Page 30 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

They both sipped their whisky. The liquor burned her throat and settled low in her stomach.

His dark eyes studied her. ‘Are you nervous to marry?’

She lowered her glass. ‘What bride wouldn’t be? Are you?’

He shrugged. ‘What groom wouldn’t be?’

The warmth in his voice sent her heartbeat into dangerous territory. She was also surprised at his honesty.

‘Marriage has us both feeling uneasy,’ he said.

Once more, she admired his confession. There was a budding honesty between them at the moment.

‘I know my attention has been split between the wedding and the first reading of my bill,’ he said.

Her interest was piqued by this. ‘When is it?’ A month had passed since the house party and it was now May.

‘I fear the timing isn’t perfect. Parliament is in session until it winds down come mid-July. The reading of my bill is the day after our wedding.’

The timing did not bother her, but it must be stressful for him. ‘So soon? I wish you the best.’

He smiled. ‘And I’ll be sure to stand by your side at the wedding. And afterwards at the wedding breakfast. If it is too much, you must let me know. There is no set rule that we must stay until the very end. Our guests can enjoy themselves without the couple.’

Her gaze lifted to his, to the dark enigma of his eyes. He was trying to quell her worries and she appreciated his support, more than he knew. ‘Thank you.’ The simple words were the only ones that came to mind.

‘Enjoy the rest of your drink, Nora. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until you’re finished with the whisky and escort you home myself.’

Chapter Ten

Sunlight spilled through the mullioned windows of Ralston House’s dining room casting a warm golden light over a table laden with fine china rimmed in gold, silver chafing dishes and crystal goblets. The wedding breakfast had begun, and guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand talking and laughing.

‘I agreed with the dressmaker. You look lovely in the blue,’ Sara said as she adjusted a piece of lace at Nora’s sleeve.

‘You should eat something before you indulge in a second glass of champagne,’ Candace said.

‘I’m not that hungry.’ Nora touched her stomach. Her nerves had been strung tight the moment she’d arrived at the church. The ceremony at St George’s Church had been a blur, and she could hardly recall the priest’s words. She’d been too aware of Ralston standing beside her. Tall and confident, if he’d been even a bit nervous it hadn’t shown. When it was her turn to speak her vows, her voice had been a low murmur. In contrast, Ralston’s voice had been loud and clear.

She was now a married woman in her new home. She scanned her surroundings. The room felt too grand. Velvet drapes held back with tassel fringe revealed a glimpse of manicured gardens beyond. A portrait above the fireplace of a dark-haired man with a serious expression wearing a ruffled neck ruff and velvet doublet stared down at the guests. Something about the man’s nose reminded her of Ralston’s and she suspected it was an ancestor, possibly the first earl. He’d told her the ancient title had been passed down for generations. The thought made her chest feel as if it would burst.

Goodness, how would she fit in here?

‘It was a beautiful ceremony,’ Candace said.

Nora’s voice was whisper soft. ‘I wish I could remember more of it.’ She scanned the opulent room and the richly dressed guests and took a shaky breath. ‘What if I don’t belong here?’

‘You belong!’ Sara surprised her by gripping her hand. ‘Do not let the wealth intimidate you. Papa may not have had a title, but he was just as worthy and so are you.’

‘She’s right,’ Candace chimed in. ‘It’s just a house, no matter how large.’

Nora wasn’t so sure. They lived in a rented townhouse in Picadilly. It was a fine home in a fine area of London in her opinion. But this house, this mansion, in Berkley Square dwarfed hers. It boasted a dozen bedrooms, not including the staff’s quarters, the kitchens, an orangery and garden. There were more than two dozen staff, and with Ralston by her side, she’d made an effort to greet each one earlier in the day as they’d lined up to welcome their new mistress. She’d paid the head housekeeper the most attention and she knew the competent woman was one she’d want on her side.

And then there was the Earl of Ralston himself.

Her husband.

Her gloved fingers closed around the delicate stem of her glass, as she glanced across the room. He was especially striking in his black coat and snowy cravat. He carried himself with confidence as if he knew his place in the world and everyone should respect it. Men must envy him. She knew firsthand his tailor did not need to pad the shoulders of his coat.

He spoke with his friend, the Marquess of Adler.