Page 27 of Married to a Wicked Duke
And now she is to become my wife.
Frederick shook his head as he hurried towards his coach, now waiting on the corner. Heaven and hell, he had to forget the way Veronica made him feel. The way she made his body come alive. It was best that they keep their distance from each other. It was safer that way. For both of them. As his Duchess, Veronica would have everything she needed. She would have her own lavish quarters, and all the art supplies she desired. But she would not share his bed. Ever. Because somewhere deep inside him, Frederick knew that if he allowed Veronica Caster into his bed, she would find his way into his heart.
And that was something he could absolutely not allow.
ChapterEleven
So this was it. Veronica was about to step into the church. And when she stepped back out, she would be the Duchess of Brownwood. She tried to focus on what her sister had told her:“Life has a way of surprising us.”Perhaps Gemma was right. Perhaps she would find a way to be happy in this marriage. But today, Veronica’s characteristic optimism felt too hard to conjure up.
Because it felt too dangerous to hope she and the Duke might find a way to love each other. Surely hoping for such things would only lead to heartbreak and disappointment.
Veronica took a deep breath and smoothed the skirts of her cream-colored silk gown. Despite its simple style, the gown felt far more luxurious than anything she had ever worn, and she could not help feeling like a fraud.
Behind her, she could hear the excited chatter of the onlookers. She was not surprised so many people had turned up to witness the marriage of the mysterious Duke of Brownwood. And she knew his marriage to her had caused no small stir among the gossip pages. She could only imagine what the onlookers were whispering about. She tried to push the thought out of her mind.
“Are you ready, my dear?” asked the Earl. Veronica was proud of her father. He had been out of bed with the dawn today, determined not to make her late for the ceremony. And though she could smell a hint of liquor on his breath, his steps were steady and his speech was clear. Veronica pulled him into a tight embrace.
“Yes, Papa,” she murmured, clinging to him tightly. “I’m ready.” When she pulled away, her eyes were filled with tears. She hated the thought of no longer being at Volk House to care for her father. With herself and Gemma married, only their younger sister Jane would be at home to care for him—and at eight and ten, it would not be long before she too found herself a husband. As caring as the Dowager Marchioness was toward her granddaughters, Veronica knew her kindness did not extend to her drunken son-in-law. She did not dare to imagine how strained and bitter things would be between the two of them once she and her sisters were gone.
As though reading her thoughts, her father said, “Now you listen to me, Sunshine. You are not to worry yourself over me. I can take care of myself.” Veronica looked at him doubtfully. He squeezed her hands. “Trust me. I shall be just fine.”
“I shall visit you as often as I can,” Veronica said, “and I—”
“Veronica.” He cut her off. “It is time for you to stop worrying about me and live your own life. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Yes Papa.”
“Good.” Her father nodded toward the monstrous double doors of the church. “Now. Shall we? I believe your husband-to-be is waiting.”
* * *
The wedding passed by in a haze. Veronica heard herself speaking her vows almost distantly, as though she was watching herself from afar. She was only dimly aware of the Duke before her, pledging to become her husband in a low but clear voice. Only dimly aware of his freshly trimmed blonde hair and sharp, shaven jaw. The soft scent of rosewater emanating from him and the faint pull of attraction she felt toward him. And she was barely present when the priest announced them man and wife, minting her as the new Duchess of Brownwood. Not a single part of it felt real.
Veronica walked out of the church on her new husband’s arm, her legs feeling weak and unsteady beneath her. “It’s all right,” she heard him murmur. “Just keep walking.” He reached over and pressed his free hand over her own. Veronica felt her heart skip a beat. She could not tell if the gesture was for her benefit, or the benefit of the wedding guests.
As they stepped outside the church, the throng of well-wishers waiting in the street burst into cheers. Veronica felt the Duke’s arm tense beneath her fingers as she glanced around the large crowd. He hurried her towards the waiting carriage. The footman already had the door open and the step kicked down, almost as though he had been instructed to prepare for a hasty exit.
“Your Graces. My congratulations.” He offered his hand to Veronica, helping her climb inside. Her husband climbed in behind her. Veronica found herself hoping he would sit beside her, but he chose the seat opposite, his body a safe distance from her own. The door closed with a soft thud, muting the noise outside. Veronica let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
The Duke looked out the window for a moment, then drew the curtain, shutting out the rest of the world. He turned back to face Veronica. “I hope that was not too trying for you,” he said. There was a stiff formality to his voice, far removed from the warmth in his words when they had last spoken in the garden at his country house.
Veronica gave him a tiny smile. “Nothing I shan’t survive. What of you? I know you do not enjoy such social occasions.”
The Duke looked slightly surprised at the question. His lips tilted up slightly. “Well. It appears I too have survived. Although I am sure the challenge is still ahead of us with this cursed wedding breakfast.”
Veronica folded her hands in her lap. “It cannot be any worse than the last celebration we went to. After all, we are already married.”
Her words brought a faint chuckle from the Duke. “Indeed.” He caught her eyes for a moment and his gaze softened slightly, then he turned away quickly to look toward the window. When he remembered the closed curtains, he turned his eyes downward towards his clasped hands. When he spoke again, the formality was back in his voice. “The Duchess’s quarters are ready for you at Brownwood Manor,” he said stiffly. “But of course you will let me know if there is anything you would like changed. Or if there is anything else you need. You of course will be at liberty to order any new clothing you require.” Veronica blinked It sounded like he was reciting a speech he had been practicing for hours. Before she could get a word in, he rattled on: “While I do not venture out on many occasions, I am currently involved in a charitable project that is quite dear to my heart, and when I make my appearances in support of it, I will expect you to join me as my wife. So of course, it is important you have a wardrobe befitting a Duchess.”
Veronica nodded obediently.
“And I will see to it that you have a generous sum each week, to be spent on whatever it is you wish.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said stiffly. “That is most generous of you.” She was almost relieved when the black iron gates of Brownwood Manor came into sight.
* * *
Pippa Marlow, the Dowager Marchioness of Hilt, was more than a little pleased with herself. Two years ago, against all odds, she had made her eldest granddaughter into a Duchess. And now she had done the same for dear Veronica.
