Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance) (3 page)

August 1892, Newport, Rhode Island

Elizabeth stared in the mirror and tried out a smile. It had been so long since she’d used those particular muscles, smiling felt foreign to her. Her eyes were no longer red rimmed and swollen, but her face was unusually pale, her eyes missing something. Life, perhaps. Still, she did finally have something to smile at. Her long, tedious imprisonment was about to end. The Duke of Bellingham was set to arrive today to meet the woman who would most likely be his wife.

Elizabeth still could not believe what was happening to her. All her life she’d not been allowed to make even the simplest decision, being reminded again and again that she was incapable of such a task. Now, though, she would be married, in charge of a vast house in England, directing servants, taking care of tenants, planning parties and balls and so many other things she couldn’t even fathom. This she was expected to do when even now her mother wouldn’t let her pick out the gown she would wear for tonight’s dinner with the Duke.

“Ruled with an iron fist, that one is,” she’d once over heard a maid say to another. The servants pitied her, even the lowest scullery maid would look at her with sorrow clear in her eyes. As many times as she’d been humiliated by her mother, this by far eclipsed them all.

“You look lovely,” Alva said from behind her. “I knew that blue would suit you.”

Indeed, the blue of her gown matched the color of her eyes. It might seem a wonderful coincidence unless one was present when her mother was picking out the fabric in France a year ago. It had taken nearly an hour, and Elizabeth had sat there, back straight, hands folded on her lap, as the poor girl held swatch after swatch against her cheek.

“Thank you.”

“Your hair,” Alva said, narrowing her eyes. “I wonder if that’s the best we can do.”

Her maid had spent nearly an hour on the intricate style, threading delicate strands of impossibly tiny pearls through it. By the end, her hands had been shaking with the effort and Elizabeth had to tell her to stop, that her hair was beautiful and could not possibly be improved.

“I suppose, given the horrible brown you were born with, it will have to do,” Alva said, and Elizabeth wondered if her mother was even aware that Alva’s hair, before it had become salted with gray, was exactly the same color as her own. Still, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that her hair had passed inspection.

“The duke will arrive within the hour. I think we should be in the Rose Salon,” she said, as if she hadn’t choreographed the entire evening a dozen times in her head. “You should sit in the cream chair. When His Grace enters the room, stand and curtsy. Let me see it,” she commanded.

Elizabeth stood gracefully and gave a small curtsy, looking up at her mother expectantly.

“Perhaps a bit deeper? Oh, I don’t know of these English things. Curtsies and the like. Just be polite. And silent unless he or I address you. This is by no means final, and you could still ruin it by saying or doing some thing foolish.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Try to be pleasant. And smile. You do have a pleas ant smile at least.”

Elizabeth forced a smile that she knew was not the least bit as pleasant as she was capable. Alva gave her daughter a sharp look before turning away. “I expect you in the Rose Salon in five minutes.”

Five minutes. And then she would meet the man who would most likely be her husband. She would share her life, her house. Her bed. She closed her eyes in a hope less attempt to stop the panic in her heart. She was so sick of thinking about the “if onlys” in her life. But she couldn’t help but think about how different she would feel if it were Henry she were planning to marry on Christmas Eve instead of a man she didn’t know, a man who lived in another country. She wondered if Henry knew the duke was in Newport, if he understood how desperately she longed for him.

It was foolish to think of such things, and completely useless. She could not marry Henry without putting his very life in danger and perhaps her mother’s as well. She believed with every fiber in her being that her mother would follow through on her threat to hurt him, perhaps kill him. Her mother’s health had made a quick recovery once Elizabeth finally agreed with this marriage, and she’d thrown herself into planning an impressive welcome for the duke. Henry had been put from Alva’s mind, for she knew her daughter would never thwart her.

And to Elizabeth’s great shame, she knew her mother was right.

“His Grace, the Duke of Bellingham.”

Even now, when Rand heard that announcement and realized it pertained to him, he gave a small inward start. But hearing it in the flat accent of an American, it was almost surreal. In fact, this entire journey didn’t seem quite real, so he was slightly relieved to find Sea Cliff had an English flair to it and would not have seemed out of place in the countryside back home. He’d found Americans either completely unimpressed by his title, or so in thrall it was disconcerting. Rand entered the so-called Rose Salon bracing himself for the worst. His eyes scanned the room, taking in Alva Cummings, who curtsied when his eyes rested on her, and Jason Cummings, the girl’s father, who gave the briefest head-nod bows before coming over to shake his hand. Jason Cummings was a rotund man with thick wavy hair parted precisely in the center. His face was soft, and a fine sheen of sweat shone near his hairline making Rand wonder if the man was nervous about this meeting. He almost felt like laughing aloud, for if anyone should feel nervous and foolish, it was he.

“Welcome to Sea Cliff,” Cummings said. “I’d like to show you my yacht if you’ve the time. Got her four weeks ago. She’s sitting at anchor right now, but it’s just a small row out to—”

“Jason. Introduce your daughter,” Alva Cummings said sweetly. But there was nothing sweet about the expression on her face and Rand had a sudden understanding of why the man before him looked so harried.

Jason smiled tightly. “Of course, dear. Your Grace, my daughter, Elizabeth,” he said, giving a little bow toward a bank of windows.

Thank God
. That was the first thing that came to his mind when he first laid eyes on the daughter. She was pretty, remarkably so. Her features were small but for her eyes, which seemed far too large for her delicate face. She curtsied nicely and smiled, and again Rand was struck that her smile, like her mother’s, didn’t reach her eyes.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, nodding toward her. She immediately darted a look to her mother, as if she was at a loss to know what to do or say. Apparently, the mother must have communicated something silently to the girl, for she curtsied again, and said, “Your Grace.”

It was about as warm in the room as an icebox, and Rand was regretting his trip to America with all his being. Humiliation washed over him as he realized that everyone in this room knew why he was here, knew he’d come hat in hand begging for money. “You have a lovely home,” he said, even though it was so cluttered with furniture and paintings and flowers he could hardly see the room itself. He was painfully reminded of Bellewood’s cavernous emptiness thanks to his brother’s attempts to raise money.

“Thank you, Your Grace, although Sea Cliff cannot compare to Bellewood, I’m sure. We heard such wonderful things about your home when we were in England. Didn’t we, Elizabeth.”

The girl looked startled to be included in the conversation. “Oh. Yes.” She wore a blue dress that showed off an incredibly tiny waist, and he wondered at the brutality of her maid to have succeeded in cinching the poor girl so tightly.

“Thank you.” He stood there, feeling awkward to be beneath their intense scrutiny. But he supposed it was only natural for them to examine the man who would be part of their family. Their very, very rich family, he re minded himself to make this scene more palatable.

“How was your passage over?” Cummings asked.

“Very pleasant, though not everyone fared as well as I did,” Rand said, thinking of another passenger who’d been ill nearly the entire voyage.

“My Elizabeth is a poor sailor, aren’t you?” Alva said, almost as if the girl had some control over whether or not she got ill.

Again, the girl gave a startled look, and Rand began to wonder if they’d ever before included her in a conversation. Almost by rote, she responded, “Yes, I am.”

Rand couldn’t see any strings attached to the girl, but it certainly seemed as if her mother was very apt at pulling them. When Alva nodded to her daughter she said, “Please sit down, Your Grace.”

And so he did.

“Have you been to Paris?” Alva asked.

“Many times. It’s a beautiful city.”

“We bought Elizabeth’s dress there.”

He looked at her, as he supposed he was meant to, and said, “It’s lovely.”

The girl’s lips tilted slightly into a smile, a forced movement and she didn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

It struck Rand then that it was possible Elizabeth Cummings did not want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. Well, fancy that. All this time he’d been feeling rather put out by this arranged marriage—for he never doubted for a second that he would agree to such a match—and now he was finding out his future bride was rather put out, too. She looked, frankly, miserable.

“I wonder, Your Grace, if you could accompany us tomorrow morning to the Casino,” Alva said. “It’s quite lovely to see all the fine carriages on Bellevue Avenue. It will be a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to New port Society.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, to be put on display and forced to be pleasant to a large crowd of gawking Americans. Good God. “It would be my pleasure, Madam,” he said, lying very nicely. “For now, though, I wonder if your daughter could show me around your grounds if we have time before dinner.” If he left everything up to the mother, he’d likely never get a chance to be alone with the girl until he was forced to propose.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl stiffen, and he knew he’d been correct about her. She didn’t want to marry him and that made him curious. For didn’t every girl dream of marrying a duke?

Elizabeth wondered idly if she could run away from the duke, run to the sea, jump in and swim away. Perhaps become a mermaid. Perhaps become anything but the Duchess of Bellingham. Elizabeth had become extremely adept at finding something good about everything life handed her. Marrying the duke: bad. Saving Henry’s life by marrying the duke: good. Meeting the duke for the first time four months before her planned wedding: bad. Finding he wasn’t hideously ugly: good.

No. His grace was anything but ugly. Of course, he wasn’t as fine looking as her Henry. Who was? The duke was far too rugged, too big, too…everything. Henry was refined, from his straight blond hair to his well-manicured nails. Henry was perfect. All this she’d already determined even though she could admit to herself she’d hardly even looked at the duke.

It was a warm day, the sky nearly cloudless, and the Atlantic Ocean that stretched before them in the distance was almost painfully blue. How perfect this day would have been if she’d been walking with anyone but the duke. Like, perhaps, Henry.

Her mother sat on the veranda, keeping a watchful eye over them. But her mother needn’t worry about propriety; she was walking at least five feet apart from him, and still she could feel his looming presence.

Suddenly, the duke stopped walking and stared out to sea. “You don’t want this marriage, do you?” he asked, stunning her so completely, Elizabeth let out a strangled sound. All she could think of was that her mother had somehow bribed him into challenging her.

“Of course I do,” she said, staring at his hard profile and hoping he couldn’t read her lie. Foolish thought.

“You’re lying,” he said finally, turning to her. “I suppose I could be made to believe you are merely shy, and not completely unhappy with this arrangement.”

“I am not shy,” Elizabeth said, confirming his suspicions without overtly agreeing with him. He was frowning, and she wondered if she’d just made a terrible mistake. He turned and continued walking along the well-tended lawn, heading for the sharply cut hedge that separated the estate from the rocky shore below.

“I don’t particularly want to get married either,” he said, surprising her yet again. He shrugged, and for a moment he almost looked boyishly sheepish. “I’m only twenty-seven. I hadn’t thought I’d get married for another ten years or so.”

“Then why…” The money. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten even for a moment about the money. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” When he reached the hedge he stopped and turned toward her yet again. “These sorts of things go on all the time. In fact, more often than not in England. Still, I suppose it is not what you expected.”

“No.” Without warning, Elizabeth’s throat closed up and she wished vehemently he would stop being so kind. She could feel his somber gray eyes studying her.

“I’m not such a bad sort.”

She darted a look up to him, only to see him studying her far too closely. “I’m sure you are a very fine gentleman.”

His mouth curved into a smile. “I do try to be.” He let out a long breath. “This is how it can be between us. We can marry. I have to have an heir. And we’ll get that over with and then we can go on with our lives.”

She stared at him, shocked he could be so blunt about what their future would bring. Suddenly the entire idea of a loveless marriage, bearing children for a man she hardly knew, was nearly too much to abide.

Rand took in her stricken face and knew he’d made a mistake. She was only nineteen and no doubt had fantasies about love and romance and all that rot. He didn’t want to be cruel, he simply wanted to be honest, to let her know this mockery of a marriage was not something he desired any more than she did. But he was prepared to make the best of the situation. “It’s what is done,” he said. “I thought that would give you comfort.”

“What would give me comfort is for you to go back to England and never return,” she said earnestly.

Without thinking, he let out a laugh and quickly tried to sober when he saw she was completely serious. “No, you are not shy, are you?” he asked.

“I told you I was not,” she said, and he thought he detected the tiniest smile before she looked back to the house.

So upset was he by this marriage that was being forced upon him, he hadn’t given a thought to how the bride would feel. Likely that was because he’d never imagined any girl wouldn’t want to marry him. He was a duke, after all. And he knew from the attention women had given him even before he acquired the lofty title that he was somewhat attractive.

“Perhaps I should marry your mother, then. She would be thrilled, I think.” He’d hoped to make her laugh aloud, but his jest produced only a smile. “Well, have heart that I haven’t asked for your hand yet. You still have time to change my mind about the entire plan.”

He’d thought those words would produce another smile, but instead her face took on an expression of such sadness he was taken aback.

“Please don’t say such a thing.”

She must fear her mother more than he’d thought, he realized. “I assure you, if I do beg off, I will make it completely clear to your mother that I am to blame.”

“You speak entirely too lightly of the situation. As if it is a game and not our very lives. As if you do not realize the import of what they have planned for us. As if you do not care at all that we will be stuck together forever.”

Despite his great efforts to put the girl at ease, she had the nerve to reprimand him. “I, more than you can know, am completely aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it,” he said, feeling anger at his predicament surge through him. “You have no right to lecture me on the seriousness of marriage. If I speak lightly, it was only a failed attempt to put your mind at ease. In the future you can rest assured I will not speak lightly of this. But I will not apologize, ever, for making you my duchess, for allowing you to bear my children, for granting you the privilege of becoming chatelaine of one of the greatest estates in all of England.”

During his angry tirade, Elizabeth’s eyes widened, her mouth opened slightly as if in shock. “I see I’ve inadvertently hit a nerve,” she said, sounding breathless and the tiniest bit frightened.

“I’m not certain how inadvertent it was,” he shot back.

“I suppose you would like an apology,” she said, and he couldn’t believe how reluctant she sounded.

He was used to women fawning over him, to having them bat their eyes and smile slyly. He folded his arms in front of him and looked down at her, feeling more like a duke than he had in all the previous months combined. Perhaps his blue blood was thicker than he realized, because the idea of this American girl scolding him had rubbed him raw. “I would.”

She raised her head, her pert nose high in the air. Then she tilted her head just slightly and narrowed her eyes. “No. I don’t think so.” And then she turned and began walking back to the house where her mother waited.

For the second time that day, the Duke of Bellingham let out a laugh.

“She doesn’t want to marry me,” Rand reported to the Earl of Wellesley when he’d returned to the cottage they were renting together for the duration of their visit. The twelve-room house was located just off Bellevue Avenue, one of the lesser homes among the ostentatious ones that lined the road. Edward had rather nicely volunteered to accompany Rand on his journey mostly because he was a bit overwhelmed at home, not yet grown used to being head of a household that included six children. Besides, Rand needed to borrow his valet and Edward wouldn’t loan him out for the duration, so Edward and his valet were forced to accompany him. Rand had hinted that Edward might get lucky and nab his own little American heiress, though Edward was almost violently opposed to the idea. Why
would
Edward consider such a notion when there were plenty of pretty English girls? Had there been a single English heiress who could have gotten him out of his financial mess, Rand would have jumped at the chance. Though, he had to admit, they probably wouldn’t have been as pretty as Miss Cummings.

Rand couldn’t have been more grateful for Edward’s company, for he didn’t know a soul here and had never been overly comfortable walking into a room full of strangers. A duke and an earl; the mamas would be beside themselves with joy.

Edward sat in the home’s rather extensive library examining the collection there. He picked one from a shelf and smiled. “Didn’t think to find something this fine here,” he said, holding up an ancient book. “
Quadrins historiques de la Bible
. Sixteenth Century here in Newport. Truly remarkable.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Rand said, letting a small amount of exasperation come through.

“Yes. She doesn’t want to marry you.” Edward carefully opened the book. “Remarkable,” he muttered again before finally giving his friend his full attention. “Really, Rand, what did you expect? For her to throw herself at your feet in gratitude?”

“Well, perhaps nothing so dramatic. But, yes, I thought she’d be a bit more happy about marrying a duke. It’s one of the privileges of rank, is it not, to have women throw themselves at you?”

“Did she run from you screaming?”

Rand gave his friend a withering look. “I thought I would be up front with her about why I am here. No doubt she knows, so I was not telling her anything she did not already comprehend. We agree on this: She does not want to marry me. I do not want to marry her. And yet we will be married.” He shrugged. “I thought it best to confront the issue.”

Edward shook his head in sad disbelief. “Have you learned nothing in your twenty-seven years about women?”

“I thought honesty would work well between us,” Rand said, sounding defensive. “And I still do. I do realize I have to woo her a bit. It won’t do to have her in chains at the altar.”

“Or in your bed,” Edward said with a grin.

Rand ignored his remark. “I’m not an ogre, after all. It’s why I’m here, to get to know her a bit before we marry.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be prudent to know your bride a bit before you pledge to love and honor her until death and all that. Is she plain, by the way?”

Rand sat in a nearby leather chair and lifted one ankle onto the other knee. “She wasn’t completely…unpleasant,” he said carefully. In truth, he found himself surprisingly attracted to her physically. He had not expected that at all.

Edward gave him a sharp look. “Not ugly, then?”

“Hardly. She’s actually quite pretty. And rich. Which makes me believe her mother was holding out for the loftiest title possible and I was the only duke who took the bait.”

“Then a mere earl wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Sorry, old man, I think not. Once I get the girl away from her mother, she might even be pleasant to talk with as well as to look at. Mrs. Cummings is a termagant.
Miss
Cummings becomes a different person entirely when she is in the presence of her mother.”

“Oh?” Edward said, his eyes again drawn to the book he was holding.

“Boring you, am I?”

Edward smiled. “Of course not.” He put the book back on the shelf, but it was clear the gesture was reluctant.

“Miss Cummings does not speak in front of her mother unless spoken to. She offers few opinions, and when she does, they are so carefully neutral they are not opinions at all. And yet the brief time I was alone with her, she displayed intelligence and independent thought. It was clear that dinner this evening was torture for the poor girl.”

“Then it’s just as well you’ll be separated from her mother by an ocean.”

“Indeed,” Rand said thoughtfully. “I’ve been invited to something called the Casino tomorrow morning. Do you know what it is?”

“Tennis. They are mad about tennis, these people. And apparently society meets there in the mornings to gossip. Sounds tedious to me. But next week there’s some sort of tennis tournament that sounds interesting.”

“And you’ll accompany me there tomorrow, of course. And everywhere.”

Edward gave him a tight smile. “Of course.”