“Well, at least he’s not as old as Methuselah like Percy, so I’m sure you'll get to know a lot more about him,” Faith replied, her eyes now sparkling with mischief. “Quite quickly in fact.”
Grace’s cheeks burned as she thought about actually sharing a bed with a man. With eight females residing in the same household, there had obviously been no lack of discussion about the opposite sex, but she would be facing her new husband without her sisters around.
She’d have to face the cold, intimidating man entirely alone.
∞∞∞
There were no last-minute reprieves and two days hence, the morning of Grace’s wedding day dawned. Resigned now to her fate, Grace rose in the pre-dawn light and pulled out her best day dress. It was clearly not fitting for a soon to be duchess, but it was the best she owned.
She carefully bathed and washed her hair before donning the gown and allowing Temperance to arrange her hair into a simple chignon. The twins tucked flowers into her curls and helped Grace gather her things before she said farewell to each of her sisters, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she did so.
“Be strong Gracie,” Temperance whispered against her cheek as she embraced her sister. “Mother would be so proud of you.”
“Their care falls to you now,” Grace whispered back as she released her. “Do your best to curb their greater excesses, Tempy. If any of you are to make suitable matches, you will all need to start behaving like young ladies.”
This was the first time Grace had spoken thus to her younger sister, and Temperance, who’d spent the night tossing and turning at the thought of her father's curate as a potential suitor, nodded her head grimly. Grace gripped her sister's hand in acknowledgement and turned away before she disgraced herself completely.
Her father and Agnes were waiting at the door, the Reverend dressed in his finest cassock with a wide smile on his face. To Grace’s surprise, Agnes grasped her hands, tears in her eyes. “Look at you, about to become a duchess.”
“Come,” her father stated, motioning to the carriage the Duke had sent for them, “Blackmore awaits.”
Grace looked back, seeing her sisters crowding the doorway to wave goodbye and blinked back the tears that continually threatened. They would do her no good now.
The drive to her future residence was short, but with every passing minute Grace felt her anxiety rise until it threatened to swamp her. By the time the carriage halted in front of her magnificent new home, Grace felt the first onset of queasiness. She had eaten nothing since rising, and now her body was reminding her of her folly in no uncertain terms. Swallowing nervously, she accepted the hand of the footman as he reached for her, carefully stepping down out of the carriage.
There in the imposing doorway, stood the Duke, silently watching. Grace felt her queasiness increase as she met his eyes and chanced to observe the shock on his face when he finally realised who he’d signed the marriage contract for.
Taking her father’s arm, she ascended the stairs slowly, taking in shallow panting breaths in an attempt to quell the rising nausea and feeling as though she were going to a scaffold rather than her marriage bed.
As they reached the top, the Duke finally stepped forward, his face now blank of any emotion. He held out his hand towards her and Grace swallowed convulsively as she offered one last pleading glance up at her father. The Reverend simply nodded his approval and gently pushed her towards her husband to be with an encouraging smile.
Everything seemed to slow down as Grace reached for the Duke’s hand, stumbled forward and finally felt the threatened bile surge up unbidden as she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach right at his feet.
Chapter Five
It was the chit from the orchard.
Nicholas nearly laughed aloud at this twist of fate as he watched the Reverend and his daughter move up the stairs, wondering what she was thinking about this nuptial. He imagined she’d known of her fate before he had, but the woman before him bore no resemblance to the harridan who’d taken him to task the last time they met. This version looked as though she was about to faint. Her colour was that of someone at death’s door.
The Duke frowned, wondering if Reverend Shackleford was trying to pull the wool over his eyes by wedding him to someone who was gravely ill. Although it had to be said, she was a little on the buxom side to be suffering from any serious malady. Despite her obvious discomfort however, her eyes did not leave his as she slowly climbed the steps and Nicholas felt the first stirrings of an unwilling admiration.
She seemed taller than he remembered. Her dark hair was artfully curled with fresh spring flowers threaded through it. Her green dress clung to a voluptuous form he’d certainly not taken note of during their last meeting. Indeed, she was quite lovely. As she got closer, her eyes flared with barely concealed panic and she appeared to be panting slightly, leaning heavily on her father who was smiling broadly, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s discomfort
She was certainly pretty enough to turn a few heads, and providing her manners proved to be acceptable, she would do well enough.
And then she threw up all over his immaculately polished hessians.
∞∞∞
“I cannot apologise enough your grace. I have no idea what came over her. Grace is usually so… so, well, composed. I’m sure it’s simply a trifling attack
