Page 27 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Chapter 8
Right after luncheon,on the day of her wedding, Penelope found herself dressed in her wedding gown of the palest yellow silk trimmed with cream.It had a shockingly low neckline and a high waist trimmed in cream satin ribbon. The silk skirt draped unadorned to the floor and thankfully her petticoat kept the silk skirt from clinging to her legs. The seamstress was nipping and tucking, making last-minute alterations to the gown. When the seamstress finally declared she was done and forced Penelope to look into the mirror she gasped. As if the gown wasn’t beautiful enough, there was a matching cloak, yellow silk slippers, long gloves made with the same silk fabric. The gown made her look like a princess. And she was the farthest thing from a princess.
“It’s beautiful. More than beautiful,” Emma said with a smile. “I think it’s the loveliest gown I’ve ever seen.”
Penelope beamed into the mirror. Even without her hair dressed with flowers for adornment, she looked beautiful. It was hard to recognize herself beneath all the finery. “It’s perfect,” she declared to the seamstress who appeared to be waiting anxiously for some reaction.
Once the dressmaker and her assistant left, Penelope’s maid, Clarisse, entered. “Lady Penelope, you look beautiful. Please take a seat at the vanity so I can do your hair? In no time you will descend the staircase to marry your duke.”
Before Penelope sat, Emma gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve never seen a lovelier bride. Now I need to prepare. Until later.”
Penelope wore her long blonde tresses up with loose curls cascading down across one shoulder. Daisies, which were her favorite flower, in white and yellow were tucked here and there, adding a whimsical look to her. Emma lent her small diamond drop earrings and a matching delicate diamond necklace.
“I declare, Lady Penelope,” Clarisse said as she made last-minute touches to her hair. “No more beautiful bride ever existed. I predict the duke, the one you are marrying, will forget how to breathe when he sets eyes on you. The duke, your brother that is, informed me he would collect you promptly at two.”
“I’d like a few minutes alone.”
Her maid curtsied. “Yes, milady.”
Penelope rose up from her chair at the dressing table, stood in front of the full-length mirror, and peered into the looking glass, trying to find herself in the reflection reflected back at her. If she looked close enough, she could see the girl from the northern country in the depths of her blue eyes. Bright, wide eyes full of wonder and nervous excitement.In an hour I will become the Duke of Newbury’s Duchess. Tonight he will come to my bed and make me his.
A knock on the door startled her. “Come in.”
Wentworth entered the room, and when he looked at her, he stopped dead. “You look beautiful. Newbury is a fortunate man. Now I will say something I told Bella and Amelia before they wed. If you ever need me for anything, be it trivial or major, all you need do is send for me. I will always be your brother and will always look out for you.”
Penelope blinked back tears. “Thank you.”
He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She smiled, took a deep inhale and exhale to steady her nerves, and placed her hand on his forearm. “We shall.”
The first thing Penelope noticed when she entered the drawing room on her brother’s arm was her family sitting in chairs on either side of the room, making an aisle for her to walk down. A very short aisle, but an aisle nonetheless, and tears pooled in her eyes at their thoughtfulness. After smiling and dipping her head to her family and friends, she forced herself to look at the end of the path and the man standing there with the clergy.
Newbury looked dashing dressed in formal wear, making her almost trip. Seeing him now, dressed in black with a starched white shirt and impeccably tied black cravat, breeches tucked into black Hessians—no heeled dress shoes for this duke—he resembled most every other member of the ton. Except for a few details. His black patch, which, not for the first time, made him appear mysterious. The scar, which never seemed to heal, only added a dangerous flair. She could almost forget about his leg as he stood straight, barely leaning on his cane. It also helped that it was black as well. The only thing noticeable was the silver lion’s head, which his hand gripped.
His lips curled up into a smile that caused his one eye to sparkle. Her stomach fluttered as she realized he wanted to marry her. Was happy about the union. She reached the end of the aisle, curtsied to her brother. Turned to Newbury, curtsied deep, and said, “Your Grace.”
He reached out, taking her hand as she rose, and he bowed. His gaze never left hers as he raised her gloved hand up and brushed his lips across her knuckles.“Milady.”
The clergy opened an ancient tome. “We shall begin.”
Newbury and Penelope faced one other, both hands joined.
The ceremony passed in a blur. When the clergy pronounced them man and wife, duke and duchess, Newbury gently pressed his lips to hers as their witnesses cheered and congratulated them.
They skipped the traditional wedding breakfast for an early evening meal. The newlyweds sat across from each other at the end of the table with Wentworth at the head. The two men discussed several topics including government, the recent riots by the factory workers, and The House of Lords. Things she didn’t have any interest in, except for the children working in sweatshops. Children should not be working in such deplorable conditions for sixteen-hour days with little pay. She’d heard stories about the doors being locked from the outside so no one could leave until they were opened. About a fire in one textile factory where every single person perished. Oh dear, it was her wedding day. She best think happy thoughts or she’d have her family worried about the frown and concerned emotions on her face.
Voices traveled around the long rectangular table. Laughter and chuckles made their way to her ears. Emma, Bella, Myles, and Amelia appeared engrossed in a humorous conversation. While Spenser, Bridgeton, and Mary—where was Mary’s husband—spoke softly about something serious, if looks were any sign. Miranda, Elizabeth, and Amesbury were alternating between serious and joy. Penelope didn’t know what she felt. She picked at her food until they served the next course, and she picked more. Nerves jingled inside her stomach, and she didn’t want to have a stomachache the night of her wedding. Her heart hurt a little, as though it didn’t know what to feel. One moment it was beating fast, then the next it eased only to speed up once again.
It equaled the contradiction of her feelings for Newbury. One moment she found herself unable to take her eyes off him, his handsomeness and over-all charm mesmerizing. And the next, she’d conjure up what his injured eye looked like beneath the patch. A grotesque, empty hole where his eyeball should be. A black nothing. And a leg crisscrossed with raised scars running up and down the entire length. His kneecap twisted to the side.
It wasn’t good to let her mind run wild while attending her wedding meal. She never considered herself a shallow person. Had not been brought up privileged. Had seen her share of injuries both from the war and from being in service. Never thought less of a person because of limitations. She did not think less of Newbury because of his. In fact, she admired him and believed she was drawn to him because of those limitations.
As far as tonight. She lowered her head as heat blossomed on her cheeks. Something she didn’t want her husband to see. She didn’t want him thinking she was thinking about him. Even if she was. Being raised with servants and the lecherous viscount, Penelope had seen her share of couples fornicating. So tonight would not be a surprise. And if she were afraid of seeing the duke naked, she would insist on total darkness. No candles, no coals glowing in the hearth. Complete and utter darkness. Thinking about the dark had her heart easing and her insides settling somewhat.
“My dear.” Newbury stood beside her chair with his hand out. So lost in her own thoughts, she’d not heard or seen him approach. “I believe it’s time I escort you to your new home.”
Oh, God! Instant panic. Her eyes darted around the table as everyone wished them, “Good evening.” Wentworth spoke to her, and she heard nothing but the pounding in her ears. She placed her hand in her husband’s—stood on wobbly legs, praying they supported her and she didn’t end up in a heap of yellow on the floor—and he led her down the stairs. They retrieved his overcoat, hat, and gloves and her cloak and hat from the doorman.
