My Dark Duke (16 page)

‘The reason is clear, is it not, dear sisters?' Alethea looked over in surprise at the aunt whose laughter sounded like a tinkling bell. The other two ladies' dismissive conversation, and her concentration on it, had caused her to forget there was a third sister. This sister looked nothing like her two elder siblings with her shorter, rounder form and greying pale blonde hair. She beamed at Alethea, her bright blue eyes twinkling. ‘Why, he has obviously fallen head over heels for Lady Alethea here.'

Alethea blinked, eyes widening. That was a statement she had not expected.

‘Faith, as usual, you speak nothing but nonsense,' said Lady Charity dismissively. ‘Trent knows better than to allow his feelings to interfere with the business of marriage. Have you forgotten what occurred previously?'

‘Of course not!' retorted the younger aunt. ‘But you cannot direct your heart when it comes to love.'

‘Oh, for goodness sake,' hissed Lady Prudence. ‘I do not know why we put up with your silly notions, Faith. I always knew that no good would come from reading all that badly written, ridiculous, romantic drivel you call literature.'

‘How would you know the novels I read are badly written? Unless you've read them yourself!' challenged Lady Faith in a triumphant tone.

‘Well, I never!' Lady Prudence gave her sister an affronted glare and left the room with a huff, her stiff black skirts sweeping the floor behind her.

‘That's completely obvious,' muttered Lady Faith as Lady Charity followed in her elder sister's indignant wake and marched out of the fitting room.

Alethea was by now biting her lip hard to stop herself from laughing. The dread occupying her thoughts had now been overtaken by this unexpected entertainment.

Lady Faith turned her blue-eyed gaze to her. ‘Now, Alethea – do you mind if I call you Alethea?'

‘No, of course not,' the younger woman answered, grateful to her rescuer.

‘I must apologise for my sisters. They would not know love if it came up and bit them on the nose. Nor can I remember either of them exhibiting any joy for, oh, at least the past three decades.' The duke's aunt stepped forward and took Alethea's hands. ‘I, on the other hand, am pleased beyond words that my nephew has chosen you to be his bride. Especially as it is a love match between two such perfectly suited individuals.'

Alethea opened her mouth to deny her statement, but the look of happiness and satisfaction that radiated from Lady Faith stopped her. There was no harm, was there, in letting this charming lady think that she was right? ‘I am glad you approve, Lady Faith.'

‘Please, call me Aunt Faith; it is what the boys call me, and you will be my very own niece. It is so absolutely lovely.' The fair-haired woman squeezed Alethea's hands in a gesture of delight and Alethea had to smile.

‘Aunt Faith,' she replied obediently.

Just then the curtains were swept aside and in marched two seamstresses and Madame Blanche. ‘Lady A-lee-theea,' she began in her heavy accent, ‘are you ready for your fitting today?' The petite, elegantly dressed mantua maker looked expectantly at the brunette.

‘Yes, of course, Madame.'

‘
Très bon, très bon
,' replied the dressmaker, who glanced questioningly at the duke's relative.

Lady Faith quickly released Alethea's hands. ‘I will leave you then, my dear. Till tonight.'

‘Till tonight, Lady – Aunt Faith.' Alethea watched as James's aunt exited the room, but not before flashing her new niece a wide smile.

Madame Blanche's voice drew her attention back to the task at hand. ‘The nightgown, please.' She clapped her hands and her seamstresses jumped into action, one stepping up and removing Alethea's shift before the other slid a flimsy, filmy material over her head. A moment later, the prospective bride was led over to a full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

‘Oh.' Alethea uttered quietly as she stared at the reflection of herself. This was what she was going to wear on her wedding night? This garment revealed far more than it obscured. Would she even dare face her husband dressed so scandalously?

‘You are shocked, are you not, my lady?' asked Madame Blanche.

‘I . . . Yes,' admitted Alethea, unable to take her eyes away from the mirror as one of the seamstresses tied the pale blue bow at the neckline.

‘My dear, this ees what the duke expects of you on your wedding night. You cannot disappoint him,
oui
? He ees a . . . how you say . . . a man of the world.' Madame Blanche looked expectant when Alethea turned her gaze to the dressmaker. ‘It ees my task to help you look alluring for your husband.'

‘I understand. It is just that, well, you can see everything.'

‘Not everything,
non
, not when you wear the robe.' It took only one look for the other seamstress to hurry forward with the garment in question. Made also with lawn like the nightgown, the edges were trimmed with Argentan lace and another bow at the waist drew the robe together. ‘Very little is now revealed, can you see? Put your mind to rest, my dear, I have provided many brides their trousseau,' said the Madame in a reassuring tone. ‘And I have yet to have one single complaint.'

Alethea took a breath. She knew what the dressmaker was alluding to. That she knew exactly what men wanted to see on their brides. Or mistresses. Madame Blanche's gift for creating gowns that perfectly suited her clients, whatever size or shape they were, and her close attention to detail, had made her the most sought-after mantua maker in town. Perhaps she had even dressed James's mistress. Alethea quickly pushed away the painful thought. Now was not the time to dwell on such things.

‘Madame Blanche, please bring me my gown for this evening. I would like to make sure that it is presentable.' It was tonight that James was to present her to his family and close friends as his future bride. She had to appear at her best.

‘Fear not, my lady, you will be
magnifique.
I promise nothing less.'

As the seamstresses busied themselves with the final adjustments to her evening gown, Alethea could feel her stomach tightening into knots as she thought of meeting the duke. How was she to act when so many things remained unresolved between them? Not least of all was the fact that she was to marry a man who was rumoured to have caused his wife's death. How well did she really know James? Barely. Yes, Uncle Arthur had assured her that he was a person of good character. But even her godfather had admitted that James had never told him what had actually happened the day Catherine Cavendish died.

Yet the pain in his eyes when he spoke of his mother and the abuse she had suffered at his father's hands made it impossible for her to believe that he could have been the cause of his wife's death. She had to trust that this, at the least, was true about her husband-to-be. For there was no turning back now – not unless she wished to bring shame and scandal upon her family. And that, she would not do.

Our Heroine Prepares for Her Wedding

‘Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Alton, the Marquess of Ashbourne, Lady Alethea Sinclair and Lady Charlotte Sinclair.'

Alethea and her family entered the large drawing room. Present in the room were James, Dr Cole, a younger man with fair hair, and the three female relatives who had come to Alethea's fitting earlier in the day. Introductions were made and Alethea learned that the fair-haired man was James's younger brother, Matthew.

‘Ah, at last I meet Lady Alethea.' He bowed to her as she curtsied. ‘I am Matthew Cavendish, James's brother.'

Alethea had to smile, so different was his appearance from his brother's. Matthew possessed the same build as James, but also a devilish smile, enhancing his already far-too-pleasing features. His brilliant, sapphire-blue silk coat with its matching white and blue embroidered waistcoat made his blue eyes even more striking. She was certain that no young lady in London would be able to resist his charms. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.'

‘Surely there is no need for such formality; you will be my sister, after all.' He grinned. ‘As for that, you have my sincerest felicitations and condolences.'

‘I beg your pardon?' She looked askance at her future brother-in-law.

‘James. I am sorry that you will be married to him. You do know what you are letting yourself in for, do you not? My brother is boring at the best of times.' Matthew flashed a disarming smile. ‘Are you certain you wish to waste your life on a man who has nothing but duty and business on his mind? I am a much better catch, you know. More charming, fairer, more appealing —'

‘Matthew,' James said sharply, appearing at Alethea's side. ‘That is quite enough.' He levelled his sibling a hard glare.

‘I do beg your pardon if I have offended you,' said Matthew to Alethea, looking unapologetic. ‘It was all in a spirit of jest.' He winked. ‘Except for the part about having more charm and good looks. It's not too late to change your mind.'

Alethea sensed the duke tensing next to her. ‘Thank you, but I believe I have made the right choice.' She didn't know what had compelled her to utter that statement, when she had never been more uncertain in her life. But something in her wanted to protect the man she was betrothed to. It was a laughable notion indeed that a man such as he would need any sort of protection, but she nonetheless felt an overwhelming desire to shield him even from the teasing barbs of his younger brother. She smiled faintly at Matthew. ‘And it seems you do not know your brother, if you think he lacks charm.'

His eyebrows rose. ‘Are you certain you are referring to the Duke of Trent? I think he must have cast a spell on you.'

Her smile faded a little. ‘Perhaps he has.'

Matthew looked thoughtfully at her, brows knit, before glancing at his brother. Something there made him pause before he finally spoke. ‘I believe the aunts require some entertainment. Far be it from me to deny them the pleasure of my charming company. Lady Alethea, welcome to our family.' He bowed and left. Alethea slowly turned to her betrothed to find him observing her quietly.

‘Do you truly believe what you said? That you have made the right choice?' James's voice was low, but there was an urgency in his tone. His gaze compelled her to answer.

‘I have not been particularly successful at hiding my feelings for you.' Why was it always she who was exposed? ‘What say you, Your Grace; have I made the right choice?'

He was silent for a while, his dark gaze holding her so captive that the hubbub around them faded away. ‘I cannot tell you if you have made the right choice. All I know is that I have. I made my offer, my lady, not to save your reputation, not even because I believe myself an honourable man, but because I chose you to be my wife. I chose you, Alethea, none other.'

Her lips parted and her breath exhaled in a quiet rush. She stared at him in wonder. She moistened her lips, feeling her heart pound hard in her chest. ‘I . . . I choose you too,' she confessed, praying that he would recognise how heartfelt her words were.

Something moved in his eyes. ‘I'm glad,' he answered, his voice the slightest bit husky. Alethea didn't know how long they would have stood there gazing at each other if Dr Cole had not interrupted.

‘Lady Alethea?'

It took an effort to drag her gaze away from the duke, but she finally managed it. ‘Dr Cole,' she replied warmly. ‘How do you do?'

The man smiled at her and gave an awkward bow. ‘I am very well, thank you. I came to offer my congratulations on your engagement. I wish you both every happiness.'

‘Thank you. I am glad that you are able to attend this evening. You will be at the ceremony, will you not?'

‘I wouldn't miss it for all the laudanum in London,' he retorted cheerfully.

Alethea blinked at the statement, then laughed, watching with delight as the doctor flushed.

‘Cole, you are a pea-brained idiot.' James shook his head. He turned to her. ‘I promise you, my lady, he's really much more intelligent than his demeanour would lead you to believe.'

She nodded, still smiling. ‘Oh, that I do not doubt at all. I do hope that you will agree to be our personal physician, Dr Cole?'

The younger man looked surprised, then pleased. ‘It would be my honour to serve you, my lady,' he said with another awkward bow.

‘You might care to know that it was Cole who suggested that we would make a good match,' said the duke.

‘Oh?' Alethea looked with interest at their companion, a smile escaping at the look of embarrassment that appeared on his face. ‘In that case, I must thank you then. You do agree, do you not, Your Grace, that we are rather well-suited?'

James smiled faintly in agreement. ‘Eminently well-suited.' The look in his eyes was warm and she blushed. Oh, what she would give to be alone with him for just a moment.

Just then, Lady Prudence and Lady Charity came over to speak to them, or rather to Dr Cole. However, it did provide the betrothed couple with a further opportunity to speak semi-privately while the doctor politely listened to the older ladies' list of complaints.

‘You look exceedingly lovely this evening,' commented the duke, his low tone sending a shiver through her. ‘The gold silk is extremely becoming.'

‘Thank you,' she replied breathlessly. ‘You look very well yourself.' And he did. Clad in a severely cut black coat which only enhanced his darkly handsome looks, and a dark red silk waistcoat, he was striking. She could barely tear her eyes away from him.

‘I particularly like the white satin bows at your waist and elbows. Three bows? Did you choose that number to tease?' His voice was even more hushed and intimate and Alethea licked her suddenly dry lips, drawing his eyes to her mouth.

‘N . . . no. It never occurred to me . . .' Her voice trailed off at the amusement that was playing about his mouth. ‘I think you are the tease, not me.'

‘A gentleman would never tease a lady. That would be vastly impolite.' The corners of his mouth lifted up into a slow smile as she pretended to glare at him.

‘Well, I believe that we have clearly established that you are no gentleman when it comes to such matters. And you clearly are a tease, sir, I can attest to that fact.'

Her betrothed raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you referring to the Drakefords' ball?'

Alethea cast him a guileless look. ‘Obviously.'

He bent his head so his mouth was close to her ear. ‘Are you telling me you would have preferred I omitted the teasing and ravished you right there and then?'

His direct question made her pause. But only for an instant. ‘No, of course not. I daresay it would have been deuced uncomfortable on either the stone bench or the ground. A kiss though, might have been nice.' Especially after the longest seduction she had ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

James laughed out loud, drawing surprised looks from all those attending. Alethea merely smiled as if that was a common occurrence.

‘Trent, really.' Lady Prudence gave her nephew a censuring stare.

‘I beg your pardon, Aunt.' Her betrothed's tone was smoothly courteous, but Alethea could tell that he didn't truly mean it. She was glad. She loved listening to his laugh. It filled her with hope that their lives ahead would be filled with laughter.

Once everyone had gone back to their conversations, the duke spoke into her ear again. This time, though, he managed to render her totally speechless until the butler announced that dinner was to be served. For her husband-to-be informed her that there would be teasing galore on their wedding night, but that rest assured, it would all be done on the comfort of a brand-new, down-filled mattress in the privacy of their shared bedchamber.

Teasing? On a bed? Whatever did he mean? Alethea was almost afraid to find out.

Fortunately, Alethea was given little time to muse on the question as the following weeks were filled with fittings, fittings and more fittings. There were day gowns, riding gowns, carriage gowns, evening gowns and nightgowns, cloaks and mantles, gloves, hats and reticules. The list seemed never-ending. Alethea was certain even a future queen would have fewer items in her trousseau. In fact, she wondered why she even had need of so many gowns when she was primarily going to be residing with James at his estate in the country. A tenth of her trousseau would have more than sufficed.

She had everything and more than she would ever need. Except for one thing. She would have to remind Martha to pack her riding breeches. She wore them whenever she rode at her father's estate and she planned to do the same at her new home.

A hard tug of her corset jerked her thoughts to the present.

‘Breathe in, my lady.'

Alethea took a deep breath and stared at the reflection in the mirror before her as Martha pulled again at the laces. She looked pale. Nervous. And with good reason.

Today was her wedding day.

Today she was to become Alethea Cavendish, the Duchess of Trent. Could she carry out the monumental task ahead of her? Be the wife of one of the highest peers in the realm? Be a worthy spouse and, if she was fortunate, a mother? She knew she was far from the first woman to have such doubts. Truth be told, she was in a far better position than many others, who had to marry to form alliances or as part of a business arrangement. At least she had the comfort of knowing that the duke had made an offer for her of his own volition and not out of financial or political necessity.

She watched as Martha and another maid fastened the ties of the panniers around her waist, then drew a silk underskirt over her head. The gown came next, and Martha was stitching the gown onto the bodice when her maid spoke again.

‘You're not going to faint on me now, are you, my lamb?'

‘Pardon?' Alethea frowned at the question.

‘You're white as a sheet, my lady. So if you need to faint, do it now so that I can bring some smelling salts to you. It won't do for you to faint before the Archbishop during the ceremony. Having every person present think you are in the family way will be a minor thing compared to your mother's fury.'

Alethea rolled her eyes. ‘Martha, you've known me almost all my life. When have I ever fainted?'

‘There's always a first time for everything, my lady,' Martha informed her tartly.

‘Well, it shall not be today. This I can promise you.' She was nervous, yes. But she was also a Sinclair, and no Sinclair had ever been accused of shirking his or her duties, or of lacking backbone. Alethea refused to be the first Sinclair labelled a ninny by London society. The undeniable truth of the matter was that she wanted to be with James. She wanted to spend the rest of her life puzzling out the enigma of the man who would be her spouse.

Most of all, she wanted him to fall in love with her as she was beginning to fall in love with him. Perhaps she was being too fanciful and naïve. Love, or even affection, was not one of the usual considerations in marriage. She knew, though, that he was not indifferent to her. He had always treated her with respect and warmth, even tenderness. It was this thought, and his obvious physical attraction to her, that gave her cause for hope.

The door to her bedchamber opened. ‘Alethea, are you ready?' Alethea blinked at the sound of her mother's voice and looked up to see her entering in a flurry of brilliant blue silk, with diamonds glittering at her throat and ears. ‘Oh, you are. Good. Come, let me take a look at you.'

Martha curtsied then quickly moved to the side to afford the duchess an unrestricted view of her daughter.

‘Turn around now,' Lady Alton commanded.

The younger woman did so obediently, accustomed to her mother's critical gaze, but she could not restrain an eye roll in Martha's direction as she turned slowly.

‘Very good indeed. Madame Blanche was right. The silver-blue silk is perfect on you.' She stepped closer. ‘The detailed embroidery work on the stomacher is admirable. I must send her my compliments.' The duchess turned to Martha. ‘Is everything done, Martha?'

‘Very nearly, Your Grace. I was just about to put on the pearl earrings when you came in.'

‘No need.' Alethea's mother waved one hand dismissively while the other extended a box to her daughter. ‘Trent has just sent this over for you. I have not opened it, but the box is clearly from Webbs.' Webbs was one of the foremost jewellers in London; only the wealthiest people could afford one of his spectacular creations.

Alethea took the dark red velvet box from her mother and opened it gingerly. At once, the three women gasped. A magnificent, three-tiered diamond necklace glittered up at them from the cushioned box. Brilliant cut diamonds in varying sizes were set in delicate strands of silver, ending in a solitary diamond the size of a quail's egg. A pair of matching drop earrings were also included. It was the most exquisite set of jewellery Alethea had ever beheld.