Page 25 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

There were small and intimate weddings, and then there was this. Margaret did not know whether to laugh or cry. She looked at the duke, and he gestured slightly with his head for her to join them. She did, walking slowly down the aisle until she stood beside Arthur. They were shrouded in silence.

Arthur had a stoic expression on his face. He neither looked happy nor sad—only determined. He knew this was the right thing to do, and that helped to bolster Margaret a little. That, and the way he was dressed.

The duke wore white trousers, bleached until they almost shone, and pressed so the seams running down the side were crisp. He had on an off-white jacket, tinted slightly pink. Beneath that, he wore a white shirt; again, bleached until it almost shone. And, a pink cravat was tied tightly around his neck.

Arthur stood straight and tall, made all the taller by the top hat on his head. He also held a solid teak cane with a brass stag on the top for a handle, and a knob of brass on the bottom where it touched the ground. Margaret knew that she was not marrying for love, nor anything close to it, but she was heartened by the look of the man she was marrying.

She had seen pictures of nobles in publications about the richest men and women in the country, and she had gone to bed at night dreaming of some of them. If the duke had been among them, she would certainly have dreamed of him too. Now, she would get to share a bed with the man, and that was an exciting prospect. Perhaps that itself would make it worth it, doing what they were about to do.

Margaret quickly shook the thought from her head. They were in a house of God, and she should not be thinking such things. They would see through the wedding, and then she could start thinking about what would come next; though, it did set her heart fluttering. She looked Arthur up and down one more time and nodded her head slightly.

The wedding began, and it was over almost as quickly as it started. The priest said a few words, Arthur and Margaret exchanged some pre-written sentiments, and two gold wedding bands were exchanged. Then, the two witnesses signed the registry, and it became official. It was the quickest and smallest wedding Margaret had ever been to, and it was her own.

When they were done, they did not even kiss. They had kissed once before, and that kiss had been awkward, but it felt more awkward to kiss now that they were married.

“You do look very beautiful,” said Arthur.

“Thank you,” replied Margaret. She knew that he was only saying that to put her at ease—the entire ceremony was ridiculous. But, that did not matter anymore. The only thing that mattered now was that they were married. Margaret was married and not one of her friends or family knew anything about it. She wished that her parents could see her now—if only to rub in that she had become married without their consent, but they would know it was a sham marriage, and they would use that to taunt her. It was better if she never saw them again.

Another lump lodged in her throat. She would never see her family again. She might never see her friends again, what little friends she had. This was a new start—a new life. It would not be a life with the duke, nor with his aunt, but it would be a life with a child. No matter what happened, she would soon have a child, perhaps more, and that child would be a part of her life. She could separate from the duke, but she would be forever tied to him.

“We can have a breakfast with my aunt if you like,” suggested the duke when they were outside the church. “I know this is not a traditional wedding, but we can make it more so.”

“No,” said Margaret. “Everything has been fine. I know this is not a traditional wedding, but it is not a traditional marriage either. We should get it over with. I mean, we should do what a husband and wife should do once they are married—that is what you want is it not?”

“It is,” said the duke.

“Then let us go do that,” said Margaret.

She took a deep breath. The thought both excited her and caused her dread in equal measure.

CHAPTER12

Becoming Husband and Wife

Margaret had explored much of the duke’s mansion, but this was the one place she had not yet seen: his bedroom. It was his inner sanctum. She had been nervous when he had led her up to the room, but now she was intrigued.

“How do you want to do this?” asked the duke. The way he said it sounded like they were about to engage in a game of cards or perhaps boules.

“I don’t know,” admitted Margaret. “I have never done this before, so….”

“We will take it slowly,” said the duke.

Margaret nodded in return. What had she expected? That he would take her as soon as they reached the room? A part of her deep down wanted exactly that, but only a part. When she thought about it, she might have read about the act, but she did not really understand what she should do, especially in this situation. Should she kiss the duke? It would be weird not to, but it would also be weird to kiss a man she did not have feelings for.

Her mother must have done that—her marriage to her father was arranged. Perhaps she still did that; kissed a man she had no feelings for. Perhaps she was not so different from her mother. Margaret’s marriage to the duke had been an arrangement—just not the usual arrangement. At least, when Margaret bore a child, she would not have to continue on, would not have to pretend.

“You have a nice room,” said Margaret for want of something to say, to delay the proceedings.

“Thank you,” said the duke.

He untied the cravat and placed it in a drawer. After that, he removed his jacket and hung it by the door. He undid the cuffs on his shift, but he did not undress anymore, save for taking off his boots. Margaret took that as her cue to remove her own shoes. She padded around the room in her stockinged feet.

The bed was more unassuming than she had imagined it. The mansion was magnificent, but the bed was not overly grand. There were no posts on the corners, no fabric overhanging the bed or on the sides. The headboard behind was cushioned but plain.

One painting hung on the wall: a single tulip in a field of green. A large oak chest sat in the corner, a chest of drawers by the door, and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. Margaret had thought she might gain some insight into the kind of man the duke was by his bedroom decor, but she could garner nothing.

Margaret flinched as the duke placed a hand on her shoulder. “We do not have to do this today,” he said. “We can wait.”

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