, dramatic coves, curves of sandy beaches, and a grassy headland where a solitary bench offered unending peace.
“I do not think this feather complements the flowers, Valery,” Isolde said, moving to remove the feather.
Valeria caught her friend’s hand to stop her. “I need it, even if it does not suit the bonnet. It is… a reminder of why I am doing this.”
Through the reflection of the mirror in front of Valeria, Beatrice caught her eye and quickly looked away again. The younger woman had not said much about Duncan over the past few weeks, but Valeria could not rid herself of the feeling that her cousin had something she wished to get off her chest.
“What do you mean?” Isolde asked, frowning. “You are marrying him because you like him, are you not?”
Amelia turned her gaze up to the ceiling, as though a very interesting fresco had suddenly appeared. She, too, seemed to want to say something that she was holding back.
“I… think he is a fine man. We will enjoy a… nice companionship,” Valeria replied, her lungs squeezing, wringing the air out, leaving behind the tight feeling of panic.
But I do not want to marry him. I have never wanted to. Duncan was correct. Roger is not right for me, if for no other reason than the fact that he wants children and I do not. It was a fairly vast incompatibility, and guilt kept surging upward, punishing her for not telling him as much.
“But?” Amelia prompted.
Valeria shook her head. “I am nervous, that is all.”
Her mind drifted back to the dressmaker’s shop. Her heart raced, remembering how it had leaped when she had seen Duncan standing there, looking so handsome, so perfect, so… out of her reach. His blue eyes had shone for her, twinkling with a feeling she did not dare to place, for it would only torment her further. Yet, his expression had been cold, distant.
Nevertheless, her mind had stored countless memories of his warmth, his humor, his passion, and the regret that she had seen on that handsome face when she had told him, vaguely, of her circumstances. She thought of how he had held her gently by the meadow, the scent of lavender in the air. She could almost feel the press of his brow against hers, and the promise of a kiss that had never been fulfilled.
Enough! she chided herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror until she felt calmer. He does not want me. Roger does. That is all I need to know.
“There is still time to steal you away,” Beatrice said, smiling sadly.
Amelia nodded. “Say the word, and we will take you back to Skeffington.”
“Yes,” Isolde added, frowning in confusion, “of course we will do that, if that is what you want. Between us, we can easily protect you from scorn, if you have changed your mind. Although, nerves are perfectly natural.”
Rather than their sympathy, it was exactly what Valeria needed to hear to bolster her resolution. Skeffington was the reason she had to do this. For Skeffington and her father, and for the cook and the butler, whom she missed terribly.
She took a steadying breath, fixing a smile onto her face. “No, thank you,” she replied bravely. “I am ready to go and become a wife.”
Even if it is not to the man I wish was waiting for me at the altar…
Dreams of love were a luxury, reserved for the likes of Beatrice—young ladies of merit and wealth, who had everything ahead of them. And for the likes of Amelia and Isolde, who had already found it.
“You look pale, dear girl,” Aaron whispered, holding tightly to his daughter’s arm. “Have you slept? Have you eaten? We could fetch you something now, if you like?”
Valeria smiled at him, clinging on just as fiercely, fearing that if she loosened her grip her feet might be compelled to run. “I am perfectly well, Papa. You are making me nervous.”
“Apologies… apologies, I… Goodness, I did not expect to be so anxious,” her father replied, taking a breath. “Are you certain I cannot get you anything?”
She nodded. “There is no more time, Papa. I would not be late to my wedding because I decided I would like some tea or something to eat, five minutes before.”
They were standing in the vestibule outside the main doors of the church, waiting for the music to begin that would signal the bride’s entrance.
Valeria could hear the babble of chatter coming from within, knowing that the pews would be full to bursting. Roger had combined the wedding with the house party he had been so determined to have, and judging by the number of people who had been arriving to Campbell Hall over the past couple of days, at least half of society had come to bear witness.
I just need to keep walking. Do not look at the congregation. Do not let your nerves get the better of you. Do not think of ? —
The music began, and Valeria’s stomach lurched, sparking a wave of dizziness that threatened to topple her. She clasped a hand to her chest, forcing herself to breathe, concentrating on the slow inhale and exhale as she fought down the rising prickle of nausea.
“Are you ready?” her father asked.
Closing her eyes, puffing out a breath, she nodded. “Yes, Papa.”
He opened the door for her and, scared of tripping over, she made herself open her eyes. Roger stood at the end of the aisle, his expression neither thrilled nor dismayed, just… neutral, as if he were waiting for his carriage to arrive.
She blinked, and it was Duncan standing there, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, and grinning with utter delight. She imagined him holding his hand out to her, or running toward her, too impatient to wait for her to come to him. She pictured the passion in his gaze, the hunger in his eyes, the way he made her feel as if she was the most precious thing in all the world.
Just tricks, she tried to tell herself, but her heart refused to listen, yearning regardless.
Aaron tugged gently on her arm, ushering her forward as a sea of glittering eyes stared at her, whispers causing her ears to burn. By the force of sheer willpower, she managed to get herself to put one foot in front of the other, dropping her gaze to the floor, concentrating on that slow, steady rhythm of her feet carrying her forward.
Before she knew it, she was at the altar, and her father was passing her hand to Roger. Giving her away.
No… no, no, I cannot do this. I cannot. I cannot. Her hand very nearly recoiled, her heart attempting to escape from her chest as she glanced around in a panic, searching for the faces of her friends and her cousin.
Beatrice frowned, mouthing, Shall we go?
It was so tempting, her dread becoming a living, breathing thing that sank its claws into her, robbing her of her ability to think or breathe.
Valery? Shall we go? Beatrice mouthed again, Amelia and Isolde both pale and worried on either side of her. Even Lionel had blanched, sitting with his entire body tensed, as if ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Only Edmund and Vincent were smiling obliviously.
The reverend opened out his arms, resembling an ominous bird, casting a dark shadow over Valeria’s sweating face. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you to the church of Saint?—”
The doors flew open with a starling bang and the shriek of protesting hinges, footsteps thudding on the flagstones as every head in the congregation whipped around.
Valeria’s was no exception.
A wild figure wearing nothing but a shirt and trousers, his collar open to the middle of his chest, his dark brown hair windswept and adorned with a leaf or two, sprinted down the aisle, bellowing, “Stop! Valery, do not do this! I love you, Valery! My God, I love you.”
He skidded to a halt a few paces away, breathing hard, his eyes feverish as he stared at her. His sun-browned skin was slicked with perspiration, making him glisten in a manner that had a few older ladies gasping. Although, that might have had more to do with his state of undress, his unexpected declaration, and the fact that he had just halted a wedding.
“I love you, Valery,” he urged, panting. “Do not marry him. Marry me.”
Valeria gaped at him, speechless. She had dreamed of this moment for three weeks, waking each morning to the crushing disappointment that it had not been real. In her dreams, she confessed her love, and he swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of there without delay. But now that it was happening, she did not know what to do or say.
Chaos erupted around them, protests and shouts rising up to the rafters. Friends of Roger began to clamber past their neighbors to come to the defense of his honor, while older ladies called out to the reverend, a few gentlemen calling for the presence of constables.
All of a sudden, Valeria’s father snatched her hand back from Roger. Moving quickly, Aaron curved his arms around the two of them—Valeria and Duncan—and ushered them back up the aisle, muttering, “Hurry! Hurry up!” in his urgency to get them out of there before the congregation became a mob.
As they passed by the pew where Valeria’s friends and Duncan’s friends were seated, they gave nods of encouragement, surging into action. Lionel sprang out, guarding the trio in their escape, and as they made it through the doors, Valeria turned in time to see Lionel, Edmund, and Vincent barring the exit, their arms outstretched to prevent anyone from pursuing. Amelia, Isolde, and Beatrice formed another line in front of the men, Beatrice shouting out, “You will wait! Attempt to push past me, and I swear that I shall bite!”
It would have been funny, had it not been Valeria’s wedding day… and her scandal to now navigate.
“I hope you are sincere in this, Your Grace,” Aaron said gruffly, steering the couple toward a waiting carriage, pushing them into it. “If you are not, you may expect a duel.”
Duncan turned to the older man. “I am genuine, Lord Skeffington. I have never been more sincere in my life.” His voice hitched. “I love her, and I am only sorry that I did not tell her sooner. All I can do now is pray that she will forgive my foolishness.”
“Yes, well, it is clear that you need to talk,” Aaron replied, agitated. “Driver, take them to the Dower House. I must diffuse this situation.”
He slammed the door, and the driver pulled away from the church, leaving Duncan and Valeria entirely alone in the shade of the carriage, though Valeria still did not have the first idea of what to say.