Page 23 of His Tempting Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #4)

CHAPTER 23

C onsidering how little time Octavia had had to throw together the wedding breakfast, she had done a truly marvelous job.

It seemed that Emily played a remarkably small part in her own wedding. More guests had gathered for the wedding breakfast than had attended the ceremony, and she found herself wading through a cluster of chattering people, all of them commenting on the fineness of the champagne, the delicious smell of the food, and the beauty of the decorations.

Garlands made of greenery, interwoven with fresh flowers, hung everywhere. Tables had been set up in a horseshoe shape in the ballroom, draped in lacy white tablecloths. Footmen glided among the guests with trays of food and drink, as placid and unconcerned as if they entertained surprise wedding breakfasts every day of the week.

Emily stepped into the ballroom, taking in the scene, and allowed herself a small smile.

Anna appeared at her elbow. “Goodness. Mama has outdone herself.”

“I think so, too. We’re going to have the party here, and then Cassian and I will retire to his home.” Emily blinked, giving herself a little shake. “I mean, His Grace.”

Anna said nothing, only giving her a wry, pointed look, which Emily tried to ignore.

“I suppose it’s my home now, too,” she murmured. “Goodness, how odd that sounds.”

She twisted her wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand. It was nothing fancy, just a simple gold band. However, she rarely wore rings, as she found them uncomfortable. She often used her left hand for drawing and painting—Octavia had never believed in the nonsense about left-handed children—and feared that a ring would make it uncomfortable for her to hold a brush or a pencil.

Well, I can hardly take it off. It’s a wedding ring, after all.

Anna craned her neck, tutting under her breath. “Oh, heavens, Daphne is retching in the corner again. That will be the coffee, I think. She says that it turns her stomach these days. Just a moment, Emmie, I’ll go and see to her.”

“Is morning sickness always that bad?” Emily asked impulsively.

Anna paused, frowning. “It can be. Daphne will be fine, you know. Mama was the same with you and Daff, vomiting often during the first few months.”

Emily bit her lip, glancing away. “I know Daff will be fine. I’m being selfish, I think. Perhaps… Perhaps I don’t want to have a child right away.”

Anna tilted her head, studying her sister with an unreadable expression.

“Well, there’s little a woman can do to control that,” she said gently. “Unless you and the duke abstain, of course. Oh, heavens, Emmie, you did get the talk from Mama, didn’t you? About men and women in bed?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Yes, Anna, I did.”

“Good, good. Anyway, it’s not the worst thing in the world to spend a little time getting to know each other before children come along.”

Emily bit her lip, nodding, but said nothing.

Anna hurried away.

Could I wait a little while before having children? I want to finish those paintings for the Prince Regent anyway. I wouldn’t be able to do that if I had to vomit every thirty minutes. But would Cassian agree?

She would have to deal with that later. Perhaps it was a discussion that they should have had earlier, but everything had happened so quickly .

Faint music drifted through the room, mingled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Emily noticed a few familiar faces. Was that Clara Van De Rio, along with Corderoy and Titus Greaves? They sat together, looking a little uncomfortable, but Corderoy gave her a wink, and Clara waved.

Now that I’m married, I can have friends who aren’t considered as respectable as they should be . I’m a married lady, not a vulnerable young woman with a reputation as fragile as glass. I’m free.

She let out a long, slow breath and began to make her way across the room, taking off her spectacles as she did so to wipe them on her gown. She immediately bumped into somebody with a thump .

“Oof,” she gasped, blinking up at an annoyingly familiar face.

“Miss Belmont! Or should I say, Your Grace , the Duchess of Clapton,” the Baroness Rawdon greeted smoothly. “Congratulations on your marriage. You Belmont girls must be possessed with the devil’s luck—all three of you, catching dukes!”

The woman looked breathtakingly beautiful in a simple, elegant gown of deep green, decorated with seed pearls. A chain hung around her neck, a ring at the end of it.

“Thank you, Lady Rawdon,” Emily managed, smiling faintly. “We didn’t deliberately set out to catch dukes, of course. It just… sort of happened.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, as I said, congratulations,” the Baroness continued, her smile not budging an inch. “You’ll make a fine duchess.”

Emily eyed the woman, wishing with all her heart that one of her sisters was with her, or perhaps her mother.

Why does she dislike me? Did she want to marry Cassian? Was she one of his mistresses?

That thought sent a frisson of pure rage through her. Of course, jealousy was never a healthy thing, and certainly, she had no right to be jealous of any affairs Cassian might have had before he married her.

Or after, she reminded herself. This is a marriage of convenience. My safety and freedom in exchange for an heir. He can do as he likes and share his bed with whoever he likes.

The idea of the beautiful baroness tangled up with him beneath the sheets filled Emily with dread and anger. She’d never felt quite so plain in her life.

The baroness cocked her head, the faint smile still playing on her lips, and Emily wondered if the woman could see her thoughts on her face. Most probably.

Then, before either woman could say anything, a fresh-faced girl of around sixteen skipped over to them, beaming widely.

“Oh, Mama, this is her, isn’t it? This is Miss Belmont, Cassian’s wife! Oh, do introduce me!”

The baroness’s eyes narrowed. “That is Your Grace to you, Frances! For heaven’s sake!” She turned back to Emily, forcing a smile. “Do forgive my daughter’s exuberance. One would never think that she’d just come back from finishing school.”

Frances was quite clearly the baroness’s daughter. She was beautiful, with fair hair and large green eyes set in an exquisitely shaped face.

The girl flushed, looking a little crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Mama. And I’m sorry to be so disrespectful, Miss B—I mean, Your Grace.”

Emily swallowed hard but offered her a smile. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being called Your Grace . You must be very close to the duke, to refer to him so informally.”

Frances reddened but said nothing. Her mother also stayed silent, and Emily guessed that she’d hit upon something.

Surely Frances isn’t Cassian’s… daughter?

No, that wasn’t possible, not at her age. But still, something was going on between Cassian and the baroness. There was quite clearly a connection of some sort, and Emily wanted to find out what it was as soon as possible.

She swallowed thickly again. Her mouth was dry. She needed a drink, and quickly. She’d eaten nothing all day, and her stomach growled. Drinking alcohol on an empty stomach was a bad idea, of course, but she snatched up a glass of champagne from a passing tray anyway, taking a large gulp.

“I take it Cassian invited you?” she asked, smiling faintly.

“He did,” the baroness responded smoothly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.” Emily downed the champagne, the fizzing bubbles spreading in her empty stomach and making her feel sick. Even so, she snatched up another glass when the footman returned.

“I think you look beautiful,” Frances added, with a shy and nervous smile. “I love the color of your gown. And your hair is so pretty.”

Emily immediately felt sympathy for the girl. It was clear that she was out of her depth. Society was not kind to sweet, fresh-faced girls like her. Emily knew that very well. Frances struck her as innocent, probably thinking that everybody in the world was kind and could be trusted.

She would find out the hard way that it was not true. But Emily’s wedding didn’t have to be the place where she learned that. The girl deserved a few more carefree years, after all.

Frances was beautiful, too, which would make her a target for every cad in Society. She had only her strange, distracted mother to protect her, whereas Emily had a fearsome mother and two brave, clever sisters.

“Thank you,” Emily answered, flashing a smile. “My sister styled my hair.”

“Oh, of course! You have two sisters, isn’t that right? I would have loved to have a sister. Or a brother. Any sibling at all would have been nice. It’s just me, though,” Frances added, with a regretful sigh. “Just me and Mama.”

The baroness cleared her throat, shifting her weight. She seemed a little uneasy as she reached out to take Frances’s arm.

“Well, this has been lovely, Miss B—that is, Your Grace , but we had better let you get back to your guests. Come along, Frances. Thank you for such a fine party, Your Grace. I hope you settle in well in your new role in Society. Going from a plain miss to a duchess is not an easy transition.”

Before Emily could ask the woman what, exactly, she meant, the Baroness sailed away, dragging poor Frances behind her.

Emily stood there, staring after them, then took another sip of her champagne. The feeling of hunger had somewhat faded, replaced by a faintly sickening feeling.

A bride can get a little tipsy on her wedding day, anyway, she thought as she drained her glass.

* * *

“The dancing will be starting soon,” Richard whispered. “You’ll have to dance with her, you know. Stop drinking that whiskey!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer I sip champagne instead?” Cassian responded sharply.

A few hours ago, he had watched Margaret make a beeline for Emily. Frances, poor child, had skipped over to them afterward, obviously keen for an introduction. He was not sure what Margaret had said to Emily, but after their conversation, Emily had been drinking champagne steadily, and avoiding his eye.

He would have to straighten out whatever had happened later on, but for now, he was forced to sit at the head table and smile appreciatively whenever people arrived to offer their congratulations.

He was aware of a growing sense of unease spreading inside him, a sense that something was wrong.

Why do I feel this way? Why should I care if Emily is not happy? I have almost won. We’re married, and once she conceives, I will have secured everything I need. I should be celebrating.

And yet he did not feel like celebrating. Again and again, his gaze was drawn to the corner of the room, where Emily sat with her friends and family. There was a smile on her face that seemed to fool everybody else, but he knew—he knew that she was unhappy. The smile, tight and close-lipped, did not reach her eyes.

“I think she’ll make you happy, you know,” Richard commented.

“It is not about being happy or not,” Cassian snapped. “It is a question of duty.”

Richard set down his glass of champagne and stared at him. “Why are you being so sharp, Cassian?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You are being sharp and unkind to everybody today. It is your wedding day . I know that you never planned to marry, but now you are married. You speak of duty, but what about your duty to your wife? Look, she’s sitting over there. You should sit together.”

“I am quite comfortable here. Can you get me another whiskey?”

“No, you’ve had quite enough.”

The two men sat in annoyed silence, each quietly seething.

“It’s as if you’re determined to be unhappy,” Richard added quietly, after a moment. “As if you don’t believe that you deserve love.”

Cassian flinched. “I don’t want love. I don’t need it. Look at where it got Matthew.”

“That is an entirely different situation.”

“Oh? How is it different?”

Richard let out a sharp snort. “Because Matthew was a vulnerable young man under the thumb of his awful father, and you are the Duke of Clapton, a clever and powerful man. Besides, you’re already married to the woman you’re falling in love with.”

Cassian flinched, twisting around to glare at his cousin. “I beg your pardon?”

Richard, to his credit, did not flinch. He met Cassian’s eyes squarely. “You heard me. I think you are falling in love with your wife, Cass. And so what if you are?”

“She does not want love from me,” Cassian hissed. “And I do not want it from her!”

Richard regarded him steadily. “Nobody believes that,” he said, “least of all you.”

While Cassian was deciding what to say, Richard rose to his feet.

“If you won’t dance with your bride, Cassian, I will,” he muttered quietly. “Excuse me.”

Cassian was about to tell his cousin that he did not care who Richard danced with, any more than he cared who his wife danced with.

He stopped himself just in time, thankfully. There was a fairly good chance that Lady St. Maur would stab him with a butter knife if he said such a thing.

He sat back mulishly in his seat and watched Richard cross the room. He paused in front of Emily, executing a neat bow. He said something, and she laughed, her smile growing a little more sincere.

They had a brief exchange, and Richard gestured to the dance floor. Emily glanced over at Cassian, just for an instant. Then, she nodded, accepting Richard’s hand and getting to her feet.

The two of them crossed to the dance floor. It was the cue for other couples to join, although most of them looked rather surprised to see the groom’s cousin dancing with the bride. Still, it was not the first time somebody other than the groom had danced with the bride on a wedding day, and it wasn’t as if anybody would dare to mention anything to Cassian.

The first dance was a waltz. Richard said something else to make Emily laugh, stepping close to her. He placed his hand on her waist and took her hand in his other one.

Cassian fingers curled into fists.

The music began, and Richard and Emily began to move across the dance floor. They continued talking, and Emily laughed again.

Richard was a good dancer, very graceful. They moved easily and well together.

Something stirred inside Cassian—something hot and angry. Jealousy, that was it. The ugliest of emotions.

He clenched his jaw, glancing away.

Emily laughed loudly, the sound carrying across the room.

Oh, the wretched woman. Curse you, Richard.

Cassian jumped to his feet and crossed the room. He cut neatly between the dancing couples, approaching Richard and Emily. They stopped spinning, both glancing inquisitively up at him.

“What is it, Cass?” Richard asked innocently. “Did you wish to cut in? It’s a little unorthodox, but it is your wedding day, and this is your bride.”

Cassian glowered at him. “No. In fact, I would like a word with my bride.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “What’s the matter, husband? Are you angry?”

Cassian let out a long, slow breath, seizing her hand in his. “No, I am not angry. But you and I have to discuss our duties.”

He pulled her away from the dance floor and through a narrow doorway into the dark hallway beyond.