Alexander had been right about one thing: once word of their betrothal spread, the events at Somerstead Hall had beenrewritten. The scandal had been turned into a story of true romance.
A more favorable interpretation, to be sure, but still far from the truth.
She gasped softly as the outside door creaked open, and Alexander appeared.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, pausing in the doorway.
Margaret froze. The morning suited him, and the sight took her breath away. He sported a fine dark grey jacket and crisp white waistcoat. His dark hair had been neatly styled, his cheeks slightly ruddy from the cold outdoors.
“I am waiting for the wedding to begin,” Margaret answered once she found her voice. “The same as you, I suspect. Unless you have changed your mind about this marrying business and were looking instead for an exit.”
He shook his head, closing the door. “I never go back on my word. Margaret, you are...” He looked at her deeply, and heat rose to her cheeks in response. “How very lovely you look.”
Was that a compliment? It seemed genuine, and it warmed her nervous heart. She hadn’t thought she could be considered lovely by him. Lovely was not logical.
“Yes, well...” She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly warm despite the frigid breeze that had swept in. “You have been generous with Mama’s allowance, but as you can see, it has not gone to waste. We didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends by appearing quite as poor as we are. They are gathering by the second, if my ears do not deceive me.”
“That is precisely why I was returning indoors.” Alexander smiled politely and moved past her.
She stopped him, not thinking as she grabbed his wrist. “I just wanted to...”
Her breath hitched when she realized what she had done. Her hand tingled pleasantly where she touched him, prickles traveling up her arm, to her neck, the back of her head. She dropped his hand like a hot poker, but Alexander did not react badly to her impropriety.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Augusta arrived this morning. Eliza said that you were responsible for returning her to me... I only wanted to thank you.”
Alexander quirked a brow, as if her gratitude was strange. “It was a small thing.”
“Not small to me. I did not even know that you had spoken to Eliza in that way.”
“I believe she had been lying in wait for me.” A slight smirk tugged at Alexander’s mouth, and Margaret found herself smiling too. “She is an exceedingly persuasive person, your sister. You have that in common.”
Margaret looked toward the door, her stomach suddenly tightening at what her exit would entail. A lonely aisle. All thetonare waiting for her to trip.
“Are you nervous about walking alone?”
“Is it so very obvious? I had not given it a second thought until this moment.” She put a hand over her stomach. Her father was not present to walk her down the aisle, and Margaret had no other man in her life whom she wished to ask, as he would have been suitable in the eyes of theton. “I must be the first duchess in history to walk the aisle all by herself. I’m worried they will laugh at me.”
“Then perhaps you should not walk alone.”
Margaret stared at him.
“Allow me to walk the aisle with you,” Alexander continued. “It is not usual, but nothing about this situation is usual.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Margaret took a step toward him, forgetting herself. “It would look quite strange, and you are so...”Precisian,came to mind. “No, Your Grace. It is too much to ask.”
“And yet I have already granted you my answer,” he said. Alexander walked toward the outside door, opened it, and let in the cold air again. “Come with me, Margaret. And while we are at it, stop calling me Your Grace. From this moment forward, I shall be no stranger to you.”
"Carlisle. Allow me to introduce...” Alexander paused, as if suddenly debating how to present Margaret now that they were married. He settled on, “Margaret, my wife,” and smiled modestly to the man who had approached.
Margaret offered a polite greeting, a little weary from the events of the wedding breakfast that morning. The ceremony had passed without a hitch, and in the moments since at Langley House, there had barely been time to breathe. She clutched a flute of Champagne close to her chest as Carlisle assessed her with an appraising look that reminded her of Alexander. He bowed gallantly for her, and the resemblance between him and Alexander struck her. Carlisle must have been thirty years older than her new husband at least, but the structure of their faces was almost identical—the same sharp nose and wide mouth, the same enviable tapered jaw.
“A pleasure to meet you again, my dear. I am surprised but not disappointed to see that you have reacquainted yourself quite thoroughly with my nephew.” Carlisle shot a playful look at Alexander “How long has it been since last we met? A year or two?”
“One of the two,” Margaret said with a little nervous laugh.
“Of course, you have met before,” Alexander murmured, seemingly distracted by the activity all around them. “Forgive me. It had slipped my mind.”
