Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(81)
“Oh goodness,” Avery’s stepmother said. “I am no longer the Duchess of Netherby, am I? Anastasia is. I am the dowager duchess.”
“It is just a name, Mama,” Jessica said crossly.
And then Anna spoke, in that same low, commanding voice she had used in the rose salon all that time ago. “Yesterday,” she said, “I was overwhelmed by the realization that I had become a commodity, the most highly prized item on the marriage mart. I wanted to escape, even if only for a short while to catch my breath and order my thoughts. I said, in the hearing of you all, that I wanted to go to Wensbury to see my grandparents, my mother’s parents, to find out if I could learn why they turned me out after my mother died, to somehow put that part of my history in its proper place. Avery offered to marry me and take me there. He knew that I wanted—that I needed to go soon. He knew that waiting for the grand wedding you have all been kind enough to envisage for us would be more than time wasted to me. It would be an ordeal that would overwhelm me even more. So he brought a special license here with him this morning and took me to a church whose name I do not know on a street I cannot name to be married by a clergyman whose identity I still do not know. Elizabeth and Mr. Goddard witnessed our nuptials. I know some of you are disappointed, both in me and in the loss of the splendid wedding you were beginning to plan. But this is my wedding day, and it was the loveliest wedding I could possibly imagine, and I must beg your pardon while not regretting for a moment what I have done. We will be setting out on our journey tomorrow.”
She did not take her eyes off Avery while she spoke.
He must surely, he thought, have fallen in love with her that very first day. Which was a puzzling possibility, especially when he recalled those shoes and that dress and cloak and bonnet. But even then he had spotted the quiet, poised dignity of the woman within. Actually the whole thing was puzzling. That the way she had conducted herself on that occasion and since had aroused his respect, even his admiration, was surprising enough. But romantic love? He did not believe in it. He never had and never would.
Except that it really must be romantic love he was feeling for her. His eyes traveled over her and found themselves well pleased, though he could not understand why. He looked back into her eyes and smiled. Good God, she was his wife.
“Well,” his stepmother said, resuming her seat and drawing Jessica down beside her, “I will not declare that I cannot believe it. I can believe it all too well. It is just what I might have expected of Avery. We will just have to make the best of the situation. We must plan a grand wedding reception and explain away the hurried, almost clandestine nature of the wedding with a slight embellishment of the truth. Anna’s maternal grandparents are elderly and infirm. They wished to meet their long-lost granddaughter before they die, and Avery insisted that he marry Anastasia without delay and take her there. We were all in reluctant but total agreement. Everyone will be charmed. The new Duchess of Netherby will be the sensation of the hour again. We need to get busy.”
“Which, I feel constrained to inform you, you will not do here and now,” Avery said. “This is my wedding day, and I feel the urge to be alone with my bride. I see that Elizabeth has just alit from a hackney cab outside the door. I do not doubt she has come to collect her things so that she can return home with Riverdale and Cousin Althea. Edwin Goddard is already in possession of a written notice of our marriage and will see to it that it appears in tomorrow’s papers. I believe I speak for my duchess when I thank you all for your intended efforts on our behalf and release you from the urge to do more.”
“That includes a wedding reception, Avery?” Aunt Mildred asked. “If I go with Tom tomorrow, I really will not wish to face the journey back here in a few weeks’ time. Besides, Peter and Ivan will be coming home from school too in the not too distant future.”
“That includes a wedding reception,” Avery said, and he noticed Anna closing her eyes briefly in relief.
They were all on their feet then, and all talking at once, it seemed. Everyone wanted to hug the bride and shake the groom by the hand. And then everyone wanted to hug everyone else, and something uproariously funny must have happened when Avery was not looking, for there was a great deal of boisterous laughter mingled with congratulations and good wishes and scolds and warnings. Cousin Elizabeth, poking her head about the door in the midst of it all, remarked with twinkling eyes that she could see the cat had been let out of the bag, for which loose use of language she was frowned upon by Cousin Matilda, though it was doubtful she noticed, and disappeared upstairs with her mother to fetch some of her things and leave instructions for the rest to follow her later.
And then everyone was gone, even the butler and Footman John, from the hall in which Avery and Anna stood side by side.
“Well, my duchess,” he said.
“Well, my duke.” She smiled at him—and blushed.
“Does your bedchamber door have a lock on it?” he asked her. “With a key?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And your dressing room door?”
She thought a moment. “Yes.”
“Show me the way,” he said, offering his arm. “Let us go and lock ourselves in.”
“It is only the middle of the afternoon,” she protested.
“And so it is,” he agreed. “There is plenty of time before dinner, then.”