The Mistletoe Dare (Daring Daughters Book 8) Page 22

  Morven nodded and got up, going to the decanter and pouring out two generous measures of whisky.

  “You forgot something,” he said, handing the glass to Rochford.

  Rochford couldn’t breathe. He knew this wasn’t the end of the matter. Even if he crossed this hurdle, he still had to convince Georgie she was right to trust in him. But if he couldn’t convince her father, he didn’t have a hope. She would not go against the earl’s wishes, he felt certain.

  “Have I?” he asked, forcing the words out.

  “Aye, the most important thing of all.”

  Rochford regarded him, feeling he stood on a cliff’s edge. “What’s that?”

  “Love, ye bloody fool, or d’ye mean to tell me ye dinnae love her?” Morven’s voice was harsh, his tawny eyes, so like his daughter’s eyes, burning with intensity.

  Rochford shook his head, trying to find the words to explain. “I’m not… I….” He cleared his throat. “I can’t do poetry and soft words and—it’s not me, Morven, but she knows that I-I care—”

  “Caring’s not enough. Not for my lassie. She’ll want ye to love her. She needs it, for if she marries ye she’ll give ye her whole heart, whether or nae ye deserve it, and she won’t stop until she has yers in return. Are ye ready for that?”

  Rochford stared down into the glass of whisky and then took a large swallow, grateful for the shot of heat into his blood. “What if I can’t? It’s not that I don’t want to, I just—”

  “Ye father did that, aye?” Morven said, gesturing to Rochford’s face.

  Rochford felt his face burn and his jaw tightened. What the hell did this have to do with anything? He couldn’t help how he looked and, if Georgie had accepted he was far from handsome—

  The earl seemed oblivious to his growing tension. “My Pa was a wicked auld bastard. He hated me more than anything else in life. Beat the living daylights out of me too, whenever he could lay hands on me, though he never left a permanent reminder. Of course, I wasnae his get but the earl’s bastard son. Not that he could bear for anyone to know that, so he acknowledged me publicly as his own.”

  Rochford stared, uncomfortable with the confession and uncertain of what to do with it.

  “I was hateful to my wife,” Morven continued. “I married her for her money. Reckoned as soon as she was with child, I’d send her back to England and be done with her.”

  Rochford felt his mouth drop open.

  “A fine prize I was, aye?” the earl said with a mocking smile. “I did all I could to make her hate me, to hate this place and want to leave it, but I did nae reckon with her strength, her compassion, and a will like bloody iron. I had nae choice but to love her. I still fought it tooth and nail for everything I had mind, because I’m a thick-headed gowk, and I nearly lost her because of it.”

  The earl sipped his whisky, staring up at the stag’s head and its pink ribbons. “Ye see those ribbons, aye?”

  “I… er… yes,” Rochford said, increasingly eager to get out of the earl’s company. This talk was not going as he’d expected.

  “They serve as a reminder to me, of everything I have, of everything I could lose if I’m a damned idiot again, and of the punishment in store for me should I be so bloody stupid as to let my wife down.”

  Thoroughly bewildered, Rochford could do nothing but wait for the rest.

  “I deserted her after our first night of marriage. I was scared, ye see… out o’ my bloody wits, truth be told. I’d not expected to… to feel so much, so quickly. So I ran away like a coward. For weeks, mind. And when I got back, this room was pink.”

  “Pink?” Rochford repeated uncertainly.

  Morven nodded, grinning now. “From skirting to ceiling, everything in here was pink, and not just any pink, a violent, megrim-inducing pink. Every inch of wall was lined with animal heads like the stag there, staring at me with glassy eyes, and every neck, every ear and every bloody antler had a shiny pink ribbon. It was horrifying.”

  “Good God,” Rochford said faintly, suppressing a shudder.

  “Aye,” Morven said thoughtfully. “I learned my lesson though…. Eventually.”

  Rochford stared up at the pink satin ribbons with dawning respect.

  “Aye, you take a good look at them, duke,” Morven said, clapping him on his back. “But ye’ll not propose to my Georgie unless ye mean to love her, because she’s her mother’s daughter, and ye’ll have nowhere to hide when she’s your wife. Besides which, I’ll have yer balls as a table ornament if ye make her unhappy. Don’t say I did nae warn ye.”

  Rochford turned, only realising the earl had left him alone as he heard the door close behind him.

  “Alden, are you well? You seem… agitated.” Georgie watched him with concern. The duke had seemed somewhat distracted throughout dinner, and less attentive than she’d grown used to of late.

  Rochford looked up from the fire he’d been staring into the past five minutes. He stood by the fireplace, his arm resting on the mantelpiece, his head bowed as he stared at the flames. They had been left alone in the parlour mercifully, though only on condition they left the door open, and someone checked on them from time to time.

  “I’m fine,” he said, though his expression was grave.

  He’s changed his mind, Georgie thought in despair. After all of this, after courting her and making her see that he wanted to change, that he could change if he tried, he had changed so much he’d decided he didn’t want her. Perhaps he’d realised what was possible now? For a rich duke, one that could socialise and—

  “Georgie.”

  She looked up, her heart beating too fast and her eyes blurring.

  “Georgie? What is it?” He moved at once, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his. “What’s wrong? Your hands are freezing. Are you sick, love? Can I get you anything?”

  Georgie shook her head, staring into his eyes, into the uncompromising face that so many found ugly, but that had become so dear to her.

  “Then why do you look so unhappy? Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Georgie repeated, truly panicked now. “Oh, what?”

  “You’ve changed your mind.”

  “Of course I’ve changed my mind!” she wailed. “You’ve spent the past weeks doing everything you can to change it haven’t you, you great lummox, and now you’ve changed yours!”

  Rochford stared at her, looking utterly bewildered. He shook his head as if to clear it. “Can we start over? I seem to have missed the thread of this conversation.”

  It was too much. Georgie had spent the entire day in a stew of anticipation and excitement, only to find Rochford distant and quiet, and now all her dreams were coming crashing down. She’d been a fool. Thoroughly overwhelmed, she burst into tears.

  “Georgie! Love, what is it? Oh, God, don’t cry. I won’t propose if you don’t want me to.” He hauled her off the settee and into his arms and Georgie clung to him, sobbing so hard it took her a moment to understand his words.

  She hiccoughed and sniffed and calmed herself enough to speak. “W-What did you say?”

  Rochford gazed down at her, his eyes full of sadness, but his expression tender. “Georgie, I’d do anything to make you happy. You are the beat of my heart, but if you don’t want me—”

  “Don’t w-want you?” she repeated. Oh, the great numpty. “It’s you that’s changed your mind about wanting me.”

  “Who said such a thing?” he demanded.

  “You did!”

  He opened and closed his mouth. “Unless I missed something, I said no such thing.”

  She fought back a sob and shook her head. “No, you’ve said nothing at all, and you’ve spent all evening looking so grim.”

  “I always look that way,” he protested.

  Georgie shook her head. “You don’t. It’s different. You’ve been miles away.”

  He laughed then and reached out to stroke her cheek. “I was, miles away at Mulcaster, trying to imagine you as my wife, as a part of m
y days, my nights, my life.”

  “Oh, that’s why you looked so wretched, is it?” she retorted, feeling her lip trembling again.

  Rochford shook his head. “That’s why I was so damned nervous, you little fool. I spoke to your father, and he made me realise what was at stake. Everything I had to gain, yes, but—but everything you would need from me, too. He scared me half to death.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Georgie said, struggling up from his lap.

  “No, love.” Rochford chuckled, holding her tight. “No. He was right. It took me most of this evening to realise it, but he was right to warn me.”

  “Warn you?” Georgie said, outraged. “He warned you about marrying me?”

  He nodded, but his expression was fond, which was encouraging. “Yes. He warned me I had better be prepared to love you, because you’d settle for nothing less.”

  Georgie relaxed, her mouth opening in a silent ‘o’ as she gazed up at him. She smiled. “He’s right.”

  Rochford nodded. “I know that now, and I don’t know how things will go, Georgie. I don’t know the first thing about love, or having a wife, or a family, or any of it, but I’m willing to try, if you would give me the chance.”

  “I would,” Georgie whispered, feeling her eyes brim again as emotion got the better of her.

  He grinned at her, such an unrestrained, happy smile that she felt something in her chest shift, like her heart had taken on a new shape, like it belonged entirely to him.

  “You actually have to ask me, though, duke,” she said, trying to act as if she were scolding him and only sounding like a besotted fool. Ah, well. True enough.

  To her consternation, he shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t passed my test.”

  “What test?” she asked, frowning up at him.

  “Your birthday present.”

  “That wasn’t a test,” she said tenderly.

  “Yes, it was, and I intend to pass it,” he said.

  He stood, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. Georgie gasped, never having been moved about with such ease. She felt delicate in his strong arms, something she had never felt in her life before.

  It was rather lovely.

  He set her carefully down on the settee and pointed a finger at her. “Don’t move,” he ordered, before hurrying out of the room.

  Georgie fidgeted, impatient now, but he returned a moment later, holding a small wicker basket with flaps to cover it, like a picnic basket. He sat down beside her and placed the basket in her lap. It meowed.

  “Well, you’d best open it,” he said, watching her with anticipation.

  Georgie lifted the flap and a pure white kitten with a blue bow around its neck poked its head out. It gave a pitiful mewl and climbed out into her lap.

  “Oh!” she said, enchanted. “Oh, Rochford.”

  “I didn’t really mean to make a hat lining out of them. And,” he added reluctantly, “they were adorable.”

  Georgie stroked the kitten’s soft head and sniffed.

  “Oh, you’re not going to cry again, are you?”

  She nodded as the kitten crawled out of her lap and made a beeline for Rochford. It climbed up his coat, mewling at him.

  “No, you daft creature. You’re for her. She’s the one who’ll love you.”

  “So are you, you big fraud,” Georgie said softly.

  Rochford waved this away and unhooked the kitten from his coat, turning it to face her. “You’ve not petted it enough,” he complained. “You were supposed to find the key.”

  “What… Oh.” Georgie noticed that a little key dangled from the ribbon about the kitten’s neck. Grinning at Rochford, she undid the ribbon and retrieved the key, staring at him expectantly.

  “In the basket,” he said, sighing as the kitten settled itself in his lap, purring loud enough to wake the dead.

  Georgie rummaged beneath the blanket lining the basket and found a small box with a tiny brass lock. With an exclamation of excitement, she undid the lock and opened the box, and gasped.

  “Oh, Alden,” she said. “Oh, now I really am going to turn into a watering pot.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” she whispered, taking out the delicate brooch. It was a sprig of mistletoe, the leaves studded with diamonds, with three perfect little pearls in place of the berries.

  “I’ll always have three more kisses, so long as you have that,” he said.

  Georgie turned to look at him. “You can have all my kisses.”

  His breath caught, and he smiled at her. “I passed, then.”

  She nodded, her heart skipping as he took her hand in his. His thumb stroked nervously back and forth over her skin, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice was a little unsteady.

  “Georgie, you’ll going to have to teach me a great deal, but I’m ready to learn. I’ll do my best for you, love. I’ll be the best husband I can be, and I’ll keep you safe. I’ll honour you, and do everything I can to make you happy, if you would do me the great honour of becoming my wife.”

  Georgie tried to speak, but no words would come out, so she simply nodded.

  “Yes?” he said breathlessly.

  She nodded again, and then, just in case he was still uncertain. She kissed him.

  Chapter 21

  Ladies,

  I hope you are all prepared for my elevation to such giddy heights. I will, of course, expect you to genuflect at every opportunity, now I am no longer counted among the lesser mortals.

  Oh, good heavens! It’s utterly ridiculous, I know, but today I shall become a duchess. I’m terrified. Sick with nerves, and so very happy I could burst.

  I would have liked you all here to wish me happy, but I think Rochford might have done himself an injury if I’d asked him to wait until spring. Especially now Papa has given his permission. So the next time you see me, I shall be Her Grace, the Duchess of Rochford.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Georgina Anderson (daughter of Ruth and Gordon Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven) to the rest of the Daring Daughters.

  5th March 1841, Wildsyde Castle, Scotland.

  They were married in the kirk at Canisbay. It was a plain building, stark in its simplicity, but elegant too, and bloody freezing on a fresh March morning. The congregation’s breath clouded about them as the bride and groom exchanged vows and Lady Georgina Anderson became the Duchess of Rochford.

  Rochford had been a bag of nerves all morning and was well aware he was lucky that Joe hadn’t beaten him to death with a flat iron. He’d been surly, impatient, and sick with anxiety, until Joe had sat him down with a large glass of whisky and reassured him Georgie was not about to run away at the last minute.

  “I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” Joe said, exasperated. “Like you hung the moon, you daft beggar. Now the last time I told you not to bollocks it up, did you listen? No, you did not. So, keep your trap shut and get through the bloody service, and then she’s stuck with you, the poor, sweet child. Lord above, she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

  With no one else to talk him down, and no better advice on offer, Rochford had done as he was told and made it to the kirk without anyone doing him an injury. Even the bride’s father, which was a miracle.

  Now he stood with his new wife beside him, and the minister had told him he might kiss the bride. He let out an unsteady breath and reached for the heavy lace that covered her beautiful face, uncertain if he was eager or reluctant to see her expression. Steeling himself, he drew back the veil with hands that felt clumsy and too large to handle the fragile material and found his wife beaming at him. Rochford was fairly certain his heart stopped beating before restarting with a thud hard enough to break a rib.

  “Get on with it, then,” she whispered.

  Rochford felt the smile curve over his lips, tugging at the scar as his grin widened. Obediently, he ducked his head and kissed his bride.

  The wedding breakfast was lavish, merry, and mercifully brie
f. The Anderson family welcomed Rochford more warmly than he felt he had any right to expect, considering he was stealing their only daughter away. Georgie’s brothers did corner him, however, when he left the breakfast to instruct his staff to prepare for their departure.

  He was making his way back to the party when the three of them stepped in front of him, blocking the corridor.

  “A bit late now,” Rochford said dryly. “If you wanted to frighten me off, it would have been better done last week.”

  “Perhaps we just want to make her a wealthy widow,” Muir suggested, smirking.

  Lyall glowered at him, and Muir subsided with a huff.

  “We’ve something to say,” Hamilton cut in, which was obvious enough.

  “Out with it, then,” Rochford said, folding his arms.

  It was rare to come across men who could look him in the eye, but these three were the closest he’d ever seen. They were built like their father, and like the castle they stood in, ready to endure anything.

  The eldest spoke then, his voice soft, but no less forceful for it. Rochford thought it might be the first time he’d heard him speak the entire time he’d been in Scotland.

  “Ye had best make her happy, Rochford. She’s a good girl, and she’s not half so tough as she makes out. Ye’ll look out for her, aye?”

  “I’d protect her with my last breath. I’ll not hurt her. You’ve my word.”

  Lyall nodded. “Make sure of it, for if she has any cause for complaint, we’ll know, and we’ll come for ye.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” Rochford said gravely.

  Apparently, this had been the correct response, as Lyall’s grin was quick and rather devilish. Rochford shook his and his brothers’ hands, and the four men returned to the wedding breakfast without bloodshed.

  Georgie dithered outside the carriage as she said goodbye to her family. For now they were only travelling to Rochford’s property in Wick for their wedding night, before carrying on to Mulcaster the next day. Yet it felt as if she were leaving for the other side of the world, her life was changing so profoundly.

  Mama had sobbed audibly whilst they’d said their vows and was weeping still, though she swore they were happy tears. Pa was scowling, which meant he was feeling too much to speak and did not know what to do with himself.