Lord Rackington did not look anything like her uncle—where the former was blond, red-faced and massive, her future husband was slim and dark of hair and eye.
It did not matter one way or the other. She would do whatever she had to do to survive.
Chapter 3
The wedding took place in the village church the subsequent day. Mrs. Prendergast and her two younger daughters had not yet returned from their visit to Ellen’s sister Mary, and Mark’s young sons were at school, ignorant of the family drama. Only the bride’s father and a number of retainers from their two households were present. Lucian had drafted his secretary, John Tennant, as witness.
As he slipped his ring onto Amanda’s finger, he had a last, useless qualm. Amanda was so damnably young . What had he done? But if she was too young to wed and bed, she was also far too young to be cast off or given to some mercenary brute who would only abuse her and never let her forget that he had saved her from ignominy. Better his amoral family than that—or was it?
Amanda was pretty enough, with translucent, very fair skin and a sprinkling of freckles on her slightly snub nose. He wondered idly how far they extended on the rest of her body. The new Lady Rackington was of middling height and had soft curves in all the right places. Not that he planned to take advantage of them any time soon. No matter how meek and obedient she acted, those fine grey eyes and her stiff neck shouted defiance. He was glad of it, that her spirit was not irretrievably broken.
If Amanda missed her mother and sisters, she did not say so. After the short ceremony, Lucian handed his new wife up into his barouche while Tennant took her maid and luggage up in the travelling berline. Two valises and a bag—she brought little enough.
“How am I to address you now we are married?” Amanda asked.
“You may use my given name if you like. It is Lucian.” It would take some getting used to, to hear his name from such young lips, but making her free of it might help to overcome the inevitable distance between them.
“Lucian,” she tried the name out like some new food or beverage. “You will call me Amanda, I suppose?”
“Unless you have some objection? I hope we shall become friends when we know each other better. But whatever happens, we are now tied for as long as both of us live.”
“You never said why you did it.” There was suspicion and speculation in her gaze. “You are rich and titled, and handsome for your age.” He managed not to wince at the last sentence. “Why did you not marry earlier?”
“It was not my intention to marry at all. I was going to let the name die out with me. But your father’s description of your plight moved me to intervene, on a whim, you might say.”
Her brows contracted. “You had no idea what I looked like, what kind of person I was when you offered? You did it only for my father’s sake?”
“I have liked and esteemed your father since we played together in our early boyhood, before I was sent off to Eton. But that was not the main reason. When I was younger, I once failed to save a girl in a similarly desperate situation. Her unnecessary death has haunted me ever since.”
“You had forced or seduced her?” Her eyes were big, accusing.
“No, it was someone else—but the details do not matter at this late date.” Since learning what had happened to Amaryllis, he had steered clear of seducing innocents, and he had never forced a woman in his life; there had been no need. So that was what his young bride thought of him, did she?
“I am sorry if my question offended you, but you see, I have little idea of your nature. And gossip is not kind to you.”
More indication that she had spirit. He nodded. “Gossip tends to exaggerate, though there is usually a kernel of truth. I hope we’ll rub along when we know each other better. If not, I have several estates beside the London house. Aristocratic couples often live apart.”
“
It did not matter one way or the other. She would do whatever she had to do to survive.
Chapter 3
The wedding took place in the village church the subsequent day. Mrs. Prendergast and her two younger daughters had not yet returned from their visit to Ellen’s sister Mary, and Mark’s young sons were at school, ignorant of the family drama. Only the bride’s father and a number of retainers from their two households were present. Lucian had drafted his secretary, John Tennant, as witness.
As he slipped his ring onto Amanda’s finger, he had a last, useless qualm. Amanda was so damnably young . What had he done? But if she was too young to wed and bed, she was also far too young to be cast off or given to some mercenary brute who would only abuse her and never let her forget that he had saved her from ignominy. Better his amoral family than that—or was it?
Amanda was pretty enough, with translucent, very fair skin and a sprinkling of freckles on her slightly snub nose. He wondered idly how far they extended on the rest of her body. The new Lady Rackington was of middling height and had soft curves in all the right places. Not that he planned to take advantage of them any time soon. No matter how meek and obedient she acted, those fine grey eyes and her stiff neck shouted defiance. He was glad of it, that her spirit was not irretrievably broken.
If Amanda missed her mother and sisters, she did not say so. After the short ceremony, Lucian handed his new wife up into his barouche while Tennant took her maid and luggage up in the travelling berline. Two valises and a bag—she brought little enough.
“How am I to address you now we are married?” Amanda asked.
“You may use my given name if you like. It is Lucian.” It would take some getting used to, to hear his name from such young lips, but making her free of it might help to overcome the inevitable distance between them.
“Lucian,” she tried the name out like some new food or beverage. “You will call me Amanda, I suppose?”
“Unless you have some objection? I hope we shall become friends when we know each other better. But whatever happens, we are now tied for as long as both of us live.”
“You never said why you did it.” There was suspicion and speculation in her gaze. “You are rich and titled, and handsome for your age.” He managed not to wince at the last sentence. “Why did you not marry earlier?”
“It was not my intention to marry at all. I was going to let the name die out with me. But your father’s description of your plight moved me to intervene, on a whim, you might say.”
Her brows contracted. “You had no idea what I looked like, what kind of person I was when you offered? You did it only for my father’s sake?”
“I have liked and esteemed your father since we played together in our early boyhood, before I was sent off to Eton. But that was not the main reason. When I was younger, I once failed to save a girl in a similarly desperate situation. Her unnecessary death has haunted me ever since.”
“You had forced or seduced her?” Her eyes were big, accusing.
“No, it was someone else—but the details do not matter at this late date.” Since learning what had happened to Amaryllis, he had steered clear of seducing innocents, and he had never forced a woman in his life; there had been no need. So that was what his young bride thought of him, did she?
“I am sorry if my question offended you, but you see, I have little idea of your nature. And gossip is not kind to you.”
More indication that she had spirit. He nodded. “Gossip tends to exaggerate, though there is usually a kernel of truth. I hope we’ll rub along when we know each other better. If not, I have several estates beside the London house. Aristocratic couples often live apart.”
“