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She settled into the seat opposite him, smiling widely. His breath caught in his throat, as he gazed upon her. He had truly thought that an angel was making her way down the aisle when he had caught that first glimpse of her.
It wasn’t just her gown, even though that was exquisite. It was the combination of everything. The silver silk illuminated her complexion, making it glow. Her golden hair was swept up into an elaborate bun with soft curls falling around her face. A wisp of silver lace veil fell to her shoulders. Those amazing honey coloured eyes, which a man could drown in.
He knew he would never forget what she looked like on this day. It was as if it was engraved upon his heart and mind.
And now he was taking her to their wedding breakfast.
He had invited a moderate number of people to help them celebrate. Mostly business associates and their wives – he did not have many close friends in London. He had also invited some relatives and friends of the Hunters after Viscount Chant had supplied him with details of who they would like there.
A surprising number were attending, but then, most people were in London for the season. He knew that many would not be able to resist the invitation. They would be sniffing around for even the faintest whiff of scandal, given the short notice. They would be wondering why the Duke of Merriweather and the eldest daughter of the Viscount Chant were marrying with such haste.
His face darkened for a moment. Of course they would be wondering, and not only about the haste of it, but they would also be wondering why such a beautiful and charming young lady had agreed to marry a scarred monster such as he. He tried to push that thought from his mind. It was his wedding day after all.
He leaned over and picked up one of her hands.
“Are you happy, Patricia?” he asked, in a quiet voice. “I know that it has been a whirlwind. I know that perhaps this was not the way you had envisioned your wedding day, and I am truly sorry I could not give it to you…”
She looked surprised, her eyes instantly softening. “Oh, please, do not apologize tome, your Grace! I could not ask for more.” She hesitated. “I am the one who should be apologizing to you. I put you into this position…with the rashness of my actions…”
He squeezed her hand gently. “No. I kissed you back, remember? I could have stopped it. I probablyshouldhave stopped it.” He paused, his eyes burning as he gazed at her. “But I could not. You are so very beautiful. And I am very proud to be your husband.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “As I am to be your wife.”
His heart expanded with joy. It was as if the last shred of his doubt suddenly flew into the wind.
It didn’t seem possible, but she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. It was incredible and amazing, but it seemed to be true. How had he gotten so very lucky?
His body was suddenly aching for her; the need deep and real. He wanted the wedding breakfast and the rest of the day to be over and done with. Now he was simply counting down the minutes until they could finally be alone together…and he could truly make her his wife.
* * *
Patricia picked at the food on her plate. It was a feast fit for royalty, but her appetite still hadn’t returned. Her stomach had been churning all day, and it seemed that it would not abate.
She gazed around the great hall in the Duke’s house on St. James Square. Incredibly, this was her new home. She had been speechless when they had arrived, gazing in awestruck dumbness at the house. It was one of the most impressive in the square, which was truly saying something. St. James Square was one of the most exclusive areas in all of London.
The great hall was festooned with white roses, standing in crystal vases at various intervals. The perfume was almost overwhelming. And then the servants had started bringing in platter after platter of food on silver trays; roasted pheasant and goose, along with a myriad of accompanying vegetable dishes. The piece de resistance, carried in at the very end and placed in the centre of the main table, had been a whole suckling pig with its flesh dark and crispy and with a red apple in its mouth.
And still she could hardly eat a bite.
The servants were clearing away the plates and platters now, bringing in the desserts and sweets. A mountain of brightly colored macaroons. An enormous blancmange, wobbling on the plate. The very last being a three-tiered cake, iced with snow white marzipan, scattered with small pink flowers.
Patricia’s heart flipped over in her chest. The wedding cake.
Her eyes swept over the guests, who were looking well satisfied, after the enormous main course. Most were strangers to her. She had been briefly introduced to the Duke’s best man, who turned out to be his man of affairs; Mr. Godwin. The man had stared at her curiously, his small eyes assessing her as if she were a strange sum he had just encountered in a ledger.
Patricia smiled slowly. Eleanor was here, along with her husband, Lord Reynolds. She had been hoping her dear friend would be able to make it. It had been such short notice after all. But she should have known that Eleanor would not miss this for the world. She hadn’t had a chance to speak to her yet. Perhaps that time was now.
She turned to the Duke, who was seated next to her. He pushed away his plate, looking replete. A servant swiftly removed it.
“May I go and talk with some of our guests?” she asked.
He smiled crookedly. “You do not need to ask my permission, Patricia. This is as much your day as it is mine.”
She smiled back, feeling relieved. He was being so very sweet to her. So sweet that the guilt that had been gnawing at her had grown, almost overtaking her. She tried to push it aside. She didn’t have to ask him about funds for her family today. It could wait for a better time.
Patricia trembled, just thinking about it.
“I shall not be long,” she said, standing.
