A Second Chance With a Duke Page 9

  For now.

  As they finally neared the entrance hall, they could hear the sounds of the guests arriving and departing. Everyone sounded merry and gay—quite the contrast to the strained atmosphere between Michael and his bride to be.

  "Michael," Katherine hesitated, and he slowed his pace to look at her. Her expression was resolute, as she spoke again. "Please do not feel that you have to marry me to protect my honour. I am not the type of bride that anyone—let alone a duke—needs."

  The meaning of her words hung in the air between them. Katherine knew that as a duke Michael required heirs, and she could not provide them. But he was not only a duke, he thought hotly, he was a man. He was the same man who had loved her since childhood, he had not changed when he assumed the title.

  Katherine was beginning to fidget nervously, her brow knitted into a worried frown. Michael knew well what she was thinking; noble, honest Katherine would happily sacrifice her reputation for his sake. If he wanted to protect her, Michael realised, he would also have to protect her from herself.

  "If you do not give a jot for your reputation," he said, his tone colder than he had intended, "I would ask you to please give some consideration to mine. What do you think the ton will assume, when Atwood describes how he found you with your dress near ripped off?"

  Katherine paled a little, as she realised what he was saying. Society might afford Michael more mercy than she, but he would still be tainted by dark rumours.

  "So, we will go ahead tomorrow," Michael said, as he resumed walking; he wanted to get her into her carriage before she found some other excuse to not marry him. "I will procure a license from the Archbishop tonight and tomorrow we shall be wed."

  "Where?"

  He had not thought of a venue for the wedding; traditionally, one married in the bride's home, but Katherine's current accommodations would not suffice. Nor would he dream of asking the wretched Lord Atwood to host the event, and he doubted that she would feel comfortable in Elsmore House. Finally, inspiration hit, and he smiled.

  "Deverell will be happy to oblige us," he said with a grin. It was the perfect choice; a neutral venue they were both familiar with.

  "I shall send a carriage for you in the morning," Michael continued, as at last they reached the entrance hall. Dozens of people milled about and he was conscious of Katherine's ripped dress, so he did not linger to discuss matters further. Instead, he ordered a footman to fetch Katherine's carriage and waited with her on the doorsteps until it arrived.

  "Until tomorrow," he said, as he handed her over to the footman.

  "Good night, Michael," she replied softly, her face once more unreadable.

  Michael watched as her carriage made its way down the road, before turning for his own vehicle. The night had been nothing short of disastrous and yet he felt no hint of regret for what had transpired. There was a lightness in his step—nay, in his very being—as he made his way to his carriage. At last, Katherine would be his.

  Chapter Seven

  "You cannot get married in grey, it's far too maudlin."

  Caroline's voice was firm but kind, as she gently scolded Katherine's choice of wedding gown. They were standing in one of the many guest bedrooms in Deverell House, attended to by Mary, Bessie and Caroline's abigail, Wendy. All four were wearing equally dubious expressions as they surveyed Katherine, who had dressed in her second best dress that morning for the occasion of her marriage.

  "I hardly think Elsmore will care about the colour of my gown," Katherine retorted. In fact, grey seemed a rather fitting colour for a marriage inspired by scandal—it wasn't likely that Michael was jumping up and down at the thought of marrying a barren, aged widow.

  "Even if Elsmore does not care, I do," Caroline's tone brokered no argument, "Now, allow Wendy to show you the dusky pink gown I had made just last week."

  Katherine bit back a sigh as she reluctantly acquiesced to Caroline's demands. Her friend was trying her hardest to make the best of the terrible situation and Katherine knew that she should be more grateful. She had arrived earlier to a flurry of questions from Caroline, who had been woken that morning by a request from Deverell to make plans for a wedding. Once Katherine had explained the whole sorry affair, she was surprised to find that her friend was in agreement with Michael.

  "I know you think that you do not care for your reputation," Caroline had said, "But once it's gone, you will. Elsmore is not so bad, he can offer you the protection of his name, if nothing else. And I know that Jack thinks him kind and generous, and fervently believes that he will look after you."

  Katherine had no time for thinking on Caroline's words, however, and she hurried behind the dressing screen, where the calm and competent Wendy removed her grey gown and replaced it with the pink one. It was, Katherine reflected, a much superior choice of dress; the gown was made of soft satin, with a lace overlay, and flounces at the hem which swayed as Katherine walked. The colour warmed Katherine's alabaster skin, which was paler than usual, given the circumstances. In the grey, she had looked rather like a ghost, whilst the pink lent her some colour and made her look more alive.

  "Perfection!" Caroline called, as Katherine stepped out from behind the screen.

  "You're a picture, my lady," Mary echoed, bringing a handkerchief up to her eyes to dab the tears which were falling.

  "There's no need for tears, Mary," Katherine gently chided, "This isn't the first time you have sent me off to be wed."

  "This time is different though," Mary replied, as she composed herself with a sniff.

  Katherine smiled tightly in response; Mary seemed to think that her rushed marriage to Michael was some sort of fairytale ending for Katherine and not a marriage of convenience. Katherine, however, knew better. Michael was marrying her out of a sense of obligation and nothing more.

  It is a matter of honour, he had said, and not even Katherine's honour—for which she gave not a fig—but his own. She had barely known him in that instant; he had been cold, high-handed, and commanding, and she had felt powerless to resist.

  No, she scolded herself, she was perfectly capable of resisting the haughty Duke of Elsmore, but the fact was that she hadn't wanted to. What he had offered had, at that moment, appealed greatly to her. Protection from Toby, protection from Anthony, protection from the loneliness she felt as she faced the world alone.

  Guilt coursed through her again, as she realised that she was as complicit in this sham affair as Toby was. She had wanted what Michael had offered so badly that she had failed to be a voice of reason against his irrational sense of honour. She had to say something to him, she realised, before he signed away any hope of securing his family's line.

  "There's just one thing, my lady," Mary continued, pulling Katherine from her anxious reverie. The older woman looked pointedly down, and Katherine realised that she was fidgeting with her wedding ring, as she was wont to do when she was anxious.

  "Oh," Katherine stared down at the gold band upon her finger. She had not thought to take it off after Charles had died, for she had worn it for so long that she had forgotten it was there. With shaking fingers, Katherine gently pulled the ring from her finger, leaving it bare.

  "Would you like me to put it somewhere for safekeeping?" Mary asked.

  Katherine wanted to tell Mary that she could toss it in the Thames for all she cared, but they were not alone, so she simply nodded in reply.

  Outside the window, the bells of London's churches began to chime the hour. Katherine, who heard their song every day, usually paid scant attention to them, but today their chimes reverberated through her very being.

  "Goodness," Caroline fussed, "How tardy we are. Wendy must dress your hair at once, lest we want to leave Elsmore waiting all afternoon."

  Katherine's stomach lurched as she realised that the hour was drawing so near. Bessie and Mary filed from the room, but before Caroline had a chance to leave, Katherine caught her by the arm.

  "Please send him up to me," she implored of her fri
end, "I must speak with him."

  For a moment, she thought that Caroline would refuse, for her brown eyes darkened with worry. Luckily, the marchioness must have read the abject despair upon Katherine's face, for she nodded.

  "I shall send him in a few minutes," Caroline whispered, squeezing Katherine's hand, "But for heaven's sake, let Wendy dress your hair first."

  With a light smile, Caroline left, and Wendy deftly set about styling Katherine's hair. Earlier, Bessie had somehow managed to arrange it into a tidy chignon, despite Katherine's fidgeting. Wendy's nimble fingers were far more practised than Bessie's, however, and after a quarter of an hour, Katherine's blonde tresses were combed smoothly over and carried down low to the back of her head. There, it was loosely twisted and plaited, before falling in careless curls over her neck. As Wendy reached for a pearl ornament to secure the twist, her eyes met Katherine's questioning look in the mirror.

  "'Tis a gift from Lady Deverell, my lady," Wendy said cheerfully, as she secured the ornament into Katherine's tresses. "She said if you tried to refuse it that I must not listen."

  "Of course," Katherine said, her voice slightly husky with emotion at Caroline's thoughtfulness. Her friend must have known that Katherine had no jewels to wear for such a big occasion, and so had taken it upon herself to ornament the bride. It was so incredibly like Caroline to always think of others.

  A few minutes later, Wendy took a step back to survey her handiwork, and after she had pinned one or two flyaway hairs, she pronounced Katherine ready.

  "Pretty as a picture, my lady," the maid said cheerfully.

  Katherine smiled back in response, not wanting the girl to think her glum expression had anything to do with her hairdressing skills. Wendy made to take her leave, but as she reached the door, a knock came upon it.

  A skitter of nerves ran through Katherine as she waited for Wendy to answer the impatient knock. Although she had seen Michael on several occasions since his return, his presence still elicited a thrill within her. Part fear, part excitement; it was a heady mix of emotion which left Katherine feeling dizzy.

  "I wish to have a few words with Lady Atwood," Michael informed the maid as she opened the door to him. Without waiting for Wendy to reply, Michael stepped into the room. He cast the girl a glance that could only be described as ducal and without another word to Katherine, Wendy fled the room, shutting the door behind her.

  "You wished to see me?" Michael asked, as the door clicked shut.

  Katherine gulped; she had not expected to be alone with him, nor had she anticipated him being quite so calm and assured. She had assumed that he would be nervous, or filled with regret for last night's hasty proposal, but he was a picture of calm serenity. He was dressed impeccably, in a dark jacket over dark trousers, though a maroon waistcoat and white cravat lent a touch of colour to his outfit.

  "I did," Katherine tried to steady her voice, as she mimicked Michael's composure. Now was not the time for hysterics, she told herself, and had she not a decade's practice of controlling her emotions? It was time to put that practice to good use.

  "I fear that last night, I was so overcome by the situation we found ourselves in, that I allowed you to make a most foolish decision," she said, levelling her gaze in what she hoped was a serious manner.

  "Allowed me?" Michael quirked an eyebrow, "I can assure you Katherine that any decision I make is of my own choosing—foolish, or otherwise. You did not allow me anything, I made a choice and I stand by it."

  Oh. Katherine was momentarily flummoxed. She had offered him the perfect opportunity to recant his offer of marriage, but instead of taking it, he had dug his heels in further. Stubborn man!

  "You cannot possibly sign away your only chance of securing the line for a misplaced sense of honour," she argued. She could feel her cheeks flushing as she alluded to her barren state; it was not something that she relished discussing with him, but he had to understand. "I cannot give you an heir, Michael. I understand that you wish to protect me from the ton's gossip, but I am a grown woman and have weathered much worse than chattering tabbies."

  There. She had spoken her piece. Katherine let out a sigh of relief at having laid bare to Michael the disastrous consequences of making her his duchess. There would be no heir, no masculine pride at having sired a son, or tender moments with tiny newborns. With Charles, Katherine had not rued the absence of children in their marriage, but she knew that with Michael she would feel it most keenly.

  A sense of longing filled her, as she imagined herself cradling an infant whilst Michael watched on. She tried to push the image from her mind, for it was like a loss, and grief was threatening to spill tears from her eyes.

  "My sense of honour is not misplaced," Michael replied stiffly, his blue eyes dark with anger, "I have known you since childhood; if there is anyone I have a right to feel protective toward, it is you, Katherine. As for children? I do not care for them and have no wish to sire brats. I have a cousin on my father's side who can be groomed for succession. The line is already secure; have no worry on that score."

  He had maintained his cool composure throughout the whole of his speech, though his eyes betrayed the depth of the emotion that he felt. Usually cool blue, his eyes seemed almost on fire as they bore into Katherine's own.

  "Even if you do not wish for children," she argued, feeling helpless against his strong will, "I am not suited for the role of a duchess. I am too old, too unfashionable, and having spent this past year alone, far too independent to be anyone's wife."

  "I will not take your independence from you," Michael replied evenly, "You may come and go as you please. Do what you like and see whom you chose. If that is what is worrying you, let me assure you that I have no desire to make my wife into a prisoner."

  "Then I could stay in Tilney Street?" Katherine ventured, for at that moment the very idea of staying under the same roof as him petrified her. Oh, it thrilled her in equal measure, but that frightened her even more. She could not afford to become enamoured in any way with a man who was marrying her out of a sense of obligation. Her heart had suffered enough, and she was determined to protect it.

  "I think not," Michael smiled to soften his refusal, "There will be enough whispers about us, we need not add fuel to the fire."

  His tone was final, his eyes told her that he now considered matters settled and would broker no argument. Katherine knew that there was little to argue against; he had offered her what most women dreamed of. A title, a home, a husband who would respect her. And yet, she was still worried—though more for Michael than herself.

  "Don't you want..." she hesitated, afraid that she might be overstepping an invisible boundary. Michael watched her expectantly and she flushed as she finished her sentence. "Don't you want a love-match?"

  There. She had said it. She lowered her eyes away from Michael's, afraid that she might see scorn upon his face at her feminine notions.

  Silence filled the room as she waited for him to respond, and when he did not, nerves took over and Katherine found herself jabbering stupidly to try to make amends.

  "I know most men are not so romantic," she stuttered, wishing to break the tenseness which hung heavily in the room. She abhorred loaded silences, for they reminded her too much of Charles, who had always managed to convey hundreds of disdainful words, without even opening his mouth. "I know you are not raised to see marriage in the same way as females. I expect it's because you have so many choices open to you. You might take a lover, or even a dozen if you so wish."

  "Katherine."

  Michael's voice was harsh as he cut off her near-hysterical wittering. Katherine looked up and saw that his face was dark with anger and as he took a step toward her, she instinctively threw her hands up to protect herself from the blow she anticipated was coming.

  Of course, no such blow came.

  Her whole body was shaking as she lowered her arms, and as Katherine saw Michael's face, which wore a mixture of pity and revulsion, she wished the floor would
swallow her whole.

  "I beg your forgiveness," he said stiffly, as his eyes met hers, "I did not mean to frighten you."

  "No, I—I—I..." Katherine heaved a sigh; what could she say in the face of her actions? Shame filled her. Shame that Michael would now know how Charles had treated her, and shame that even from beyond the grave, he still somehow managed to ruin things.

  "I will go downstairs and tell them you are ready," Michael continued, his eyes not quite meeting hers, "Assuming that you are still willing, of course?"

  "Of course," Katherine echoed stupidly, as she fought against the hot tears which pricked at her eyes.

  Michael nodded and bowed, but as he rose, he impulsively stepped forward and took Katherine's hand, bringing it to his lips in a chaste kiss.

  "I will wait for you," he said stiffly, before he turned on his heel and left.

  If she had not been expected downstairs, Katherine was certain that she would have thrown herself upon the bed and sobbed into the pillows. A dozen different emotions bubbled within her and each one threatened to spill from her eyes as tears. Indulging in a fit of hysterics was not possible, she reminded herself sternly, and she had weathered worse storms.

  Indeed, comparing a respectful, if slightly high-handed, duke to the villainous viscount she had married was so ridiculous that a wry smile crept over her face.

  She had tried to persuade Michael that he need not marry her, she had given him every opportunity to flee. If preserving his sense of honour and protecting her were so important to him, then who was she to stand in his way?

  A knock upon the door and the reappearance of Wendy gave the signal for the festivities—if one could call them that—to begin.

  Katherine felt as though she were in a daze, as she followed the lady's maid down the sweeping staircase to the morning room. At the door, Wendy handed her a bouquet of spring flowers to carry; lily-of-the-valley, daffodils, and wallflowers.