ever want a position like that anyway. All eyes followed a duchess. She could scarcely imagine the storm of gossip that would result if a duchess made a faux pas, the kind she made every day.
But then the duke hadn’t seemed to be as concerned about etiquette as Cedric was. She even thought he might join a conversation across the table, though that was probably wishful thinking on her part.
And irrelevant, of course.
In desperation, she began to compile a list of etiquette rules that included the correct use of sugar tongs, as well as a reminder to never say “spit.” A young lady at a musicalehad practically swooned when Merry growled it after tearing her hem.
Two weeks into her betrothal, the list had grown to four pages. When she had questions—Why are morning calls often conducted in the afternoon?—Cedric was happy to elucidate.
“No one is awake in the morning,” he explained. “Except servants, of course, which reminds me that you mustn’t greet your butler with such familiarity. I realize that you value Jenkins. But we show our respect by keeping a certain distance.”
Even an hour with her fiancé was liable to result in one or two new rules.
Not that she saw Cedric very often. If she’d had her way, she would have liked to spend part of every day with him. To her dismay, Cedric was rarely free, and when he was, he often seemed to be late for an important appointment.
Still, he always put his name down for two dances at every ball. He never failed to bring her a glass of canary wine, a gleam of conspiratorial mischief in his eyes. He seemed amused by the idea that his fiancée was too sophisticated for lemonade. Cedric had a marvelously world-weary, sardonic manner that Merry was trying, albeit with little success, to imitate.
She watched her fiancé for signs of inebriation, but never saw any. Which meant that she spent more time thinking about when the duke would return from Wales than she ought, but only because she looked forward to setting him straight about his brother.
And it was only out of dutiful family feeling for her future brother-in-law that she daily scoured her uncle’s newspapers, to reassure herself that there had been no mining accidents in Wales.
After an uneasy fortnight, she had to admit that thetwinges of doubt she felt could no longer honestly be called “twinges.” She was at a crossroads. She could become a selfish, vacillating woman, who fell in and out of love as casually as she changed her gloves, casting men to the side as she might a boring novel.
Or she could become a true wife to Cedric, loving and loyal in the way that Aunt Bess was to Uncle Thaddeus.
Merry’s challenge was not to mimic an English lady. No: she had to become a better person. The duke would return any day—not that his return was relevant—and sometime after that, she and Cedric would marry.
Sometime? There was a precise date set now, in June. It was easy to forget, because Bess had hired a secretary to manage all the details. Still, Merry was due for a second fitting of her wedding dress, an idea that made her feel a little faint.
In the end, she wrote a strongly worded note to Cedric, asking him to join her for a morning ride in Hyde Park. They had to spend more time together before they vowed to love each other to the end of their days.
Besides, it would give her a chance to practice being a better person.
The next morning Cedric appeared at the prescribed time in an extremely elegant riding coat, and they set out for Rotten Row in Hyde Park. He wasn’t precisely cheerful—Cedric was clearly not a morning person—but she appreciated the fact that he made the effort.
Overnight rain had scrubbed the coal smoke from the sky, and for once London smelled fresh and clean. The sky had the color and shimmer of mother-of-pearl, as if the very air was made of water.
The only sound was that of hooves squelching in the puddles that dotted the paths, and occasional plops as drops found their
But then the duke hadn’t seemed to be as concerned about etiquette as Cedric was. She even thought he might join a conversation across the table, though that was probably wishful thinking on her part.
And irrelevant, of course.
In desperation, she began to compile a list of etiquette rules that included the correct use of sugar tongs, as well as a reminder to never say “spit.” A young lady at a musicalehad practically swooned when Merry growled it after tearing her hem.
Two weeks into her betrothal, the list had grown to four pages. When she had questions—Why are morning calls often conducted in the afternoon?—Cedric was happy to elucidate.
“No one is awake in the morning,” he explained. “Except servants, of course, which reminds me that you mustn’t greet your butler with such familiarity. I realize that you value Jenkins. But we show our respect by keeping a certain distance.”
Even an hour with her fiancé was liable to result in one or two new rules.
Not that she saw Cedric very often. If she’d had her way, she would have liked to spend part of every day with him. To her dismay, Cedric was rarely free, and when he was, he often seemed to be late for an important appointment.
Still, he always put his name down for two dances at every ball. He never failed to bring her a glass of canary wine, a gleam of conspiratorial mischief in his eyes. He seemed amused by the idea that his fiancée was too sophisticated for lemonade. Cedric had a marvelously world-weary, sardonic manner that Merry was trying, albeit with little success, to imitate.
She watched her fiancé for signs of inebriation, but never saw any. Which meant that she spent more time thinking about when the duke would return from Wales than she ought, but only because she looked forward to setting him straight about his brother.
And it was only out of dutiful family feeling for her future brother-in-law that she daily scoured her uncle’s newspapers, to reassure herself that there had been no mining accidents in Wales.
After an uneasy fortnight, she had to admit that thetwinges of doubt she felt could no longer honestly be called “twinges.” She was at a crossroads. She could become a selfish, vacillating woman, who fell in and out of love as casually as she changed her gloves, casting men to the side as she might a boring novel.
Or she could become a true wife to Cedric, loving and loyal in the way that Aunt Bess was to Uncle Thaddeus.
Merry’s challenge was not to mimic an English lady. No: she had to become a better person. The duke would return any day—not that his return was relevant—and sometime after that, she and Cedric would marry.
Sometime? There was a precise date set now, in June. It was easy to forget, because Bess had hired a secretary to manage all the details. Still, Merry was due for a second fitting of her wedding dress, an idea that made her feel a little faint.
In the end, she wrote a strongly worded note to Cedric, asking him to join her for a morning ride in Hyde Park. They had to spend more time together before they vowed to love each other to the end of their days.
Besides, it would give her a chance to practice being a better person.
The next morning Cedric appeared at the prescribed time in an extremely elegant riding coat, and they set out for Rotten Row in Hyde Park. He wasn’t precisely cheerful—Cedric was clearly not a morning person—but she appreciated the fact that he made the effort.
Overnight rain had scrubbed the coal smoke from the sky, and for once London smelled fresh and clean. The sky had the color and shimmer of mother-of-pearl, as if the very air was made of water.
The only sound was that of hooves squelching in the puddles that dotted the paths, and occasional plops as drops found their
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