Page 41 of Her Wily Duke

Maybe she should write to her friend Helena, and seek her advice – or at least her commiseration.

***

Benedict had always assumed that his wedding night would go better than this.

He and his new bride were sitting on opposite sides of the carriage, Ariana pressed so far against the door that she was in danger of falling out onto the road should the door open accidentally. She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since the wedding, and when Benedict had asked how she was feeling her response had been cold and perfunctory.

They were travelling along the familiar road to Darkmire Abbey, and once there, he would introduce her to the staff, and hope that, when the time came to retire, she would have warmed a little to him.

Most newlyweds would have thrilled at the prospect of seeing their new home, and spending the first night with their new husband, but it seemed almost as if Ariana would rather have been anywhere else.

“We’ll be there soon.”

“Mmmm,” said Ariana. Arms folded, shoulders slumped, she reminded him of a petulant child. Benedict had the unhappy suspicion that she was trying to goad him on purpose, but he had resolved not to lose his temper.

“I think that your father was most happy to see us wed, given how ill he is.”

He should feel something other than happy - probably guilty, if your reactions are any indication of what has really happened here, Benedict had to refrain from adding.

Ariana’s father was the only reason that they were in what he was rapidly coming to regard as an unpleasant predicament. Three hours into the marriage, Benedict was already beginning to doubt whether Ariana had ever harboured such dreams as her father had claimed. As the carriage bumped across the ford over the Darkmire River, Ariana turned away from him and began trying to read a book by the light which came through the window — this despite the fact that the autumn day was cloudy and the light dimming with the approach of evening.

“Do you really need to be reading right now? We’ve almost reached Darkmire Abbey.” When Ariana said nothing, he added in a louder voice, “You’ll strain your eyes!”

With a ‘hmph!’ of annoyance Ariana placed the book back into her reticule and sat up stiffly. It appeared that she liked to read and didn’t like being told when she could and couldn’t do so, not even by her own husband.

Despite her annoyance, the fact that she had complied and put the book away said something about the approach to discipline which her father had taken. Benedict was inclined to be sympathetic: the exhaustion of the ceremony, and the fact that they hadn’t eaten since the middle of the day had made them both prickly and irritable.

“I know that you’re tired,” he said. “We’ll be home soon, and we can change out of these clothes, and into something better suited to an evening at home. Your trunks were sent over this afternoon, and Peggy will have them unpacked by now.”

Ariana winced at his words, as if not wanting to be reminded of what awaited her when they reached Darkmire Abbey.

“Peggy?”

“The girl who is to be your Lady’s maid.”

“Oh.”

A few hours ago, Benedict had been looking forward to the night ahead with the air of a man who had just won a great fortune. What man did not eagerly anticipate taking his new bride to bed for the first time?

Now, however, events rolled slowly on with the inexorability of fate. They approached Darkmire Abbey up the long drive, where the rows of dark foliaged pines cast long shadows, and drew up on the gravelled space before the columned portico. The five stories of windows looked down on them, glittering with the blood red rays of the sunset, as if all of the ghosts of past horrors had come to see the new bride brought to their home.

There was a stir of footmen rushing out to open the carriage door and let down the steps, and to collect the small amount of luggage which came with them, not having already been delivered.

Handing his bride down out of the carriage, Benedict led her to the front steps where the staff waited, in two silent lines, to greet her. A chill breeze had spung up, and she shivered beside him.

He forced himself to be positive, and ignored Mrs Haversham’s look of disapproval. Mrs Haversham had been housekeeper here since his grandfather’s time and, in her eyes, no woman would have ever been good enough to marry Benedict.

He made the introductions, as required.

“May I present the new mistress of the house, Ariana, Duchess of Darkmire.”

They all bowed or curtsied as appropriate, although some of those bows and curtseys were less than deep and respectful, and he led Ariana along the line, naming each staff member as they went. She managed a passably polite greeting, with the correct degree of kindness, and he relaxed a little – it would be hard enough for her as it was – best that she not cause them to hate her from the start.

When that was done, he called for supper to be served in the dining room in half an hour, and led her towards the stairs.

“Come, my dear, let me show you our rooms.”

Chapter Two