Finally, he closed the door to his bedchamber before walking over to a table that housed far more decanters than the one in his mother’s room. “Brandy?”
“No, thank you. All I desire is an answer to my question.”
He poured scotch into a glass and tossed it back. Then he stood there still and quiet, staring at the pattern on the wallpaper. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. Following another long sigh, he turned and captured her gaze. “The morning we were to wed.”
Chapter 17
June 1870
“I must say, m’lord, you’re quite well turned out.”
Studying his reflection in the cheval glass, Knight had to agree with his valet’s assessment. His gray trousers and cravat complemented his dark blue jacket and waistcoat. His hair, for once, was actually behaving, not falling across his brow. Although it would later, when he took his wife to bed. Afterward, she’d brush it back and give him her smile filled with such love that it never failed to render him speechless and confirm he was the luckiest of men—to have acquired her unconditional devotion. After today, she would be his to have and to hold for eternity, because even death would be unable to dim his adoration for Regina.
A knock sounded. “Come.”
His butler stepped into the chamber. “M’lord, His Grace seeks an audience in the library.”
His father. The Duke of Wyndstone. Who was opposed to the marriage and had even told Knight he’d “not marry the chit.” He wondered if his sire had changed his mind, was here to accompany him to the church, after declaring forcefully he wouldn’tbe in attendance because no ceremony would take place.
“As you know, Carter, the wedding breakfast will be held at my wife’s residence. I have no idea when we might return here but do have a footman keeping watch for our arrival as I want all the servants lined up to greet my countess, their mistress.”
“Yes, m’lord. Shall I inform His Grace you’ll be joining him shortly?”
Knight walked over to a small desk, picked up the tiny leather box, and opened it. Inside was nestled the ring with its multitude of diamonds that he would be placing on the bride’s finger. “He can cool his heels for a bit. I’m not quite ready.”
“He doesn’t seem to be in an accommodating mood, m’lord.”
“Is he ever?” He glanced over at his servant, who seemed to be striving to arrive at a diplomatic response. “You don’t have to answer that. It was rhetorical.”
He slipped the leather box in his pocket to hand off to King, who would be serving as his best man. Bishop and Rook would be standing with him as groomsmen. He’d never expected to be the first of their group to marry, but then he’d never anticipated meeting anyone like Regina Leyland, who called to something deep inside his soul and made him want to share his life with her. Every aspect of it.
Making his way down the stairs, gray top hat in hand, he reflected on how Regina took pride in being with him, the uptilt of her chin, the security of her hand tucked within the crook of his elbow, the shinein her eyes—thepossessiveshine as if to say,Yes, he is mine. It was only fair, because he wanted to show her to all the world, the woman he loved without measure, the one who completed him, when he’d never before realized exactly why he was incomplete. He’d spent years searching for that sense of wholeness, thinking he’d find it if he could ever please his father. His coffers now exceeded the duke’s, and he wasn’t shy about flaunting his wealth, ensuring all aspects of his life were larger or grander than his sire’s. His clothing, his residence, his yacht, his carriages, his horses. He was wholly independent of his sire. Yet it never seemed to be enough to bring his father even a scintilla of pride.
As he strode into the library, his gut clenched at the sight of his father standing by the window gazing out at what was heralded as one of the most beautiful gardens in England. He took a deep breath and prepared himself not to allow this man to ruin his good mood or dampen his spirits. He’d soon be with Regina and never again without her. “Good morning, Father.”
The duke swung around, his jaw set so tightly it was a wonder words could escape from between his lips. “I forbid you to marry.”
Something ominous was threaded through his tone, his demand. The short hairs on Knight’s nape bristled, and every other aspect stilled. Most lords were relieved when their sons finally married, knowing an heir would soon be on the way and the line of succession secured. “I’m seven and twenty, past the age when you can send me to bed without my supper. I do as I please. It pleases me very much to take Regina towife. Besides, I would think you would welcome the possibility of an heir.”
“Not from you.”
It wasn’t the first time his father made him feel he fell far short of expectations. “If not me, then whom?”
“My younger brother.”
“Uncle Walter?” He was the sort of gentleman who avoided anything more strenuous than the lifting of a glass of scotch. His entire life he’d received an allowance and earned his own coin only when he had luck playing the horses.
“Followed by his son,” the duke continued.
A son who was lumbering along the same path as his father. Without imagination, goals, or ambitions. Knight shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d prefer either of them.”
“Because they carry the blood of my ancestors.”
Knight was beginning to wonder if his father was going a bit mad as he aged. “As do I.”
The duke strode over to the decanter table, poured himself two fingers of scotch, and downed it in one swallow, before turning, his features hard and implacable. “Every Pennington male has been fair of hair and brown-eyed.”
Knight considered making his way to the table and pouring himself a scotch, but he didn’t want Regina smelling liquor on his breath and thinking he’d needed to bolster his courage to wed her. What he required was an understanding of the gibberish his father was spouting. “Then I’m an exception.”
