Page 5 of The Cursed Duke (Wayward Dukes' Alliance #19)
July 27, 1815
Fitzroy House
Manchester Square
Mayfair, England
Hannah waited in the corridor outside the drawing room at the Duke of Steppingford’s townhouse, for that was where their nuptial ceremony would take place in mere moments. He was very clear on the point that it take place in his home, for he’d procured a special license.
And now she was on the verge of being wed to a duke of whom she didn’t even know his given name, yet she’d let him do wicked, scandalous things to her on the night of her engagement rout. What is happening to me?
Inside the room, the soft buzz of voices indicated her father and the duke spoke with the vicar. The rest of her family was already inside, but she didn’t wish to join them just yet, for she rather felt as if she could cast up her accounts. First lying to everyone which had led to her making up a fiancé who had turned out to be real. Then meeting said duke and waiting for him to give her a dressing down, for he was quite an intense sort of man. But instead, he’d kissed her, put his hands on her body and made her feel so many delicious things. And now here they were, moments away from saying vows to each other, yet there was no love present between them.
What am I supposed to do with a husband whom I don’t love?
It had shocked her to the core when Steppingford had told her he’d marry her and lend legitimacy to her lie. When she’d made up the story, she had every intention of killing off her imaginary fiancé, but now she would be wed in the flesh. Why had he done it? And what sort of mess had she fallen into? In the past few days amidst the frantic packing of her belongings, which would be moved into his house at some point today, she’d tried to find out any sort of gossip regarding the duke that she could, but since most of her friends were busy and the servants couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk, she was left with not much more than she already knew.
Before she could become lost in thought, the duke appeared at the door. “Miss Masterson? Are you ready?” The scent of his shaving soap or cologne wafted to her nose—citrus, sandalwood, with tiny hints of tobacco and leather. They immediately reminded her of the night when they’d come together in the garden.
“I suppose.” She drew her hands down the front of her gown. “I am suffering from nerves, though.”
He nodded, and was every bit as intimidating yet attractive in his evening clothing as he was the night of the rout, but the shock of silver that flopped over the left side of his head was somewhat endearing. “Understandable.” When he held out a hand to her, she bounced her gaze between it and his face. Though shadows lingered in his brown eyes, he was too skilled in hiding his emotions. “For what it’s worth, your gown is quite becoming. That sapphire blue is lovely against your skin tone and brings out your eyes.”
“Thank you.” She frowned as she felt at sixes and sevens. “Why would you compliment me? No one does that.”
“Life is short, Miss Masterson, and I suspect your days of being overlooked are over.”
“Oh.” He was by turns interesting, intriguing, and a bit formidable. Again, she touched the front of her gown.
Made of sapphire silk, it had been shot through with silver thread and that thread had been scrolled along the bottom hem and bodice. Puffed short sleeves were unfortunate for she felt they called attention to the largest portion of her upper arms. Matching slippers made her happy as did the new, embroidered stockings her older sister had gifted her with. She’d asked that her maid dress her hair simply, so the tresses were in a loose chignon and secured with pins that sparkled with silver spangles.
When he wiggled his fingers, she put her hand into his. “Let us crack on, then.”
“You don’t need to go through with this.” She straightened her spine. “I can face the scandal of both lying and what happened at the rout.” Heat went into her cheeks. “It won’t bother me one whit if Papa banishes me to his country estate.”
Surprise went through his expression. “You don’t care for London?”
“I would enjoy it much more if I had the freedom to do what I want or attend things I’m interested in instead of what Mama’s thinks an unmatched woman should.” Where had this sudden burst of bravado come from? She had never been outspoken with her family before now.
“Ah.” That was all he said, for he’d escorted her into the drawing room.
While annoyance stabbed into her chest, which was odd because she generally never became out of sorts with anyone, there was nothing she could do. He was a stranger, and until she knew him better, until she could discover if they would suit in all the ways that mattered, until he could tell her about himself, she had to follow his lead. “Is that all you would say?”
When he peered down at her with narrowed eyes and the quirk of one side of his lips, he shook his head. “It is not, but now is not the time nor place for further discourse.”
“I see.” Although she did not. In fact, she felt as if she were pinwheeling through time since everything had happened so quickly, yet tingles of anticipation played her spine and circled through her lower belly. Was a woman of her advanced age supposed to feel like that merely because a man held her hand? Granted, that same man thoroughly ruined her three days ago, but that was beside the point.
“Come meet the vicar.” The duke threaded her hand through his crooked elbow as he led her to the head of the room where a short, rotund man stood with a fringe of brown hair about a bald pate. “Miss Masterson, this is Mr. Everington.”
She nodded, but before she could respond, the man interrupted.
“You must be the bride, so are we ready to begin?”
A soft growl came from Steppingford, and when she glanced up at him—he was nearly a foot taller—she caught the angry light in his eyes. “We are. Does your clerk require anything else?” For her benefit, he gestured. “He’s across the room at the table beneath the windows.”
“Thank you.” With a tug on his sleeve, she encouraged his head downward, and into his ear, she whispered, “Does he not resemble Friar Tuck in the Robin Hood tales?”
For the space of a few heartbeats, she thought the duke might either grin or chuckle. Unfortunately, he didn’t, but he did rest his gaze on the other man with speculation.
The vicar shook his head. “I believe he is only waiting for you both to sign the register after the vows to make everything official.” The man cleared his throat. “Do we wait on anyone else?”
Steppingford deferred to her. “Are you expecting friends?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “I have none, not any longer.” With a quick glance about the room, her gaze skimmed over a few men she didn’t recognize and assumed they were his acquaintances.
“Excellent.” Mr. Everington led them toward the fireplace. “If I could have everyone’s attention? The nuptial pair would like to begin.”
Into her ear, the duke whispered, “It will be over in a thrice.” He didn’t seem particularly pleased at the prospect even if it was his fault they stood there.
A few anticipatory murmurs went through the room and fabric rustled as she and the duke turned to face the vicar. He opened the leatherbound Book of Common Prayer he held. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union between…”
Struggling to hide a yawn, Hannah clung to the duke’s arm. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be married, and of course not to a duke, but here she was beside a man of dubious and dark reputation if one listened to prevailing gossip, a man who smelled so delicious she wanted to burrow her nose into his cravat, a man whose banked strength—or possibly simmering anger—could be felt beneath her fingertips. It wasn’t until he softly cleared his throat that she ceased her wool-gathering and attended to what the vicar said as he addressed the viscount.
“Your Grace, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Hannah trembled. She held her breath in anticipation. There was no way out now.
In a clear voice, Giles answered, “I will.” But when she looked at him, there was a bitterness in his expression and a hardness in his brown eyes that gave her pause and curiosity.
Then it was her turn, and her hands shook while knots of worry pulled in her stomach.
“Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
Not that she had a choice. “I will.” Her answer came out a breathless whisper. Never again would she dissemble, for it had completely turned her life upside down and she still hadn’t sorted it.
The duke was instructed to take her right hand in his right hand, and hers shook so badly that he gently squeezed her fingers. But he said nothing to soothe her ragged soul.
The vicar continued. “Lord Steppingford, Your Grace, repeat after me…” He intoned words Hannah scarcely heard until the duke said them to her.
“I, Giles Edward Richard Fitzroy, the Duke of Steppingford, take thee Miss Hannah Louise Masterson to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ‘till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
The urge to retch subsided now that they were truly underway. “Giles is a lovely name,” she whispered to him.
One corner of his lips lifted in a half grin. “Thank you. It was my father’s name… Hannah.”
Tingles twisted down her spine to hear her name in his voice for the first time. Then they were directed to release hands, and Hannah was told to then hold the duke’s right hand with her right hand.
The vicar addressed her. “Miss Masterson, repeat after me.” He gave her the words, and she prayed she would remember them without freezing with an empty brain like what happened so often with her governess and tutors.
“I, Miss Hannah Louise Masterson, take thee Giles Edward Richard Fitzroy, the Duke of Steppingford to my wedded Husband.” She paused to swallow. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, ‘till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.” She lowered her voice to a whisper because forever after, she would no longer be the woman she’d known for the past thirty years. “And thereto I give thee my troth.” How slightly terrifying such a thing was, for she knew nothing about the man she was marrying. Would he turn out to be a monster, a villain, or merely a rogue?
They were instructed to again release their hands. At that point, the duke put a small leather pouch on the vicar’s book for payment, along with a ring with a silver band, which the clergyman would no doubt bless.
“I thank you, Your Grace.”
“Of course.” The vicar returned the ring to him. Then he slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Two oval aquamarine stones winked in the morning sunlight, set in delicate silver filigree work on the band.
“Repeat after me, Lord Steppingford,” the vicar said.
In a steady tone, he did so. “With this Ring I thee wed.” For one tiny second, his voice faltered, but he got himself in hand quickly, “With my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Oh, goodness, we are truly wed. Hannah kneeled when the duke did. Unaccountably, she clutched his hand while the vicar invited all in attendance to pray. Perhaps she needed the moral support. As the words of a prayer droned on, she closed her eyes and sent up a simpler prayer of her own, asking for strength for what would surely be a difficult adjustment to a brand-new life.
Let me survive whatever he has hidden in his past that has brought him to me out of my imaginings.
Afterward, when the duke stood and brought her to her feet, the vicar intoned, “I now pronounce thee husband and wife.”
And then it was over.
No longer was she unwanted or unmarried. She was now the Duchess of Steppingford. From no one to someone, and it had only taken thirty years.
“Come,” the duke said into her ear. “We must sign the registry.” They were ushered to the table beneath the windows where they both signed the requisite paperwork, which made the union official.
It was somewhat… disappointing. “We are wed.”
“So, we are.” He sounded as enthusiastic as her. Then he cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. The wedding breakfast is available across the hall if you would like to partake. Lady Steppingford shall be there directly.”
Guests murmured as they left the room.
“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, Steppingford.”
Hannah frowned, for she didn’t recognize that voice, but her new husband stiffened beside her.
“That is much appreciated, Eggleton. Thank you for coming.”
“I very nearly couldn’t due to my schedule, but I was curious and couldn’t believe you would allow yourself to wed.” He took one of Hannah’s hands, brought it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “Good morning.” His slate blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “I’m the Duke of Eggleton, but I’m certain you have been told little to nothing regarding your husband’s life or his friends.”
She smiled, for he was congenial enough. “I have not. In fact, I didn’t even know his Christian name before the ceremony.”
“What a proper scare Steppingford has been, then.” Eggleton released her hand. “For the time being, I’ll tell you this. Your husband is a member of the club I founded—Club Damnation. It’s a place for dukes, scoundrels, rascals, rogues, and even thieves to have a refuge from the skewed views of the ton .” Then he turned his attention to her husband. “I rather think you owe your wife more than a few conversations, among other things.”
Steppingford grunted. “I don’t need marital advice.”
“I’ll argue with you on that point, but for the time being, I’ll leave you to it.” Amusement went through duke’s voice. “Are you going away on a wedding trip?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Oh.” Cold disappointment went through Hannah’s belly, but she supposed it didn’t matter, since she was wed and now suddenly a duchess with the means to buy… anything.
“Well, no one ever said you weren’t a nodcock, Steppingford.” Eggleton bounced his gaze between them. “I hope to hell you puzzle out what it is you want from your life now. In the meanwhile, I’m going into breakfast before leaving for home.”
“Thank you for coming,” Hannah said as he departed. Then she was left alone with her husband. “We’re married.” Why she couldn’t wrap her head around this concept, she couldn’t say. “Do you wish to attend the breakfast?” To be honest, she didn’t have much of an appetite.
“I do not.” Then he shrugged. “Do you want to meet my other friends who’ve come?”
“Only if you wish me to.”
Annoyance skated across his face. “Surely you have an opinion of your own.”
Did she? “I have always been told that well-behaved ladies shouldn’t contradict their elders or their husbands.”
“God, you really have been kept beneath her mother’s thumb, haven’t you?” He frowned as he rested his gaze on her. “No matter. With me, you have the freedom to speak your mind, regardless if it differs from my opinions. I married you, but that doesn’t mean I need a bigger mouthpiece.”
She nodded, for it made sense, but everything was still too new for it to truly sink in. Would he at least try and initiate a kiss? When he didn’t, even though they were alone, another wave of disappointment went through her. “Shall we make an appearance at breakfast, at least?”
“Why?” Truth be told, he seemed on the verge of fleeing the room.
“I have this uncommon urge to rub my new status in the faces of my family.” Good heavens, did she say that aloud?
“Ah.” One corner of his mouth twitched in a grin. “Then by all means, let us partake, at least for a bit.”
As he escorted her across the corridor, Hannah knew a powerful desire to break away and run away. Yes, she wanted to flaunt her success in her family’s face, but then she reminded herself it wasn’t really a success. It had been a fluke, and one that, when Steppingford had discovered her lie, had decided that they would wed anyway. They weren’t even friends.
Did that one night at the rout mean they were lovers? Quite possibly it did not, for after the duke had done the deed, he’d walked away as if she hadn’t mattered, which had led to tears on her part.
Why was this so confusing?
A half hour into the meal, Hannah was miserable. Not only did she not have an opportunity to talk at the table, but her parents completely dominated the conversation, even with her husband’s friends.
Then her mother delivered a comment that had Hannah’s hackles immediately up and her confidence plunging down.
“We couldn’t believe it when our dear Hannah told us she was engaged or that she managed to land a duke,” her mother said to a woman who sat beside her, and since Hannah didn’t recognize her, she assumed it was the wife of one of Steppingford’s club mates. “While that is a bit of fantastic luck, I’ll give rather dismal odds for the union to work or even last.”
Though parts of the sentiment reflected her own thinking, the heat of shame filled Hannah’s cheeks. As if compelled, she met her husband’s gaze from his place down the long table from her position. She couldn’t help it when tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. He must think the worst of her.
“A pox on you, Lady Frowley.” Slowly, Steppingford stood. With dark warning in his eyes, he tossed his linen napkin onto his plate of half-eaten food. “It is not well done to talk about your daughter like that in mixed company, but to hear you speak that way about my wife?” He shook his head, and his expression was like a thundercloud. “You have overstepped.”
“Oh, Your Grace…” All the color faded from her mother’s face. “I didn’t mean to incur your wrath, but I know Hannah while you do not.”
“Enough!” Anger threaded through the exclamation. When he reached Hannah’s chair, he tugged her out of it. “We are leaving.”
“Now?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he threw her over his shoulder. To the assembled guests, he said, “I am taking my new wife upstairs to consummate our marriage. The rest of you can stay or not, I don’t give two whits.”
Oh, dear heavens, the man has beastly manners.
Gasps went through the company, yet a few of the duke’s contemporaries chuckled with apparent delight. Despite that, fear, excitement, anticipation, and apprehension all twisted together down her spine. Appreciation for him surged through her, for he was strong, and he hadn’t hesitated in picking her up, neither did he grunt at her weight. It was rather lovely, truth to tell.
As her family exchanged looks of horror, Hannah beat on Steppingford’s back with a fist while he carried her from the room. “Put me down! This is unseemly and embarrassing.” She wasn’t certain if she uttered those words for affect or out of concern for herself.
He blew out a breath. “Might I remind you, Miss Masterson—or should I say Lady Steppingford—that you were the one who put forth this bit of fiction? Now you must reap the rewards, or punishment if you’d rather, of our marriage, for we are quite irrevocably bound.” Not one did his steps slow, and drat him, but the deep rumble of his voice bedeviled the butterflies in her belly, made her remember what he’d done to her three days prior.
I think my dream duke isn’t as tame as the real one.