Page 36 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Chapter Twelve

Jeremy scrawled hisname on the special license and then the minister indicated for Lady Mary to do the same. No, not Lady Mary.

The Duchess of Everton.

They’d barely known each other for two weeks. He’d proclaimed his sudden, undying affection for her. Charmed both her and her father. Purchased the special license so they could wed as soon as they wished. And now, they were husband and wife.

He would have preferred the wedding occur at Eversleigh. When Mary expressed an interest in holding the ceremony at her family home, only twenty miles from the Scottish border, Cor had smoothly convinced the eighteen-year-old girl that a smart London wedding would be more memorable, as well as convenient for others to attend. Mary tended to agree with everything Cor suggested, the dowager duchess already subtly shaping his new bride.

At least she hadn’t stuttered through her vows. He realized the stutter came when she was nervous or flustered. He’d gone over every aspect of the ceremony with her for the past several days to make her comfortable with the order of events. In turn, she’d bored him to tears with every detail of her wedding finery. The lace on her dress. The gloves she’d ordered. The bouquet of blossoms she would carry.

Jeremy didn’t care a whit for any of it. As cruel as it sounded, all he was interested in was the dowry Mary Mowbray brought. It made him like every other titled gentleman in England, who first looked to bolstering their coffers when they wed. England’s great families had mixed together in marriage for hundreds of years. The bottom line came down to whether or not the union strengthened and empowered the new husband and his family. In this case, the St. Clairs received a huge fortune in Mary’s dowry, one that would keep them from sinking into poverty. In return, she received a far loftier title than she and her father had ever dreamed she would attain, thus satisfying all parties. Jeremy would protect Mary. He would be courteous to her. He would help her become comfortable within the St. Clair family.

But he could never love her.

Jeremy hadn’t thought he could ever love. Even now, he didn’t know if he’d actually loved Catherine Crawford. He’d certainly been attracted to her beauty and wit. In time, he did think he would have grown to love her. Offered for her. Built a life with her. Yet in death, he’d idealized her to the point where he practically worshipped her. No other woman would have ever stood up to how he viewed Catherine.

And like Timothy before her, no one of his acquaintance spoke Catherine’s name. No one—save for Cor—had any inkling of the feelings he carried in his heart for the dead beauty. Even then, he doubted Cor could understand the extent of his feelings for a woman he’d only spent a single night with.

He looked to Rachel, talking animatedly with the Countess of Lieven, and wondered how Catherine’s sister, Leah, had reacted to her sister’s death. Jeremy knew the two had been close. He supposed within a handful of years, Rachel and Leah would meet when they made their come-out together, since they were of the same age. Catherine hadn’t told him what her sister looked like, only that she was inquisitive and friendly. He wondered if Leah resembled Catherine—and how he would react when he finally saw her. The fact that Rachel and Leah might one day be friends tore at his heart.

Pushing his morbid thoughts aside, he went to claim his bride.

“I think it’s time we went in for the wedding breakfast.”

Mary looked up at him with worshipful eyes. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

“Jeremy. Remember?”

Worry filled her face. “I think it best if I call you Everton or Your Grace unless we are alone.” That thought made her swallow hard. “If that is all right with you, of course.”

“Whatever you wish.” He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and led her into the dining room. He’d decided to try to please her in small ways when he could, hoping to assuage the guilt that filled him because he’d only married her for her money.

Their guests followed them inside. Only a handful had been invited, including Morefield and Neville. Jeremy had asked Morefield to stand with him for the ceremony and his friend had agreed.

Morefield, as best man, now made a toast to the happy couple and the wedding breakfast was served. Jeremy ate, tasting nothing, dreading the time when everyone left and he would be alone with Mary in the carriage as they traveled to Eversleigh. He forced himself to pay attention to her. The more she spoke, the more he realized how truly immature she was. Cor reminded him that Mary was still young and, with the proper guidance, she would become a true duchess.

They cut their cake and another round of toasts occurred, one from the Earl of Seabrooke and another from Luke. Jeremy looked on with brotherly pride as Luke spoke eloquently. Matthew Proctor had told him about Luke coming to him for help in composing a toast. Jeremy assumed much of the wording came from Matthew. Still, Luke spoke the heartfelt words and those gathered applauded him soundly.

Finishing his champagne, he asked Mary if she wished for more.

“N-no, thank you, Everton. Cor has told me to always have a single glass lest I get tipsy and embarrass myself or you.”

“Then I would stick with Cor’s advice,” he said gently. “She’s the wisest woman I know.”

“I... should go upstairs. To get ready.”

“I will make your goodbyes for you. Once everyone has gone, I’ll also change and we can leave directly for Eversleigh.”

He had told her he preferred to return home for a short honeymoon rather than stay in London, knowing no good memories were here. He would need to make new ones with his bride. After a week, they’d return to London so he could begin to use his new fortune to straighten out his financial affairs.

Mary slipped away, Cor and Rachel accompanying her since she had no mother. Jeremy made the rounds, accepting good wishes from all. Finally, he came to Morefield and Neville.

“Thank you for coming,” he told them. “I was glad to share this day with you.”

“I’m getting married myself,” Morefield revealed. “Got engaged last night.”

Jeremy slapped him on the back. “You sly fox. My heartiest congratulations.” He offered his hand. “Who is the unlucky lady?” he teased, thinking it would be Amanda.

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