A Most Suitable Duchess Read online

  “It was a difficult choice, to be certain.” She smiled, inviting him to share in the jest.

  It was amazing how a simple smile could transform her appearance, and he realized for the first time that his intended was indeed out of the ordinary. He wondered what it would have been like had they met under ordinary circumstances. Would he have even noticed her? Would she have noticed him?

  He knew himself for a lucky man. His intended was pretty, intelligent, and had a dry sense of humor. It was possible that they could indeed make a success out of their marriage. For the first time in a fortnight he felt hopeful about his future.

  Now that he had secured her permission, he saw no need to delay. Better that they be married in haste, before Penelope had a chance to change her mind.

  “A civil ceremony is required. I will ask McGregor to make the arrangements. Is Saturday acceptable to you?”

  She swallowed nervously, but maintained her composure. Saturday was just three days away. “Saturday will be agreeable.”

  “Until then,” he said, rising and taking her hand. He bowed over it.

  Her slim hand tightened its grip on his. “Until Saturday,” she replied.

  “The sash is crooked, I can feel it,” Penelope declared, twisting herself around as she tried to see the back of her gown.

  “The sash is fine,” Harriet Lawton said, coming to stand beside her friend. “The gown is perfect. You look beautiful.”

  Penelope frowned doubtfully, wishing there was a mirror so she could check her own reflection. But the small antechamber held nothing except a small table and a half-dozen chairs.

  “I should have worn the yellow silk that I had made for Easter,” she said.

  She had hesitated up until the last possible instant, before deciding upon the pale blue gown with lace trim that she now wore.

  “Sit,” Harriet urged her, “you are fretting over nothing, and you will wear a hole in the carpet with your pacing.”

  Harriet took a seat, and after a moment Penelope followed her friend’s example.

  “I know you well enough to know it is not the gown that has made you so nervous. If you have doubts about this arrangement, then now is the time to speak. There is still time to call this mad scheme off,” Harriet said.

  Trust Harriet to see through her. Indeed, Penelope was nervous, more nervous than she had ever been before. A part of her felt that this was a bizarre dream, and that at any moment she would wake up and laugh at her fanciful imagination. But the rest of her knew that this was all too real. In a mere quarter hour’s time, she would be Penelope Hastings no longer. She would be the Duchess of Torringford, having pledged herself to a gentleman who was still very much a stranger.

  “I suppose I am nervous,” she confessed. “But are not all brides nervous on their wedding day?”

  “Yes, but generally they are at least acquainted with their prospective husbands. You know practically nothing about this man you are to marry. For all you know, he could be a rake and a lecher.”

  “He is nothing of the sort,” Penelope said. “It is true that we have only spoken briefly, but I feel he is a kind man, a gentleman who will behave with honor.”

  “Honor,” Harriet echoed. “Is that all you wish for from your marriage? What about those things we used to talk of? True love? A joyous union of souls?”

  Penelope shrugged, trying to pretend that she was unconcerned. What matter that this was hardly the type of union that inspired the poets? Hundreds of women across England married for convenience, and they were no worse off than many who married for love. And it was not as if she had chosen this of her own free will.

  “This is a business arrangement, not a love match. As long as both parties enter into the marriage with open eyes and a spirit of accommodation, I see no reason why we should not make a success of this marriage. Indeed, we will likely fare better than many who marry in impetuous haste, only to later regret their decisions,” Penelope said.

  “As your friend, I must say that I do not like this. If you were to be married, it should be to someone you love with your whole heart. Someone like Stephen Wolcott.”

  Penelope winced. Even after five years, it still hurt to hear his name. “Perhaps there was a time when I dreamed of a different kind of marriage. But I am older and wiser now. And having given my heart once, it is not in my nature to fall in love again.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Now that sounded like I was asking for pity, but I am not, I assure you. You must wish me happiness instead. This will all turn out for the best, you will see,” she said, reassuring herself at the same time as she reassured her friend.

  “I wish you all the happiness you so justly deserve,” Harriet said.

  There was a soft rap at the door, and then it opened to reveal Mr. McGregor. “His Grace has arrived. If you ladies are ready?”

  “Of course,” Penelope said. There was no point in delay. She was as ready as she would ever be.

  She followed Mr. McGregor into his office, where the duke was waiting, and was introduced to his brother Reginald Heywood, who would act as one of the two witnesses, with Harriet serving as the second. Under Scottish law, a couple could be married simply by stating the fact of their marriage in front of two witnesses.

  James, for all his insistence on this marriage, had refused to accompany her. She was grateful that no one thought to question his absence.

  Prompted by the solicitor, she stated her intention to be wed in a clear firm voice, and was echoed by the duke. Then they each signed the documents that Mr. McGregor had drawn up, and the witnesses affixed their own signatures.

  In less than five minutes it was over. Her life had changed irrevocably.

  “Your Graces, may I be the first to congratulate you,” Mr. McGregor said. “I wish you every happiness.”

  Penelope and Marcus thanked him for his sentiments, and then Reginald Hastings and Harriet Lawton added their own wishes for the couple’s future happiness. The exchange of compliments took far longer than the wedding vows.

  Everyone was doing their best to appear as if there were nothing out of the ordinary in this marriage. It was all so civilized and polite. A part of Penelope appreciated their courtesy. And another part wanted to scream in frustration, and tell the others that there was no need for such pretense.

  She glanced over at the duke, who wore a mask of grave courtesy. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he harbor regrets of his own? She knew how far this wedding was from her own imaginings as a young woman. Had he, too, imagined a different future for himself? A love match, perhaps, or a marriage of affection and mutual regard?

  Enough, she thought to herself. Such musings had no place. What was done was done, and now she and her new husband would learn to make the best of their future.

  “If you are ready, I think we should take our leave,” the duke said. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

  “Indeed,” Penelope agreed, meaning not just the wedding trip stretching out before them. It was the rest of their lives.

  Six

  For their wedding trip, Marcus had proposed traveling to the duke’s family seat, which was located in the Lake District. It was fitting that the duke and his new bride inspect the ancestral properties that he had inherited. And their absence from Scotland would give a chance for the gossip regarding their marriage to die down. Hopefully, by the time they returned, society would have found other unfortunates to make the target of their speculations.

  Penelope had agreed to the plan, seeing the wisdom of absenting herself from Edinburgh. She needed time to adjust to her new status. And the journey would give her a chance to get to know this man who was now her husband.

  The carriage swayed gently as they left the city of Edinburgh. It was a strange feeling, leaving the city where she had spent her whole life. Except for the childhood journey to Selvay Firth, she had never left. And now she was to journey to England.

  After politely inquiring as to her comfort, the duke fell silent.
Unlike the gentlemen of her acquaintance, it appeared he was not a man much given to conversation. Especially not with a woman he barely knew, for all that she was his wife.

  “I am looking forward to this journey,” Penelope observed, compelled to break the awkward silence. “I have never visited England before, and they say the Lake District is quite beautiful.”

  “The countryside is no match for our own, but it is quite pleasant in its own way,” the duke acknowledged.

  “Can you tell me of the Torringford estate? How long has it been the family seat? Is it landscaped in the classical style or the romantic style?”

  The duke shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know. I have never had occasion to visit Torringford, before now.”

  “I see,” Penelope said, although she did not understand at all. Surely the late duke would have wanted to become acquainted with his heir. And it was only fitting that the heir familiarize himself with his future responsibilities.

  “My grandfather was the late duke’s brother,” Marcus explained. “With six sons of his own, the duke had little reason to expect his title to fall to our branch of the family. And since he and my grandfather were estranged, our families had little to do with one another.”

  Such estrangement did much to explain her husband’s obvious discomfort with his new station in life, not to mention the oddity of the terms of the old duke’s will.

  “And Reginald is your only brother, Your Grace?”

  “Marcus,” he corrected her. “I see no point in standing on ceremony.”

  “And Reginald is your only brother, Marcus?” she repeated, and was rewarded with one of his rare smiles.

  “Yes. My mother died when we were both children, and my father died in a riding accident three years ago.”

  There was a flash of pain in his eyes before his face resumed its habitual tranquil mask. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy. “My parents died three years ago, as well,” she said. “They fell victim to the fevers, which were particularly virulent that spring.”

  The fevers had swept through the city, claiming rich and poor alike. It had been brutally swift. First her father had fallen ill, and then her mother. They had died within days of each other, while neither she nor James suffered so much as the sniffles.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” he said, reaching to take her hand in his. The warmth of his hand on hers was a novel feeling.

  “And you have a brother yourself, do you not?” he asked.

  “Yes. James is the elder,” she said.

  “He did not join you today,” Marcus observed.

  It was her brother’s hypocrisy that she found hardest to forgive. It was James who had insisted that marriage would restore her reputation, and yet having gotten his way, he did not have the courtesy to attend his only sister’s wedding. No doubt the gossips would have a field day when they learned that tidbit.

  He had not even met the man who was to be her husband. All the hasty arrangements had been made between their mutual solicitors.

  “No, he did not. I daresay it will be some time before he sees fit to forgive what he sees as my scandalous conduct. Until he sees some benefit to be gained in the connection, we have little to fear that he will trouble us,” she said bitterly.

  “I can not understand such behavior, but he is not mine to judge,” Marcus said. “You are your own mistress now. If you wish to have nothing to do with him, simply say so, and I will make certain he troubles you not.”

  It was kind of him to defend her, but she hastened to assure him that there was no need. “Even when civility is restored, I suspect we will have little enough to do with one another. Edinburgh society is diverse, and since James and I have quite different interests our circles rarely overlap.”

  The duke shook his head doubtfully. “And you have lived your whole life in Edinburgh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you not find it tedious? For my own part, after a fortnight in Edinburgh, I am all too eager to return to the country.”

  “But Edinburgh is the jewel of Scotland, the Athens of the North,” she exclaimed. “It is the center of arts, literature, and the sciences. Why only last week I was able to hear a reading of nouvelle poetry, an astronomy lecture, and attended an exhibition of paintings in the romantic style. Surely no other city, save perhaps London, offers one such intellectual society.”

  “Such things are not to everyone’s taste,” Marcus pointed out. “For my part, I would forego all those pleasures in exchange for an afternoon of hunting with my dogs.”

  “You ride to the hounds?”

  “No, I raise beagles. North country hounds, actually. The finest gun dogs in all of Scotland,” he said. His gaze grew unfocused and his face wore an expression of concern. “I hope Reginald makes a quick journey home. With no kennel master at present, I do not like leaving them alone so long. The kennel boys can only do so much.”

  “How many dogs do you have?” she asked.

  “It varies depending on the time of year. The puppies this spring brought their numbers up to nearly a hundred.”

  “One hundred? You have one hundred dogs?” She could not imagine such a thing. How on earth did he tell them apart?

  “Yes, but that is only for now. At the end of the summer, once the new puppies are trained, I will sell most of them off, saving the pick of the crop for next year’s breeding.”

  “And do you have any trouble finding buyers?” How many hunting enthusiasts could there be in Scotland?

  The look he gave her was one of pity for her ignorance. “The dogs I breed are champions. If I could raise twice their number, I still could not satisfy all those who request them.”

  “Then why don’t you raise twice as many?”

  “With more dogs, I could not oversee their training myself. As it is, with McDougall gone, we will be hard-pressed to ensure they all receive proper training. Still, if the new kennel master is a man of worth, we should muddle through. But I will not rest easy until I am back at Greenfields and able to judge their progress for myself.”

  He fell silent. The animation that had lit his face as he talked about his beloved dogs slipped away, no doubt as he contemplated how many weeks it would be before he was able to return to his home.

  Penelope was silent as well, lost in her musings as she contemplated the gulf that stretched between her and her new husband. This was not simply a matter of allowing their acquaintance to grow over time. The differences between them were profound. They had no points of common interests or experiences that would draw them together. Indeed, if she had tried, she could not have chosen a gentleman who was further from her own interests and sensibilities. It was fortunate that her affections were not engaged.

  Penelope awoke to find that she had fallen asleep against the side of the carriage, and that Marcus was shaking her gently. “We are stopping here for the night,” he said.

  She nodded, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The past few nights had not been restful, so it was no wonder she had fallen asleep.

  Marcus descended from the carriage, and then held his hand to help her alight.

  They stood in a muddy courtyard next to a gray stone building whose intricately carved sign proclaimed this to be Dunbarton’s Inn and Coaching House. Glancing at the sky, she realized the sun was still some hours from setting.

  “The roads were in fine shape and we made better time than I had expected,” Marcus said, correctly interpreting her glance. “And I think we would both appreciate the opportunity for an early night.”

  She felt her cheeks begin to redden, and was grateful that a servant appeared to command Marcus’s attention. An early night, indeed. Her wedding night, to be precise. Her lingering fatigue gave way to nervousness, and a queasy feeling in her stomach.

  Logic told her that she had nothing to fear. All brides were inexperienced when it came to their wedding nights, and yet none suffered any lasting harm. The marriage act was a part of the natural order. Indeed, if the poets were to belie
ved, there was much pleasure that could be found in such physical union, as the joining of two bodies echoed the joining of their souls.

  Such rationalizations proved poor comfort, when faced with the reality that in a few hours she would be expected to share a bed with this gentleman. They could scarcely agree upon a topic of conversation, and yet somehow they were expected to perform an act of unspeakable intimacy.

  It was all a part of marriage, she reminded herself, as she followed Marcus’s broad-shouldered figure into the coaching house.

  The master of the inn met them, beaming with pride as he welcomed Their Graces to his humble establishment. His portly wife gave an awkward curtsy, and then offered to show them to their rooms.

  They followed her up the stairs and down a short corridor. She threw open the door to the second to last room on the right-hand side. “Here is your bedchamber, Your Grace,” she informed Penelope. “Your luggage will be up directly, and I have sent the maid to fetch hot water for washing.”

  Penelope glanced into the room, her eyes immediately drawn to the large canopied bed.

  “And your chamber is adjacent, as you requested,” the woman said to Marcus, opening a second door to reveal an even larger room with its own sitting area.

  “We will dine in here at eight, if that is agreeable to my wife,” Marcus said.

  “That will be most agreeable,” Penelope said, still puzzling out the meaning of the separate bedchambers. Perhaps it was simply a matter of convenience, ensuring that they would not be underfoot while dressing. And she could hardly raise the topic in front of the innkeeper’s wife, nor the servants who even now carried in the trunks and began to arrange them.

  “You will have a meal fit for your duchess, at eight,” the innkeeper’s wife promised.

  “Thank you, that will be all,” Marcus said, dismissing her.

  Penelope entered her chamber, and Marcus entered his own, closing the door behind him.

  The maid arrived a few minutes later, bearing hot water and clean towels, and followed by a servant carrying her trunk. The maid offered to assist her, but Penelope refused. She was accustomed to doing for herself. And she was grateful for the time alone, the chance to collect her thoughts. It had already been a momentous day, and there was still one more hurdle to be faced.