Alva said, almost as if the girl had some control over whether or not she got ill.
Again, the girl gave a startled look, and Rand began to wonder if they’d ever before included her in a conversation. Almost by rote, she responded, “Yes, I am.”
Rand couldn’t see any strings attached to the girl, but it certainly seemed as if her mother was very apt at pulling them. When Alva nodded to her daughter she said, “Please sit down, Your Grace.”
And so he did.
“Have you been to Paris?” Alva asked.
“Many times. It’s a beautiful city.”
“We bought Elizabeth’s dress there.”
He looked at her, as he supposed he was meant to, and said, “It’s lovely.”
The girl’s lips tilted slightly into a smile, a forced movement and she didn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
It struck Rand then that it was possible Elizabeth Cummings did not want to marry him any more than he wanted to marry her. Well, fancy that. All this time he’d been feeling rather put out by this arranged marriage—for he never doubted for a second that he would agree to such a match—and now he was finding out his future bride was rather put out, too. She looked, frankly, miserable.
“I wonder, Your Grace, if you could accompany us tomorrow morning to the Casino,” Alva said. “It’s quite lovely to see all the fine carriages on Bellevue Avenue. It will be a wonderful opportunity to introduce you to New port Society.”
It was the last thing he wanted to do, to be put on display and forced to be pleasant to a large crowd of gawking Americans. Good God. “It would be my pleasure, Madam,” he said, lying very nicely. “For now, though, I wonder if your daughter could show me around your grounds if we have time before dinner.” If he left everything up to the mother, he’d likely never get a chance to be alone with the girl until he was forced to propose.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl stiffen, and he knew he’d been correct about her. She didn’t want to marry him and that made him curious. For didn’t every girl dream of marrying a duke?
Chapter 4
Elizabeth wondered idly if she could run away from the duke, run to the sea, jump in and swim away. Perhaps become a mermaid. Perhaps become anything but the Duchess of Bellingham. Elizabeth had become extremely adept at finding something good about everything life handed her. Marrying the duke: bad. Saving Henry’s life by marrying the duke: good. Meeting the duke for the first time four months before her planned wedding: bad. Finding he wasn’t hideously ugly: good.
No. His grace was anything but ugly. Of course, he wasn’t as fine looking as her Henry. Who was? The duke was far too rugged, too big, too…everything. Henry was refined, from his straight blond hair to his well-manicured nails. Henry was perfect. All this she’d already determined even though she could admit to herself she’d hardly even looked at the duke.
It was a warm day, the sky nearly cloudless, and the Atlantic Ocean that stretched before them in the distance was almost painfully blue. How perfect this day would have been if she’d been walking with anyone but the duke. Like, perhaps, Henry.
Her mother sat on the veranda, keeping a watchful eye over them. But her mother needn’t worry about propriety; she was walking at least five feet apart from him, and still she could feel his looming presence.
Suddenly, the duke stopped walking and stared out to sea. “You don’t want this marriage, do you?” he asked, stunning her so completely, Elizabeth let out a strangled sound. All she could think of was that her mother had somehow bribed him into challenging her.
“Of course I do,” she said, staring at his hard profile and hoping he couldn’t read her lie. Foolish thought.
“You’re lying,” he said finally, turning to her. “I suppose I could be made to believe you are merely shy, and not completely unhappy with this arrangement.”
“I am not shy,” Elizabeth said, confirming his suspicions without overtly agreeing with him. He was frowning, and she wondered if she’d just made a terrible mistake. He turned and continued walking along the well-tended lawn, heading for the sharply cut hedge that separated the estate from the rocky shore below.
“I don’t particularly want to get married either,” he said, surprising her yet again. He shrugged, and for a moment he almost looked boyishly sheepish. “I’m only twenty-seven. I hadn’t thought I’d get married for another ten years or so.”
“Then why…” The money. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten even for a moment about the money. “Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” When he reached the hedge he stopped and turned toward her yet again. “These sorts of things go on all the time. In fact, more often than not in England. Still, I suppose it is not what you expected.”
“No.” Without warning, Elizabeth’s throat closed up and she wished vehemently he would stop being so kind. She could feel his somber gray eyes studying her.
“I’m not such a bad sort.”
She darted a look up to him, only to see him studying her far too closely. “I’m sure you are a very fine gentleman.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “I do try to be.” He let out a long breath. “This is how it can be between us. We can marry. I have to have an heir. And we’ll get that over with and then we can go on with our lives.”
She stared at him, shocked he could be so blunt about what their future would bring. Suddenly the entire idea of a loveless marriage, bearing children for a man she hardly knew, was nearly too much to abide.
Rand took in her stricken face and knew he’d made a mistake. She was only nineteen and no doubt had fantasies about love and romance and all that rot. He didn’t want to be cruel, he simply wanted to be honest, to let her know this mockery of a marriage was not something he desired any more than she did. But he was prepared to make the best of the situation. “It’s what is done,” he said. “I thought that would give you comfort.”
“What would give me comfort is for you to go back to England and never return,” she said earnestly.
Without thinking, he let out a laugh and quickly tried to sober when he saw she was completely serious. “No, you are not shy, are you?” he asked.
“I told you I was not,” she said, and he thought he detected the tiniest smile before she looked back to the house.
So upset was he by this marriage that was being forced upon him, he hadn’t given a thought to how the bride would feel. Likely that was because he’d never imagined any girl wouldn’t want to marry him. He was a duke, after all. And he knew from the attention women had given him even before he acquired the lofty title that he was somewhat attractive.
“Perhaps I should marry your mother, then. She would be thrilled, I think.” He’d hoped to make her laugh aloud, but his jest produced only a smile. “Well, have heart that I haven’t asked for your hand yet. You still have time to change my mind about the entire plan.”
He’d thought those words would produce another smile, but instead her face took on an expression of such sadness
