Page 15 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 15

E dward’s heart was hammering under his blue, brocaded waistcoat.

The material, of course, had been specified by Daphne’s mother, to match the wedding dress. Edward found that he couldn’t remember what he’d worn to his first wedding, and for some reason, that bothered him.

The chapel was mostly full, and people were whispering and nudging each other, the susurrus of voices drifting up the high ceiling. He kept his back turned, staring ahead at the altar. Dozens of gazes burned into his back. He tried to ignore them.

It’ll be over soon . Unless, of course, she decides to run again.

That was an unpleasant thought, and Edward immediately wished he had not considered it. The thought would not be dismissed now, of course.

On cue, the door at the back of the chapel opened, and the whispers ceased abruptly. He could hear the rustle of skirts as the entire congregation rose to their feet, turning to watch the bride walk in.

Edward counted under his breath, marking off the steps she would take towards him. He turned when she was about halfway down the aisle.

At once, his breath caught in his throat.

Daphne looked breathtaking .

Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, sleek curls coming down to hang around her neck. Tiny glass flowers glinted in the depths of her hair. Her dress, blue and heavy and brocaded, suited her perfectly. The color made her skin look smooth and creamy, and the simple cut flattered her to perfection. The neckline was a little low, daringly cut around her shoulders, displaying the smooth lines of her collarbone.

She wore a diamond necklace and matching earrings, which, while beautiful, were a little too large in Edward’s opinion.

It didn’t change the way his mouth went dry when he saw her, and how his heart hammered in his chest.

Beautiful . She’s beautiful. So beautiful.

Their eyes met, and Daphne broke into a slow, nervous smile. It wasn’t proper, of course, for a bride to smile too much on her wedding day. Maiden modesty and polite reluctance to wed were required, but apparently, Daphne had not heard of this rule. Her smile grew as she advanced towards him, turning into a wide grin.

But her smile faltered as they came closer, and Edward realized a moment too late that he was not smiling, only staring at her with what she no doubt interpreted as a glare.

Too late to change it now.

Alex, who had escorted Daphne down the aisle, beamed up at his father, and Edward remembered to smile encouragingly.

“Well done,” he whispered as Alex took his place beside him. “The rings?”

“I have them, Papa.”

Edward breathed out. That was a relief, at least. Perhaps entrusting the wedding rings to an eight-year-old boy was not a good idea.

It didn’t matter, though. They were here, and it was time. Side by side, Edward and Daphne turned to face the rector.

“Dearly beloved…” he began.

The rest of the wedding ceremony was a blur. The rector droned on. Vows were made, rings exchanged, and then it was over.

Well, almost over.

“You may kiss the bride, Your Grace,” the rector said, smiling and taking a step backward.

Edward hesitated, glancing down at his new wife.

Daphne was looking up at him, her face flushed. To his surprise, he saw desire glittering in her eyes when she looked at him.

She wants me, he realized, with a flash of disbelief. Last night changed things.

I should not have done it.

She doesn’t deserve whatever curse hangs over me. I don’t deserve her. It’s up to me to stop this, then.

Swallowing, he leaned forward, placing a chaste peck on her cheek. When he pulled back, Daphne was looking up at him still, but this time she was confused, and perhaps a little… a little hurt.

Edward turned away to face the congregation. It was easier than looking at the hurt in her eyes.

Daphne glanced at her new husband several times during the wedding breakfast.

He didn’t speak to her. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d mechanically promised to love and honor her forever.

I’m married. I’m married. I am married .

The words kept rolling around and around in her head, echoing in disbelief. Married .

It hadn’t escaped her notice that the panic she’d felt when she was approaching the Duke of Clapton was absent when she walked towards Edward. There’d been a flutter of nerves, of course, a little prickle of anxiety at being looked at so intensely, but the chest-crushing fear had not been there. Never once during the ceremony had she thought that she could not breathe. She hadn’t even stuttered during her I-dos .

But there was a sort of awkwardness between them now, an ice that had just sprung up over the past few hours. Last night had felt so easy , and she’d felt as though they could never be uncomfortable with each other again.

Well, she was wrong about that.

The two of them sat at the head of a long, wide table, set up in the lower half of the ballroom. Musicians sat on a platform at the other end of the room, the gentle music drifting down. The breakfast was mostly over, and people were talking now instead of eating, or milling around. Nobody was dancing yet, though. They couldn't, not until the bride and groom took to the floor. Preferably together.

“Did you like the waistcoat my mother picked out for you?” Daphne said, in something like desperation.

She was hungry, but the constricting gown prevented her from eating too much. Or breathing too deeply. She was looking forward to taking it off at the end of the day, although she had a sneaking suspicion that Edward would not be the one unlacing it for her.

“It’s a very good waistcoat,” he responded, as bland as could be.

She waited for a question or a follow-up remark. When none came, she spoke again, a little desperately.

“And my gown, did you like it? I thought it was very pretty.”

“Very pretty,” he echoed, and the silence descended once more.

Daphne sat back in her seat, fighting down the feeling of despair.

“Have I done something to offend you?” she asked bluntly.

He flinched, casting a bewildered glance in her direction. “Keep your voice down, please!”

She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why should I? Why shouldn’t I make a scene? I’m good at that, Your Grace . I can assure you of that.”

“I don’t need assurances,” he muttered unhappily. “I know it quite well enough. I just don’t like large gatherings, and I don’t like being the center of attention. Unfortunately, both of those are inevitable when it is one’s wedding day .”

Daphne frowned, blinking at him. “You’re angry with me.”

He looked away. “Of course, I’m not angry with you.”

“You are , I can tell. I don’t understand. If I’ve done something wrong, please, tell me what it is. Tell me what I’ve done wrong, for heaven’s sake. I don’t understand, because last night everything was…”

He turned to face her, reaching out as if to take her hand and thinking better of it at the last minute.

“Daphne, I beg you, do not mention that again,” he whispered urgently. “You think our reputations can’t be damaged any further? Think again. I know you thought—we both thought—that we had already sunk low enough, but believe me, there’s always further to go. Let’s tread carefully, shall we?”

Daphne said nothing, and he leaned back, picking up a glass of wine. She looked away, feeling stupid as tears pricked her eyes.

What did you think was going to happen? Did you think that one moment of intimacy would change his mind entirely? He wanted a practical marriage, a marriage of convenience. He made that plain. And you, my girl, agreed. If you’ve changed your mind, then that is your concern.

Perhaps you should guard your heart a little better in the future.

There was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much she tried to swallow. Her empty plate blurred under her gaze, and she began to worry that she was about to shame herself in public, at her own wedding breakfast.

She sniffed, loudly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edward glance at her. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he leaned forward and cleared his throat.

“Daphne? Are you… That is to say, have I…”

“Miss Belmont!” chirped an eager voice, and they both lurched apart as if they’d been caught doing something terrible.

It was Alex, of course, skipping over from the children’s table. Mrs. Trench was eyeing him from her seat, her gaze unreadable. It occurred to Daphne that Mrs. Trench could look straight at the two of them, and might well have seen the angry whispers and Daphne’s barely-held-back tears.

Alex paused, frowning. “I shouldn’t call you Miss Belmont now, should I? Papa, what should I call her?”

“I… You must ask her yourself, I think,” Edward managed, his voice tight.

He was still looking at Daphne out of the corner of his eye, opening and closing his mouth as if he had something to say.

Daphne cleared her throat, leaning forward with a smile. “I think you can call me Daphne if you like. Or Daff , or Daffie. That is what my sister called me. I’ve always been fond of that nickname.”

Alex seemed pleased. “I like Daffie. That’s a nice nickname. I already have one, you see. Alex. But, Daffie, you don’t seem happy. Mrs. Trench was just saying how sad you looked.”

Daphne flinched.

“I think Mrs. Trench ought to concentrate on her breakfast and minding her charge, instead of making comments,” Edward muttered sourly.

Alex only glanced between them, his eyes large. “ Are you upset, Daffie?”

She leaned forward, plastering on a smile. “I was upset, but only because nobody was dancing. I would like to dance, but I don’t have a partner, you see.”

Alex nodded as if this were a very acceptable reason for sadness. “I understand. I will dance with you if you like, Daffie.”

Daphne smiled. “I’d love that, Alex. Are you sure? Have you finished your breakfast?”

He nodded seriously. “Just a moment. Nobody would want to dance with this nonsense playing.”

It took a moment for Daphne to realize what was happening.

Turning on his heel, Alex scurried across the empty floor, waving his arms to get the attention of the musicians. There was a ripple of silence in his wake, everybody leaning forward to see what the little boy was doing.

“Excuse me,” he said, his high, clear voice carrying easily across the ballroom, “but could you play something with a little bit of life in it?”

There was a wave of laughter at this. Mrs. Trench covered her smile with a hand, and even Edward seemed to smile. Just a little.

The chief musician chuckled, smiling and nodding indulgently. They started playing a light-hearted jig, something that had the other guests tapping their spoons on their plates and nodding in time.

Alex turned, clearly pleased with himself, and held out his hand. The guests gave out a ragged cheer, seeing that he was asking his new stepmother to dance. Smiling, Daphne got to her feet and crossed the floor towards him.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Alex whispered when she was close enough. “But I thought you could teach me.”

“Dancing, for the most part, is about having fun,” Daphne assured him. “Besides, it’s my wedding day, so we can dance how we want. So long as you don’t tread on my toes too much.”

Alex beamed. “I can do that.”

He was much smaller than Daphne, of course, so there was no question of doing any of the conventional dances. She took his hands in hers and winked encouragingly.

“We step this way… then this way… and then around in a circle. We step back, clap our hands once, and clasp hands again. Step again… and again… Very good! Now, you let go of my hand, and we turn away and spin in a circle again.”

Alex spun so fast that he nearly overbalanced, and Daphne laughed loudly.

“No, no, slowly! And gracefully . We turn around the shoulder like this . We make a performance of it.”

Alex pouted, making a good impression of the vain dandies Daphne had danced with before.

She laughed again, clapping. “Yes, yes, good! You’re getting the hang of this. You’re a natural , Alex.”

“I always liked the idea of dancing,” Alex confessed. “I told Mrs. Trench, and she asked Papa to hire a dancing master for me, but he said I was too young and dancing wasn’t enjoyable anyway. I think he just thinks that men oughtn’t to dance.”

Daphne’s smile faded a little. “Well, there are some people who think that.”

She shot a glance across the room, where Edward sat alone, his gaze fixed on them. Their eyes met, and a shiver ran down her spine, even though she did not want it to.

All those novels talk a great deal about heroines calming their minds to tranquility and other such nonsense . Well, it isn’t true. I can’t for the life of me be tranquil. And it’s all his fault.

“It seems to me,” she said, after a pause, “that your Papa does not like dancing and assumes that you will feel the same.”

“Why would he not like dancing?”

She shrugged. “Many people like different things. We’re all different, after all.”

As the jig progressed, a few other couples tentatively took to the dance floor. Anna and Theo were one of them. Beatrice, heavy with child, did not but seemed to be trying to convince her poor husband, Stephen, to ask Emily to dance. Emily seemed mightily horrified by the idea.

A few of the couples were dancing properly. Others still were copying Daphne and Alex’s silly, made-up, little dance, laughing and stepping on each other’s toes.

For the first time in a while, it felt like a wedding. Daphne took Alex’s hand and spun him in a circle underneath her hand.

“You’re meant to do the spinning! You’re the lady!” Alex complained. “I know that much.”

“Well, you are so very small.” Daphne laughed. “When you’re taller than me, we’ll dance again, and then I will do the spinning.”

“Well, Papa grew very tall very quickly,” Alex muttered, piqued. “So that will be something to look forward to.”

Something to look forward to. Daphne smiled to herself. He’s a sweet boy. I’ll do my best to be a good mama to him.

Heaven help us both.

The music sped up, and they spun faster and faster, stumbling over the made-up steps and laughing, losing their rhythm and almost bumping into the other dancers.

And then Daphne very nearly bumped into a tall, solid wall of a man.

It was, of course, her husband. He stood tall and very straight-backed, his shoulders squared and his face impassive. The dancers whirled around him, making a conscious effort not to knock into him. The three of them were now standing still in the middle of a busy dance floor, no doubt minutes or even seconds away from a collision.

“Edward,” she gasped, breathing hard and trying to steady herself. “What were you thinking, walking onto the dance floor like that? You’ll cause chaos.”

He smiled tightly. “The only one causing chaos is you, my dear bride. What dance is this, by the way?”

“It’s made up,” Alex volunteered.

Daphne felt the color rush to her cheeks. “I suppose you’ve come to tell us to stop,” she mumbled. “Am I embarrassing you, my dear husband?”

Edward smiled grimly. “No. I’m harder to embarrass than you might think. And I did not come to tell you to stop. I came to ask —with Alex’s permission, of course—if I might dance with you, Daphne.”