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The only thing of which he was certain was his deep, abiding love for his new wife. He would always do everything in his power to keep her healthy and happy. And knew she would do the same for him.
…
Anthony had been away from Phillipa for a little over two weeks, and it was hell. He’d taken her back to her family and spoken with her father. Mr. Jonas Peppiwell was smart and obviously possessed a grand vision for his family’s future. But he was also a puritanical, social-climbing prig. Anthony had met his sort before and despised their unbending espousal of lofty values with no thought to circumstance.
He had wanted to plant a fist in Mr. Peppiwell’s face when he had stated his daughter was soiled goods, and that he was immensely grateful someone else would now have to deal with her strong will and unorthodox ways.
With most of the haute monde now retiring to the country for hunting, shooting, and the holidays, Anthony hoped he and Phillipa would be somewhat safe from the stultifying gaze of Society. He’d sworn to her aunt to keep his distance from her until they were safely—that is, publically—wed. No carriage rides, no evenings at the theater and absolutely no clandestine meetings. He’d agreed to set their wedding date for Boxing Day—the day after Christmas—at his newly renovated estate in Hampshire.
The wedding was to be an intimate ceremony followed by a small celebratory feast, with only family and close friends in attendance. His lips twisted cynically. Which wasn’t a big problem, since his formerly vast stable of acquaintances had dwindled to a mere handful.
His close friends had already written to him expressing their sympathies, and although he had been blackballed by his clubs, he was unconcerned about being forced to leave them. He expected fewer invitations from the upper crust, but knew his real friends would be supportive.
With Christmas less than a week away, he’d received Sebastian’s note informing him of his marriage, and also a formal invitation from the duchess to Christmas dinner. He’d also thought it best to greet the duchess now, not before a full gathering at Christmas dinner. He wondered if she’d told his brother of their…brief connection. Feeling more than awkward about it, he had yet to broach that topic with Sebastian.
They stood now in his brother’s stately library, sharing a drink before the fire.
“Are you sure Constance is well?” Sebastian asked him for the third time.
Anthony sighed, and moved to inspect a new volume he spied on the bookshelf behind the door. “As well as can be expected. She is still at Lord Radcliffe’s country home. She and Mother will return to London at the opening of the season. Connie is more than reluctant, but she’s a brave little thing and will go along despite her fears.”
Sebastian nodded grimly. “Lord Andrew Bellamy offered for her several weeks ago. He begged off, no doubt because of the rumors about her parentage.”
“He is a dishonorable cad, then, and not worthy of her,” Anthony snarled, snapping the book shut and replacing it.
Before Sebastian could reply, the door to the library swung open, nearly hitting him, and Lady Jocelyn sailed in. She was dressed in a pale pink tea gown with her hair swept high in an intricate knot.
She closed the door, clearly not aware Anthony was standing right behind her.
Sebastian asked politely, “How my I assist you, Jocelyn?”
“I am in love with you,” she announced without preamble. She leaned against the closed door, her hands clasped tightly around the handle.
Astonished, Anthony started to step forward, but Sebastian gave him a quelling look and he remained rooted.
“I am in love with you, Sebastian,” she continued agitatedly.” I love you. Your warmth, your generosity with your tenants, your intensity…your passion. Your—”
“Enough, madam!” Sebastian bit out furiously, seeming even more astonished than Anthony.
Jocelyn, however, persisted, and the conversation grew even more intimate. Anthony was horrified. Both at his part in the scene, and at Sebastian. He had never heard his brother’s voice so cold and forbidding as when he attempted to shut down his wife’s declaration of love. Anthony wanted to punch his brother. She was laying her heart bare and he just sat there, unmoved.
Anthony’s admiration for her soared when she did not back down, but soldiered on to outline exactly how things stood with her. But then he was not surprised, given her temperament.
When she was finished, she did not wait for his brother’s response, or even watch his reaction. She whirled, jerked the door open, and stalked from the room.
Anthony would have laughed at the look of shock that chased Sebastian’s face—if the situation were not so damnably serious.
He cleared his throat. “I do not believe Jocelyn was aware that I was in the room.”
“Whatever gave you that impression?” his brother ground out.
Despite the awkwardness, Anthony was inordinately pleased to see how rattled his normally unshakable brother was. Sebastian needed a good shaking up, and suddenly Anthony was damn glad the irrepressible Jocelyn Rathbourne had snared the duke, no matter how it had come about. “Never have I seen you looking quite so at a loss, Sebastian.”
“Shut up, damn it.” His brother sent him a deadly scowl, shot to his feet, and stalked to the drinks tray. “How is Phillipa?
Anthony raised his brow at the abrupt shift in topic. “Very happy and contented. She will journey down with her sisters and parents in a couple of days.” He took a healthy swallow of his whiskey, not willing to let the matter go. He was dying of curiosity to find out how in damnation his marriage-phobic brother ended up in shackles. His note had only mentioned he’d acquired a duchess. “I thought someone was playing a prank when I read in the Times that you had wed Lady Jocelyn Rathbourne. Then I realized it must be true, because who would dare?”
His brother grunted and went to the windows. He opened them a crack, letting in the chill.
“Bloody hell, Sebastian, you and the damn cold!” Anthony rose and joined him, gazing out at the landscape that was blanketed white with snow. “How on earth did it come about that you married Lady Jocelyn?”
A muscle ticked in Sebastian’s jaw. She’d obviously gotten under Sebastian’s skin. It was about damn time. After the debacle with his last mistress, he had been too alone for the last several years, deliberately closing off himself from female companionship.
“She barged into my study with a derringer, claiming you had taken advantage of her, and demanding satisfaction.”
Anthony froze. “The hell, you say!”
Sebastian laughed. “She was quite amazing. So I thought instead of choosing one of the vapid, shallow misses who pepper the ton, I would prefer a bold and adventurous woman who is not afraid to speak her mind. Which, she certainly isn’t,” he added drily. “Although I’ve come to realize that my days would be far more peaceful with a more biddable wife.”
They exchanged a look and both laughed.
“But not nearly as interesting, I wager.” Anthony wondered if Sebastian saw how he came alive when he spoke of her.
He decided he should make a clean breast of it to his brother concerning his halfhearted pursuit of Lady Jocelyn. Anthony didn’t want any doubts on Sebastian’s part about how far things did or did not go between himself and the duchess. Just in case any of it played a role in that little scene moments ago. He concluded by explaining about the locket.
He felt Sebastian’s glance and thoughtful nod, and they went on to speak of other things. He was grat
eful the topic of his illegitimacy did not come up again. Anthony did not want every conversation to center on that and what they would do about it. They settled into their easy camaraderie, their conversation only becoming tense when Anthony mentioned their mother. That was one subject Sebastian categorically refused to engage in. Anthony wondered if he would ever forgive her. He was pretty sure his brother’s difficulty with love in all its forms stemmed from their mother’s dishonorable treatment of his father.
But Anthony had forgiven their mother, and had always kept himself open to the idea of love and family. As a result, perhaps, he had found a perfect love with Phillipa. The laughter, the joy, the companionship, the trust, that was what made life worth living.
…
Christmas Day
Phillipa stood in the bracing cold of the garden, fingering the resilient petals of a bloodred winter rose that lingered on a snow-covered bush. Tomorrow she would wed Anthony again, but this time it would be properly in a church. Which would make their union respectable for all the world to see and criticize if they wished. She hoped the news of their nuptials would dampen some of the scandal swirling about them.
She had missed her husband fiercely in the days they had been apart. But she had also welcomed spending a little time with her family. Time to explain the details they weren’t aware of. Time to heal their relationships.
Phillipa’s mother and her aunt, Lady Merryweather, had quickly forgotten their vehement objections to her marrying Anthony when the Duke of Calydon had let it be known in no uncertain terms, that he fully supported his brother and would sever ties with anyone who dared to cut Anthony. However, Phillipa knew the true test would come when the beau monde returned to London for the season. Not being ostracized by Society was a vastly different thing than being embraced…or even accepted.
There was one bright note, though. Sebastian’s sudden marriage meant that, with any luck, Anthony would soon be replaced as the duke’s heir apparent. Thank God for that. Neither he nor Phillipa relished the weight of that responsibility, and were overjoyed at the welcome development.
