“No, but…” She chewed her lip. “I can’t know what the duke will think about it.”
Laura patted her hand, her eyes gentling. “Then we will endure. But did you think me content to live out my days as an elderly baron’s wife?”
“Not in the slightest. I expected you to live a handful of years as an elderly baron’s wife, then spend the rest of your days as a very merry widow. If you marry a groom, you will never be invited to another party again. Youadoreparties.”
“I adore Ewan more,” Laura said simply. “Believe me, I’ve given it plenty of thought. For years, I thought it a sacrifice too far, but I love him. And the more men I meet, the more I realize how much I love him. No sacrifice is too great.”
Christiana fell back on the sofa. “A love match,” she said.
“I never knew how to tell you. You never seemed to believe in love.”
Christiana rubbed at her eyes wearily. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in love—although she had seen little enough evidence for it. But she comprehended its existence; enoughpoets had written about the wonders of the heart in such a way to make love seem mystical.
Marrying one’s groom did not seem mystical.
“But now you’re also marrying,” Laura continued. “And I thought I may as well tell you now, before the duke whisks you away to be his good, little pet.”
“I won’t be his pet,” Christiana said absently. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“It’s not a mere flirtation.” Laura leaned down and kissed Christiana’s cheek. “I promise.”
“Then be happy. And so long as I have a say in the matter, you will always be welcome with me.”
“Let us hope,” Laura said wryly, “that you continue to have a say in the matter.”
Chapter Five
The wedding tookplace at St. George’s, Hanover Square, as so many marriages of thetondid. The duke had procured a license, and all that remained was for Christiana to attend the church at half past ten on the agreed-upon day.
Christiana and Laura stood outside in the warm July sun, arm in arm. Inside stood the duke and her future, whatever he decided it should be. Depending on his choices, and hers, the remainder of her life would be either pleasant or miserable.
She had, largely, been joking about the fire poker, but she was also determined to do whatever she must to protect her interests and self-respect.
Hopefully, it would never come to that.
“It’s not too late,” Laura said, squeezing her arm. “I can cause a distraction while you flee.”
“Then what would happen to you?”
Laura sent her an amused glance. “They’re men, dearest. All I need do is pretend to faint—they will think I cannot help being a swooning lady, and no blame will be laid at my door. Take note. If you are ever afraid of being taken poorly, all you need do is collapse, and all will be forgiven.”
“I hardly think I’m the swooning type,” Christiana said dryly.
The door opened and a bespectacled man emerged, blinking owlishly in the sunlight. “Ladies,” he said. “Miss Nightingale, I presume? Mr. Harding, at your service.” He gave a distracted bow.
“I am Christiana Nightingale,” she said. “And this is Miss Laura Crawford.”
“A pleasure,” Mr. Harding said, giving her an absent yet charming smile. He produced a small nosegay for Christiana. “Come along, then.”
With those unromantic words, they all entered the church, whereupon the duke was waiting for them, along with a bishop in preparation to conduct the wedding. Christiana experienced a frisson of nerves once again as she approached the duke. He wore his mask, white once more, covering the disfigured side of his face, and she wished she could remove it to better read his expression.
“You look well,” he said when she reached him.
She looked down at the peach gown Laura had brought and insisted she wear. Instead of her usual plain, almost utilitarian style, it was frilly and lacy, two things Christiana detested. There were flounces all down the skirt, and the sleeves were loose and airy, barely serving as sleeves at all.
There was also the fact that Laura was rather a different shape, and there hadn’t been any time to bring the dress in, so Christiana’s lack of curves was set into rather stark contrast.
“Thank you,” she said, trying not to sound stiff. “I trust all the arrangements are in place?”