Why in the deuce was Aldridge concerning himself so much with love and marriage? In his two and thirty years he had never concerned himself with domesticity. Good lord, did he have one foot in the grave? His father had died suddenly in his early forties. Was the same malady going to strike down the son before he reached forty? Is that why Aldridge was so bloody hell bent on siring a son that he'd offered for Elizabeth on his first day back in England?
Or was it Elizabeth herself who was responsible for this uncharacteristic obsession of his over marriage?
Would she consent to be his wife? Would she present him with an heir? Would she suckle their son at her breast as Lydia was doing with her son? His glance surreptitiously flicked to her modest bosom, and his heartbeat unaccountably quickened. Clearing his throat, he drew her hand into his. "You must realize why I wanted to be alone with you today."
Without looking at him, she nodded.
"Say it, Elizabeth," he said, his voice like that of a stern father.
"You're going to do me the honor of asking me to become your wife."
Stunned, he regarded her from her lowered lashes to her slender hand tucked within his own. And a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "My, this is a departure! You suddenly find my offer an
honor
?"
She nodded shyly. "Yes, your grace."
"By Jove! Does that mean you will accept?"
She finally met his gaze with incredibly solemn eyes. He'd never actually looked at them before from this close a distance. They were so pale a shade of lavender he wondered why they were not translucent. Everything about her was pale and delicate, like a fragile spring rose. "I would feel wretched for depriving you of a love match."
He bit back his first response. He'd almost made the blunder of telling her the Dukes of Aldridge never married for love. Dukes had other obligations. One of his present obligations was seeing to the restoration of this fine young lady's reputation.
But he wasn't so noble he'd sacrifice his future for benefit of another. Since he dare not admit he had no intentions of marrying for love--what girl did not cling to the romantic notion of a love match?--he decided to be flippant. "If you must know, I mean to have the dowry your heiress sister-in-law will bestow on you. Everyone knows of the marchioness's generosity with Haverstock's sisters."
"And here I was suffering under the misapprehension you were isolated from English Society these five years past."
So she tossed flippancy back at him. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her gloves, just above her delicate knuckles. "Ah, my love, there is so much I have missed, so many gaps that need to be filled."
"Perhaps I can be of service."
Lamentably, his mind was so derelict that when she uttered the word
service
, his prurient thoughts arrowed to women like Belle Evans. Yet, he had no taste for women of that sort. He now wanted Lady Elizabeth Upton.
He was not in love with her, but oh, how he wanted her!
He turned to her and gave a devilish smile. "Morgie and Lydia? How did that come about?"
A soft laugh rose from her chest. "You did not credit Morgie with having such good sense?"
"You must know I count Morgie as my second-best friend in all the world. I will own he's uncommonly adept at discussing what is fashionable or where to place one's money on the Exchange."
"I think they grew close when Anna started her sewing school in the East End, and Haverstock--unable to leave his duties at the Foreign Office--asked Morgie to look out for her and Lydia for Lydia was just as committed to the school as Anna. Morgie may never have acted upon his growing affections for Lydia if the squire from near Haymore hadn't come to London to beg Lydia's hand in marriage because he needed a mother for his large progeny."
"But Lydia could not consider such a marriage."
"My sister was persuaded that was her one and only chance of having a family and home of her own. She accepted the squire's offer."
"I think I see where this is going. Morgie began to realize what he was about to lose."
"I did not know you were so romantic, your grace."
He glared. "Continue."
"Morgie was very jealous of the squire, but it took a bit of manipulation on Lydia's part to pry a declaration from him."
"So she had actually fallen in love with Morgie during all those jaunts to the East End?"
"Indeed. They were ever so comfortable with one another."
"Ah, like you and me!"
She gave him a queer look. "Perhaps now I am more comfortable with you. Now that I no longer think of you as a wicked predator."
"I am many things, but I give you my word, I am not a wicked predator."
Her voice softened. "I know."
"To answer your initial question," he said hesitantly, "I want an heir."
Her lashes lowered. "I hope you were teasing when you spoke of my dowry? I daresay it's not
that
large."
"I was teasing."
"I thought you were. After all, you've tried to bribe my compliance by promising me not only generous pin money but also by agreeing to indulge my little scheme for the war widows. If I consented to marry you."
"A small price to pay to secure the lovely Lady Elizabeth Upton for my bride." The more he was around her, the more puzzled he became over her failure to secure a husband. How could she have gone through three seasons and still remain unwed? He understood there would have been a certain number of men who knew they were not of sufficient rank to snare a marquess's daughter.
Then another thought struck him. Could she have fancied herself in love with a man who had not come up to scratch? She
had
denied that her affections were engaged. If she had fancied herself in love previously, it should be nothing to him.
But it did matter. He did not understand why it should.
He cleared his throat again. "Are you being honest with me about. . . not holding another man in your affections?"
"There is no one."
"Some will say you've held out for a duke, but I know better."
"I was being honest earlier this week when I told you I had decided to stay a spinster and dedicate my life to good works."
"Sounds rather nunnery to me."
She giggled.
He squeezed her hand. "I am waiting for your answer, Elizabeth." His heartbeat accelerated. It wasn't every day a man asked for a woman's hand in marriage. In fact, this was the first woman to whom he had ever offered.
"Yes, your grace. I will become your wife."
He almost sighed, but he did not want her to know how insecure he'd been. "I shall see that you never regret it. Now, dearest, I have a request to make of you."
Her brows elevated.
"You are not to ever refer to me as
your grace
. We will be equals."
"What shall I call you?"
Everyone--even his siblings--called him Aldridge, but he found the notion of his wife calling him by his Christian name held far greater appeal.
When he'd finally met the Marchioness Haverstock the night before--and thought she was perhaps even more beautiful than he'd been led to expect--he was charmed that she referred to Haverstock as
Charles
. Addressing her husband by his first name was as tender as lover's caress.
"Philip," he finally said.
"Philip," she murmured.
Damn, but it sounded seductive on her sweet lips! He wanted to taste her lips again, but Hyde Park at the fashionable hour was not the place or the time. He looked forward to seeing just how seductive his bride-to-be would be.
"I shall procure a special license so we can wed straight away."
She whirled toward him. "I assure you, my sister-in-law will want to ensure I have a trousseau fit for a duchess."
"You need not ever feel beholden to your brother's heiress--no matter how delightful she is. You will be a duchess, and as my wife, it will be my pleasure to provide the funds for your trousseau." He brought the back of her hand to his nibbling lips. "I'm honored that you've consented to be my wife."
"You're saying you want to marry
before
I procure a trousseau?"
He nodded. "Why do you not run along and do your fittings, having the bills sent to me. They can all be ready by the time we return from our wedding trip to Glenmont Hall." Which could not come soon enough for him.
"It doesn't seem right to marry a duke in an old dress."
He shrugged. "Do me the goodness of wearing the ivory you wore last night."
She nodded shyly. She had to have known how lovely she looked in it. "I should like to marry at Haverstock House, in the same room where Lydia married Morgie."
"A good plan." He instructed the driver to return to Haverstock House.
He could not voice his reservations, nor his guilt that she was having to marry where there was no love.
There was something between them. Not love. He could not understand what it was, but whatever it was, it was compelling.
Somehow Elizabeth had managed to get through the wedding ceremony without once picturing the handsomeness of Captain Smythe's tall form. A pity she couldn't rid her mind of how happy Morgie and Lydia had been in that very room on their wedding day less than a year earlier. Elizabeth had never dreamed she would ever marry without being madly in love.
In some ways that made her no better than Kate. But Kate's hand had
not
been rather forced to marry because she had gotten herself in a scandalous situation as had Elizabeth. Kate had barreled into a loveless marriage with her eyes wide open. All because she wanted more than anything to be a duchess. Then Mr. Reeves' elderly ducal uncle went and married a young woman, putting an end to Mrs. Kate Reeve's hopes of succeeding to a dukedom.
Unlike Kate, Elizabeth was at least being wed to a man she had come to respect. The Duke of Aldridge wasn't the disreputable rake she had initially thought him to be. She was still shocked that he had so readily agreed to the marriage once he realized she had ruined herself that day at Aldridge House. It was exceedingly noble of him.
Now she had to brace herself for the only repayment he sought: she must bear his heir.
The wedding and the wedding breakfast had been attended by most of their siblings. Her brother in the Peninsula and sister in Cornwall were missing, as were Philip's siblings who did not live close to London. Elizabeth was delighted that Margaret and Caroline Ponsby, his sisters closest to her own age, had come from Glenmont. The dowager Marchioness of Haverstock came from Haymore for her daughter's wedding, and the last one making up their party was Elizabeth's cousin, Richard Rothcomb-Smedley (whom they all called Richie), who had become something important in the House of Commons.
Throughout the wedding breakfast, she tried to keep uncharitable thoughts at bay, but it was difficult. Kate glared at the bride as if Elizabeth were a blatant husband stealer while openly flirting with Elizabeth's new husband! Kate was flagrantly shameless. And even if she was Elizabeth's sister, Elizabeth wished her in Coventry.
While Elizabeth and Caroline were gushing over their pleasure at now being sisters, Elizabeth was vaguely aware of her mother's voice. "Will your grace be traveling to Glenmont Hall today?" the dowager asked.
Elizabeth quietly sipped at her champagne, exceedingly puzzled over her mother's query. There was no duchess at the long breakfast table.
"My love," Philip said to Elizabeth, "I believe you're being addressed by your mother."
Elizabeth could have groaned over her mother's uncontrollable glee that her daughter had snared a duke. (One did not have to look far to see who Kate had taken after.) As Elizabeth's embarrassed glance flicked to her mother, she caught the menacing glare in Kate's gaze and knew her sister could not corral her jealousy.
It was beastly that it wasn't Kate who had become a duchess when she had wanted such a title her entire life. Unlike Elizabeth, who would have been perfectly happy wed to an army captain.
But that was neither here nor there. She no longer wished to be married to that wretched Captain Smythe. She was now the wife of an honorable man, and she meant to make the best of it.
Even if it was not a love match for either of them.
She turned to her mother. "Yes, Mother. We plan to leave immediately after the breakfast."
"So we can reach Glenmont by dark," the duke added.
"Do I understand that you'll be back for next week's vote in the House of Lords on the tax increase?" Richie asked the duke.
Before her new husband had the opportunity to answer, Elizabeth addressed him. "Cousin Richie thinks of nothing but his Parliamentary duties."
Philip nodded. "I am well aware of your cousin's parliamentary activities." His eyes met Richie's. "To answer your question, I am interested in doing anything that will help the British win this war, and if this tax plan will help—as I'm told it should—I shall favor it."
Richie smiled upon him. "When will you sit in Parliament?"
"I hope that I can emulate you when I take up my duties week after next. I've obtained a copy of the tax bill and plan to study it during our wedding trip."
Richie raised a brow. "Were I marrying a beauty like Lizzie, reading a tax bill would be the last thing I'd be doing on my honeymoon."
Those assembled around the table all laughed.
Except for Elizabeth. She knew what they were thinking. She and the duke would lie in bed the next several days whilst he took pleasure—which in some way would involve that, that . . . protrusion she had witnessed by mistake. Scarlet rushed to her cheeks.
Unfortunately, the image of Philip's bare, wet flesh and that. . .
dangling thing
of his also surged to her memory.
"I assure you," she said, flashing her gaze from Richie to Philip, "I shan't mind. I shall be very proud of my husband for serving his country in such a manner." She smiled up at Philip.
"And how, my dear Lizzie, would you feel about assisting your favorite cousin with his duties for the House of Commons?" Richie asked.