Mary Balogh - A Secret Affair

“He said he was,” Stephen said.

“And Hannah?” Margaret asked.

And they were at it again.

“Mama says they have no choice but to marry,” Julia Winsmore said, “after the way he kissed her in the park. I saw it with my own eyes. It was really quite shocking.”

She blushed.

“And very romantic too, Jule,” Sir Wesley said. “That is what you told me at the time, anyway.”

“I do not believe,” Elliott said, “the duchess would ever be moved by the argument that she has no choice but to do a particular thing.”

“She clearly loves Constantine,” Katherine said. “She will torture him before saying yes.”

Her husband exchanged a pained glance with Duncan over this blatant example of feminine logic.

“Or no,” Margaret said.

“Con is no one’s fool,” Stephen said. “He dances to no one’s tune.”

“But he is in love,” Cassandra pointed out.

And that stifled the conversation. There was silence for a few moments.

The butler appeared and murmured to Cassandra that dinner was ready. It must wait a little longer, she murmured back. She could imagine the consternation her reply would arouse in the kitchen.

And then the remaining two guests arrived—together and a little more than five minutes late.

Both were looking quite radiant enough to send expectations soaring—at least among the ladies gathered in the drawing room. And to cause Cassandra to forgive them instantly for putting her on the outs with her cook.

The Duchess of Dunbarton was looking resplendent in soft turquoise with very little jewelry. None was necessary. She was going to be drawing all eyes her way all evening without them. The sparkle and luster that was usually on the outside of her person was glowing from the inside of her person tonight.

“If we are late,” she said before any greetings could be exchanged, “the fault is entirely mine. I was all ready long before I expected Constantine, but just as I heard his knock at the door I decided that I did not want to wear my favorite white ball gown after all—or all the diamonds that went with it. So I changed while he kicked his heels and ground his teeth down in the hall.”

She smiled dazzlingly about her.

“I never grind my teeth,” Constantine said mildly. “I would have them ground down to stumps if I did it every time you are late, Hannah. I am going to cultivate the virtue of patience. I am going to learn to enjoy waiting around. You had better not be late for our wedding, though. It is said to be bad luck.”

And so all questions were answered without any having to be asked.

And dinner had to wait another quarter of an hour as hugs and kisses and back slaps and handshakes were exchanged and Hannah declared that it was all very lowering but she had agreed to be demoted all the way down from duchess to countess.

“Though plain Mrs. Constantine Huxtable would have suited me admirably too,” she added with another of her radiant smiles.

And her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she bit her lower lip, and Constantine set one arm about her shoulders—and Cassandra suggested that they proceed to the dining room before her cook resigned on the spot.

THEY HAD ARGUED since yesterday about where they would marry. Though argued was perhaps not quite the right word since both were fully intent upon being unselfish in the matter.

Constantine thought they should marry at Copeland as it was Hannah’s home and she clearly loved it. A bride ought to marry from her own home.

He was wise enough not to mention Markle.

Hannah thought they should marry at Ainsley as it was Constantine’s home and he clearly loved it. Besides, it seemed fitting that the new Earl of Ainsley should marry at Ainsley Park.

They agreed that St. George’s was the best and most convenient compromise. It was on Hanover Square, a mere stone’s throw from Dunbarton House. The bride could walk there. The whole ton could be expected to attend. Perhaps even the king would come. It was the fashionable place to marry.

Neither of them wanted to marry there, though neither was willing to admit it to the other.

It was going to have to be Copeland.

Or Ainsley.

Or perhaps St. George’s.

“Tell us about your nuptials, Your Grace,” Miss Winsmore said as soon as they were all seated about the dinner table at Merton House. “When and where are they to be?”

“As soon as possible to answer your first question,” Hannah said. “We still have not decided the answer to your second.”

She drew breath to give her vote for Ainsley Park, expecting that Constantine’s family would back her up, but the Earl of Merton spoke first.

“But you must marry at Warren Hall, Con,” he said. “It is still and always your home. It is where you were born, where you grew up. The private chapel has always been used for family weddings and christenings and … burials,” he added more softly.

“Oh, that would be so lovely,” Cassandra said as footmen served the first course. “But Hannah may have other ideas, Stephen. It is her wedding as well as Con’s.”

But she gazed at Hannah with wistful eyes.

“Elliott and I married there,” Vanessa said, “as did Cassandra and Stephen last year. It is the loveliest place for a wedding. The chapel is in a quiet corner of the park, among the trees, and it is full to overflowing with just a few guests. There is a wonderful sense of history there too with the churchyard surrounding the chapel. Family history.”

It must be where Jonathan was buried, Hannah thought. And suddenly she knew that that was where they must marry. She felt a sense of rightness about it even before she looked across the table at Constantine and noted the intense, drawn look on his face.

“It is good of you to be willing to lend us the chapel, Stephen,” he said. “But I think Hannah must be allowed to—”

“Choose for herself?” she said, interrupting him. “I will, then. Thank you. I will choose.”

She knew that his smile came at a great cost.

“I choose Warren Hall,” she said, her eyes on his.

And she felt almost as though she were falling into them as his smile faded.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am absolutely sure,” she told him, and she was. “Warren Hall it will be. Thank you, Lord Merton. You are very kind.”

“I think I had better be Stephen,” he said, “if you are going to marry Con. I think we had better all be on a first-name basis.”

And suddenly everyone was talking at once, and the dinner was being consumed with great appetite. Margaret, Vanessa, and Katherine had the grand ballroom at Warren Hall and the private chapel decorated for the wedding festivities before the main course was removed, and Cassandra had the menu for the wedding breakfast drawn up before dessert was served.

“You might as well relax and let things happen, Con,” Elliott advised. “You have done your job. You have offered Hannah marriage and been accepted. The rest is in the hands of the ladies.”

For a day or two before her wedding, Hannah was informed, she would stay at Finchley Park, one of the Duke of Moreland’s estates adjoining Warren Hall, the place where he had grown up. So would several other people, including Vanessa and Elliott and their children and Elliott’s mother and sisters and any personal guests Hannah chose to invite. But she must not worry, Vanessa assured her. There was a picturesque and secluded dower house by the lake at Finchley, where she and Elliott had spent their honeymoon. It was where Hannah and Constantine must spend theirs. And if there were a more romantic setting in which to begin a marriage, Vanessa did not know where it might be.

“Do you remember the daffodils?” she asked Elliott.

And the rather austere Duke of Moreland was observed to wink back at her.

Hannah caught Constantine’s eye across the table, and they exchanged a smile that might well have been imperceptible to anyone else. He had warned her on the way here that his female cousins on his father’s side were a formidable trio, and that Cassandra was proving to be a worthy addition to their number. If Hannah was not careful, he had told her, her wedding would be taken right out of her hands and caught up in their very capable ones.

And that was before he had known the wedding would be in their domain—at Warren Hall.

“Oh, dear,” Katherine said suddenly, and the tone of her voice caused a general hush about the table. “We are at it again. We grew up in a small country village, Hannah, as children of the vicar. There were always things to be done and things to be organized. And we were the ones who tended to step forward to do them and organize them. Unless someone does it, you know, nothing gets done at all and country life becomes unutterably dull. But though we have left that life behind, we have never got out of the habit of organizing.”

“We have not indeed,” Margaret said with a sigh. “You have never been known as a helpless, indecisive lady, Hannah. I daresay you have been sitting there laughing at us. You probably have your wedding all planned without any help from us.”

All eyes were on her, Hannah was aware, the ladies’ rather wistful, the gentlemen’s more amused.

“I am not laughing,” she said. “Quite the opposite.” And, sure enough, she had to blink away tears. “And I have never planned a wedding—or had one planned for me. I agreed yesterday to marry Constantine, but I can see today that I will be marrying into his family too, and I am happier about that than I can possibly say.”

The duke had told her that when she found love she would find the community of belonging that went with it.

It was almost time for the ball to begin. The gentlemen did not linger in the dining room after the ladies left. They all adjourned together to the ballroom to await the arrival of the first guests.

Constantine’s new title was to be announced at supper, Hannah knew. And so was their betrothal. It was the beginning of a new era. She glanced down at the lovely turquoise of her gown and was glad she had changed out of her white dress even though doing so had made her late. She did not have to hide any longer. She did not have to fortify herself with any armor of ice and diamonds.

She was the Duchess of Dunbarton, soon to be the Countess of Ainsley. But most important of all, she was Hannah. She was herself as life and her own character and experiences had made her. She liked herself. And she was in love.

She was happy.

Guests began to arrive, and Constantine took her hand and set it on his sleeve. They strolled together about the ballroom, stopping briefly to talk to acquaintances as they went. They were both smiling.

“Have you noticed,” Constantine asked, “that everyone who enters the ballroom looks at you twice, once with a simple appreciation for your beauty, and once with sudden, shocked recognition?”

“I think it is you they are looking at,” she said. “You look quite dazzling when you smile.”

“You are happy about Warren Hall?” he asked.

“I am,” she said. “You will have all your family close by, Constantine. Including Jonathan.”

“Yes,” he said. “And you, Hannah?”

She looked at him and her smile faded.

“Will you have your family close by?” he asked.

“I will invite Barbara and Mr. Newcombe,” she said. “Perhaps they will be willing to travel again for my wedding.”

“When you are not going to theirs?” he said. “Is that real friendship?”

Why was he talking about this now? The ballroom was filling. The air was growing warm. The level of conversation was rising. The orchestra members were tuning their instruments.

“Very well,” she said, lifting both her chin and her fan and becoming for the moment the Duchess of Dunbarton. “I will invite my father and my sister and brother-in-law and my nephews and nieces. I will even invite the Reverend and Mrs. Leavensworth. And I will go to Barbara’s wedding. We will both go. Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” he said. “My love.”

And very briefly and very scandalously, especially in light of an announcement that had not yet been made, he touched his lips to hers.

“You are going to have to marry me after that, sir,” she said.

“Dash it all,” he said, grinning, “and so I am.”