"Right!" Chuffy agreed. "Time to tie the knot."
The vicar launched into the text. Clearly, he had grasped that the marriage he was solemnizing had little to do with love or, for that matter, sanctity.
Vander allowed the words to flow over him while he thought about his wife-to-be. Mia knew her Shakespeare. Chuffy liked her. His uncle was an old drunkard, but of everyone in Vander's family, he'd been most like a parent. Vander had loved him when he was a boy, and he still did.
When it came time for Vander to say his vows, he felt an unanticipated peacefulness. He'd been coerced into this marriage, and likely he'd never be able to entirely forgive Mia.
But he was gaining a wife who would always be true to him. That thought raised a primitive feeling in his chest, a possessive streak that he'd probably developed the moment his mother had first brought another man into the house.
Mia repeated her vows in a clear, calm voice. It was surprising, actually. He would have supposed she'd be in tears, having achieved a goal she'd yearned for since childhood.
She never met his eyes during the ceremony, just looked at her hands. Even so, he enjoyed sliding a ring that had belonged to his great-grandmother onto her finger.
The vicar pronounced them man and wife, snapped his prayer book closed and said, "You may kiss the bride."
Vander hadn't considered this part of the rite. His first thought was that he shouldn't indulge in casual intimacies of that nature-his new duchess might assume that he would regularly engage in affectionate gestures. Mia looked up. Her gaze seared into him, even though there was no reproach there.
Before he could move, Chuffy bellowed, "Well, lad, if you ain't going to do it, I will!" With that he rounded Mia into his arms and gave her a smack on the lips, making her laugh.
Vander forced himself to relax. For God's sake, he didn't give a damn if his uncle kissed his bride.
Thorn, India, and Villiers gathered around, offering measured good wishes. He watched Mia blink when she was addressed as "Your Grace" for the first time. She looked endearingly uncertain.
"Right," Chuffy said, clearly having taken on the role of master of ceremonies. "I instructed Nottle to lay on the champagne and a decent wedding breakfast, so let's get ourselves out of here. You can accompany your wife from the chapel, I trust?" he said, giving Vander a narrow-eyed glare that appeared surprisingly sober.
Vander didn't answer, but simply held out his arm to his wife.
His wife.
Mia walked down the aisle next to Vander, in the grip of a tremendous sense of relief. It was done. No one-not even the despicable Sir Richard-could gainsay her marriage to a duke. It tied her to a man who loathed her, and to a lonely life after the marriage was formally dissolved, but Charlie's safety was assured.
No more Sir Richard and his litigious, fault-finding ways. She would hire a tutor immediately and pay him double to accompany them to Bavaria. She would arrange to have the cottages in the village re-thatched; they had leaked last winter, but Sir Richard was of the conviction that cottagers should repair their own roofs, even if owners of those roofs had grown old in service to the Carringtons.
Furthermore, she would dismiss any servant who looked at Charlie as if he had two noses. Thinking of Charlie calmed the feelings cascading through her. She had promised him she would return by late afternoon.
Life would soon settle down to its usual quiet rhythm. She would get back to writing; perhaps she could finish the novel in a month or so. She would pretend this painful episode never happened. She had practice forgetting humiliations . . . this was just another one, albeit acute.
Throughout the wedding breakfast, the party discussed Twelfth Night, which kept them away from stickier topics.
"I didn't like the play," Lady Xenobia confessed. "I thought it absurd that the countess vows to remain in mourning for her entire life merely because her brother just died. But I have no siblings, and perhaps I underestimate the bond."
"Siblings grow on you in insidious ways," her husband said. "I count myself lucky to be related to every one of mine."
"But would you go into mourning and declare yourself unable to marry if one of your siblings passed away?" Lady Xenobia demanded. "The whole premise of the play is absurd. Shakespeare created an improbability and hung the whole story on it."
"Come away, come away, death," Chuffy sang.
"The play is about the way grief can overwhelm reason," Mia said. "Viola is a little mad with grief. When my-" She stopped short, wondering what on earth she was doing. She never talked about her feelings. It must be the champagne.
"I gather you lost your brother, which would explain why I was the one who walked you down the aisle," Chuffy said. "Older or younger? Can't say I've spent much time poring over Debrett's."
"My brother John was older than me. He actually died in the same inn fire that killed my father and the late duchess," Mia told him, managing a weak smile.
"That was dashed bad luck," Chuffy said, patting her hand. "I suppose that's why you went a bit cracked."
"Oh, did you crack?" Thorn Dautry asked, his eyes innocent, as if the question wasn't astonishingly discourteous.
"Of course she did," Chuffy said. "Look, she's in this house, ain't she? Marrying the son of her father's mistress. If that ain't mad, I don't know what is. Like to like, they always say, and madness runs rampant in this family."
After that charming observation, Mia glanced around and realized that everyone's plates were empty. She and Vander needed to have the last conversation of their married life. Given that he couldn't even bring himself to kiss her after the ceremony, he would surely rejoice at the news his wife planned to desert him before the wedding night. She might as well give him that pleasure now.
She rose, perhaps with a bit more eagerness than was truly courteous.
The Duke of Villiers's eyes were wryly amused as he kissed Mia's hand goodbye. "This has been a remarkably literary morning. I confess I find myself far more interested in you, my dear, than I was earlier. My wife will be truly regretful that she was unable to join us."
Mia shook her head. "I assure you that there is nothing interesting about me, Your Grace." She mentally crossed her fingers; some people might consider a secret identity as a writer to be fairly interesting.
"Just a minute," Villiers replied, laughter running through his voice. "Literature is not my forte. And my memory is not what it used to be."
"I see," she said politely.
"O time!" Villiers declaimed, "thou must untangle this, not I."
"I assure you that there is nothing to untangle," Mia said, quite untruthfully, "though I applaud your Shakespearean fluency."
"Marriage has made me more intelligent," he said, looking almost friendly.
Mia quickly withdrew her hand. The last thing she wanted was to have these people think of her as a friend. She wasn't. She had done a loathsome thing to Vander, for her own purposes, and she would be out of their lives very soon.
After they left, Mia turned to her husband before she could lose all courage. "Your Grace, we have much to discuss," she said.
"The possibilities for conversation are endless," Vander drawled. "Lear? Hamlet?" Unsurprisingly, it seemed he hadn't enjoyed the literary conversation as much as she and Lady Xenobia had.
"I am serious," she insisted.
"I can spare you a short time. I want to take off these clothes and get out to the stables. I have a new horse that is having trouble settling in."
Mia decided on the spot that she was sorry for whoever ended up married to Vander.
The poor lady was going to have to steal minutes of conversation, given that horses were clearly more important than wives. Hopefully, the next duchess wouldn't have trouble settling in, because Vander would be in the stables coddling a horse.
"Ten minutes," she promised.
Chapter Nine
From the offices of Brandy, Bucknell & Bendal, Publishers
September 9, 1800
Dear Miss Carrington,
I eagerly await your response to mine of August 27, but in the meantime, I am including here a number of readers' letters. I have taken the liberty of opening them, given that unpleasant business last year with the gentleman who felt at a disadvantage compared to your heroes. I wish to bring to your particular attention the letter from Mrs. Petunia Stubbs.