The Wedding Affair (37 page)

Simon swallowed hard and told himself having a license was one thing; standing up in front of a priest and taking vows was another.

“The wedding will have to be a quiet one, of course.” The duchess raised her voice. “Miss Blakely? Come in, please.” She flicked her hand at Simon, shooing him away. “That’s all, dear. Go and take care of the arrangements now. And if you haven’t yet offered for the lady, perhaps you should think about doing so—and
quickly
.”

Sixteen

Kate couldn’t overhear the low-voiced conversation going on in the duchess’s sitting room, though she had to admit she’d tried to listen. Which, she supposed, only confirmed what the vicar had said about the effects of her time at Halstead—for Kate couldn’t recall feeling the urge to eavesdrop before.

Still, only a saint could have sat there and not wondered what the duchess could possibly be saying to her son that left the duke so nearly speechless.

“Miss Blakely?” the duchess called. “Come in, please.”

Kate shot a look at the duke as he left. He looked pale. And perhaps—determined?

The duchess surveyed Kate critically. “I must commend the modiste for her selection of fabric, but I think the simple style must have been your choice.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“A very good result—and with the dull surface of the fabric and the deep color, no one could think it in poor taste.”

The vicar could
, Kate thought. But what the vicar thought was no longer any worry of hers.

“You will be wondering why I asked you to take a moment from your busy day to see me, Miss Blakely. I am extremely grateful for the assistance you have given in the past few days. In fact, I cannot express how much I appreciate you, so I hope you will not be offended by a token gift.”

Kate’s heart beat a little faster. What the duchess called a token would no doubt look like a fortune to someone in her circumstances.

The duchess picked up her fan and gloves. Underneath them lay a small leather-bound book with an elaborate design picked out on the front cover in gold. “This prayer book was a gift to me long ago. I hope you will find the study of its contents to be as rewarding as I did.”

A prayer book, Kate thought helplessly. What more useless gift could the daughter of a vicar receive? She owned half a dozen already; what was she to do with yet another? The duchess must still think she was going to marry Mr. Blakely—for a prayer book, even though redundant, was a gift the vicar would approve.

I should tell her I’ve refused him
, Kate thought. But something inside her shuddered at the thought of talking about it. She was too embarrassed even to confess she had given Mr. Blakely’s offer serious thought…

The calfskin warmed in her hands as she held the little book. The worn satin ribbons that held the book closed slid across her wrist, tickling her.

The duchess had given her a ball gown that she would have no opportunity to wear again and a prayer book…

And it wasn’t even a
new
prayer book.

“I don’t know how to thank you, ma’am,” Kate managed to say.

The duchess smiled. “It’s nothing, my dear. Run along—and enjoy the ball this evening.”

***

Though the duchess had warned that a ball gown made in such a hurry must of necessity be a simple one, in fact Olivia thought her dress the loveliest thing she had ever owned. Each time she moved, the silver tissue skirt drifted lazily around her, as light and airy as clouds in the summer sky. She felt quite elegant even before she went up to the nursery and watched her daughter’s eyes widen.

“You look like Cinderella,” Charlotte whispered.

Complete with borrowed finery
, Olivia thought. Her lacy shawl and fan and shoes were on loan from Lady Townsend, who had flung open her trunks this afternoon for Kate and Olivia to choose from. And though the silver nosegay holder full of baby roses had arrived with the duke’s card attached, Olivia knew that was nothing special, for Kate had told her every lady at Halstead was meant to receive a similar one tonight.

Charlotte settled back into her cot. “The duchess will bring me a sweet from the ball.”

Olivia’s heart sank. Obviously Simon had not passed along her strictures on visiting to his mother. “Did she say she would?”

Charlotte nodded firmly.

“Then I’m sure she meant it. But she will be busy with all her guests until long after you’re asleep.”

“But she promised!”

Olivia thought,
And when she realizes you’re not going to be a part of the family after all…
“You must not count on her. She will be fully occupied tomorrow with the wedding, Charlotte.”

“I want to see the bride!”

“I think there can be no objection to you and Nurse watching Lady Daphne get into the carriage that will take her to the church.” Olivia looked down at her daughter. “Everyone at Halstead is making you feel very special right now, Charlotte. But in a day or two we’ll be going home to the cottage, and then things will be as they always have been before.”

Charlotte considered. “My pony?” she asked hopefully.

“The pony is not yours, dear. He belongs to the duke, who only loaned him to you for a ride today. In any case, we have no place to keep a pony.”

The child stuck out her lower lip. “But the duke said—”

“The duke said a good many things.” Olivia knew her voice was sharp, and she almost wished Simon was here right now so he could see firsthand the results of his spoiling. “Your pout is most unattractive, Charlotte. It’s time for your prayers.”

Charlotte’s list of people to bless had grown immensely in just one day. She rattled off names from the duke and duchess to the nursery maids and the tweeny who had brought her supper upstairs. But perhaps, Olivia thought hopefully, Charlotte was merely groping for people to bless, to keep her mother beside her for another minute and delay sleep. Perhaps her enthusiastic prayer didn’t mean she would miss those people or even remember them when they vanished from her life.

Finally, however, the amens were said. Olivia scooped up Charlotte for a good-night hug and then went down to dinner.

Most of the ladies hadn’t yet appeared—Olivia thought they were doubtless still primping for the ball, which would begin shortly after dinner was over—but the duke was already in the drawing room, and the instant she came in, she could feel his gaze on her.

She hadn’t seen him all afternoon, not since the archery contest had ended and the winner had laughingly claimed his arm to walk back to the house.

She had to admit she had missed him, and her heart lifted when she caught sight of him. When his gaze ran slowly over her, from the cluster of roses she had woven into her glossy curls all the way to the toes of her borrowed slippers, heat followed, pooling in her belly and making her feet clumsy. He knew it too, for he smiled and let the very tip of his tongue graze his lip, reminding her of the delight he had given her and would no doubt give her again tonight, if this ball was ever behind them…

Not only Charlotte needed to be reminded that none of this was real, that nothing would last. The transformation would not happen precisely at midnight, and Olivia’s dress would not change into rags—but when her time was up, all the special treats would wilt just as quickly as the roses in her nosegay, and she would be back in the cottage among the cinders…

But that would come later. For now, she would enjoy the remaining time. She smiled at the duke and was pleased to see she could have something of the same effect on him that he so effortlessly created in her.

His eyes widened just a little, and he came across the room to her. “Lady Reyne.” Even the soft syllables of her name were a caress that whispered along her skin and made her ache for his touch.

His gaze slid past her to the door. Olivia glanced over her shoulder to see a tall, thin gentleman all in black.

“Archbishop,” the duke said. “I am so pleased you could join us this evening.”

Olivia’s stomach lurched.

“As it turns out,” the duke said softly, “my mother discovered he was in the vicinity after all. And since she is daydreaming of special licenses and hurried ceremonies—”

“The sooner the duchess is disabused of her notion, the better.” Olivia’s voice sounded calmer than it was. “We have not discussed, as yet, how to end this. I suppose I could slap you and walk off the ballroom floor.”

“You needn’t sound gleeful about the possibility. And tomorrow is soon enough.”

Olivia considered. “Because you’re afraid all the bridesmaids might line up to console you overnight?”

“You saw what happened today when you quarreled with me. They were like a pack of flies again.”

“That was not a quarrel. That was a—” She stopped herself short; in a day or two, nothing she had said to him would matter anyway. She would never see him again unless perhaps she chanced to be in the garden some day when he rode through the village. But she would not think about it now. “When
do
you wish me to jilt you? In the church?”

“I have put the archbishop off until tomorrow so he may enjoy his evening. He and I have an appointment just before Daphne’s wedding.”

“I could throw coffee over you at breakfast.”

“Must you take pleasure in this? I am to meet with the archbishop at ten in the library. If you are there already when he arrives, perhaps even shedding a tear as you tell me that after long reflection you cannot bear to violate your period of mourning, and so you must for the moment decline my offer and postpone our marital happiness…”

“
Postpone?
” Olivia said. “You said you wanted me to jilt you. That’s an entirely different thing.”

“Yes, but I’ve reconsidered. Leaving my mother with a flutter of hope seems more practical.”

“Practical for you, perhaps, because as long as she thinks you besotted with me, she might not force other young women to your attention. But for me, it’s hardly a pleasant alternative.”

He smiled. “I wish we were alone, Olivia, so I could show you how wrong you are.” He raised his voice. “Archbishop, may I introduce a very special person? I’d like you to meet my… Lady Reyne.”

***

With a dozen bridesmaids keeping score of who he danced with, to say nothing of the other ladies of rank who were present and expecting notice from their host, fully half the ball had passed before Simon had a break from the dance floor.

Finally, however, he bowed before Olivia for the first waltz. “I should turn you down,” she said.

“Then I would be left standing alone, for I could never honor one of the bridesmaids with a waltz when the others have received only country dances. How dreadful for the host to be unable to find a partner.”

“They’re all staring. What if I stumble?”

“I shall hold you closely so you can’t.”

She flicked a look up at him through her lashes. “And
that’s
supposed to comfort me?”

Simon noticed that his mother was watching them, her lips pursed thoughtfully. He swept Olivia onto the floor, which fortunately was so crowded that the dance was more intimate than usual. Her steps matched his perfectly; her height was exactly right for him to look into her eyes as they danced; and the brush of her skirt as they spun around the room reminded him of other touches during last night’s long and luxurious lovemaking. He was impatient for the ball to be ended, so he could have her once more under him in an entirely different sort of rhythm.

“You waltz as deliciously as you make love,” he whispered as the music ended, and delighted in the wash of color over her face.

She refused a cold drink, so he walked her over to a corner of the ballroom to join Kate Blakely and the bridesmaid who had fallen down in the abbey ruins. Though the bridesmaid had managed to hobble downstairs for the ball, she was looking interestingly pale, and Simon passed a few minutes in polite conversation lest she feel slighted in favor of the other bridesmaids.

Finally, with his obligations complete, he turned back to Olivia to ask for the next dance. “I have promised it to the colonel,” she said, and though Simon laughed at the idea, she went off with the elderly gentleman who, to Simon’s surprise, was quite good at the country dance.

At loose ends, Simon retreated to the refreshment room and sent one of the footmen after something more substantial than the ratafia and punch his mother had ordered for the ladies.

As he was waiting, Sir Jasper Folsom came in, and Simon—so recently reminded of the bridesmaid’s accident—recalled telling the duchess he would take up the matter of the abbey ruins at the next opportunity. He just hadn’t expected the baronet to be on the guest list for Daphne’s ball. “Sir Jasper, I would like to consult you in a matter that concerns us both.”

“I’ve been expecting you would, Your Grace. A matter of a lady, is it?”

Simon frowned. “My mother has expressed concern about the condition of the abbey ruins, after one of our guests had an accident there.”