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Dunford regarded her closely. Why the hell was she so interested in whether or not he could jilt her? That was the one thing he was certain she didn't want him to do. If he did, she would lose Stannage Park forever.
"Why can't you cry off?" she pressed. "Why?"
"I see we have not educated you in the ways of society as well as we thought. A gentleman of honor never jilts a lady. Not unless she has proven herself unfaithful, and perhaps not even then."
"I have never betrayed you," she blurted out.
Not with your body, he thought. Only with your soul. How could she ever love him as much as she loved her land? No one's heart was that big. He sighed. "I know you haven't."
Again she said nothing, just stood there looking pained. How baffled she must be at his anger, he thought. She couldn't know that he knew her true motives for marrying him. "Well," he said wearily, dreading her reply. "Are you going to jilt me?"
"Do you want me to?" she whispered.
"It is not my decision," he said stiffly, unable to say the words that would force her to let him go. "If you're going to call it off, do it."
"I can't," she said, wringing her hands. Her words sounded as if they were wrenched from her very soul.
"Let it be on your head then," he said flatly. He left the room without a backward glance.
Henry was aware of very little during the next two weeks, aside from the dull pain wrapped around her heart like a shroud. Nothing seemed to bring her joy. She supposed her friends attributed her strange mood to prenuptial nerves.
Luckily she saw Dunford infrequently. He seemed to know exactly how to cross paths with hers at parties for only the shortest of times. He would arrive with time enough for only one dance before she left. They never waltzed.
Her wedding day loomed closer and closer, until finally she woke up one morning with the most intense feeling of dread. This was the day on which she would bind herself forever to a man she couldn't satisfy.
A man who now hated her.
With slow movements she rose from her bed and pulled on her dressing gown. The only consolation in all of this was that at least she would get to live at her beloved Stannage Park.
Although it no longer seemed quite so precious.
The wedding was agony.
Henry had thought a small ceremony would be easier, but she discovered that it was harder to maintain a cheerful facade in front of a dozen good friends than it would have been in front of three hundred passing acquaintances.
Henry did her bit, said, "I will," when it was time, but only one thought was running through her mind.
Why was he doing this?
But by the time she mustered up the nerve to ask him, the priest was telling Dunford he could kiss his bride. Henry barely had time to turn her head before his lips descended onto hers in a passionless kiss.
"Why?" she whispered against his mouth. "Why?"
If he heard her, he didn't reply. All he did was grab her hand and practically drag her back up the aisle of the church.
Henry hoped her friends didn't see her stumble as she tried to keep up with her new husband.
The next evening Henry found herself on the doorstep of Stannage Park, a gold band now joining her engagement ring on her left hand. None of the servants were out to greet them; it was well past eleven, so she thought they must all be in bed.
Besides, she had written that they were to arrive the next day. She had never dreamed that Dunford would insist they leave for Cornwall directly following their wedding. They had stayed at their reception a mere thirty minutes before she was hustled into a waiting carriage.
Her ride across England had been silent and uncomfortable. Dunford had brought along a book and ignored her the entire way. By the time they arrived at the inn—the same one they had visited on their earlier journey—her nerves were utterly shot. She had spent the entire day dreading the night. What would it be like to be made love to in anger? She couldn't bear to find out.
And then he had completely stunned her by putting her in a room clear down the hall from his, saying, "I think our wedding night ought to be at Stannage Park. It seems so... appropriate, don't you think?"
She had nodded gratefully and fled to her room.
But now she was here, and he would demand his wedding night. The fire burning in his eyes was proof enough of his intentions.
She stared out over the front gardens. There wasn't very much light coming from the house, but Henry knew every inch of the landscape so well that she could picture every last tree branch. She could feel Dunford watching her as she watched the chilly wind rustle the leaves.
"Does it feel good to be back, Henry?"
She nodded jerkily, lacking the courage to face him.
"I thought it might," he muttered.
She turned around. "Are you glad to be back?"
There was a long pause before he replied, "I don't know yet." And then he added more curtly, "Come inside, Henry."
She stiffened at his tone but walked into the house nonetheless.
Dunford lit several tapers in a candelabra. "It's time to go upstairs."
Henry looked back through the open door at the still-full carriage, searching for anything that would delay the inevitable. "My things..."
"The footmen will bring them up in the morning. It's time for bed."
She swallowed and nodded, dreading what was ahead. She ached for the closeness they had shared at Westonbirt, that all-encompassing feeling of love and contentment she had found in his arms. But that had been a lie. It had to have been a lie, or he wouldn't have needed a night of additional sport in his mistress's bed.
Henry ascended the stairs, making her way toward her old bedroom.