at first, but as the miles passed, found herself feeling almost grateful. Conversation between the two of them did not come easily. His answers were short and dismissive until he sensed her unrest. Then he’d smile at her cajolingly, offer her compliments, and paint rosy pictures of their future—vague and undetailed rosy pictures, punctuated with far too many perhapses and maybes.
Although she’d spent hours and hours in her betrothed’s company, four days to be exact, by the time their carriage neared the small Scottish town of Gretna Green, she still hadn’t figured him out.
And the harder she tried, the more reticent he became.
Excepting, of course, when she made any mention of her dowry. He was similar to his cat in this aspect, as Archie was only interested in her when she brought out a tantalizing treat.
She’d met with even less success when they’d stopped at various inns.
He had dined privately with her, of course, and been pleasant enough but ignored her hints that they walk outside together before retiring to their separate chambers. She had thought a moonlight stroll might be romantic. She’d hope he would take such an opportunity to give her some indication of his affection. Perhaps they could try kissing again, renew some of the ardor he’d shown her on the night he’d proposed.
But on each occasion, he’d declined. He’d insisted that he had some reading to do. Surely, she wanted time to herself, as well?
But then, this morning, she’d learned he had participated in a high stakes card game the night before. He’d not been reading at all. She only knew because she’d overheard two maids chatting in the corridor outside her room.
Had he lied or simply changed his mind?
It won’t be worth it, you know.
But she had already made her decision. She’d run away with Culpepper—alone, for heaven’s sake! To Gretna Green!
If she didn’t follow through, if she were to cry off now, she’d lose all hope of garnering any decent offers, let alone an offer from a different duke.
This was her one chance. When she’d agreed to this elopement, she’d gone all-in. This was her only opportunity to become the duchess she needed to be.
Tabetha raised her fingers to her mouth and barely had the wherewithal to keep from biting at her nails.
If she changed her mind, Westerley would forgive her, as would her mother. Eventually.
Felicity, as her closest friend, would be nice enough about it, but both her and Bethany would say they’d told her so.
Other’s would be much harsher.
And she had done this to herself! Foolish, foolish Tabetha!
She’d been alone with the duke for three nights and four days! Not that she’d come even close to losing her innocence! That wouldn’t matter to the members of the ton. She would be good and ruined forever.
She swallowed hard. Cold feet. That was all this was—a particularly gripping case of arctic, frost-bitten, iced-over cold feet.
“My mother’s going to want to host a ball for us, upon our return,” she said into the quiet of the carriage.
He opened one eye. “Perhaps next year. Dear Elaina’s memory, you know.”
Tabetha exhaled. The woman had been dead for over a year. And yes, their marriage was rushed, but what about her feelings? She wasn’t the dead one, after all!
A ball wouldn’t be asking too much. In fact, it would be expected.
“I don’t think anyone will think poorly of us for it,” she tried again.
“We’ll see.”
Tabetha exhaled a deep breath. Jostled, ignored, wrinkled, and unkempt, her enthusiasm for this marriage was diminishing all too quickly.
You’re doing the right thing, Tabetha. This is what you want.
She would have fared better, she conceded, if she’d had Emily. Not only could her maid have assisted in dressing her and pressing her gowns, not to mention brushing and styling her hair, but then Tabetha wouldn’t have found herself feeling so lonely.
Likely that was all there was to these misgivings. In addition to her cold feet, she was unusually rumpled, putting her at sixes and sevens, and she was homesick.
The carriage hit the twenty-thousandth hole in the road, and she bounced on the seat that by now felt like it was made of granite. When she released the leather strap, she raised a perfumed handkerchief to her nostrils. Culpepper’s valet, in addition to a few other servants, rode behind them in a separate conveyance, and she wondered if he’d spilled the entire bottle of the duke’s cologne on him this morning.
She’d attempted to open one of the windows but Culpepper had stopped her. “Do