Page 19 of Wedded to the Cruel Duke

Minerva beamed at Daphne in relief. “See? Itdidhelp.”

The youngest of the Townsend sisters, however, did not look too convinced.

That did not matter much to Phoebe, who was now beginning to feel the effects of imbibing a little too much alcohol. Daphne was right in that she had never had more than a few sips before, and that was after dinner in the absence of guests.

But she was amarried womannow. She could have a little more if she wanted to.

And if itdidhelp with bolstering her courage and allay her fraying nerves, then she certainly was not going to refuse it.

“I think that should be enough,” Daphne chided her gently. “You have had a little too much. Your husband will not like it if you become sick on your wedding night.”

She cast a furtive glance at the brooding Marquess, who stood a little to the side, observing the rest of the wedding party as if he was a mere bystander and not the groom himself. She turned to her eldest sister and sighed.

“Heisvery handsome, if you must know. Just a little odd.”

Phoebe giggled at that. Odd did not even begin to scratch the surface when it came to Lord Wentworth. She had observed him long enough and even fancied herself in love with him at some point. However, she was not delusional enough to deny that he had his own idiosyncrasies.

“Well now, darling. The feast is almost over, and you should be heading back home with your husband…”

Phoebe frowned as she glanced up at her mother, whose voice sounded as if she was talking underwater.

“But Mama!” she protested. “I do not want to leave just yet!”

“Do not be a silly girl!” her mother admonished her with an uneasy smile. “Your husband is already waiting for you…”

“Yes, I suppose I am a married woman now.” Phoebe pouted. “I am now Lady Wentworth.”

“Yes,” an icy voice replied. “You are now the Marchioness of Wentworth.”

She turned around to find her new husband staring down at her, his eyes like shards of ice. He neither frowned nor expressed displeasure, although she could see that the ends of his lips were beginning to quirk just the slightest bit.

Or was that just her imagination?

Phoebe shook her head. “No. I do not think I want to go just yet.”

“It is getting rather late, dear wife,” he reminded her as he approached. “We must be off to Wentworth Park now.”

“But my sisters—!” she protested as she reached out for Minerva’s sleeve. “I do not want to leave my sisters!”

Daphne had a look of horror on her face. She turned towards Minerva, who looked just as horrified as her younger sister was.

Gently, she began to pry Phoebe’s fingers off of her sleeve before she managed to tear the fabric from her shoulder.

“Dear sister,” she smiled through gritted teeth. “Wentworth Park is justnext door. You can hardly be considered to be moving away…”

Daphne nodded emphatically. “Indeed. You can always come visit us…” she trailed off as she looked at the forbidding expression Lord Wentworth wore.

Phoebe sighed and then smiled sadly at her sisters. Lord Wentworth might be eccentric, but he was going to find that she had her own ways as well.

And did she not successfully scale the wall that divided their properties twice? She could very well do it again, if she was of the mind to!

But for better or for worse, she was now the Marchioness of Wentworth and as she looked up to him, she could not help but feel enthralled that this man, Charles Montgomery, was now her husband.

She had only ever written of the secret fantasies she had of him in her diary and that was the very same diary that landed her in this rather unorthodox marriage.

It might not be the most conventional start to their union, but nothing about them was conventional in the least.

In any case, she had always been of the mind that convention led to the stagnation of the soul.