Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(76)

When Jeremy took her hand and slid a thick gold band over her finger, Lucy felt all the blood rush from her head.Breathe , she ordered herself. She had never been the swooning sort, and this wasn’t the time to begin.

She inhaled deeply, drawing inspiration.I love him .

She exhaled slowly, her heart deflating.He doesn’t love me .

Back and forth, breath to breath, the tandem truths cycled through her for the remainder of the ceremony. Inhale; exhale.I love him; he doesn’t love me .

Then the vicar blessed their clasped hands, invoked the power of everything holy, and declared them man and wife. Jeremy’s hand tightened over hers by the slightest degree. Lucy glanced up and met his blue eyes for the briefest instant, and her litany was disrupted by the tiniest word.

I love him.

He doesn’t love me—

Yet.

Jeremy could scarcely look at her. Even pale and trembling and presumably angry as hell, Lucy still took his breath away. And breathing was difficult enough at the moment, with his gut still knotted around the impression of Henry’s fist.

How had this gone so horribly wrong? For the past two days, Jeremy had been telling himself he would make Lucy happy, protect her from Henry and Toby and other insensitive idiots. But now he realized that was a lie. The truth was, he’d been crazed with lust and spurred on by anger, and he hadn’t been thinking of her happiness at all. He’d insisted on their betrothal, insisted on this lightning-fast ceremony, never pausing to consider Lucy’s wishes. She’d come to him last night apprehensive and doubting, seeking comfort in physical pleasure. He’d known it. Hadn’t he spent years doing the same? He should have conquered his lust and sent her away. But he hadn’t, and now Lucy would pay the price.

A fresh twinge of pain twisted his gut.Insensitive idiot .

When the vicar had done his worst and the thing was finished, Jeremy leaned in to kiss his bride. But as he drew near, Lucy’s lower lip quivered. And at the last moment, he brushed his lips against her cheek instead. He wished so desperately to take her into his arms, kiss the frown from her lips, and somehow make everything right.

But after the papers were signed and terse congratulations offered around, it was Henry she sought out. Henry who consoled her. Brother and sister drew away from the rest and huddled in quiet conference for some minutes’ time—at the end of which, Henry pulled her into a grim embrace.

Jeremy walked over to them.

“Lucy,” Henry was saying, his green eyes dewy with emotion, “if you are ever unhappy, you have only to say the word. You’re always welcome at Waltham Manor. Write to me, and I’ll come for you at once.” He shot a look at Jeremy. “Your home will always be here.”

“Her home is Corbinsdale now. And we’d best be underway.” Ignoring Henry’s stony glare, Jeremy addressed his wife.His wife . “Can you be ready to depart in an hour?” She nodded. “Then I shall see to the carriages.”

Two and a half hours later, Lucy finally emerged from the Manor. Jeremy noted with disappointment that she had changed from the ivory silk gown into a sage-colored frock and brown pelisse. More suitable for traveling, he supposed. But far more interesting than the type of fabric that covered her arms were the two parcels wriggling beneath them. She held a squirming puppy tucked firmly in each elbow.

Behind her followed a seemingly endless procession of footmen. Each came bearing a trunk or a tower of hat-boxes; save one hapless fellow, who clutched a snarling cat. A groom suddenly appeared from the direction of the stables, leading Thistle by the reins. And just when Jeremy began to think his bride intended to bring every blessed creature from Waltham Manor along for the journey, out came the most curious bit of baggage yet.

“You’re bringing your Aunt Matilda?” The old lady doddered out from the Manor. Lucy thrust a wriggling puppy into Jeremy’s hands, freeing one arm to wrap about her aunt.

“Of course I’m bringing her. I can’t very well leave her here, can I? You know Henry’s incapable of minding her properly.”

“Yes, well …” He didn’t know how to object. He could point out that they hadn’t discussed this matter. But then, he hadn’t given Lucy any opportunity to discuss anything. He cleared his throat. “Your aunt is quite welcome, of course. I was only surprised.” He looked down at the pup gnawing a hole in his new glove. “And the dogs?”

Lucy tossed her head. “They’re all the dowry I have, I’m afraid. I’m given to understand they’ll make excellent foxhounds. They’re from Henry’s best lines.”

He handed the dog to a liveried groom. “With the trunks,” he directed.

“Oh, no!” she cried, clutching her own canine bundle to her chest. “They must ride with us, of course! Else they’ll be terribly frightened.”

“Lucy, the barouche is not six months old. The upholstery is still like new.”

She lifted her chin. “And …?”

He heaved a deep breath. “And … I suppose it’s large enough to accommodate a few pups. And a cat. And your aunt.” He paused. “But not your horse. On that point, you cannot move me. I’m afraid Thistle will have to walk.”

At that, her lips curved a fraction. Jeremy’s heart swelled in his chest. He would do anything to make Lucy smile again.

But he couldn’t. As the carriage trundled down the lane, taking them away from Waltham Manor, he watched all the joy drain from her face. She craned her neck to catch a last glimpse of the rambling Tudor façade, then turned back to him.