The Infamous Bride (19 page)

"R.J." she whispered, hoping for reassurance.

"Only a few more hours, Juliet." His smile was bracing, but not sympathetic as he took her arm and led her away. Husband. Wife. Strangers. "Let us try not to create yet another scandal before the first has even spread itself to London."

She stood numbly at the head of the reception line, accepting congratulations from the few guests who had attended the ceremony and the supper to celebrate the marriage. She had dreamed of her wedding ever since she had been old enough to understand that she must one day marry. She had dreamed, and she had planned for the day.

The man himself had been a shadow. Handsome, she knew. But dark? Fair? She had not cared. But the dress. She had designed it in her mind. The palest, pearliest pink. Satin. A flowing train that the twins would bear in a solemn procession behind her. And the flower she would carry — a single white orchid. She had planned for a hundred guests. Family and friends around her.

Only one part of her dream had come true. Family.

Her sisters had shown nothing but kindness to her. Her brother Valentine was here despite the haste of the plans. His wife, Emily, had needed to stay home at Anderlin with her sons. Juliet wondered sadly whether she would see Emily or her little nephews ever again.

She did not know how she would live without her family. America was so far away. How could she bear not to see her brother and sisters for years at a time? They were everything to her. She loved them all. And they loved her; she knew it despite their often exasperated reactions to whatever she chose to do. Including making love to R.J. Hopkins on a moonlit night. Valentine had even, sweetly, subjected R.J. to a four-hour interview last evening to ensure that the man was not an unsuitable husband.

"Juliet, are you well?" R.J. was regarding her with concern.

"I'm well enough." She smiled, although she would have preferred to sob out loud.

"You look about to cry."

"I am. I miss my family."

"We have not left yet," he said reasonably, as if such a fact should counteract her feelings of loss. "You will not have to say good-bye to them until we return tomorrow to board the ship for Boston."

"I am aware of that," she grated out, trying not to let her annoyance with him show to any casual observer. "However, I am contemplating the final parting tomorrow, and that makes me sad." Why must she explain her emotion to him as if he were a backward child who had never felt sadness himself?

His lips pressed together, the only sign that he was not happy with her response. "Don't let your sorrow show, then."

"But that is how I feel." She wanted to shout at him. His stuffiness exasperated her so.

He glanced about the room. "We must pretend that we are happy about the marriage or the scandal will be even worse."

Stung, she said sharply, "What does it matter what we pretend? People will say what they wish whether it is true or not."

"Juliet." His voice was cold and meant to quell. She did not like being silenced. Especially not by R.J. Hopkins, who had not looked once upon her with desire since — "Very well, then. I will visit my sisters in the schoolroom. I know they will not gossip about me just because I am feeling regret at having to leave them behind."

Pleased to have roused a reaction, she enjoyed his struggle to suppress a flicker of dismay. He objected, "You cannot do that now. We are about to go in to supper. What will people say?"

She smiled as sweetly as she knew how. "Why don't you tell them that I am too nervous to eat, as I am in virginal terror of my wedding night." She gave a gasp of false horror, widening her eyes.

"Juliet." He seemed unable to say much more than her name. His expression was as unexpressive as a marble statue. Why didn't he get angry? Why didn't he shout at her? Why didn't he want her now that she was his wife?

A few curious guests glanced her way, so she lowered her voice when she added, "Oh, but you cannot do that, can you? Everyone knows I have already had my wedding night — unfortunately, not in anticipation of any proposed marriage." Unable to bear his coldness one moment more, she turned on her heel and fled.

* * * * *

What had he said? He had only pointed out the necessity to keep one's private thoughts private. From Juliet's reaction, he might have told her she needed to lop off all her hair and wear sackcloth and ashes forever. He considered following her up to the schoolroom. But then the gossips would sharpen their tongues over the absence of both bride and groom from their own wedding supper. What would they think?

Heat flushed through him as he realized what would be suspected if they were both absent — that they could not control themselves and had stolen away to consummate the marriage. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the surge of longing to follow Juliet, carry her bodily to his room — to their room — and show her that they need not regret the future.

Would she want him to? He didn't know. She had enjoyed making love. She had called it wonderful when the duchess questioned her. He had wanted to kiss her then. In front of the duke and duchess. Only his force of will had prevented him from making a fool of himself there.

He had kept a tight rein on his desire these last two days. Knowing what he could have with her. Needing what he would have with her tonight. And not able to act on his need until they had exchanged vows. Selfishly, he could think of nothing but tonight and the pleasure he would give her. But would the pleasure diminish for her now that she had no choice in the matter? She had wanted to make love to him that night. She had not wanted to marry him.

He pushed the difficult thoughts away as he saw his sister approaching. He hoped she would not notice that Juliet was nowhere about. Although he would have to find some excuse for Juliet's absence unless she returned before supper began. Somehow he did not think she would.

Susannah greeted him warmly. "I'm sorry that Mama is being so miserable. But she did so hope that I would become Lady Blessingham."

Another regret to add to the pot. "I have made that virtually impossible, I fear. Unless you wish me to see — "

"No. Lord Blessingham is not for me. There is no one here capable of convincing me to live in England the rest of my life." His sister's expression clouded for a moment, and then she smiled at him. "I am so happy that we are going home."

"So am I." R.J. answered. "I do apologize, though, that my foolishness should cast a shadow upon your life."

"Don't be silly." She laughed. "I am delighted to have a new sister. I am praying she can make you smile more, dear brother."

"Still, I am sorry for it." Though she seemed not to realize the damage he had caused to her reputation with his foolishness, he did. Annabel was right to be furious with him. He could only hope that the taint of scandal did not follow them back to Boston.

Susannah made a sound of exasperation. "I don't care a bit that my connection with you and your scandal make me an unsuitable bride for an English lord."

He could see that she meant every word she said.

In some ways, his transgression had diverted Annabel from her plans for Susannah in a way that nothing else could have. "You got your way without having to tip your hand. I think you owe me. Perhaps you can say a word in my defense to Father." He tried to hide his own misery under affectionate teasing.

"Of course I will," she promised before flitting off to say farewell to yet another friend she had made during her time in London. He expected she would be sending shiploads of correspondence across the ocean. His father would complain about the unnecessary cost, no doubt.

Father. R.J. would not want Susannah to know how much he dreaded the coming meeting between Jonathan Hopkins and Juliet. True, Juliet was not a dark-haired Italian woman, but her flirtatious behavior was akin to his mother's own behavior toward his father. He could only hope he could curtail her vibrancy enough to make living in the household together bearable.

He already knew he did not have Annabel's support in this effort. His stepmother had made it abundantly clear that she had no patience, either, for his new bride or his foolish lack of discretion.

Curtailing Juliet's impulsive nature was already proving to be troublesome. He reminded himself she had a loving nature, if a bit impetuous. She was leaving her family behind, she was bound to miss them.

Surely his father would see her good points. After all, she had been one of the most courted young women in London. He sighed. If Juliet, who had won the hearts of so many suitors, could win his father's respect, perhaps any damage would be quickly repaired.

Perhaps his father would trust him again. Perhaps. But what a task it would be. He could not afford to slip, to cause another indiscretion.

The duchess approached him with an air of concern. "Have you seen Juliet?"

"She went to visit the schoolroom one last time, I believe." He saw no reason to lie to her sister. Surely she knew Juliet better than he. She would know what to make of his bride's odd mood.

She nodded. "I remember how desolate I was to leave my sisters and brother behind when I married Simon." Sadness shadowed her gaze for a moment. "Of course, I did not go an ocean away."

"We will visit, I promise." R.J. determined, even as he made the promise, that he would convince his father to further his interests in England. Juliet must see her family at least once a year. "And certainly you and the duke will be welcome in my home." When he had secured one. As a bachelor, it had been expedient to remain in his father's home. But now? He must begin his own household. The thought of Juliet choosing a home, furnishings, servants, pleased and terrified him at once.

She smiled. "You must think me silly to worry about her. But you are strangers, after all." Her gaze was steady and searching as she watched him. "I trust you will treat my sister well. She is worried about being so far from family."

He did not know how to reassure a concerned older sister. "I hope to curb some of her more exuberant habits, but otherwise we should get along well enough."

"I know." She laughed. "I have questioned poor Lord Pendrake until he wishes never to see me again. He has nothing but good to say of you." She paused an awkward moment, perhaps wishing she hadn't brought Freddie into the conversation.

"Pendrake has assured me he is delighted at the match." Astonishingly enough, Freddie had done so as soon as he heard the news. R.J. had not bothered to correct his friend's assumption that R.J. and Juliet had made a love match. The truth would do no one any credit.

"I do worry, though, that you know my sister so little, you may misjudge her heart to be frivolous. I assure you it is not." She hesitated, as if about to impart a great secret and not certain if she should. Then she leaned toward him. "You cannot tell her that I told you this. In fact, if anyone in this room with the exception of our family knew, Juliet would not be welcome here."

His heart jolted against his ribcage, and dread made him blunt. "Something worse than the scandal we have generated?"

"Oh, yes." As if she had recognized his worry belatedly, she held out her hands and waved them in front of her face as if to erase her words. "You see, scandal in matters of the heart is not unusual for our family."

"No?" He had heard rumors to such effect, but he had not thought it wise to pursue them. After all, he would be far from this family once he was back in Boston.

"Yes. Unfortunately, our family has generated even more scandalous situations." She looked at him speculatively for a moment, and he had the uneasy feeling she was imagining him upon the balcony with Juliet. "Well, perhaps not quite so traditionally scandalous. Why, Valentine was accused of murder, and his wife had to announce their clandestine marriage on the eve of her wedding to another man. So if you find it any consolation, you and Juliet have a rather unexceptional scandal."

Unexceptional. She thought his climbing the balcony to Juliet's room and making love to her was unexceptional? "Then what is it she has done that is so much worse it cannot be spoken of outside the family?" He wished he had heard this information before the marriage. It seemed convenient that she waited until it was too late to tell him. Was there madness in her family? His father would not forgive him for bringing madness into his family.

"The buttons you find so foolish?" She waited for his nod before she continued. "They are her business."

"Her business?" He tried to sort out her meaning. Certainly a well-bred London society woman would not be conducting business. She would be shunned.

"Yes. In fact, those very buttons are responsible for the dowry that she brings you."

"Buttons? She makes buttons?" He pictured her, for a brief moment, calmly carving buttons. The absurdity struck him almost as soon as the picture formed in his mind.

"No." The duchess laughed aloud at the suggestion. "She discovered one of the tenants at Anderlin, my brother's estate, had lost his legs and was not able to farm but was good at carving."

She was watching him carefully as she told him her fairy story, and he did not know what reaction she sought, so he was careful to give her none at all. "She brought him some ivory, and he turned out beautiful buttons for her to wear."

Miranda continued, when he said nothing to encourage or discourage her tale. "She recognized that his talent, given adequate stone supply, would help Anderlin's financial situation. She convinced Valentine to allow her to travel to London to supply some of the more fashionable modistes with these uniquely carved buttons."

He found himself impressed despite his original skepticism. "That was well thought out of her."

"Yes." The duchess nodded, pleased that he understood. "Her simple wish to help a tenant has done much to bring Anderlin back to solvency, although it can never create a fortune to match yours."

"Why have you told me this?"

Her lips pressed together in a thin line for a moment. "Because Juliet seems to think one of the reasons you took a dislike to her was that you place a great deal of value on those who work for their living, and not much on those who are idle pleasure seekers."