Page 18 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

If she was of the mind to write a romance novel, she could not have thought of a more ludicrous plot, but this was herrealitynow.

“Just do not settle for anything less than respect from your husband,” her mother told her in a firm voice. “Lord Wentworth seems to be a reasonable man, but you still do not know him as much. A woman may long for warmth and affection, but respect is much more familiar to men. If he can respect you, my darling, then you just may grow to love each other. Eventually.”

Eventually.That word should have had a more foreboding tone to it, but it only seemed to unfurl in her chest, like a shy bloom kissed by the soft spring sunshine. Like a world of endless possibilities had just opened themselves up to her and all she had to do was take one step after another…

The wedding ceremony was finished without much fanfare, which was sure to have irked her Mama to no end. She knew how much Lady Townsend wished for her daughters to each have the wedding of their dreams. The Duke of Cheshire, Lord Wentworth’s father, was not even in attendance as he was too ill, although he did send his congratulations.

I suppose His Grace would have done it either way, to avoid further embarrassment for his son, she thought to herself as she clutched at the bouquet her sisters had hastily cobbled together for her.

Even then, Phoebe surmised that this was as good as it could possibly get for someone who had already cast aside any matrimonial prospects.

Well, at least I shall not be a burden to my parents in their old age, she consoled herself.Instead, I shall be a burden to my husband, although I do not think I relish the thought of that.

Women, after all, came under the protection of their husbands after marriage and as much as thetondisdained spinsterhood, Phoebe could not deny that she did enjoy the little freedoms it allowed her.

Freedoms that she now had to give up with her marriage to Lord Wentworth. She could only hope that he would be just as lenientwith her as her parents had been, although she did not have very high hopes for that, either.

She tried her best to project the very picture of a happy and contented bride, even as her stomach churned dreadfully from beneath her stays.

Chin up, Phoebe! You only get married once—if you are fortunate, she tried to cheer herself.Besides, you are now married to the Marquess of Wentworth, the dream husband of everyone in the Club!

And speaking of the Spinster Club, should she not send word to them that she would no longer be able to attend their weekly meetings? After all, she was hardly a spinster now, but she should at least have the decency to inform them of that fact, right?

“Phoebe, you look absolutely radiant!” Daphne gushed as she fixed a drooping flower from her crown. “But the Marquess…” She cast a furtive glance at her new brother-in-law. “He seems to be a little ill at ease.”

Phoebe sneaked a look at her husband and found him standing stiffly to the side with an expression that could be considered glacial.

He does not seem to be pleased with the situation at all…

And now, she found that all the false bravado she had been building up since she decided to accept his offer was coming undone at an unprecedented pace. The roiling in her belly returned until she thought she was truly going to disgrace herself.

“Have some wine.” Minerva pushed a full glass into her hand. “I read that it fortifies the spirit.”

“But Mama says it makes fools out of sensible women,” Phoebe protested.

“And I heard that it makes sirens out of virgins, but what do I know?”

Phoebe should have questioned her sister’s logic then, but she still took the offered glass and managed to finish the wine in one go. The liquid was slightly sweet, even as it burned down her throat, and she had to keep herself from coughing it up.

“That was strong!” she gasped.

“I heard that Papa kept it for this particular occasion,” Daphne told her while rubbing her back. “How do you feel?”

Phoebe made a face. “Like a foolish virgin still.”

“You do not suppose that the Marquess can, er, help with that?”

In all honesty, Phoebe doubted he would be much inclined to help her with anything at all. She was grateful for his offer, really, but when she looked at his cold expression, she could not help but shudder a little.

“I suppose it does have a particularly nasty side to it,” Minerva mumbled under her breath. “You do not suppose Mama will be angry with me for this?”

“No, I do not think so,” Daphne replied with a frown. “Brides are allowed to have a little wine at the wedding.”

“But Phoebe has never had more than just a few sips…”

Both her sisters turned towards her with twin expressions of concern. Phoebe shook her head and pursed her lips.

“I think I feel better now,” she muttered. “My head does feel a little heavy…”