Page 40 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

F inally the waiting was over and, on the twelfth of the month, the cavalcade of carriages set out from Chesterfield Street.

Thea travelled with Mama and Papa, and the carriage following held Papa’s valet, Symington, as well as Jennie and Maunday, both fiercely protective of dressing cases and jewellery boxes.

Then there were the staff returning to Hal’s household and finally the two loaded coaches with Thea’s trousseau and Mama’s gowns and accessories.

It might have been November, but the sun shone and the sky was blue, belying the crisp bite of the air. Thea told herself that it was a good omen, to go to her future home, to her husband, in sunshine.

She had a new velvet travelling cloak, a sumptuous new muff and a ridiculously flattering bonnet in green velvet to match the cloak. At least she looked the part, she decided, as the carriage rattled over London Bridge, the first landmark on their route into Kent.

The bridge was jammed, of course, as it always was, being the only crossing for travellers going into Kent and, as they were heading for Canterbury, it just had to be endured.

Then they were clear and driving through Southwark, taking the route that Chaucer’s pilgrims had, hundreds of years before.

Thea told herself to take an interest in the passing scene, all new as she had never travelled this way before, and then she would arrive at the castle relaxed and calm.

* * *

That tactic worked until Canterbury when John the coachman turned off the Dover road and headed south-west through green fields, high hedges and coppices brown and leafless against the still-blue sky.

Then they were driving alongside a high wall that seemed to stretch for miles and Papa said, satisfaction in his voice, ‘We are almost there.’

Thea told herself to breathe, to stay calm. She was not going to be sick, she told her rebellious stomach firmly.

Look how lovely the park is. Look at the deer. Look at the trees and the lake. Breathe.

‘That must be the old castle,’ Papa said, and she craned to look, saw a fleeting glimpse of a mound with jagged teeth of ruined walls atop it.

Then the road curved and Thea caught her breath.

The castle had been built in Tudor times, but every duke since then had added to it, played with the plan, added and subtracted.

All had chosen the glorious pale Caen stone that Canterbury Cathedral’s builders had used, and somehow that unified the whole.

It wasn’t tall, three stories except for the occasional tower, but it was wide, and it took Thea’s breath away. How was she ever going to find her way about this place? And how could it ever become her home?

She was jolted out of her panic by the carriage stopping and the door opening. Her view out was blocked by Papa, who descended first, then turned to give his hand to Mama, and then it was her turn.

No going back now.

Thea put out her hand, expecting it to be taken by a footman, but there was Hal.

‘Welcome home, my lady,’ he said as she stepped out and down onto the gravel. Onto solid earth, although Thea was certain it was shifting under her feet.

‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled, then let herself be led towards the front entrance.

The sight of the staff ranged on either side forming a guard of honour almost took her remaining breath away.

There seemed to be hundreds of them, with the outdoor staff first—gardeners, boys, clutching their caps, grooms, three stately coachmen, their long whips at attention, then the humblest of the indoor staff, tweenies and scullery maids, the boot boys…

Thea smiled and tried to catch the eye of everyone as she passed, but it was impossible.

Up the steps now, past housemaids who looked as though they had been starched along with their aprons, footmen, the butler, housekeeper, chef—and finally an imposing man in black, his bald head polished to a shine as bright as his shoes.

The steward, she guessed, controller of all of this.

‘Graves, my lady,’ he said with a bow. ‘Welcome to Leaming Castle.’

Thea had herself under control now and training took over. ‘Thank you, Mr Graves. And please give my thanks to everyone for such a welcome.’

Beside her she felt Hal relax and realised he had been holding his breath too, concerned about how she might cope with this. He laid his free hand over hers, resting on his arm, and together they stepped into the hall.

The Great Hall , surely, because this was where the old Tudor house seemed almost untouched.

‘How magnificent,’ she breathed. ‘I half expect to see Queen Elizabeth herself descend that staircase between all those carved beasts.’

Hal laughed. ‘It is the devil to heat, even with two fireplaces, and the carving keeps the housemaids constantly employed, but it does have a certain something. And you, my lady, look perfect here.’

The fluttering butterflies settled down again, leaving her strangely calm. And happy.

‘I may have to stay here,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘I am never going to find my way about this vast building.’

‘I will give you a ball of string as Ariadne did Theseus so you can lay a trail through the labyrinth. It is not as bad as it looks, I promise, because it is not very deep. Now, here is Mrs Abel to show you and your parents to your rooms. I thought you would wish to be with them until the wedding.’

‘That is thoughtful, thank you,’ Thea said. She was not so concerned about being close to Mama, simply relieved that she was not to be installed in the Duchess’s Suite yet. With the Duke next door and The Bed .

But now there was the next member of the household to get to know, and she turned to the housekeeper, who was curtseying. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Abel. I am relying upon you to help me navigate this wonderful house that you keep so beautifully.’

Beaming, the housekeeper led her and her parents away, and Thea felt a sense of relief that one of the most important people in her new life seemed amiable and efficient. Managing this castle was going to be considerably easier than learning to live with its duke, she suspected.

The two days before the wedding seemed to Thea to pass in a blur, with something of the mad logic of a dream.

She was the future duchess, but she was a guest as well, and that was unsettling.

Then Mama’s nerves were wound as tight as a clock spring and she was anything but restful company.

Thea escaped as often as she could to Mrs Abel’s comfortable sitting room, where the housekeeper began the long process of familiarising Thea with her new world.

Jennie—Eames, as she was now comfortable styling herself—was fiercely territorial, and Thea had to intervene in a pitched battle with Maunday before hairbrushes and scent bottles were thrown.

When they were alone Jennie, broke down in tears, confessing that she was terrified that she would not be good enough for a duchess, especially on her wedding day, and she had to be soothed and encouraged and then Maunday warned to concentrate on her own mistress and leave Eames alone.

‘I know better than to tell a lady that she looks tired,’ Hal said when they found themselves alone in the library—the Old Library as opposed to the New Library—on the afternoon before the wedding.

‘But I look tired?’ Thea flopped down on a window seat. ‘Look, more guests are arriving.’

‘I will go down in a moment. You most definitely do not need to. Go and rest,’ Hal said.

He stood beside her, the back of his hand against her cheek, moving slightly as though enjoying the texture of her skin. Then he dropped to one knee, leaned in and murmured, ‘I have seen less of you in my own home than I did when we were in London.’

The kiss was gentle, but strangely intense and Thea could feel the tension in Hal’s body. He was holding himself in check, she realised and found to her shock that they were kissing open-mouthed, tongues tangling, caressing. If this was Hal being restrained, then what would it be like when—

Thea lost track of time, of place. All that was real was the hard masculinity pressed against her, wanting her, the taste of him, the sense that Hal was holding himself back for one reason, to take care of her.

When he stood up abruptly, stepped back once, twice, she had difficulty stopping herself jumping up and taking hold to drag him back.

‘Hal,’ she managed, clutching at a curtain with one hand.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I had no wish to alarm you.’

‘ Alarm me?’

But he was already striding away down the length of the room.

Thea swallowed and sat up straight as she tried to get her hair and her gown into order. At least it was quite clear that whatever Hal felt for her emotionally, he most certainly desired her.

The sensation of something powerful and feminine unfurled inside her. She had no idea what to do with this power, but she was aching to use it now.

* * *

The wedding was to be at noon. At eleven, Thea found herself strangely calm, as though she had gone beyond being tired, beyond being nervous, into a state of unreal tranquillity.

Last night’s dinner, meeting so many guests—most, thankfully, familiar—had been an ordeal, but had left her so tired that she had slept dreamlessly, it seemed, for hours.

Around her the feminine bustle of maids, of Mama, of the four friends she had chosen to be her attendants, was simply background. In an hour, she would walk down the aisle of the chapel to Hal and become his wife. She would marry the man she loved.

The man who liked her and desired her, she reminded herself as the gown was dropped over her head and the other women gasped and sighed and Mama burst into tears, again.

‘Don’t look in the mirror yet,’ Lavinia and Gloria chorused. ‘Not until your hair is done.’

Someone had thrown a shawl over the dressing table glass, so she sat looking at its lacework while Eames finished her hair, helped her with earrings and necklace and then stood back with a sigh of satisfaction.