The ceremony was, by all accounts, lovely. Marissa could remember nothing of it but Jude's hands around hers, and his happy eyes and secret smile. And then he'd kissed her and they'd left the chapel in a shower of good wishes and flower petals. It was done.
Once again, the rush to the altar had proved unnecessary, but Marissa would not have put off this day for anything.
She glowed. She knew she did, and it was confirmed by the whispers around her as they entered the wedding ball and were presented as man and wife.
"The bride ..."
"So beautiful..."
"Like an angel ..." No one said anything about the groom. But to Marissa he was far more an angel than she. One of God's warrior angels, perhaps, equipped with a great steel sword instead of a harp. He was fierce and gentle and so protective that he'd only let her sneak into his room twice more in the month since she'd convinced him to stay.
Infuriating man. He'd finally started bolting his door against her. But she'd have him tonight, and the knowledge burned bright in his gaze each time their eyes met. She'd have him tonight and every night she wanted.
Suddenly, Marissa regretted that her mother had forgone the traditional wedding breakfast in order to host a ball. Marissa had been thrilled with the idea of dancing with Jude on their wedding night, but now she wanted nothing more than for the festivities to be over. But her mother would never forgive an escape before the dancing. What if there would be no grand toasts or romantic exhibitions of marital bliss? And what would be the point of the tiny children wandering through the crowd dressed as cherubs? They would float through the room with no couple to bless.
Marissa caught sight of a white feathered wing bobbing by, and she cringed. Both she and Edward had tried to dissuade their mother from the cherubs, but no mortal force could change her mind. And so here they were, in a play as great as one might see on stage. Peacocks called from the yard, and Marissa could only hope they didn't freeze to death in the cold night. They weren't visible in the dark, but it was the idea of the thing, or so she'd been informed.
Marissa leaned over to say hello to Aunt Ophelia, despite that the old woman appeared to be asleep.
"Eh?" her great aunt cawed as she popped upright in the chair.
"I asked how you liked the ceremony, Aunt Ophelia!"
The woman squinted up at Marissa. "Oh, I liked it very much."
"I'm glad."
The wrinkles in the old woman's face folded deeper when she smiled. She smiled so rarely that Marissa found herself laughing with delight. Perhaps Aunt Ophelia was sweeter than she seemed.
"Yes, I liked it very much," Aunt Ophelia repeated. "And a lucky thing to get you married off before you worked your way through next Season's crop of gentlemen."
Marissa's grin froze. "Pardon?"
"Nothing wrong with a little slap and tickle, girl. But you've got to be a bit more circumspect. Girls were more clever in my day. I was beginning to think your wits as ill-used as your virtue."
"I... Aunt Ophelia...
Pardon?"
But the old woman just slumped back into her nap. Marissa was about to shake her silly when she was stopped by a hand curling over her shoulder. Still dumbfounded, Marissa looked up to find Jude smiling down at her. She spared one last confused look for Aunt Ophelia before rising.
"Jude," she said, managing an uncertain smile.
"My father," he murmured as he turned her around to face the duke.
Marissa shook off her shock and offered a curtsy. "Your Grace," she said, feeling a more genuine grin stretch her mouth. She'd met the duke the night before, but she was still surprised by the sight of him. The Duke of Winthrop, one of the loftiest peers in England, looked exactly like Jude.
She blushed when she considered how many times she'd thought of Jude as a groundsman or blacksmith. What a fool she'd been. The duke was not as tall as Jude, nor quite as solid, but there was no denying dial Jude had inherited the man's face, right down to the wide mouth and square jaw.
The duke teased her for her blush, and she let him think she was shy and nervous, though Jude watched the exchange with an incredulous expression.
"Just a moment, m'dear," the duke said, patting her hand. "I've a surprise for you, if only I could find him."
When his father turned away, Jude leaned in close to brush his lips against her ear. "You'd think," he murmured, "after loving a woman like my mother, he'd be able to recognize a wicked woman when he saw one."
Grinning, Marissa raised up on her toes so that Jude's mouth would rest against her neck. He obliged her with a little nibble, then called her a distracting wanton and stepped away. She was still smiling when the Duke returned with a young gentleman in tow.
"Look who arrived just in time for the ceremony!"
"Melbourne!" Jude responded, dapping the newcomer on the back.
"Please," the duke continued, "Allow me to present my son, Viscount Melbourne, soon enough the duke himself, I don't doubt."
"Father," the man said flatly.
"Melbourne, I'm pleased to introduce you to your new sister, Mrs. Marissa Bertrand."
She curtsied deeply, studying him through her lashes as he bowed. This son must look like his mother. He was handsome enough. And elegant. And Marissa wished for nothing more than to send him away so that Jude could do a bit more nibbling.
But she managed to be gracious as she spoke with both gentlemen for ten minutes. The whole crowd watched the exchange. Half were likely curious about the relationship between Jude and his father. The other half were taking note that the young viscount would someday need a wife.
If they knew that Jude and Marissa were sailing to France before their honeymoon in Italy, there'd be even more talk. A duke was one thing, but a French courtesan was even more interesting. Or so Marissa thought, anyway.
While Jude and his brother were reminiscing about something decidedly male—a fishing hole of some sort—there was a grand flourish of violins, and Marissa looked up to find her mother gesturing furiously from the potted ferns that hid the orchestra.
"Jude, I believe we're wanted."
"Ah, yes. That plant does seem excessively eager. Pardon us, Father. Melbourne."
They emerged from the ferns a minute later, flanked by a cadre of cherubs. Edward, who was in the midst of introducing them to the crowd, choked and stumbled to a halt when he saw the great flock of wings. Marissa wished she could simply disappear into the floor, but Jude appeared to be greatly enjoying himself. She elbowed him several times, but his grin never faltered.
As he refused to share her humiliation, Marissa distracted herself by looking over the crowd. Beth and her cousin were right at the front, and Mr. Dunwoody, that fickle idiot, stood at Nanette's side, smiling down at her. Interestingly enough, Cousin Harry stood at Beth's side. Marissa would have thought nothing of it, if not for their recent conversation.
Before she could ponder it further, the room erupted into applause at the last of her brother's words, and the flock of cherubs ushered Jude and Marissa out to the dance floor.
Marissa threw off her thoughts, ignored the loose feathers floating in the air, and put her arms around her husband.
"No regrets yet?" he asked as they stepped into the music of the waltz.
"Aside from my fear that I'll slip on an angel feather and break my neck, no regrets at all. And you?"
"You know I've wanted this from the moment we met."
"When did we first meet?" she teased him.
She'd only been joking, but Jude's face turned intent when he looked down at her. "Aidan had dragged me here for some hunting. I don't care for the hunt, but I came along anyway. And when I walked into the music room, there you were, dancing with your cousin. You smiled at something he said, and then you caught sight of some gentleman walking past, and all your bright prettiness turned wicked and warm."
"Stop," she laughed.
"It's true. And I thought to myself, there is a woman who wants pleasure."
'Jude!" She blushed and slapped his arm; then she realized that the whole crowd chuckled in response. They were being watched. "You're awful," she whispered.
"Perhaps. But I was right, wasn't I?"
Finally, a few other couples joined them in the waltz, and Marissa could lean a little closer to her husband. "I do want pleasure," she answered. "Badly."
"Wench. Don't tease."
"But I've so yearned for a good ride these past weeks."
Jude groaned and glared around the room. "How many dances must we grant them?"
"No more than three, I should think."
"Excellent."
Marissa watched Mr. Dunwoody as he hurried by with a glass of punch. He looked... delicate and weak-chinned. The thought made her smile.
Jude leaned in close again. "Once we are established, I shall have to hire pretty footmen to entertain your eye."
"What? I wasn't ogling anyone." "Mm-hm."
"I wasn't! Anyway, I thought you were a jealous man now."
He pulled back to smile down at her. "No. I'm not jealous anymore. Look as much as you like. Just touching, if you please."
"Ah. The same goes for you, husband."
"I have no need to look at other women," he said with a cocky smile.
"We'll see. In a few years' time, you may Find yourself yearning for a glimpse of a real bosom. Or two."
Jude threw back his head and laughed so loudly that the whole ballroom paused to look. Every smile was happily indulgent.
"Your bosom," he finally said, "is more than enough for me."
"What a meager appetite you must have," Marissa murmured. "By the way, if I'm not mistaken, I believe Aunt Ophelia just called me a witless tart."
Jude must have assumed she was joking, because he only shook his head as if he didn't understand the joke. Oh, well. Marissa didn't understand it either.
They were in the midst of their second dance when Marissa saw that Beth was dancing with Harry and that Harry had put on his most charming smile. Was he following through with his thoughts on courting one of the Samuel girls? Marissa's heart cheered with happiness that Beth might someday he her cousin. She would not marry some man from the south and disappear for months at a time.
But there was a shadow to that thought as well. Harry did not love Beth, and Marissa wanted Beth to be happy.
"Do you think," she whispered to Jude, "that a marriage might be happy if two people are not in love?"
"This is a bad time to bring that up, sweet wife."
"I was speaking of someone else."
"Well then... I'm not sure. I'd hoped that if we married, you would come to love me. I think it does happen. I saw Charles LeMont and his wife in Grantham the other day."
"You did? Did she run away weeping, I hope?"
Jude rolled his eyes. "They didn't see me. But they looked happy. Very happy."
"I suppose I should be thankful for myself, at least."
"Be thankful for her," Jude said softly.
"Yes, I think you're right. I'll be thankful for her and for Charles." Jude was such a good man. She fought the urge to lay her head on his chest. Not yet. Not till much later.
When the dance ended, Marissa headed straight to Beth to tease her about Harry. "Your cousin has always been so kind to me," Beth responded with nary a hint of pink in her cheeks.
"Mm. He has a thousand pounds a year, you know. He shall make someone a good husband someday."
"He will indeed. Such a thoughtful man."
But Beth wasn't paying any attention at all. She was too busy frowning at Mr. Dunwoody, who was too busy fawning over Nanette to notice Beth's stare. One of the cherubs wandered up to pretend to shoot an arrow at Mr. Dunwoody's, heart. Wretched little feathered beast.
Marissa spotted Edward walking toward her and latched on to the distraction. "Ah, there is my brother looking far too serious, as usual. Have you danced with him yet, Beth?"
"Aidan? No, but he promised to find me later."
"I meant Edward," Marissa said, as her brother stepped up.
And then something very odd happened. Her friend jumped as if she'd just been poked, and her eyes flew to Edward. As Edward was leaning close to Marissa to complain about the cherubs, Beth's face turned a miserable shade of red.
"No, not him," she answered too loudly.
Edward looked up. "I apologize. I've interrupted your conversation."
"No!" Beth yelped. "It's nothing!"
"Edward," Marissa drawled. "You must dance with Miss Samuel tonight. Have a little merriment."
An eerie peacock cry drifted above the music, and Edward scowled. "Yes, of course," he muttered, then offered a little bow in Beth's direction. "I believe there is a quadrille coming up. I hope you'll do me the honor, Miss Samuel."
Beth stared at him, mouth agape, and didn't offer a response, but Edward was too distracted to notice. "Pardon me. I believe I just saw a peacock wander down that corridor."