Fascination -and- Charmed (92 page)

“Marriage?” Pippa said faintly.

“Of course. I’m so happy for you my dear. And for…for you, Grandson.” For the first time there was the vaguest waver in the woman’s eyes as she looked at Calum.

He shook his head. “I hardly think you will find it so easy to arrange such a marriage, Your Grace.” Still he avoided meeting Pippa’s gaze. “Certainly not until there has been an official investigation and some ruling by the Lords.”

The dowager gave a haughty shrug. “Nonsense. My influence goes beyond the Lords. This will be accomplished handily and you’ll be married with
royal
blessing.”

For the first time in many hours, Pippa found the energy to be truly angry. She pushed to her feet and, disdaining the hand Justine rushed to offer, marched toward the door. “Royal blessing or no,” she said, “I shall
never
marry that oaf.”

“For the sake of your honor, my dear, I think you will,” Calum said, his harsh voice drawing her to a halt. When she faced him, he said, “I should prefer a more faithful, tender bride, but no doubt we shall manage tolerably well.”

Viscount Hunsingore swept up a crystal decanter of brandy and began pouring generous measures into glass after glass. “A toast would seem in order.” He raised a goblet and drank deeply without waiting for any to join him. “To my eternal gratitude that
I
was born a younger son!”

From a distance came the sounds of revelry. Music—the strains of violin and harp—soared.

The celebration of a wedding. His own and his new wife’s.

Calum tried not to look at Pippa.

They sat—he and Pippa; Arran, Marquess of Stonehaven, and his blond wife, Grace—beneath the domed ceiling of a small jewel of a salon on the floor above the ballroom where, presided over by the dowager, the “select” festivities were now in progress.

Playful Italianate
putti
frolicked across the salon’s gilt-and-painted ceiling. Furnishings that had once belonged to a Dauphin echoed the art’s opulence.

All his.

He was in hell.

“Too bad of Struan to leave like that,” Arran said when the silence had stretched to an agony. “Seems to have a habit of popping out at inconvenient moments.”

“He remained as long as he could, Arran,” Grace said, sounding exceedingly worried. Her lovely brown eyes were clouded as she addressed her husband. “He assured me he could not wait another moment to leave for Dorset with those dear children.”

“Struan is angry with me,” Calum said, “although I cannot imagine why.”

Arran grunted.

Calum did look at Pippa then.

From the frightful night after they’d almost drowned together until this morning in the castle chapel, they had not encountered each other. Calum had seen his bride approach him as if through a Scottish highland mist—all softness and dew, a veil upon her loveliness. And then their vows, which should have made him the happiest man in the world, had become distant mouthings.

Her gown was simple. Stark white tulle over satin, square at the neck and with long, tight sleeves. Pearls and rosebuds caught the tulle hem into puffs that revealed satin beneath, and strands of the same pearls were threaded through her black hair. Calum wondered that she had not chosen to wear the fabulous Chauncey diamonds on such an occasion. But then, she was not a woman concerned with public display.

“Does something about me trouble you, Your Grace?” she asked.

Calum started and gazed into her magnificent blue eyes. “Nothing more than we are already aware of,
Your Grace.
”

“God give me patience,” Arran muttered.

“He will, He will,” Grace said, slipping her small hand into his huge one.

“Nice of my
grandmama
to arrange this charmingly intimate little respite from the revelry,” Calum said.

Grace made a humming sound. “She is being thoughtful, Calum. We all know what a trying time you and Pippa have had.”

Arran and Grace had arrived with baby Elizabeth two days previous and had tirelessly—and without success—attempted to bring about a reconciliation between Pippa and Calum.

“Should you like a little champagne, Pippa?” Grace asked, getting up and taking a glass from a silver tray. “And a small cake, perhaps. I declare, you have eaten absolutely nothing and you will need your strength for…Oh.” She blushed madly.

“Nothing, thank you,” Pippa said.

She was so lovely. Calum pressed down the urge to take her in his arms. But she had allowed her faith in him to be shaken. And God knew what else she had allowed. “Did that man make love to you?” he blurted out, unable to hold back the question an instant longer.

Grace plopped down beside Arran, who directed a glare at Calum that should have frozen his heart and anything else that lived within him.

“Well,” Calum persisted, “did he?”

“How could you?” Pippa whispered, and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.

He bowed his head. “On that night, the night when you were taken, you had told me you thought I only wanted you for selfish reasons. You doubted me. And you believed
him
when he said I had arranged for your abduction.”

“I didn’t know what to believe.”

“Truly a marriage made in heaven,” Arran remarked. “It grows late. Perhaps it’s time for you to retire to wedded bliss.”

“Arran,”
Grace hissed.

A discreet knock announced the dowager’s arrival. Dark mauve had replaced black for the occasion of the wedding, and she smiled benevolently upon the four in the room. “I hope you are enjoying yourselves. Justine is assuming command quite nicely below so that I can come and read you two messages I’ve received.”

Pippa brought a white-gloved hand to her face and Calum saw that her fingers shook. How would they ever overcome this disaster?

“Philipa,” the dowager said, holding a piece of paper in one hand, “I know you will be relieved to know that my letter—actually, the letter I wrote some weeks ago—reached your father. Good fortune brought his reply on this very day. Dear Lord Chauncey sends you his felicitations and says that since the wedding formalities would be complete before he could make the return journey from the Continent, he wishes to be informed of the birth of your first child. He will definitely be present then.”

Calum noted that the white-clad fingers covered Pippa’s mouth now, but she gave no other sign of emotion.

“Well,” Grace said with a puff, “
I
think that’s perfectly dreadful.”

“Grace,” Arran said mildly.

“Well, I do. I know how it can be to have a less-than-supportive parent. Never mind, Pippa. I shall do my very best to help you in any way I can, and I know Lady Justine is equally devoted.”

“Thank you,” Pippa said.

There were tears on her lashes now. They sparkled like those damnable diamonds.

“Yes, well,” the dowager said. “And this is the really important letter. It came by special messenger not half an hour since. I am
so
excited, and I know you will be, too.”

He needed to hold Pippa.

“This”—the dowager duchess flourished a piece of creamy parchment—”is from the King himself. Stand up, both of you. It is only fitting.”

Pippa got up immediately and Calum followed. He noted that Arran and Grace also rose.

“Take your husband’s arm, Philipa. This is the appropriate note to send you forth to bear fruit.”

Calum winced at the woman’s insensitivity. Then he straightened his spine and offered Pippa his arm. She placed a hand upon it. Standing close, he could not help but gaze, as he had in the chapel, upon his bride’s skin, so soft and almost as white as her gown against the lustrous darkness of her hair. Her damp black lashes were lowered now, and her full lips trembled before she set them firmly.

In a sudden burst of motion, Arran went around the dowager and opened the door.

“In time you shall be privy to your family’s long history of faithful service to your country,” the Dowager Duchess of Franchot said. “Those years of service are justly rewarded now.”

Calum was not ready for his first family history lesson. “I’m glad,” he said politely.

“All matters of legality are discharged,” the old lady said, reading. “That is what he says. You, Calum, are to assume your rightful title.” She beamed. “In time you will become comfortable with the name with which you were baptized. Until then, of course, you must use whatever name pleases you.”

“Thank you,” he said, glancing at Arran. “I shall always choose to be called Calum by those who are close to me.”

“Perhaps.” Clearly the dowager was not in the mood to be less than generous. “But here are the words that you must take with you to your marriage bed. ‘The King bestows a royal blessing upon your wedding and upon your marriage.’
There.
” She stood at her full, diminutive height and held the missive to her bosom.

Calum finally made his feet move and approached the door.

“A blessing from the King!” Grace said, and he heard desperation in her voice.

He looked at Pippa and said, “A blessing from the King? It seems I shall need it.”

The full force of her blue gaze blazed upon him and she snatched her hand away. “It will do you no good.”

Whatever Arran did, he must not remind Calum that he himself had been a fool who needed a thrashing even before the day of his marriage to Grace.

“I behaved like a fool on my wedding day,” Arran said and smiled secretly. There were special moments when pride must be sacrificed for the greater good.

“Are you suggesting that
I
am behaving like a fool?” Calum asked. Minus his wedding coat and neckcloth and with his back to Arran, he stood with his arms braced on the windowsill in the small study that was part of the quarters he’d chosen over the existing ducal apartments.

“I’m suggesting you are not seeing things quite clearly. Through there”—he pointed toward Calum’s bedchamber, toward the door that led to Pippa’s rooms—“through there lies your wife, man. Use your head and claim her.”

“She does not trust me.”

“I believe she does.”

“You do not understand all that has taken place here.”

“I understand enough.
Claim
her, man.”

“I do not need to be told when to take my own wife. It shall be in good time.”

“Good time is now.”

Calum swung to face him and picked up a glass of champagne, one that Arran had poured from a bottle left for the bridal couple. “There is no haste in this thing,” Calum said, and drained the glass before pouring another. “I am assuming this place that is rightfully mine under the suffrage of my family. There will be a great deal of adjustment to be made.”

“Lady Justine and young Lord Avenall could not be more delighted than to claim you,” Arran reminded Calum. “And that old—the dowager is a narrow woman who has made her family’s pride the reason for her existence. She will give you what affection she is capable of giving anyone. Your bride will give you enough affection for all—enough for you to drown in, friend.”

“You heard her last words to me,” Calum said. “She told me I should need more than the King’s blessing this night. Very well. I find I’ve not the stomach for disdain from my wife just now. And things that are a matter of duty must only be accomplished as the need arises.”

Arran smiled. “Are you telling me the need doesn’t
arise
every time you look at that lovely creature?”

“I am telling you nothing.” The glass descended sharply to its tray and Calum proceeded to all but tear off his sash, waistcoat and shirt. “I am tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Tell me one thing, and I’ll leave.”

“Anything. Just give me peace.”

“Do you love her?”

His childhood friend was not quick enough in assuming his mask. Before Calum’s expression faded, Arran saw naked longing in those familiar dark eyes.

Sighing, he pushed himself away from the mantel and picked up his own coat. “Say no more,” he told Calum. “Unrequited love makes a tormenting bed partner. I wish you joy in it.”

Grace would regard this as practice for when she was called upon to instruct Elizabeth in matters of the world. “He is a bridegroom,” she said to Pippa. “That is all this is about.”

“He hates me.”

Oh, dear.
“He does not hate you. Quite the reverse. I have certain otherworldly instincts and I
know
these things.”

Some mild interest flickered in the other woman’s eyes. “You do?”

“Oh, yes. Arran—the marquess—had absolutely no faith in my gifts until they were proven several times. I would tell you about some of them—and I will, when there is time.”

“There is time.”

“Not now. We have more important matters to attend to. Calum loves you deeply. And you love him deeply.”

“Bother.”

“I
beg your pardon?”

To Grace’s discomfort, Pippa began to cry quietly. “I said, bother. It is
all
such a bother. You are right. I do love him. But he believed that I believed ill of him, and that shows no trust. He also thought I might have…Well, he thought I might have allowed some intimate behavior with Franchot—the man we thought was Franchot. How can I forgive him for as much as considering such a thing?”

“You can forgive him. You are both the victims of such extraordinary circumstances, but now they are over. It is time to share the gift of your love.”

“Posh.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The dowager says it. I’ve never liked the word, but it does seem to fit the moment.”

Grace removed the chocolate pot she’d been heating on a trivet by the fire in Pippa’s bedchamber and poured two small cups. One she handed to Pippa. “Warm yourself. We have a deal of discussing to get through, and it must be accomplished quickly. You need the restorative properties chocolate offers. My husband has had to learn to use chocolate in such circumstances. Fortunately, it is something he has loved since childhood, so he is always pleased when I insist he turn from his work a while. He’s a composer, you know. He writes the most marvelous music…Oh, I am such a chatterer—everybody says so. Forgive me.”