Page 10 of Duke of Iron (Unyielding Dukes #2)
Ten
W hat a Season it has been, dear readers.
As if the whirlwind engagement between the Duke of Irondale and Lady May Vestiere were not enough to stir the hearts (and tongues) of the beau monde, we are now assured that the ceremony shall take place this very day at St. James’ Church.
Yes, indeed! Perhaps by the time this reaches your hands, the Duke shall have taken a bride.
Invitations have gone out to nearly every notable name in England, and one imagines there shall not be a free seat left in the entire nave.
It is to be a wedding worthy of a fairy tale.
And yet, we must ask ourselves what lies hidden.
Their courtship, though swift, has been painted in the brightest colors of romance. They did appear to be entirely in love.
Still… one cannot help but wonder. Is it love, or is it merely our earlier speculations garbed in the finest of silk? Surely, there is no reason to doubt. Surely, not.
May sighed and folded the paper, setting it aside on the dressing table. April cast a glance toward the paper and scoffed. “Pay it no mind, May,” she said.
May offered a small nod.The wedding day arrived far too soon, and reading the gossip sheet had somewhat sapped May of what little confidence she had.
“Now, turn this way,” June said as she adjusted the fall of May’s curls, her fingers deft. “If you fidget any more, I shall have to tie you to the dressing table.”
“You would not dare,” May muttered, though she sat still, her hands clutched before her to hide their trembling.
“I would, and I should like to see the scandal when someone finds the bride trussed like a Christmas goose.”
April, seated near the vanity, held up two small glass bottles. “Lavender or rose?”
May glanced between them, then sighed. “Rose.”
“Very well, but only because it matches the expression on your face,” April said. She dabbed a bit of the scent on May’s wrists before adding, “You look lovely, you know. Terrified, but lovely.”
“I should like to be both less lovely and less terrified.”
June stepped back, admiring the pale pink satin and lace dress. “You could still come with me to the Americas. We shall board a ship, pretend to be widows, and live by the sea.”
“Or perhaps the Caribbean,” April offered. “I have heard one is never expected to wear a bonnet there.”
May laughed, the sound coming out more brittle than she intended. She was grateful for them. Grateful for the absurdity, for the distraction, for their presence.
The door opened then, and their mother swept in like a breeze. “April, June, be dears and wait for us downstairs. I wish to speak with your sister alone.”
April nodded and gave May’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and June, with a last, curious glance, followed her out. The door shut, and May regarded her mother, wondering what she was going to speak to her about.
Perhaps ask me one final time if I am certain of my decision? Her stomach gave a nervous little flutter.
“Come, sit with me, my dear,” her mother said, her voice unusually soft. She settled herself primly on the blue chaise by the window and patted the space beside her.
May obeyed and folded her hands in her lap, waiting. Dorothy cleared her throat, then cleared it again. Then she focused her attention on a particularly determined sparrow outside the window. “May… as you are to be a married woman… a duchess, no less… there are certain… expectations .”
“What manner of expectations?” May prompted when her mother trailed off.
Dorothy’s gaze snapped back to her, and May had never seen her mother so flustered. “It will be… incumbent upon you… to provide the Duke with an heir.”
“Oh,” May said. She had known this, of course, in the abstract way one knows the capital of Portugal is Lisbon. But hearing it stated so bluntly, minutes from her wedding, made it feel terribly immediate. A spark of genuine curiosity overcame her nerves. “And how, precisely, does one… begin?”
Her mother’s face flushed a deep, mortified crimson. “May Viola Vestiere! You will not ask such indelicate questions!”
“But how am I to know if I don’t ask?” May reasoned, her practical nature overriding her embarrassment.
“You are not meant to know! Not beforehand!” Dorothy fanned her face with her hand as if the room had grown stifling. “It is a wife’s duty to submit to her husband’s… attentions. He will show you.”
May frowned. “But what are these attentions?” she pressed, now truly perplexed. “Is it like dancing? Does one need to know the steps?”
“Heavens, child, no! It is not a quadrille!” Her mother looked as if she might require smelling salts. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a scandalized whisper. “All I can tell you… and I should not be telling you this at all… is that it all begins with a kiss.”
May blinked. A kiss? She thought of the brief, shocking press of Logan’s lips against her knuckles in his drawing room.
“Oh,” she murmured with dawning comprehension. “I see.”
Relief washed over Dorothy’s features. “Good. Very good.” She stood abruptly, straightening her skirts with a firm tug. “Now. It’s time.”
They left the bedchamber together, descending the staircase slowly. May held her skirts carefully. In the drawing room below, she saw her father and August waiting.
Her breath hitched, just for a moment, and she paused by the door.June leaned in. “I think Father is now expecting to marry off all his daughters before the Season ends.”
May smiled. “If he is wise, he shall lower his expectations.”
“Perhaps I shall run away after all,” June muttered. “If only to avoid being next.”
Their father turned at the sound of their voices. His expression softened as he looked at May. “My darling girl,” he said, coming forward to kiss her forehead. “You are exquisite.”
Their mother dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. She embraced May gently and whispered, “Are you certain, my love? Truly certain?”
May nodded. “I am ready.”
And I must be. There is no turning back now.
Yet as her mother stepped aside and her father offered her his arm, a chill swept down her spine. Not from cold. From the understanding that what lay ahead was fixed. There would be no reversal and no reconsideration.
When they arrived at the church, a hush settled over the gathered congregation as May entered, her hand resting lightly on her father’s arm.
Her heart beat far too fast, but she continued to remind herself that she chose this, and all would be well.
At the altar, her father turned to her and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Then he turned to Logan, his face solemn as he placed May’s hand into the Duke’s.
She looked up, hoping for the familiar curve of his mouth, the teasing light in his eyes that always made her forget to be nervous.
Logan did smile. But it was not the same.
There was no softness in it. No mischief. No spark. It did not reach his eyes, which remained cool, unreadable.
Why does he look like that?
The ceremony passed in a blur. Words were spoken. Vows exchanged. She repeated after the vicar as if from a dream, her voice steady though her mind reeled. Logan’s hand in hers felt steady and warm, but distant. Like he was performing a duty.
He is performing a duty. That is all this ever was.
She ought to have known. She had known. Still, she had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that the man who had made her laugh in Hyde Park and smiled when she teased him would make one final appearance today.
He did not.
When the vicar declared them man and wife, and the crowd burst into polite applause, May turned toward Logan. Their eyes met. His face was closed, utterly blank, like a door firmly shut.
He does not have to pretend anymore.
She blinked, forcing a smile for the benefit of those watching. There would be no retreat. Not now.
Placing her hand on his arm, they stepped down from the altar, the picture of a perfect, noble union. And she wondered, just briefly, if anyone could see that her heart was quietly crumbling beneath the lace and satin.
After a wedding breakfast that her family had spared no expense for, the carriage that was to take May to her new home waited. Guests clustered on the steps, their congratulations ringing like bells.
Logan guided May toward their carriage, his hand at the small of her back, showing the world that she was his now and she had claimed his heart. She kept her smile radiant, aware of every eye upon them, and placed her gloved fingers in his when he helped her step inside.
From the cushioned seat, she glanced back at her family; her father with his proud stance, her mother dabbing at her eyes again, April and June waving with unabashed enthusiasm. May lifted her hand in return—though her stomach was in knots—and Logan did the same.
The carriage door closed, and with a lurch, the wheels began to turn, the house slowly retreating from view.
They settled opposite each other, and for a moment, the movement of the carriage seemed to rock them into a strange quiet, and not a comfortable one.May’s gaze found his.
Logan was already looking at her.
The faint smile he had worn on the steps had vanished, and his eyes seemed to be colder than steel.
And just like that, the distance between them felt far greater than the space of the carriage.