An American Duchess Page 18
“We should get going to the church, missy. Don’t want to miss the big event.”
She walked down the rest of the front steps to the carriage that waited for her. Parked behind the cars, it was a huge, Cinderella-style thing, complete with two snow-white horses. Suddenly Zoe felt as if the stairs were shifting under her feet.
She was leaving Mother. Leaving Uncle Hiram’s guardianship. Leaving New York.
Women always went away with their husbands. They went to a new life, a new world.
She sure was. And she intended to make it hers—that was why she wouldn’t agree to obey anyone. Not even the man she loved. She squared her shoulders and stepped into the carriage.
* * *
“You look nervous, Langy.”
At the altar, Nigel ran his finger around his collar. Morning sunlight poured in the windows. He’d never felt so hot in church before. He glanced at Sebastian—standing at his side as his best man. His brother looked effortlessly elegant in his morning coat, appeared completely cool and unruffled. “I keep wondering if I’ve been mad to have asked her to marry me.”
“I’m the irresponsible one. Now is not the time for second thoughts. Besides, if my tastes ran in that direction, I’d be champing at the bit right now. Zoe is a spectacular woman. Beautiful and thrilling. Every moment with her will be an adventure.”
Nigel swallowed hard. “She is a remarkable woman. When I’m with her, I feel alive. Even when she argues with me. And she has a tender heart.”
“Then you are a lucky man, Nigel.”
It was the first time his brother hadn’t used the irritating nickname. “I keep feeling guilty. As if I’ve claimed her under false pretenses,” he muttered.
“I don’t understand.” Concern showed in Sebastian’s face.
His brother had changed. Since Zoe had told him to find happiness and Sebastian decided to do it, he had lost his sulky anger. Nigel saw that his brother had tried to fit into their world out of a sense of duty. But it had eaten at him.
It took a certain kind of person to put duty above everything.
He had broken his vow of stoicism over the War—which he’d made as he limped home to Brideswell, recovering from his wounds. He had told Zoe what the War had left him with. He’d been honest with her—as much as he could be. There were some things he had to keep locked inside forever.
He needed to talk to someone about his fears. “Nightmares plague me. The damn shaking that comes on me without warning. What kind of husband will I be? When I look at Zoe, I picture her with a man like her. An outgoing man, an adventurer, a man who lives for each moment—a man who is not like me.” His hand started to tremble. Not now, damn it. “The memories from battle get worse, not better.” He had been thinking about Ernie Bell last night and woke from a horrific nightmare at 3:00 a.m. and couldn’t even attempt to sleep afterward.
“She loves you, you know,” Sebastian said softly. “I saw that on the first night she came to Brideswell. She was falling in love with you at dinner. Why do you think I punched you? You were ruining my plans with your nobility and strength and strong-and-silent behavior. You had her captivated.”
“She is not certain yet. Not certain if she loves me.” He fought for control by clenching his fists. Nerves and tension set him off. He was not going to let anything ruin this moment.
“She will. I want to see you happy. And you have to go through with your marriage now,” Sebastian said. “Think of the scandal if you don’t.”
And he owed Zoe marriage. But more than that, he loved her.
He could be the man she deserved to have, damn it. He could hide the broken parts of him from her. “You are correct,” he said. “I will keep my problems under control so they do not touch or hurt Zoe.”
“One thing I’ve learned about problems,” Sebastian said. “You can’t control them.” Sebastian shuffled his feet. “On that note, I wanted to thank you. For understanding why I have to go to Capri. For covering up with Mama and Grandmama—telling them I just wanted to paint.”
“I am sorry it took me so long to understand what you need to be happy.”
The church doors opened then, filling the doorway with light. White fabric fluttered, and all heads turned and craned toward the entrance. Mrs. Dobbs, the organist, lifted her hands, and suddenly the first strains of the wedding march swelled through the church.
Her uncle Hiram Gifford brought Zoe forward, her hand resting in his crooked elbow.
Her bobbed hair was a cap of gold, her face almost bare of makeup, her eyes large and violet, her lips full and soft pink. A veil of some white gauzy fabric floated around her, held in place by a spray of diamond roses. She wore a simple white dress that seemed lighter than air. The hem swirled around her midcalves and a train glided behind her. A bouquet of white flowers was clutched in her hand and white ribbon streamers flowed out of the bouquet
Nigel had to take a step back. He almost lost his balance.
“She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“She is,” Sebastian agreed, under his breath.
Nigel hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.
Walking toward him, Zoe smiled. An ache wrapped around his heart. He had no right to be so happy.
A querulous female voice sounded over the strains of music from the organ. “Was it not the duke’s brother she was supposed to marry? They’ve changed places, you say?”
He knew the voice—it was the dowager’s sister, his great-aunt Alicia.
“It’s a new world,” his grandmother’s firm voice answered.
But Great-Aunt Alicia was the only one to openly voice the thing everyone else was thinking. The village must be rife with gossip. He hadn’t looked at a newspaper for over a week, because he didn’t want to bloody well know. It was his duty to protect Brideswell. And now to protect Zoe. From everything—including from scandal.
“Hello,” she said when she reached the altar.
“Hello,” he murmured.
Reverend Wesley cleared his throat.
The words rolled together in a blur. Nigel had witnessed weddings of friends. Now that it was his own, Reverend Wesley’s words seemed to come from miles away. “We are gathered here...in sight of God...”
A ray of rose-tinted sunshine spilled from the stained-glass window. Zoe stood in its pink-and-gold glow.
The gold touched crosses on the altar, making them gleam. It slanted over a plaque on the wall, placed there by his family. A list of the village men who had not come home from the Great War.
He didn’t want to think of it now, but seeing the plaque, the crosses, made it impossible to forget.
Grasp life and live it as much as I can, so I can do his living for him as well as mine.
That was what she had said. But what right did he have to get a life when so many men didn’t? Better men than he. He had sent men over the top. Sent them into the path of machine-gun fire. Many of those men had never had the chance to have a sweetheart, to be in love, to marry.
All that was left of them were crosses. And the memories Nigel still held of their deaths—at least those he remembered. Ragged, painful memories of bursting shells and mud and screams and fear—
The reverend cleared his throat. “I, Nigel Arthur William Hazelton, take thee, Zoe Anastasia Gifford—”
He was supposed to repeat his vows. But the laughter of doomed men echoed in his ears. Those moments when they traded jokes, seeking to live with normalcy in the middle of hell—
Beneath the sunlight streaming through the window, Nigel’s skin perspired. Shirt, waistcoat and morning coat felt vise-tight. Sweat rolled down his back.
The reverend cleared his throat softly. “Your Grace,” he intoned with discretion. “Would you repeat your vows?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” N
igel tugged at his collar. Damned hot in here. “I, Nigel Arthur William—” His voice cracked. Sebastian nudged him.
This was for Zoe. He owed her this—a beautiful wedding day.
He looked to her. What did she think of his clumsy words, his nerves?
He saw how her forehead was furrowed. Hell, if he wanted to believe their marriage could work, he had to get through this.
He cleared his throat, louder than the reverend had done. People shuffled on pews. His collar choked him. He’d faced battle. He could confront a wedding.
“I, Nigel Arthur William Hazelton, take thee, Zoe—”
On the words “take thee,” a soft smile came to her lips. A shared smile. He looked at her face, and she filled his every thought. Moments now and she would truly be his. The words suddenly came easier.
Then it was her turn. The reverend fumbled with his prayer book and cleared his throat again.
“Do you, Zoe Anastasia Gifford...” Then inexplicably, the reverend stuttered, saying, “To love, ch-cherish and—and—” The man’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “What is the meaning of this? Someone’s altered my book!”
Nigel stared at Wesley, who tipped his book of scripture down. Some of the words in the man’s book had been blacked out with a pencil. The reverend cast a shocked glance at Zoe.
With his tone of voice like the hissing sound of a leaky tire, Wesley said, “Your Grace, I apologize. I do not understand. Miss Gifford wished to make a change in the vows.”
Nigel turned to her. Murmurs rose through the congregation, but they hadn’t heard what Wesley had whispered.
Zoe met his gaze. “I didn’t do anything to the book. I told him just what I wanted to say. I wanted my vows to you to be exactly the same as the ones you say to me, Nigel. Without obey. Someone was just having a joke with the book.” She gave Wesley a gentle, beautiful smile. “Why don’t you continue, dear reverend? It’s been so very lovely so far.”
With that, Zoe managed to win over the reverend. Red in the face, Wesley took a deep breath and continued. Out popped the word obey.
She wasn’t going to repeat it. Nigel was sure of it. Once he would have been shocked. Now he could see Zoe was correct—what did it matter? His father hadn’t done a lot of loving and cherishing during his marriage. A vow was not what you said, but what you did.
“I, Zoe Anastasia Gifford, take thee, Nigel Arthur William Hazelton, to be my wedded husband,” Zoe repeated, her voice ringing out in the church. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance.”
She had said the word she objected to. And he knew she’d done it for him—to spare him embarrassment.
Suddenly Nigel realized something else. Zoe was now his.
The responsibility almost overwhelmed him. She was bold and honest and more filled with life than anyone he’d ever known. And he was a damned mess.
The rings were presented on Sebastian’s gloved palm. Nigel shakily slid one onto Zoe’s slender finger. His voice was equally shaky as he said, “With this ring, I thee wed.”
* * *
Rice rained over them. Zoe clasped the hand of her husband and let him lead her out of the church to the guests and the villagers.
“Three cheers!” shouted one of the villagers.
Hurrahs followed. Caps flew into the air. Children squealed, scampering around the legs of adults. In the crowd, Zoe saw the simplest laborers, the merchants and all the local gentry. Every soul in Brideswell had gathered to wish them well. The elderly farmer who she had encountered on the road the first day she’d arrived was there, looking on with his familiar dour expression. Mrs. Billings leaned heavily on a cane, helped by Julia’s sweetheart, Dr. Campbell.
Joy surrounded them.
But Nigel had looked anything but happy in the church. He had looked exactly as he had when she’d found him outside Murray’s jazz club, suffering from shell shock.
“A kiss!”
A cry started over the crowd for a kiss.
Was Nigel going to kiss her? He had looked so upset in the church. When she saw him at the altar, he had looked stricken and in agony. He had been tugging at his collar. At that moment, he looked as if he were going to shake to pieces or explode in anger.
Then he’d looked at her. His blue eyes went wide as he drank in the sight of her in her dress. His lips had softened and she saw him suck in a deep, long breath. He had looked...as if he’d been struck by lightning.
He had been nervous, stumbling over his vows. But he had not looked outraged over the word scribbled out in the book, and she’d thought he would. She knew who had done it. She had looked at the guests and Isobel had flushed with guilt.
Now, at the happy demand for a display of affection, Nigel looked blank. As if he had no understanding of the meaning of the word kiss.
“We shouldn’t disappoint them, should we?” she said to Nigel. “They’re happy for you.”
He drew off his hat with a nervous gesture. From his towering height, he bent to her lips. Without saying a word. She went up on tiptoe and their mouths touched.
It was the softest kiss. Not passionate, but very gentle.
“Huzzah!” several people shouted. “Hurray to the duke and his new duchess!”
“Long lives to them both!” cried others.
Nigel broke the kiss first, moving back and wearing a light blush. Laughter and more cheers sounded among the villagers. Zoe laughed up at her new husband. Softly she teased, “That wasn’t a kiss to sweep me off my feet.”
“That is not the kind of thing I can do in front of an audience,” he said stiffly.
More rice was thrown at them, and then a girl cried out, “Do toss the bouquet! Oh, please!”
Laughing, Zoe turned her back to the crowd. She knew just where Julia was standing. And she threw her bunch of roses over her shoulder. A feminine squeak sounded and Zoe whirled around to see a chunky young woman elbow Julia out of the way and snatch the flowers out of the air. She shared a rueful look with Julia.
Then Zoe turned to Nigel. She felt she was glowing from the inside out. He wasn’t smiling—he was watching her, a poignant expression on his handsome face.
“We should go to the carriage, Zoe. To return to Brideswell.”
He said it in far too cool a way. “Good,” she answered. “I want to get you alone.”
“We won’t be alone.”
“Nigel!” she cried in protest. Why didn’t he get it? But she soon saw he was right. A footman waited at the carriage, holding the door open. There was the driver, of course. And the carriage was open, so everyone could see the newly married duke and duchess. It was sweet. But not good when she ached to kiss him hard.
Nigel lifted her train and she slid along the smooth seat. He held the train to her, and she bustled all the fabric around her.
She had insisted all the villagers be able to attend the wedding breakfast. Mother had been shocked. Mother had had her heart set on an exclusive guest list, bursting with dukes, earls and possibly—gasp—a prince or princess.
Mother and the dowager had been in agreement in their shock. Tents for the reception? The farm tenants touring the grounds and piling food on plates? Horrifying.
But it was going to be done.
The coachman flicked his reins and they were off. Zoe didn’t quite know what to say. Why had Nigel been so nervous in the ceremony? Why was he so stiff and quiet now? They both sat awkwardly. They’d been married for just a few minutes. Before, she would have said something to annoy him. But she didn’t want to do that now.
No, she was going to be honest. “Are you having second thoughts?”
Nigel jolted in surprise. “Of course not.”
“Then what was wrong in the church? You were pulling at your collar and sweating. You looked like you wanted to run.”
There was a silence. At the picnic, in the churchyard, Nigel had actually talked about what he felt—he’d talked about love. But now he was acting cold and austere, the way he’d been when she’d first met him.
“Have we just made a colossal mistake?” Zoe asked.
* * *
“Colossal mistake?” Nigel repeated, startled. Was that what she felt?
“I wanted this to be the happiest day of your life. I intend to make it that.”
“It is.” Hell, he’d said that too curtly. He had been fighting to control his shaking through the wedding. Deep in his heart, he was afraid she had made a mistake in marrying him.
Once he would have been unable to find the words. Now he had to try to explain. For her. “Zoe, ever since I returned from the War, wounded, I’ve avoided large events. Standing up there, on display, I feared I would embarrass you in some way. I feared I would start shaking—or worse. I was afraid of doing something that would shock or horrify people.”
“They are your friends and family,” she said.
“True, but who can criticize you more or hurt you deeper?”
“I suppose only people whose opinion you care about can hurt you. But don’t you see you have nothing to fear?”
He had everything to fear. This should have been the happiest day of his life. But the guilt in his heart churned harder today. Because he was having joys denied to so many men who had entrusted their lives to him. Because when he stood in front of all the villagers, people he had known for his entire life, he had felt conscious of his scars. Conscious of the tremors in his hands, brought on by nerves.
“I know,” he said. He wanted to change the subject. “We have the breakfast. Then the honeymoon. Then the financial business will have to be taken care of. I have a schedule to put in place—improvements to the farm buildings, purchases of new farming equipment—”
“We’ve just married, and you’re thinking about farming equipment.”
He flushed. “You are correct, Zoe. We have other things to think about.” He frowned. “What happened with the vows? I looked out over the guests and I saw Isobel go red. That usually means she is guilty of something.”