The situation.
What, exactly, was the situation? What story could the Dowager Duchess of Leith possibly weave that would make any of this seem acceptable?
The duke glanced at Charity before answering. “She will tell her that we met a week ago. We wished to keep our courtship quiet because we knew that as soon as it was known that Lady Charity was courting a duke, there would be pressure to wed. We did not wish for this, but when it became clear that Lady Pembroke had plans for Lord Markham to step in, we knew we had to do something. I proposed, and Charity accepted.”
“That does not explain why you burst into Stafford House last night and claimed me as your wife,” Charity pointed out, a bit sharper than was needed.
“Indeed, I have thought of that. I will claim that when I heard Lord Markham threatened you, I lost my temper and got ahead of myself somewhat by proclaiming us wed. Going back on it would be very unfortunate for us both; therefore, we will wed today to avoid scandal. She will understand.
“She will remind her of the close connection between my father and hers. And she will also point out that a match with a duke is far more advantageous than one with a mere viscount.” He paused. “I am certain your mother will see reason.”
Charity could not argue. Her mother would be overjoyed at the prospect of her daughter marrying a duke—so much so that she might overlook the circumstances entirely.
“My mother has already arranged a small wedding breakfast,” he continued. “It will be held at my sister’s home. Only our mothers and cousins will attend, of course.”
Charity’s stomach clenched. This was not the wedding she had dreamed of, but it was the wedding she would have.
“I shall not be able to tarry long,” his cousin said. “I must meet my father this morning, but I am glad to be of service. And may I say, you both look rather splendid indeed.”
Charity smiled at him, noting her husband to be had not made mention of how she looked. Though why should he? They were not in love. Still, it would have been polite to do so. Then again, the duke did not strike her as polite in general.
“It is my cousin’s gown, for I did not have any of my own things,” she explained, looking at the duke as if to silently convey her displeasure at all of this.
“You shall have them soon enough. Your maids are even now packing your belongings and having them brought to Hayward. Hayward House is but a thirty-minute carriage ride outside of London, so everything will be there when you arrive after the wedding breakfast.” He pulled out a golden pocket watch and casually opened it. “It is almost eleven. I should say we will be home in time for dinner.”
Dinner. Home. The words were familiar yet too peculiar, so strange for they described nothing she was familiar with, not in this new light.
“Is there anything else you may need other than your clothing and such? Of course, I imagine you will return to your mother’s townhouse to bring whatever was missed,” he said. Charity pressed her lips together.
“I see, Your Grace, you will allow me to visit my home as I please?” she said sharply. Millie sucked in air beside her while the duke’s cousin puckered his lips and looked outside. She knew this was not how a lady ought to behave, but she had all but been kidnapped into marriage. She thought some displeasure shown to this man would not go amiss.
“Of course, you are free to call on whomever you wish, whenever you wish. You are to be wed, not imprisoned in the tower as used to be the case with unwanted wives. Now. My question.”
She blinked, for she had not expected this reply. What had she expected? Truthfully, she did not know.
“Ambrose,” Millie whispered beside her and Charity turned. Then, her eyes grew wide. Ambrose. Of course. This was her chance! Ambrose, her five-year-old Shetland pony had been her dearest companion since the moment she had received him for her fourteenth birthday. The brown and white shettie had been her trusted companion since then. When she was younger, she’d ridden the little horse but now she was an adult, she mostly preferred to walk the meadow with him or brush his coat while feeding him apples and carrots.
Since leaving Pembroke, she had not been able to see the horse as they had no stable at the London home and her mother refused to rent one or use a livery stable. She did not see the use of a Shetland pony. This circumstance had almost broken her heart. But now, perhaps, she might have a chance to get her friend back.
“I would like to bring Ambrose,” she said, pulling her shoulders back to give herself a more stern, confident appearance.
“Ambrose? Is he a favored servant?” the duke asked.
“He is my horse. He is a Shetland pony whom I adore,” she said, clenching her hands because suddenly, the need to have Ambrose was so urgent she feared he might say no.
“A Shetland pony?” he said, his eyebrows rising. Then, he broke into a smile. “My mother has a Shetland pony also who resides at Hayward. It will be good for Hector to have a companion,” he said. Charity’s eyes widened. There was a shettie at Hayward? Her new mother-in-law liked them? How…peculiar, and yet how wonderful. For the first time since her father had passed she felt a sense of relief, of lightness.
“So, Your Grace does not mind?”
“Not at all. Although I should prefer that when we are among friends, you call me Eammon. Thomas does as should you. And, I suppose you should do so as well, Lady Millie, since the four of us are in a confederacy of sorts and now hold this secret.”
“Very well,” Millie replied and winked at Charity, as if this was all some grand win.
“Where is this horse now?” he inquired.
“At my family’s country estate in Hartford,” Millie replied, and the duke nodded.
“Very well, it is settled. Ambrose shall be brought to reside with us at Hayward. Now, we cannot tarry; we have arrived,” he declared, rapping on the carriage roof to command it to a halt.
