“They are. Once we’ve got this over and done with, we’ll travel down to Wiltshire.”
“How long is the journey, Your Grace?”
“Three days’ travel.”
She nodded. Three days in close confines with a stranger. Uncomfortable, no doubt, but it could hardly be helped.
“Are you ready?” he asked, and she gave the church one last glance. Laura and Mr. Harding were standing in the pews, and the priest was prepared to marry them. This was it.
Christiana stared into the dark-brown eyes of her future husband and did her best to smile. “I am.”
“Then let us marry.” The duke turned to the priest and gave a curt nod.
The wedding began.
To Christiana’s relief, everything went smoothly. The duke produced a small wedding band, which he slipped on her third finger. His gloves remained on, she noticed, but as he seemed perfectly dexterous, she made no comment on it.
Once the service was over, and they were declared man and wife, the duke offered her his left arm and they walked down the aisle together. United, in a manner of speaking.
“Good luck,” Laura whispered as they passed, squeezing her arm briefly but fiercely.
A coach waited outside the church for them; instead of the traditional wedding breakfast, they were leaving immediately for Wiltshire.
“I apologize for the rush,” he said as he handed her into the carriage. “I find traveling uncomfortable, and I would rather get it over and done with. The longer we dally, the more unpleasant the anticipation.”
Christiana folded her hands in her lap and wondered how best to ask her question. Eventually, she opted for directness. “Because of your burns?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“They must be extensive.”
“They are,” he said shortly. “And painful.”
“Then I’m sorry for it.”
He glanced at her, as though surprised. Underneath the mask, she thought he frowned. “Thank you. Do you mind ifI remove the mask while we journey? It grows uncomfortable after some time.”
“Of course.” She gestured for him to go ahead, and he untied the strings holding the mask in place. For the first time, she saw his face in daylight. Terrible, yes, in the way that any display of pain was terrible, but although it was shocking, she already felt herself growing accustomed to it.
After all, what right had she to put weight on one’s appearance? She would not make a handsome wife; she could hardly expect a handsome husband.
“I want us both to be as comfortable within this marriage as we can be,” she said. “Under the circumstances.”
“The circumstances,” he said. “Yes.”
“I’m afraid I do not have experience running a large or extensive household,” she said. “My father owns some land but let most of it go to ruin.” And she had been forced to dismiss most of the servants, doing their tasks herself. “But I will do my best to learn quickly, Your Grace.”
“Hugh, please.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t think I can endure my wife calling me ‘Your Grace.’”
“Then you must call me Chris.”
His brows drew together. “Not Christiana?”
“Oh, well.” She cleared her throat. “You may if you prefer it.”
“Do you prefer Chris?”
“It’s more practical.” With her gloved hands, she twitched at her skirts. “My mother, when she named me, hoped I would be theton’s next darling, but…” She gestured at herself.