The servants all knew about the wedding, of course, though Ralph did not believe any formal announcement had been made to them. The butler and the housekeeper had every last one of them lined up on either side of the back hallway, including Ralph’s valet and the coachman who had driven his baggage coach, the menservants on one side, the maidservants on the other. They all curtsied or bowed when the small entourage stepped inside, and Weller made a stiff, pompous little speech before leading the staff in three self-conscious cheers.
The duke harrumphed, Ralph made an impromptu little speech of thanks, which he feared sounded every bit as pompous as Weller’s, the duchess looked both regal and benevolent, and the Countess of Berwick smiled and glowed and thanked everyone for their kind good wishes and for the lovely surprise of their welcome, all without sounding even the tiniest little bit pompous.
Ralph drew her hand through his arm and patted it.
The wedding breakfast, Weller announced with a bow, would be served in the dining room at the convenience of His Grace and Her Grace and his lordship and her ladyship.
The wedding breakfast?
“It may be served in half an hour’s time,” the duchess said, nodding graciously to all her servants again and leading the way to the front of the house.
Ralph looked down at his bride when they had left the back hallway and the servants behind.
“I fear,” he said, “the ring may be a little large.” It was hidden beneath her glove at the moment.
“Just a little, perhaps,” she agreed. “But it can be put right. Most things can.”
Could they? Could they?
“That was unplanned,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the back hall. “So, I believe, was the breakfast, though perhaps it is just Weller’s grand name for luncheon today. I hope you have not been made to feel uncomfortable.”
He felt dashed uncomfortable for no reason he could explain to himself. Except that, good Lord, this was his wedding day. He had a sudden memory of Flavian and his bride driving away from the village church in Gloucestershire a few weeks ago, Flave kissing her while the guests spilling out of the church and the villagers gathered outside cheered and whistled and the church bells pealed joyfully. Ralph felt a little ashamed of the shabby apology for a wedding to which he had subjected his bride. He had not even offered a token kiss.
“Not at all,” she said, smiling up at him. “I was having a hard time believing in the reality of our wedding until I saw the servants waiting to greet us. But I think we really are married, my lord.”
“Ralph,” he said, frowning. “You had better call me that since, yes, we really are married.”
It was too late now to go back and do things differently.
“Then you must call me Chloe,” she said.
“Chloe.” And now what the devil? His eyes swept over her. “You will need to change?”
It struck him belatedly that he could have told her, quite truthfully, how pretty she looked. He still could raise her hand to his lips.
“Yes,” she said, withdrawing her arm from his before he could put his thought into action. “I shall be back down within the half hour, my l— Ralph.”
He watched her climb the stairs. She looked the same as ever from behind—slim, neat, a near stranger. But within the past hour everything had changed. She was his wife. She was Chloe. And he did not have any idea how to deal with her or how to deal with married life. He did not want to have to deal with either.
Tonight there would be the consummation.
He strode off in the direction of the book room to make sure the exertions of the past hour had not been too much for his grandfather.
7
Chloe sat on the side of her bed, her hands clasped in her lap. She felt restless and self-conscious, though she was still alone. She was wearing the nightgown she had made a little over a year ago before she went to London to stay with her aunt. She had appliquéd yellow-centered daisies about the hem of the fine white linen and at the edges of the sleeves. She had always liked it, but she did not suppose it was very bridelike.
She had braided her hair and wound it about her head beneath the frilled cap she had made to match the nightgown but had never worn before tonight. She had hesitated about wearing it now, and about braiding her hair and putting it up. Perhaps she ought to have left it down and uncovered. It was just that it was so very . . . well, red.
She felt mortifyingly skittish, as though this were a wedding night that really mattered. It did matter, of course, for perhaps tonight or tomorrow night or some other night soon she would conceive. Yes, tonight meant a great deal except in any personal way. It really was not important what she did with her hair or what she wore. Or how she felt.
She unclasped her hands and gazed down at her palms. She was married, yet Papa did not know, or Graham, or Lucy. His mother did not know or any of his sisters. Tomorrow they were going to leave here and start changing all that. They had decided they were going first to Hampshire to break the news to Papa. The Earl of Berwick—Ralph—would discuss the marriage settlement with him even though the nuptials had already taken place. Then they would go home to Elmwood Manor in nearby Wiltshire and write to their other relatives. So many letters to be written, so many people to be surprised. And a marriage announcement would have to be sent off to all the London papers for the information of other acquaintances and the ton in general.
When informed of their plans during the wedding breakfast, the duchess had expressed disappointment. In her opinion they ought to proceed to London immediately after calling upon Chloe’s papa. There they would be able to call in person upon the Dowager Countess of Berwick, Ralph’s mother; upon Lady Keilly, Ralph’s youngest sister, who was in town for the Season with Viscount Keilly, her husband; upon the Reverend Graham Muirhead and Mrs. Nelson, Chloe’s sister—all within one day. They would also be able to make a round of social appearances while the whole of the beau monde was gathered in London. They would be able to host a ball at Stockwood House in celebration of their marriage. It would be one of the grand squeezes of the Season.