Page 44 of The Duke's Promise to Her Child
“And if they do not?”
“Then we shall give them something else to talk about on Friday.”
She almost smiled. She did not quite manage it, but it was closer than she had expected to get.
The ceremony began. The vicar’s voice filled the church with the familiar words, and Helena felt them settle over her like something both solemn and absurd. She had stood here before, or somewhere very like here, and made these same promises to a man who had not kept his. She thought of Lavinia at home with the nurse they had hired to look after her for the day, probably attempting to name everything in the nursery. She thought of her father, and what he would have made of all this. She thought, briefly and painfully, of her mother, who had started the whole chain of events that had led her to this exact spot, in this cream satin gown, beside this unpredictable Duke.
When it came to her vows, she spoke quietly but steadily. She had decided she would not whisper them; she had nothing to be ashamed of, regardless of what anyone in the pews behind her believed.
Gideon answered with a confidence that carried clearly through the church and silenced the last of the murmuring. It was not a performance; she had seen him perform, and this was different. He simply meant what he said, in the practical way he had meant it since the morning he had appeared on her doorstep in Bloomsbury and offered to find her a husband.
She supposed this counted.
When the ring was placed on her finger she looked down at it. It was a good ring, not ostentatious, but substantial, the kind of ring that announced its presence without shouting. It caught the light coming through the high church windows and threw a small bright point onto the stone floor.
“Well,” Gideon murmured, as the vicar concluded, “that is done.”
“That is done,” she agreed.
They walked back down the aisle together, side by side, through the assembled faces and the renewed whispering that followed them all the way to the church door. Outside, the morning air was cold and clear, and for a moment they both simply stood there on the steps while the bells began to ring above them.
“Are you quite all right?” he asked.
She considered the question seriously. The ring was unfamiliar on her finger. Her name was different now. Her life had altered in the space of a morning. And yet, it felt different in a good way.
“I think so,” she said. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
“I will,” he said. And she believed him.
She took his arm, and together they walked down the steps toward the waiting carriage, while behind them the doors of thechurch opened wide and the whispers spilled out into the street like birds.
CHAPTER 19
HELENA
Helena and Clara stood at the edge of the drawing room. There were hundreds of guests milling about Gideon’s London house. The entire main floor had been opened up for the wedding breakfast — not a formal sit-down affair, but a buffet, which suited Helena considerably better. She had not looked forward to sitting at the head of a table with every eye upon her, watching her eat while they whispered.
The whispers at the church had quieted somewhat after the ceremony was concluded, but she could still hear them now. She could still see the mouths moving behind the fans and the teacups.
“You ought to try smiling,” Clara said. “It might quiet some of them.”
“If I smile too much, they will say I look like the cat who got the cream.”
“You did,” Clara said, with a smile of her own. “You got yourself a Duke. And one who will treat you well. Someone who likes you — who might even admire you in a way a wife deserves. The way Benjamin looks at me.”
“Do not say such things,” Helena replied, more sharply than she had intended. “I told you already. There is nothing between us of a romantic nature. Nothing whatsoever.”
“Well, the way he looked at you in the church certainly suggested he cares for you.”
“We care for one another. That is true. But not in that way.” She took a breath. “I do not wish to discuss it any further. There is already too much on my mind. I can scarcely wrap my head around the fact that I am a Duchess. Me. Helena Hartwell.”
Clara grabbed her arm. “You are not nobody. You are my dearest friend, and if anybody deserves this opportunity, it is you.” She tightened her grip. “Now come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Helena said, alarmed.
“To meet some of the people here whom you have not yet been introduced to.”
They walked across the room to what was usually the drawing room, where a number of ladies had assembled around the pianoforte, each with a plate of cake in hand. They looked up with considerable interest as Helena and Clara approached.
