As she thought of this, Hannah wondered why it wasshewho had been promised to the Duke. Clara was closer to his age. She pondered if perhaps her father had promised one of his daughters to the Duke, intending Clara to be Caleb’s bride and then when Clara fell in love with James, the contract deferred to Hannah. She felt a surge of rage that this needn’t necessarily be her life. If Clara had somehow managed to escape the fate of being wed to the miserable Duke, could it not be the same for poor Hannah? In a panic, she thought of all the men she could claim to be in love with who might otherwise be a good match that her parents would reconsider. Hannah knew she would be much happier matched with a gentleman like Lord Nathaniel Bryant, Sophia’s cousin. They shared a passion for art and he was blithe and interesting. Even as her tormented mind thought it, she knew it was futile – as she had communicated to Sophia; her father was a man of his word and the deal had already been made.
Hannah thought, with great envy, of her sister Clara and her happy marriage - James was renowned for his successful business and propensity to travel to exotic places. In becoming his wife, Clara had adopted this extravagant lifestyle and not only that – she had been instantly attracted to James, who felt mutually fond of her. The build-up to their wedding had been an excitable flurry of dresses and cake-tasting; of beautiful colour and high tinkling laughter. The house had been filled with joy, femininity, and a fun togetherness.
If Hannahhadto marry the brooding Duke, at least she should be permitted the right of any bride – to spend time adapting to her new life, trying on dresses to find the perfect garment for her impeccable day.
It seemed that the Duke was set upon stealing all joy from her.
‘What is the Duke’s reason behind the special license?’ Hannah wanted to know. She worried that there was some scandal he may be covering up that he should wish to capture her with such urgency.
Vincent looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. Evelyn looked over at him, also apparently keen to hear his answer.
‘Whilst it is sensitive, I do suppose you are owed an explanation….’ He began and cleared his throat.
The two ladies watched him in earnest. Hannah’s heart spiked as she imagined some awful scandal that was about to break and that the Duke needed an announcement in the newspapers to distract from his transgressions. Was she to be a mere distraction tactic?
‘The Duke declares that he requires a special license so that the wedding does not need to be held in a public church at peak time for audience….’
Hannah blinked, following but not yet understanding.
‘The Duke claims timidity…’ Vincent clarified.
‘Timidity?’ Evelyn repeated through a frown. Vincent nodded.
Hannah could not believe this and with raised eyebrows queried ‘He is timid!?’
‘I believe him, daughter. You ladies do not understand nor have any place to analyse the inner complexities of a man’s preferences. The Duke prefers a private ceremony without raucous festivities and I quite agree that it is his right to request so, should he wish.’
Hannah’s chest nearly burst with the unfairness of it. Was it not alsoherright to a joyous occasion? She knew that her preferences would be viewed as frivolous and not taken at all into consideration – there really was no point in trying to communicate her own feelings on the matter to her parents.
‘How soon will the wedding be?’ Hannah asked quietly, knitting her fingers together in her lap.
‘The Duke is familiar with His Grace, the Archbishop – he will be speaking with him today and will send word once confirmation has been issued,’ Vincent nodded, with closure.
Hannah did not look at her parents.
‘May I be excused?’ she asked weakly and her Father agreed.
Hannah forgot about the relaxing bath – she felt an anger and frustration unlike any other and headed directly to her art room.
Seating herself on a stool by a blank canvas, Hannah bypassed the usual gentle, pastel hues and collected a dollop of furious red on her broadest paintbrush. With a strike, she whipped the brush across the page, as if tearing an injury into its flesh. She loaded another brush with black and added more swoops of anger and darkness across the canvas. Opting for a bright green, she contributed globules of jealousy, hidden in corners – how she envied those debutante girls whose season had not been stolen from them, whose lives had not been mapped out by a cold, heartless stranger.
Feverishly, she layered the canvas with bold feelings represented in tormenting colours and shapes. As she finished, she sat back and reminded herself to breathe. It was an impressive piece. Hannah found herself wondering if Nathaniel would like it – and then began to cry as she realised he would probably now never have the chance to see it.
***
Caleb strode into the drawing room, where his mother was taking afternoon tea with Emmeline. As he entered, he could hear his mother still droning on about Lady Lucinda Fairfax. Closing his ears to it, he crossed the room to the wooden cabinet where he kept the Montwood legacy paperwork – the sort of documentation that wasn’t often called for, but he considered would be relevant upon his trip to see the Archbishop.
Anne and Emmeline’s conversation halted as they watched him enter wordlessly and begin rooting through the cabinet.
‘Whatever are you doing, Caleb?’ demanded his mother.
Sighing, he acquiesced that he would need to communicate his intentions to his family as they would, too, be affected by his actions, so he crossed the room to take a seat with them.
‘I have requested an audience with the Archbishop of Canterbury, to request special wedding license so that I may marry Lady Hannah Haworth without the obligation of calling the banns,’ he explained resolutely.
‘What!?’ Anne shrieked, holding her hand to the pearls at her neck. Even Emmeline looked alarmed by the news.
‘Whyever would you do that, brother?’
