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Chapter Twenty-Two

“ A ball?” Gemma looked unconvinced. “Really?” She lay beneath the bedclothes with her body close to his, her bare breasts pressing against his chest and her fingers intertwined with his.

Over the last few days, Wyatt had noticed, she had been less adamant about putting space between them the moment their pleasure had begun to subside. He could not quite make sense of it. Nor did he really want to try. It was no small part of him that was afraid of where such thoughts might lead.

Gently, he disentangled his legs from Gemma's and eased himself onto the other side of the bed. Immediately, he felt the loss of her; felt the desire to return back to her arms and curl up there for the rest of the night. But that was far too dangerous.

“Yes, really,” he said. “What better way to show the ton we are not bothered by their gossip and lies?

Gemma sighed. “What about Miss Henford and her family?” she asked hesitantly. “Will they be invited?”

“Yes.” Wyatt knew it was likely not the answer Gemma wished to hear. “It's for the best.”

Gemma sighed again. “I suppose you're right. The only way forward is for us to clear the air with Henrietta and her family.”

“Exactly.” Wyatt had not admit, he was not looking forward to it.

At the party to celebrate their upcoming wedding, he had learned exactly how cold and vindictive Henrietta Henford could be.

Wyatt knew she was unlikely to forgive him easily.

He also knew there was every chance she would go out of her way to make Gemma's evening as hellish as possible.

And I will just have to take it upon myself to make sure she does not succeed.

Suddenly overcome with a fierce protectiveness, he reached for Gemma's hand again, his need to keep distance between them forgotten.

“I will make my apologies to Miss Henford and her family. And I will make it clear to them that what happened was through no fault of yours.” He gave Gemma a small smile.

“And hopefully that will be the end of it.” He brought her fingers to his lips.

“I want to show everyone how proud I am of our marriage. That I am not ashamed of how we came to be married. And that I do not believe a word of these lies that have been spread about you.”

Even in the darkness, he saw Gemma's lips tilt upwards into a smile. “You are proud of me?” she asked.

Wyatt squeezed her fingers. “Of course. Why would I not be? You are strong and honest and clever. And beautiful. I could not think of anyone I would rather have as the mother of my child.”

He felt Gemma stiffen and she pulled her hand out of his. “Very well,” she said, her words suddenly edged with coldness, “if a ball is what you think is best, then who am I to argue?”

Gemma found herself walking across the vast ballroom at the back of Larsen Manor.

With the celebration taking place in a day's time, the place was a hub of activity.

Workmen were bustling in and out of the room, setting up the long buffet table and the small stage for the orchestra, and dotting large potted plants around the room.

Fresh candles were being planted into the chandeliers, and maids were filing in with their arms full of fresh white tablecloths.

Gemma's head was whirring. She had checked and double-checked the menu with the cook, and gone over every detail of the decorations with Mrs. Walsh, the housekeeper. The staff had promised Gemma that everything was in order and encouraged her to try and relax.

Relax! As if that is going to happen!

It felt like there was so much riding on this event.

At first, Gemma had feared that no one would attend, lest their good standing be tainted by being seen in the company of the scandalous Duke and Duchess of Larsen.

But the responses had flown in almost immediately—and it seemed almost everyone they had invited would be there.

And that prospect, Gemma had quickly realized, was far more terrifying than an empty ballroom.

How would the ton react to her? If her afternoon on Bond Street had been any indication, she was in for a horrifying evening. When she had shared her concerns with Wyatt, he had assured her she had nothing to fear.

“I want to show everyone how proud I am of our marriage,” he had said.

And how could she argue with that? But Gemma had said nothing to him about what had happened when she and Veronica had been out shopping.

She was not sure why. Perhaps a part of her was afraid that if he heard too much of what people were saying, he might come to agree with them.

And then there was the utterly horrifying prospect of coming face to face with Henrietta Henford.

She understood Wyatt's reasons for inviting her and her family—not doing so would only prolong the gossip that surrounded them, and make it look as though they had something to hide.

But that did nothing to quell the unease at the thought of facing Miss Henford.

Gemma thought back to the young woman's promise on the day of the wedding:

“My family has the power to destroy everyone you care about. I shall see to it that you regret this for the rest of your life.”

No one had ever spoken to Gemma in such a way, and she had been utterly taken aback by the venom in Miss Henford's words. Of course, she had had every reason to be angry… But to hear such furious and vindictive words being flung at her…

Gemma pushed the thought away. She reminded herself that, that day behind the chapel, she had not simply stood back and accepted Miss Henford's threats.

Even in the face of her whole life being upturned, Gemma had managed to stand her ground and let her rival know she would not be frightened into submission.

She was stronger than that—and if Miss Henford tried anything similar at the ball, she would stand up for herself once again.

With Wyatt at my side.

The thought came unbidden and caught Gemma off guard. As did the rush of affection that came with it. She thought of all Veronica had told her about Wyatt giving money to her father?—

My father! I had not even thought of all the trouble my father could cause at the ball tomorrow night!

Gemma barely managed to stifle a cry of frustration as she passed the maids cleaning the windows.

What had Wyatt been thinking? With the Henfords, her father, and the gossiping ton in attendance, there was no way this ball could been anything other than an unmitigated disaster!

And that was not even to mention her grandmother and the Dowager Duchess—and Heaven only knew what the two of them were capable of! Was it too late to put an end to it?!

“Do stop this dreadful pacing, Gemma dear.” She turned to see the Dowager Duchess walking toward her with a smile on her face. “You are beginning to wear a path in the tiles.”

Gemma allowed herself a faint smile. “I cannot help it. I am just so worried about everything being perfect. And about… well…” She faded out, unwilling to drag the old woman into her own tangled mess of issues.

The Dowager Duchess looped her arm through Gemma's. “Nothing is ever perfect, my dear. That is what makes life such an adventure.”

Gemma smiled wryly at that. Life has certainly been an adventure of late.

She sighed. “You're right, I know. But there is just so much riding on this being a success. And honestly, I am beginning to wonder if that is even possible.”

The Dowager Duchess steered her toward the exit to the ballroom. “Let's have some tea. You look as if you could use a little calming down.”

Gemma allowed herself to be herded out into the garden, with the Dowager Duchess calling out orders to the kitchen for tea and biscuits to be brought to the arbor.

Gemma sank onto the bench beneath the ivy-covered shelter and lifted her face upwards.

Shards of sunlight were finding their way through the gaps in the ivy, and the warmth against her cheeks went some way toward calming her.

The Dowager Duchess eased herself onto the bench beside her.

For several moments, she looked out across the garden, a contented smile on her face.

“You've not a thing to worry about,” she told Gemma.

“Mrs. Walsh and the rest of the household will see to it that everything is in fine order for tomorrow.”

Gemma nodded, the reminder of the ball yanking her from her moment of calm. She knotted her fingers together. “I am sure they will. It is not that that is worrying me.”

The Dowager Duchess raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I—” Gemma stopped talking as a maid appeared with a tea tray.

She placed the tea pot, cups, and plate of biscuits on the low table in front of them, then bobbed a curtsey and disappeared as quickly as she had come.

Gemma tried again. “I am worried about what our guests will say about me. When they see Wyatt and me together. It is the first time we will be seen in public since our wedding.”

“Oh, don't you worry about that.” The Dowager Duchess flapped a hand in a dismissive gesture. In spite of her unease, Gemma could not help a smile.

Had I really expected any other response from her than that?

“People will always have their opinions, my dear,” the Dowager Duchess said gently.

“And I know you've been on the receiving end of gossip more than once. I am sure that is not a pleasant feeling.” Gemma nodded, but said nothing, allowing the older woman to continue.

“But if we try and control what everyone around us says or thinks about us, we will go mad.”

Gemma nodded again, slowly. “You are very wise,” she said.