Page 18 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

The Dowager Duchess kept up this commentary as they walked past the long lines of empty wooden pews, their shoes clicking loudly on the marble floor.

At the front of the church, the Dowager Duchess settled into her seat. Glancing around, Hugh saw that they were not entirely alone as he had first thought. Jemima was already sitting by herself on the bride’s side of the church, and a man in a white cassock was seated at the organ, ready to play.

Jemima smiled brightly at Hugh and at his grandmother, who returned her greeting with a gracious nod of acknowledgment. Hugh nodded back more warmly, finding himself strangely glad to be welcomed by at least one person from the Wright family.

The final minutes ticked by so very slowly. If Jemima was here, it also likely meant that Catherine was close by. Still, it seemed an age until the priest joined Hugh at the altar and another age until the tones of the organ suddenly blared out and made him spin around to face the church door, where his bride had finally appeared.

Hugh had not anticipated the maelstrom of emotions that assaulted him as he saw Catherine walk down the aisle on the arm of Lord Sedgehall. With his bride’s arrival, relief at almost having achieved his nuptial aims battled with a sudden surge of pure physical desire.

His bride wore a green silk day dress with a matching jacket, both perfectly tailored to her slender curves. Her lush dark blonde hair was pinned up beneath a straw bonnet lined with white silk and decorated with tiny ferns and forest flowers. As he had said in the park, he found Catherine beautiful regardless of what she wore, but the simplicity and color of her attire suited her well.

While her father beamed with delight, the bride looked pensive, a little frightened, and very determined, all at once. Hugh wanted to reassure Catherine that all would be well but wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He wanted a wife, wanted an heir, and wanted Catherine in his bed. But how could their life ever be “well?”

At the altar, Lord Sedgehall handed his oldest daughter over to Hugh and took his seat beside the equally pleased-looking Jemima. The echoes of the organ faded into silence, and Hugh and Catherine stood together in tense anticipation.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered to her as the priest intoned the opening words of the service. “That is, I’m glad you weren’t frightened away.”

“Of course, I’m here,” she whispered back tersely, as though he had somehow challenged her. “I’m not at all frightened of you.”

Looking into Catherine’s limpid green eyes, Hugh believed that she was not afraid of him—which was good—but she was still afraid of something. He hoped that in time, she might be able to tell him exactly what that was. He might even be able to banish those fears.

But that would mean getting close to her, and something inside him both shrank and glowered at the very idea.

What if he only brought his new wife misfortune, just as he had brought misfortune to everyone else he had cared about? How could he ensure that his curse did not affect her?

God only knew.

Regardless of whatever misery this marriage might bring to either party, the Duke of Redbridge needed a wife and an heir. These questions could never be spoken aloud and would have to be answered in time.

Right now, there were other simpler and more immediate demands being put to Hugh.

“Repeat after me,Your Grace. I, Hugh Benedict Carlton Vaughan, Duke of Redbridge, do take thee,Catherine Lucinda Wright, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

A few minutes later, all necessary words had been calmly and coolly spoken by both parties, all vows were publicly stated, and the deed was done. Hugh and Catherine were married.

They knelt at the altar while the priest continued with the final part of the service.

“… Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine upon the walls of thine house… Thy children like the olive-branches, round about thy table…”

Hugh turned his head slightly to look at the pale and drawn but tightly controlled features of his bride. If she was to be fruitful, he must at least get close enough to her to bed her, regardless of the danger of his presence to those around him.

For the first time in many years, Hugh sent up a prayer, asking only that whatever became of him, Catherine would not be harmed by his touch.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Is it a family heirloom?” Catherine asked, holding up her ring finger to the window and breaking the silence that had reigned in the carriage since they first left the church.

Saying their farewells outside St. George’s had taken only a matter of minutes for both Catherine and Hugh, neither of them being publicly demonstrative nor having anything significant to say to their very small band of relatives. As both the bride and groom preferred, no wedding breakfast or further celebration had been planned.

Once the register was signed and witnessed, the Dowager Duchess of Redbridge had patted them both lightly on the back with a nod of approval, and Lord Sedgehall had shaken his new son-in-law’s hand. Only Jemima had impulsively embraced the couple before they climbed into their crested coach to begin their new life together.

“Goodbye, Catherine! Goodbye, Hugh!” Jemima had called after them as the coach pulled away. “Good luck!”

At those final words, Hugh’s eyes had met those of his new wife.

“Good luck…” he had murmured to himself, a satirical glint in his blue eyes, and then turned deliberately away from her and closed his eyes.

It was only now, twenty minutes later and on the road out of London, that Catherine had decided to finally speak with her new husband. They surely could not pass the entire journey in silence.

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