The wedding was, as the Earl had described, a small and simple affair. Olivia dressed in her most elaborate gown, a deep blue silk that brought out the crystal of her eyes. Her maid, Molly, came to Olivia with a fabulous, intricate design for her hair in mind, but Olivia shook her head and requested a simple chignon instead. Molly protested, but Olivia’s determination won out, and she was pleased with the effect of the simple style above the high-waisted dress, with its puffed sleeves and plaits.

She descended the stairs to the parlor, where her father met her at the door. She peeked her head inside, seeing the large room had been slightly reconfigured to accommodate the small number of people who congregated. There were her mother and sister, of course, and the Duke’s mother, still dressed in black, along with a young woman who she took to be his sister in half-mourning clothes. There were a few people she did not recognize, who must be related to the Duke or perhaps his friends, and two of her own cousins, including the one who would inherit this estate one day. She felt a rush of relief to see Rosalind and her fiancé, as well as Isabella and her husband. She had written them in haste yesterday, hopeful they would be in attendance to provide some comfort on this day.

“Are you prepared for this, daughter?” her father asked somewhat gently as he smiled at her.

“As prepared as I shall be,” she replied, her face set resolutely.

“Olivia…” he said, hesitatingly. “I know this is not what you want. But please, child, do try to be happy.”

She didn’t look him in the eye but responded, “Let us begin.”

He nodded and walked her to the vicar standing before the guests, where the Duke of Breckenridge awaited her.

He inclined his head toward her, and gave her a characteristic wink to somewhat ease the tension that filled the room, as all in attendance were well aware of the circumstances.

The vicar cleared his throat and began, seeming somewhat pleased when no one objected to this wedding. Apparently he had his doubts as well. Olivia managed to keep her emotions in check, until the time came for their vows.

The vicar turned to the Duke. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

The Duke’s face remained impassive, until the line of “forsaking all others,” when a muscle in his cheek twitched and his eyes turned from hers.

“I will,” he said quietly.

“And wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Olivia winced at the words to “obey him, and serve him,” to which the Duke’s lips turned upwards in a slight smile which only she could see. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she responded, “I will.”

The remainder of the ceremony drew forward in somewhat of a blur, until the final words were read and Olivia found herself suddenly turned to face the guests of her wedding. And with that, she realized, she was a duchess, married — in name, at least, to this man beside her, a man she had wanted feverishly, and yet did not want to find herself bound to. Her mother had always said her yearn for adventure would be her undoing. As it turned out, she was right.

“Smile,” came the rich voice in her ear, the one that sent shivers down her spine.

She did, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes. She had posed this agreement to him, not accounting for the depths of her desire for him. She knew, however, she must not give in. For to do so, to acknowledge any sort of feeling toward him, be it lust or any other emotion, would be her undoing. For if she felt anything for this man, the only result would be her own broken heart. No. She must keep herself far, far away. After this blasted wedding breakfast was over.

* * *

“Come, come!” said the Earl, rising and clapping his hands once the vows were complete. “We must now celebrate this wonderful union that has taken place today. We invite you all to the dining room for a breakfast together.”

Olivia’s parents bestowed handshakes and smiles on each of the wedding guests, while Alastair’s mother looked at him with raised eyebrows as if to ask if this was what was expected — to follow along as if nothing was amiss. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders at her, silently responding with a yes.

It had certainly been an interesting ceremony, as he reflected on the vows they spoke to one another. As much as Olivia questioned his loyalty to her, he had always been of the mind that when he did marry — which he had hoped would be far into the future, but no mind of that now — he would be faithful to his wife. He had been prepared for that today, until Olivia came to him with her surprising suggestion. Now he was unsure how to go forward. If she didn’t want him at all, then what was he to do? He couldn’t very well live as a monk.

The dining room was as horrid as the remainder of the house. The wallpaper that could be seen from beneath the paintings and portraits hung about him was a floral pattern in a pale rose and crimson red, which clashed horribly with the deep purple upholstery of the chairs around the table. Alastair was not typically one to notice the color of one’s decor, but even he could not help but wrinkle his nose at it.

“I say,” said his sister in his ear, as she walked by him to her own chair. “This house is simply dreadful!”

He shushed her even as he smiled, but his grin faded as he turned to see Olivia, sitting next to him, had heard the exchange and was staring at them both with her eyebrows raised. Anne looked horrified as she realized what Olivia had heard.

“Olivia — that is, Your Grace — I am every so sorry, I —”

Olivia waved her hand as she surprised them both by chuckling. “If there is one thing I shall not miss,” she said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “it is this awful house.”

Anne’s worried face disappeared in relief, and Alastair had to be grateful to his new wife for putting his sister at ease.

“Oh and Anne,” she added as the girl continued on her way. “Please, never call me ‘Your Grace.’ Olivia will do ever so nicely.”

“Of course, Olivia,” Anne said with a wide smile, and Alastair knew that Olivia had forever endeared herself to the girl.

The breakfast was as fine as could be expected. He did not speak often to Olivia, unsure of what exactly he would say to her. He watched as she twirled the simple band round her finger over and over, the piece of metal unfamiliar, and now a reminder that they were bound to one another for the rest of their lives. His throat somewhat constricted at the thought, and he pushed it aside as he concentrated on answering a question the Earl posed to him regarding his thoughts on the latest horse race.

“Unfortunately, I do not gamble on horses,” he responded. He preferred the card table, where he had some semblance of control, unlike the track where it was all based on the luck of choosing the right horse, and where his father had lost so much of their fortune.

“Fair enough,” said the Earl with a wave of his fork. “You are a smart lad.”

Alastair nodded, and once the cake was served, he drew out his pocket watch to determine if the hour was reasonable enough for them to make their excuses and be going. He pushed back his chair to stand and announce his departure when Lady Sutcliffe stood and called all of their attention.

He thought he heard Olivia groan beside him, but perhaps he was imagining it, so faint was the sound.

“Th-thank you all for coming,” she said with a slight hiccup, and Alastair frowned. It seemed the lady had drunk one too many glasses of wine with her breakfast. He hoped the Earl would intercede and spare them all the embarrassment that was to come, but unfortunately, it was not to be so.

“While it was a lovely ceremony,” she said, as Alastair noted a slight weave to her countenance, “I would so have loved my eldest daughter to have married a duke at St. George’s instead of the parlor. Well, Olivia was never one to do as she ought, that is for certain. I suppose I should just be thankful that she ruined herself with a man of such a lovely title!”

“Mother!” said Olivia sharply, and her father did take the opportunity to sit his wife down.

“I believe what my wife means to say,” he said, his cheeks red, “is that we appreciate you all being present for our daughter’s marriage to the Duke of Breckenridge. We are pleased to join our families together.”

Olivia stoically sat beside him, not saying a word, as if this display was somehow not quite unexpected. His own mother looked fairly horrified, while Anne looked positively thrilled. Olivia’s own sister, Helen, he believed her name was, simply sat staring at her plate as she had throughout most of the meal. How could two women be so closely related and yet so utterly different?

No matter. He realized then exactly why Olivia had felt it so important to continue with the marriage. Her sister likely did not entertain many suitors as it was. A scandal would positively ruin her. It was, perhaps, somewhat noble what Olivia had done, and he felt guilty for his role in forcing her into this marriage.

There was certainly nothing he could do about it now, however. He reflected on her preposterous suggestion. He supposed it could be done, he thought, though he had been looking forward to bedding his wife tonight. Perhaps he would pay her a visit and see how she responded. A grin flew over his lips. He could seduce her. He had done it before, and she seemed willing and eager enough.

His mind quickly overcame his body’s desire. No. He would not take advantage of the situation they found themselves in. He would make love to her when — and not if, for he knew she felt something for him — she desired him in turn, however long that would be.

And if she truly did not want him? Well, then, he would have to consider his options.