Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Don’t come then.” He shrugged. “Go to France and keep Townsend out of the army. He’d make a terrible soldier.”
“We can’t go anywhere until after my parents’ ball,” said Marlow. The Earl and Countess of Warren always threw a grand bash near the end of the Season. “I wish the two of you weren’t running off to the country so quickly. Lady Wescott could have graced the gathering with a song.”
He shook his head. “She can’t sing right now, or practice. The fire’s done something to her voice. She says she may never sing again.”
“Does she want to sing again, now she’s married?” asked August. “Will you let her?”
“Not in damned Drury Lane.” He doubtless produced the fourth Arlington frown. “No public stages, no lights, no madmen like Townsend running after her declaring their love. It’s just as well she’s lost her voice. I hope it stays away until our nursery’s full, and she loses interest in performing.”
“Spoken like a true domineering husband.” Marlow raised a brow. “Does she know who she’s marrying? Does she know anything about your affinity for disciplinary pleasures?”
“I should hope not.”
“Perhaps she does,” said August. “Maybe that’s why she sobbed as she said her vows. It was rather uncomfortable to watch.”
“It’s his wedding day, for God’s sake. Don’t say things like that.” Marlow bumped him on the shoulder. “He’s the first of us to marry, poor fellow. I dread your wedding day, Lord Augustine, and pity whatever lady has the misfortune to marry you.”
“Not as much as I pity your future bride, Mad Marlow.”
Heat rose in the blond viscount’s cheeks. “I’ve told you how much I hate that name.”
“If only it wasn’t so fitting.”
Before Marlow and August could start arguing in earnest, Wescott held up a hand. “It’s been a long and trying day, but I suppose it’s what I deserve. Thank you for coming to the ceremony, either way.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Augustine. Marlow nodded, but Townsend’s absence hung unspoken between them. The four of them had been friends for as long as they could remember, spending dinners and playtimes and holidays together, because their parents were close friends. All of them were the oldest, the first-born sons, sharing the pressures of tutors, rules, and expectations for the future. They’d fallen out before, over little things, but they always came back together. This rift with Townsend went deeper. He’d up and left the country.
“We’ll come to the Abbey, too,” Marlow promised. “When winter’s most bleak. We’ll try to bring Townsend if he comes home from France.”
“Of course, if you like. If he wants to.”
Nearly everyone had left the wedding luncheon by now. From the busy chatter of voices and congratulations, only quieter conversations remained. His friends would leave soon, too. They were searching for the words to excuse themselves. After that, it would be him and Ophelia, and an entire life to figure out together.
“Just because it started badly…” Wescott paused, pulling at his cuffs. “Well, that doesn’t mean it will continue badly, does it? The lady will come around.”
“How it starts means nothing,” said August. “It’s how you go on from here.”
“I agree,” said Marlow. “The marriage will be what you make it. If she starts crying again in the bedroom tonight, just spank the tears out of her.”
“That’s terrible advice.” August turned on Marlow. “We’re all miserable that Wescott’s married now, but we don’t want him to fail, because that would make everything even worse.”
As if things could be worse. As August and Marlow started to bicker again, Wescott thought he’d already failed beyond repairing. When his friends took their leave, he crossed to his bride and reached for her hand, trying to ignore the coolness in her expression.
“Lady Wescott,” he said. “What an extraordinary day it’s been.”
“Indeed,” she agreed. “An extraordinary wedding day.”
And it’s not over. He didn’t say it aloud, but surely she realized there was more to come. A wedding night, though she’d not come to his bed a virgin. He wondered if that would make it easier or harder to consummate this marriage of necessity.
“Shall we take our leave?” he asked. “I’ll be pleased to escort you to your new home in town.”
“If you wish, my lord.” She met his eyes just for a moment.
“You needn’t ‘my lord’ me now that we’re married. You may call me Wescott, or Jack if you prefer.” He could see the name Jack reminded her of their illicit night together, and everything that had led them to now. He doubted she would ever call him by that name. “I’ll call you Ophelia,” he said when she didn’t answer, “and starting tonight, we shall try to make the best of things, my dear.”
Chapter Six
Starting Tonight
Ophelia lay in her new bed, wondering what would happen if she locked the door against her husband. Was she brave enough to do that?