“I will find happiness in this marriage, Cathy,” she insisted. “A duty-bound duke would help me reach that.”
While Cathy did not look convinced, her elder sister gave her a nod of understanding. Madeline squeezed her hand, and then she let herself look back at the bustling room, where even people she had not interacted with before were mingling with her family.
It was all because of this marriage. She had made the right choice by not arguing with her grandmother.
Or had she?
In his own corner of the room, Kenneth felt the walls closing in on him. After having met his bride and her family, he could not help but feel that he had walked into a trap.
It is my fault for not verifying this myself before the wedding.
He watched his brother, Malcolm, sway a little but, fortunately, remain standing, and, unfortunately, head toward Harleigh Quinten near the refreshment table. Were those two hiding their own bottles? He could remember being specific about not serving anything with alcoholic spirits for his wedding breakfast.
“Quinten! How are you, old sport?” Malcolm greeted him as if they had known each other for years. He was only eight-and-twenty to Harleigh’s three-and-sixty, but one would think they were lifelong friends. Kenneth shook his head in disbelief. “You should put your money on the gray tonight. It will win!”
They were talking about horse races, speculating on the best jockeys and horses. Harleigh seemed easily persuaded, saying, “Yes, gray is lucky this Season. But I still remember that one time, when I was your age, I lost a cottage on one, and my wife was upset with me for weeks.”
Harleigh’s wife had long been dead, from what Kenneth had heard, but the Duke suspected that there were other losses beyond that one gray horse.
Gamblers. Drunks.
Kenneth could not abide by them. He thought he already had enough problems with Malcolm. Now, he had joined a family with its own problems. He had tethered the Huntington name to a sinking ship.
“Your Grace!”
Lord Marlow, a man in his eighties and his new bride’s grandfather, came hobbling toward him. He gripped his ear trumpet tightly as if it were trying to get away.
“Lord Marlow,” Kenneth said, with a slight bow. His tone was icy cold.
“A glow? Of course, my granddaughter has that kind of glow,” the Baron declared proudly. “You are fortunate to marry our Madeline. She is a real beacon of hope. She is pure sunshine and can keep your shadows at bay, Your Grace!”
“Lord Marlow, I do not need a beacon,” he replied, speaking loudly near the old man’s trumpet. “What I need is someone who can manage the ducal estate.”
“The plate! The salmon is absolutely excellent, and the cake is a vision!” Marlow exclaimed. “Have you eaten, though, Your Grace? Madeline should be able to ensure you are well-fed.”
“I can assure you I can feed myself,” Kenneth insisted.
“No, I do not eat figs, but Madeline likes those. You should have no problem with her. She is not very particular.” The man patted Kenneth’s shoulder.
Soon, the old man wandered off to converse with anyone who would listen. Kenneth could not help but wonder how he would survive a lifetime of sunshine. He had married a woman with her heart on her sleeve. She was not fooling anyone with her stiffsmiles.
Kenneth scanned the room and saw his wife. This time, she was no longer stiff. In fact, she was laughing, her voice bright and musical. In her dress of white and blue lace and satin, accentuating her curves over her petite body, she looked like the perfect bride painters often recreated on canvas.
He walked over to her.
“Duchess?”
“Your Grace?”
Up close, the sunshine in her was blinding. Her eyes were bright and hopeful, her cheeks flushed with warmth, and her lips still curved from whatever had made her laugh moments before. There was a tension in the way she held her neck and shoulders, but it only served to make her look more striking. His gaze dropped briefly to the Huntington diamonds at her throat before returning to her face. They suited her far more than they had any right to.
“Would you like to dance?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. The movement was curious. Kenneth almost mimicked it, but stopped himself. “I believe a waltz is about to begin.”
“I do not dance,” the Duke replied flatly.
Madeline’s smile remained, but he could see her cheeks quivering from the effort of keeping it.
“They expect us to dance, Your Grace. It is part of tradition. If we have to manage your estate together, they should believe us as partners in every way.”
