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Harmony seemed to shrink within herself, staring at the floor.
“Are her visits so tedious?” he asked. “Don’t you wish for pretty things?”
“I— Well, I am grateful—ever so grateful for your generosity—”
“It is hardly generosity. Every husband clothes his wife.”
“You ought to have had a better wife,” she burst out, taking her hand from his. “Please, Your Grace, I don’t wish for all these…” She gestured down at her new gown. “All these stylish and fanciful things. Really, a plain style will do better for me.”
“So you might disappear at my side? Become invisible?” He seized her hand again, turning to face her on the patterned divan. “Look at me if you please.” After a hesitant moment, she complied. “You cannot believe that this marriage shall be averted now, at this late date?”
Her eyes skimmed away, but he tightened his hand and she drew them back again.
“There are but weeks until our nuptials. Workers have been hired, orders have been placed. Whole blocks of rooms at St. James and Courtland Manor are being refurbished for your use. The engagement has been announced in the papers and spread in whispers through every salon in town. You must set your mind to the things you cannot change.”
She held his gaze a long moment. He tried to impart a sense of authority and kindness in the face of her fears. He understood she didn’t want this marriage, as insulting as that was. He didn’t want it either in an abstract sense, but more practically, he enjoyed her and was prepared to make the best of things.
“You are speechless,” he said when the silence spun out.
He saw a spark of rebellion in her eyes. “There is not much I am allowed to say, is there? Except that I will go along with what you and everyone else insists I must do?”
“I insist because you will be irreparably harmed otherwise.”
“My reputation will be harmed. I will be fine and you will do much better without me.”
“We shall be married,” he countered. “And all will be well.”
His fiancée gave a great shuddering sigh as if she were being forced to marry a mollusk. “My father has written. He will arrive in town soon to stay until the wedding. He will contribute what he can to the preparations.”
“He needn’t contribute anything.” Court wished she would smile again, as she had when he first arrived. “Why are you so cross?”
“A porter has delivered forty gowns so far,” she said grimly. “Actually, forty-two.”
“You will need twice that or more for an entire season.”
“But the expense—”
“It is nothing.”
Her gaze fell to his lips, then up again. Torment. She fretted over gowns when all he wanted to do was kiss her.
“Lady Darlington said you knew.” She looked at his lips again, the little tease, before her gaze meandered back to his. “She said the whole time we were at the wall, you knew you would have to marry me.”
“Yes.”
Her brows drew together, tiny thinking lines. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you…”
“Warn you?” he asked. “You weren’t of a mind to listen. You wanted to go to Newcastle and wouldn’t be persuaded otherwise. Once I took you into the carriage, I accepted that I would have to marry you. You left me no other choice.”
“You could have let me walk,” she said stubbornly.
“No, I couldn’t.” Now he was the one to stare at her lips as he gathered his thoughts. “You spoke to me once of fate, and how we might grasp at chances. I wonder if I wasn’t doing that, now that I look back.”
“I think you were doing what you felt you ought to do.”
“What I had to do. You were my fate. An inescapable consequence.” She looked stricken at that idea. He ran the tip of one finger down her delicate cheekbone, ignoring the chaperone’s faint tsk. “Either way, the outcome is the same. You are going to be my wife. Fate or chance, it makes no matter now. Things will seem strange between us for a while but it won’t be so forever. I am fond of you and you seem to have no great aversion to me, as much as it galls you to become my wife.”
“I doesn’t gall me. It’s only... I’m just worried that—”
“That you will make a poor sort of duchess?” he provided bluntly.
Her gaze shied away from his. “Will you spank me after we are wed?”
Ah, did this have something to do with her misgivings? Court glanced over at Mrs. Jenkins, feeling a blush rise beneath his cravat even though the servant was too far away to hear them. “I suppose that will depend on whether you are good or bad,” he said in a low voice.
“I have never been a wife, or a duchess for that matter. What if I don’t know what is good or bad?”
“That is one of the purposes of a spanking, to teach appropriate behavior.” God blast it, just like that, his cock was about to burst. The little minx. She didn’t mean to tease; she really wanted to know if he would spank her as he had at the Newcastle inn.
And yes, he would.
“I promise I will not be a beast and abuse you,” he said, leaning close. “I won’t cuff you and yank you about if you are not the perfect wife. I shall never be brutal and impatient with you.”
“Well, that’s a relief, because I won’t be perfect. I just know it.” She gave him a pained look. “I’m sure I’ll deserve a spanking now and again. Perhaps…perhaps that pleases you.”
How to explain what he himself barely understood? “It will please both of us to know the way of things,” he said after a moment. “To know what is expected from either side.”
“I have never really lived like that. I have lived in a very haphazard way.”
“Have you enjoyed that sort of life?”
She was silent a while, mulling over his question. “Not always.”
“I believe a clear system of expectations and consequences will suit us both in this marriage.”
Her hand fluttered in his as she gazed into his eyes. “You mean, spankings when I am bad?”
“More or less.”
He watched as she worked through this proposal in her mind. “I… I suppose I agree to that. I fear I shall make a terrible muck of your life, but with your guidance…perhaps…”
“With my guidance I believe you will be a much happier woman.”
She gave him a look of such vulnerability that he ached to draw her into his arms. She probably did not understand yet that discipline would not always feel like something she wanted, or needed. That knowledge would develop in time, just like the closeness between them.
“I will try to be good,” she said softly, “so you needn’t spank me too often.”
“I am sure you will try very hard, my darling.” Either way he would be pleased with her. The darlings, the dears, they came so easily now. The Duke of Courtland, who was not romantic or sentimental in the least, feared very much he was falling in love with Miss Harmony Barrett. “You must not be afraid. You are not to worry about anything,” he repeated, stroking her trembling fingers. “Anything at all.”
Chapter Nine: Discipline
Thanks to the talented Mrs. Oliver, Harmony felt assured she looked every inch the future duchess as His Grace squired her through throngs of promenading ladies and gentlemen at Hyde Park. Mrs. Jenkins had helped her dress in an elegant amethyst and ivory striped afternoon dress, along with a matching fur-lined cape and tasteful lavender beribboned cap. Her blonde hair had been tamed into a pretty upsweep by the hard-faced woman, framed by some artful curls at her temples. For once, the frowning housekeeper had almost seemed pleased.
Harmony hoped she pleased the duke. She would never be described as lithe or graceful but with Mrs. Oliver’s gowns, she was at least in the latest fashion. Over the weeks of their courtship she had come to believe he cared for her, even if she’d never believe herself fit to be his wife. If he was going to be stubborn and insist they go through with this ill-conceived marriage, what was she to do?
&nbs
p; He drew her close as they strolled through the crowded lanes, keeping her arm linked through his. What a fine figure he made in his tailored great coat and high hat. He never minced or pranced about like some of the gentlemen. When he walked, his leather boots sounded steady and measured upon the ground and his capable manner relaxed her. She felt safe with him. When any man dared stare or any woman sneer, he froze them with a glance.
Gossip continued, and perhaps always would, but in the last weeks it seemed people did less whispering and more smiling. He insisted on escorting her about town, to the theater, the opera, to book stores and art exhibits. She thought she would enjoy being married to such a man, who did not force her to stay at home and pretend to be brainless. But then she’d get a snide look from a passing lady or gentleman and long to be at home, away from the public eye. A duchess! The Duke of Courtland’s wife! It was a ridiculous situation.
A situation she couldn’t get out of. Not now.
