Marriage By Arrangement (3 page)

She smiled brilliantly, but her wedding bouquet trembled in her cold hand. Unaccustomed to English court life, the crowd’s adulation began to unnerve her. The three of them plowing through the massed guests grew unwieldy.

Somehow, as Avondale, his royal mother, and she circulated through the ballroom, the swirl of people bestowing good wishes separated her from the charismatic man she’d married. She found herself deserted, a small island in the sea of celebrating people.

Standing on tiptoes and gazing over the heads of her guests, she watched Avondale, with the dowager duchess clinging to his arm, stalk to the center of the ballroom.

Obsequious English earls and marquises, followed by Lowland Scottish lords, trailed her husband and mother-in-law as if tied to the polished couple by invisible strings.

A sick feeling invaded her stomach, and she silently chided herself for not staying with Avondale.

Then Papa slogged through the crowd to her side. “Congratulations, my dear.” He gathered her into a dress-wrinkling hug.

She buried her face into his chunky neck. Smelling his tweedy everything-is-all-right-in-my-world scent soothed her stomach.

Though he dropped his arms, she clung to Papa’s hug. Somehow, at all costs, she would do her duty to the daunting, aloof dowager. With God’s help, she’d close the distance between the English duchess and herself.

Hiding the sick feeling churning her stomach, she tugged Papa along as she embraced friends, kissed babies, laughed at precocious children, sampled goodies offered by loving hands, and performed all of the niceties expected of her. After all, she was the obedient daughter, so God would surely bless this marriage. He rewarded those who obeyed Him.

Occasionally she glimpsed Avondale inside his circle, his mother still clamped to his arm. A dagger of discontent snagged the common sense she worked so hard to hang onto. Her smile slipped.

Avondale really might pay a bit more attention to her. She fisted her hands. Should she make a scene and insist? No, she must trust God that her husband’s negligence would change. Given time, she would love him into change.

When her husband arrived in their chamber to claim her, even her new mother-in-law could not invade her bridal bed. And she would be alone with her husband. Like a kitten snuggling into a cozy chair, happiness slowly settled into her heart.

But Megan’s last words as she leaned out the carriage window to wave good-bye nagged her thoughts.
Cailin, you are too trusting. Where there are rumors, there must be a basis. I’m not sure Papa has your best interests in mind wedding you to the duke, but he certainly has his own.

Cailin rubbed gentle circles on her throbbing temples. If only Megan had said nothing.

Feet, aching inside her satin slippers, and candles, three-quarters burnt in the hanging candelabra, proclaimed the evening celebration would soon end.

Presently she’d have Avondale to herself. Beneath the expensive handmade lace, her neck and chest heated, yet her hands remained icy.

No matter how diligently she tried to cheer herself, she’d never felt so alone.

2

A trumpet signaled.

Cailin glided to the center of the rose-scented ballroom. Her seven bridesmaids fluttered from various parts of the crowd to surround her. The beauty of their pastel gowns in the different hues of the rainbow, reflected in the full-length mirrors that paneled all sides of the ballroom.

She glimpsed herself as the white-satin center of the pastel maypole of laughing ladies. Each carried red, yellow and pink English roses. Her group of bridesmaids presented an enchanting picture.

She smiled. Of course her loving God would not allow her to wed an unworthy man. How could she have thought differently?

She shook her head. Her fears were just that. Unfounded misgivings based upon rumors. How could this wedding not be happily-ever-after? She pulled in a deep, calming breath.

“Your Papa’s given you the biggest prize of all.” Lady Lorna Stewart’s voice held more than a trace of envy. “Your groom is the best match any titled lady could make. You are so fortunate, Cailin. How did your Papa pull it off?”

“Yes, Avondale’s unbelievable isn’t he?” Cailin tucked an errant golden curl behind her veil. “Papa’s always been an astute businessman.”

“He’s outdone himself this time.”

“And yet, do you not think Avondale seems a bit distant?”

“Heavens no! Everyone loves him.” Lorna winked.

Cailin smiled. “I think he seems a bit stiff. He no doubt has wedding nerves.” She squeezed Lorna’s hand. “I know I do.” She glanced over her attendants’ heads at Mums, who nodded. “Now it’s time for my final wedding ritual.”

“Good.” Lorna’s almond eyes lit her elfish face, and her lavender gown flounced as she did a pirouette and turned her face to the double doors. “This is the part I’ve been waiting for.”

Gently shoved by her chattering bridesmaids, Cailin wended her way to the doors and the stairway beyond. Most guests paused from their festivities and turned to watch. She strolled through the open hand-carved mahogany double doors and glanced over her lace-covered shoulder at the smiling faces of friends and relatives and the more austere faces of the English gentry.

As the music from the ballroom died, her bridesmaids clapped gloved hands, creating a muffled crescendo and raising the scent of lavender and rose water. The flowers wreathing their long curls trembled, raising another flowery scent.

Every sense heightened, she climbed to the landing at the curve of the staircase and rested her hand on the smooth satin entwined around the banister. Drawing in a deep breath, she prayed in her heart as she spoke. “It’s been an almost perfect day. I’ve had a perfect wedding. And I’m wife to an ideal man.” She suppressed a sigh. If only her words could vanquish her contrary ups and downs of happiness and anxiety. She was too level-headed to believe that wishing Avondale to be a good husband would make him so. A favorite verse slipped into her mind.

And the LORD, He doth go before thee; He will be with thee, He will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.

She gripped the banister. She would believe this verse.

Aunty Moira, her navy satin contrasting with the gay colors of the other guests, pressed through the chattering crowd of ladies and joined the younger single lasses gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

Cailin motioned to her favorite aunty and her best friend, Lorna, to join her on the second landing, and then whispered, “What do you think of Avondale?”

A frown skimmed across Aunty Moira’s face. “He’s a tall, handsome, personable man.” She shook her head so her abundant chestnut curls danced. “We’ll trust in God, that he’s a good one.” She tugged Cailin’s slightly tangled train, and the brilliant satin fell gracefully into place so that it eddied to the bottom of the wide marble steps. “You knew that once your papa made up his mind, there was no changing him.” Aunty Moira’s feather-soft kiss tickled Cailin’s cheek. “God will honor your decision to obey your parents.”

Cailin bit her lip. Even Aunty Moira’s words didn’t keep her from walking a scary, though exciting path.

Lorna grabbed her hand. “I just now heard a story of Avondale’s strange—”

“Shush!” Aunty Moira pressed a finger against Lorna’s lips. “Never mind that prattle. God’s in control, Cailin.” Her favorite Aunty turned and scampered down the stairs like a lass.

The love Aunty left behind slipped genuine cheer into Cailin’s tight chest. She smiled at the sparkling crowd of ladies massed below her, each face gazing up with expectant eyes and laughing lips. Her friends. How dear they all were.

But where was Avondale? Surely he wouldn’t miss this final ritual.

She leaned over the banister, searched the crowded entry hall, and glimpsed her new husband’s mahogany hair, his blue satin jacket clinging to his muscular back as he retreated into the study with Papa and a few other men.

A sliver pierced her heart. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Avondale didn’t stay to watch.” She fought an elusive sense of things between Avondale and herself not being…quite right.

“Nobody’s perfect.” Lorna fluttered her lashes. “But believe me, he’s still the grand prize. I’ve never seen a groom look so royal. You’re so fortunate, Cailin. Count your blessings.”

Beneath her billowing lavender gown, Lorna tapped her foot creating an inviting sound. “I can’t wait to dance the night away.” She winked. “But tonight you’ll be spending the evening alone with Avondale.”

Cailin’s pulse fluttered faster than the allegro tempo of the music. She backed against the railing to steady her shaking knees. She and Avondale…alone for the first time. She hid her hot face inside her fragrant flowers.

“Please toss your bouquet to me,” Lorna whispered. “I so long to meet a handsome duke like yours.” Her effervescent friend flitted down the edge of the stairs, missed Cailin’s train by centimeters, and positioned herself in front of the chatting, laughing, pushing ladies. She raised her arms, hands outstretched.

Cailin’s bridesmaids, cousins, and friends stopped chatting and jostled for position. Other single ladies, including Aunty Moira and Aunt Aley, and several single lady friends of Avondale’s, joined the excited women.

With the satin toe of her shoe, a favorite older pair as tradition dictated, she pushed back her yards and yards of satin gown, shifted her bouquet, and let the flowers tumble over her other arm. She hated to part with them. Like saying goodbye to her innocence. Nevertheless, she turned to face the bright tapestry hanging on the stair wall, gazed at her favorite embroidered hunting horse jumping a hurdle, and tossed her bouquet over her shoulder.

A scream from below announced her spinster Aunty Moira caught the bouquet. A tittering laugh rose around the trim figure in navy. Aunty Moira merely smiled a secret smile.

Cailin turned, gazed down at the cluster of women and winked at the happy spinster. Although intelligent, still fresh-faced and pretty, the thirty-year-old had little chance to make good the bridal bouquet’s promise. The lively lady had no prospects and no dowry.

Out of the kindness of his heart, Papa had taken Mums’s baby sister to live in the castle. And when Aunt Aley’s husband died before she could bear a son, Mums’s newly penniless older sister moved into the castle as well.

But thinking of her aunts couldn’t distract her today. Her thoughts flew like homing pigeons back to what would happen tonight after the sun set.

Lorna scampered to her side and slid an arm beneath her veil and around her waist. “You’re blushing. I know what you’re thinking.”

Together they climbed the remaining stairs.

Lorna leaned close and whispered, “Tonight what we’ve been giggling over, and secretly dreading since we started wearing long skirts, will no longer remain a mystery.” Her mischievous face held a wide grin. “At breakfast tomorrow, you truly must tell me all about your wedding night.” Lorna squeezed her waist. “If you don’t find happiness in His Grace’s arms, there is no happiness to be had.” Lorna’s lips cooled a spot on Cailin’s hot cheek. “You will share all, won’t you? Promise.”

Alarm bubbled up and left a strange taste in her mouth. “I shall be too embarrassed.” Her smile quivered until her chin trembled. She gripped the stair railing and gave Lorna an uncertain smile.

Wispy hat lopsided, her eyes wide, her hands fluttering, Mums climbed the steps to join them at the second floor banister. “Dearest, let’s spend a few minutes in your room before I return to our guests.”

“As you like.” Cailin nodded.

Lorna led the way to the passageway that turned at a right angle away from the corridor leading to the family’s rooms. “It’s so exciting that your Papa gave you this entire corridor of rooms in honor of His Grace.”

Mums nodded, her hand reaching for Cailin’s. “You are beginning a new chapter in your life.” A tear sparkled on Mums’s cheek. “You are leaving childhood behind, and I could not be more proud of you, Cailin Mountebank, Fifth Duchess of Avondale.”

Cailin swallowed a lump that tried to clog her throat. She’d never before seen tears shimmering in Mums eyes. She squeezed her mother’s gloved hand. There’d always been some indefinable degree of reserve between the two of them…as if Mums knew secrets she wouldn’t share. Perhaps being wed would draw them closer.

Hand in hand, they entered the elegant suite of rooms furnished with velvet, linen, and silk, and hung with bright tapestries.

Mums carefully unpinned and lifted off Cailin’s veil, then draped the voluminous lace over the window seat. “Come, dearest, sit on the bed while I remove your slippers and hose.” She patted the kingly bed.

Cailin climbed the three steps to the massive bed, struggled with her train, and then smoothed her dress behind her before she perched beside her mother on the lush velvet spread.

Lorna scampered up and collapsed on her other side.

Cailin’s heart fluttered. She was sitting on Avondale’s bed. Goose bumps danced across her arms. She tried not to think of her groom. Impossible. Every item in the room spoke of him in one intimate way or another. The huge bed and hand-carved wardrobe filled with his undergarments made her stomach flutter and her cheeks burn. She would soon discover what Avondale was like beneath his breeches. She shivered.

The room smelled of some indefinable male scent. Strange and mysterious, but incredibly enticing. She dropped her gaze to her hands, unwilling to let Mums see where her thoughts skimmed.

Sinking back into the soft mattress, she could scarce catch her breath enough to focus on why Mums was here.

At full dark, Avondale would arrive.

Cailin glanced out the window at the setting sun. Despite the tiered candles lighting his bedchamber, shadows already clung to the room corners.

She wriggled her bare toes and peeked at her flowing gauze bed gown lying ready across the red velvet settee.

“Here, dear, Lorna and I will unbutton your wedding gown and help you out of your stays.”

She slid from the bed and turned her back. Both women began unhooking the tiny buttons that ran down her back between her shoulder blades. Fingering the lace of her bed gown brought more heat to her neck. The lace ended just where the roundness of her breasts began. She fanned her face. She’d never worn such a revealing garment. Perhaps she could lie in bed with the coverlet pulled to her neck when Avondale arrived. Or perhaps she could blow out—