Her stomach plummeted as they rolled along the uneven road, passing a rock structure that she could only surmise was the church from its modest wooden spire struggling to rise up from the rock edifice.
She lifted her gaze, catching sight again of the great, sprawling castle. It was something straight from the Middle Ages. Tarps blew in the wind, covering sections of the left wing, evidently where the rock wall had relented to time and now required renovation.
The nape of her neck prickled and she swung her head around. Her gaze landed on Logan riding alongside the carriage. His shadowed eyes watched her, the dark gray assessing . . . no doubt trying to decipher her reaction to his home—now her home, too.
Jack stuck his head out alongside hers. “That’s it?”
Her face burned at his loud question. She quickly ducked back inside to avoid Logan’s watchful gaze.
Jack followed, dropping back against the plush velvet squabs. “Well, I have a fairly good idea what he plans to do with your dowry.”
Marguerite smiled encouragingly. “Money well spent, yes? To improve your home, Cleo.”
Cleo nodded and returned the smile, knowing it was expected. She was glad for Marguerite’s presence. Actually, she was glad for everyone’s presence. Even Jack. It felt less daunting—almost like she wasn’t doing this all on her own.
The carriage finally rolled into a courtyard, wheels and hooves clacking noisily over the ancient cobblestones. In moments, the carriage door was pulled open. Marguerite nodded at her, indicating she should be the first to descend—the first to greet her new home and all its inhabitants. Contrary to the unease and doubts rolling through her, she vowed to wear a happy countenance.
Logan stood there, hand held out, ready to assist her. She met his eyes as she accepted his hand. Ash stepped in behind him, quick to hand down Marguerite and Annalise, leaving Cleo in the hands of her husband-to-be.
“Welcome home,” he murmured, his gray gaze searching her face.
Home. The word coursed through her, warming her heart. In her mind, she envisioned her little sisters and brothers scampering all over the place, exploring every nook and cranny. “Thank you.”
The serene moment was short-lived. A loud screech pierced the air, followed by what sounded like a dozen horses.
Cleo turned toward the sound, gasping as a girl no older than twelve charged from the castle doors, past the half dozen servants—none of whom blinked an eye over her wild display. On her heels were four others: two boys and one other girl, walking at a much more dignified pace.
The girl launched herself into Logan’s arms, her carroty-red hair flying around her in a flaming nimbus. He caught her, not staggering in the slightest even though she was a hearty creature.
“Took you long enough! I was about to expire from boredom.”
“Ah, sweet Josephine.” He peeled her off him and patted her head. She grinned up at him with a face covered in freckles. “You’re too busy about your adventures to ever be bored.”
Her gaze found Cleo, and Cleo immediately saw that Logan and Josephine shared the same gray eyes. “Who’s this?”
Logan responded with a voice full of teasing merriment, quite different from the way he usually spoke, and she realized she was seeing a new side to him. “Oh, just a pretty lass I found on the roadside.”
Josephine sent him a chiding look. “You jest!”
“Of course he jests,” one of the boys behind her broke in. His chest swelled in what Cleo guessed was an attempt to look manly and worldly all at once.
“Who do you think she is, pet?” Logan asked.
“A wife? You found us a wife then?” She clapped merrily.
He chuckled, his hand coming to rest on Cleo’s back. She tried not to shiver at the warm press of it there. “Well, I found myself a wife. She’ll be your sister-in-law.” Logan stepped back to include everyone. “And this is her family. They’ve accompanied us home for the wedding.”
Logan quickly made the introductions, and Cleo learned the names of his four siblings: Josephine, Abigail, the elder girl, and the boys: Simon and Niall.
“A wedding!” Josephine clapped again. “Here? Oh, splendid! We have so much to do in preparation. We must decorate, plan the menu, fetch flowers—”
Logan interrupted, “We shall do all we can in the time permitting, Josie.”
The girl frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”
“We’re not taking weeks to plan the affair.”
“Well, we can accomplish much in a week—”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Abigail spoke from behind in sobering tones. “This is not your wedding, Josie. Let Logan handle matters.”
Josie crossed her arms in a huff. “I only want it to be a grand celebration. Fiona didn’t marry here. We’ve never had a wedding ceremony here before.”
“In your thirteen years.” Niall pointed out with a smirk.
Josie scowled again, her freckled nose bunching. “You’re a mere year older. Don’t act as though you’re so ancient, Niall.”
“We’ve journeyed far to get here, and I should simply like the matter done.” Logan’s gaze cut to Cleo. She read the question clearly there. He was trying to see if she concurred. “We can see it done this night. If agreeable, with you.”
This night? So soon? She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.
Was he afraid she’d change her mind? She had not come all this way to turn tail and run now. No matter how tempting the notion, she wasn’t a coward. She wasn’t backing down.
“Tonight suits me.” She glanced at her family, as if they might object.
Marguerite, bravest of the bunch, recovered her voice. “If that’s what you wish, Cleo.”
Cleo nodded.
Marguerite faced Logan, her manner turning brisk and efficient. “If someone would show us to Cleo’s room, we can begin preparing.”
“Of course. Mrs. Willis will see you settled and take care of any needs you have.” He nodded to the apple-cheeked housekeeper. “She’s a marvel. This place wouldn’t function without her.”
Mrs. Willis snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Now that you’ve married a proper lady, all will be well here, mark my words.” She executed a short curtsy for Cleo. “Glad to have you here, m’am. We’ve needed a lady’s touch for years now.” The woman’s small blue eyes flew over Logan and his siblings with feverish accusation and Cleo gathered the tribe of them had been something of a handful. With her background, she well understood the disorder of a large family. She almost winced at the thought of introducing some of her siblings into the existing fray.
“Thank you,” Cleo murmured.
Mrs. Willis bobbed her head happily. “We’ve kept you dawdling out here long enough. Right this way.” She muttered quick instructions to the other lingering maids, indicating they should escort the other guests to their chambers.
Once inside, Cleo could see the house wasn’t as outdated as she’d suspected. Gas lights lined the long corridors, so she knew some renovations had been made to at least part of the castle.
In moments, she was inside a vast bedchamber with a daunting four-post bed. A large rock fireplace, huge enough for Cleo to step inside, took up almost one wall.
Marguerite and Annalise remained with her. Annalise rotated in a small circle, limping as she moved. With her hands tucked inside her fur-lined muff, she assessed the room with an open mouth. “I’ve never seen a chamber such as this one. It’s fit for a king.”
“Oh, it’s slept its fair share of kings,” Mrs. Willis admitted. “Generations ago, at least.”
“It’s a fine room,” Cleo murmured, knowing words were expected of her. She struggled with the notion that a chamber so large was to be all hers. Space was not something she’d been granted growing up. Even Jack’s Mayfair mansion couldn’t boast a room of this size.
/> “We’ve been preparing the master chamber for your arrival ever since Master Logan left for Town.”
The housekeeper’s words settled like stones in the pit of her stomach. She leveled her gaze on the housekeeper, struggling to appear unaffected. “You were so certain he would return with a bride?”
Mrs. Willis smiled. “Well, of course. It was his duty. And for all his wild ways and devilish good looks, the master’s always been a good lad and known his duty.”
Cleo nodded. Duty. Of course. That’s all this was to him. All she was. That’s why he didn’t care about the stipulations she placed on their marriage. A useful reminder.
Mrs. Willis exhaled, her look extremely satisfied as she surveyed the room. “Good to see a new Lord and Lady McKinney in this chamber again. It’s been too long. The master’s parents would be so proud.” She nodded to the colossal bed. “Can’t even count how many babes have been born right there in that bed. Does my heart good to know that I’ll be here to witness the arrival of the next generation.”
Cleo felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the bed under discussion. She would share this room—that bed—with Logan?
Marguerite must have read the horror writ upon her face. She squeezed Cleo’s hand. “That will be all for now, Mrs. Willis. Please send Miss Hadley’s trunks up and we’ll help ready her.”
Mrs. Willis nodded and departed with a quick curtsy of her portly frame. As soon as the door clicked shut, Cleo sank down onto the nearest chair. Her sisters watched her with concern and she forced a wobbly smile, struggling to reclaim her composure. She’d rather not collapse into a fit of vapors in front of them. She was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Well,” Marguerite said, her voice loud and jarring in the cavernous room. She clapped her hands together with an air of efficiency. “What gown shall you wear? Something blue? You look very fine in blue.”
Cleo nodded and tried to summon her voice. She should at least appear to care. It was her wedding day, after all.
Marguerite and Annalise were soon sifting through Cleo’s trunks.
“This is so exciting,” Annalise commented. “You’re marrying a fine lord.” She cast an almost shy glance at Cleo. “He’s very handsome, too.” Her gaze swept over the room. “And you’ll live in a castle.”
“A dilapidated castle,” Cleo reminded, hating for Annalise to become swept up in the seeming romantic nature of it all.
“Oh, but you’ll repair it now.”
Marguerite held up a lovely peacock blue gown. “I think this is the one.”
Cleo hardly cast it a glance. “Yes. It will do.” Her gaze drifted again to the bed. Her face reddened when she caught Marguerite following her gaze. Her half sister cleared her throat. “Annalise, why don’t you find your room and freshen up a bit yourself? I’m sure you’ll want to change before the ceremony.”
Annalise looked from Marguerite to Cleo. For the first time, Cleo noted the keen intelligence in those lovely brown eyes. For all of her naiveté, the girl wasn’t a dullard. She nodded and rose. “Of course. Send for me if you need anything.”
As the door clicked behind her, Marguerite resumed digging through Cleo’s trunk, hunting for the gown’s matching slippers.
Cleo rose and approached the fireplace, staring into the writhing orange nest of flames. “I imagine it gets very cold here in the winter.”
“I imagine so. But you’ll have that fine fireplace . . . and that fine husband to keep you warm.”
It was as though Marguerite baited her, knowing precisely what to say to make her want to run and hide like a frightened child.
She snorted indelicately. “I think you know he’ll not be keeping me warm. This isn’t a love union, Marguerite. It won’t be like your marriage.”
Marguerite didn’t respond for some moments, and Cleo finally looked over her shoulder to find her sister staring at her thoughtfully.
Cleo continued, “I suppose you think that’s wretched of me? A wife unwilling to consummate . . .”
Marguerite inclined her head. “I suspected that might be why you were spending so much time with Thrumgoodie. You thought he would be safe.” She spread the gown out on the bed, smoothing a hand over the glimmering blue fabric. “You certainly went in the opposite direction in choosing McKinney. I imagine he will be a hard man to resist.”
Cleo closed her eyes in a long, pained blink. “You have no idea.”
Marguerite smiled a small grin. “I think I might have an idea. I wasn’t always eager to wed Ash. But he changed my mind.”
Cleo’s cheeks heated. “Of course.” Her husband was a handsome man with an illicit reputation about Town—at least before he had married Marguerite.
“Let me just say the rewards of the marital bed can be . . . immeasurable.” Marguerite’s expression took on a dreamy quality that made Cleo decidedly uncomfortable.
“Rewards?” she scoffed. “The rewards the man receives versus the woman seem decidedly unbalanced.”
“I’ve no complaint.” Marguerite smiled ever patiently and Cleo bit back her automatic, not yet.
“You know”—Marguerite sat down upon the bed, picking at the lace trim of her gown—“there are things to do that don’t involve actual consummation. Certain pleasurable acts. For both of you.”
Cleo sniffed, striving for disinterest. But it didn’t work. She strode forward and sank down beside Marguerite, looking her steadily in the eye. “Such as?”
Marguerite smiled broadly. “It may shock you, but I assure you . . . there’s pleasure to be had for both of you, even if you never consummate the marriage.”
Cleo studied her sister, noting her wide, solemn eyes. She looked innocent enough. Clearing her throat, she nodded once. “Tell me. Tell me everything we can do. I’m listening.”
Chapter Twenty-one
The ceremony moved in a blur. There were words, vows exchanged as they stood before the tall, cadaverously thin Reverend Smythe. Despite his appearance, he managed a jovial air.
Everyone crammed inside the small church beamed good-natured smiles. Josie fairly bounced in her seat in the front pew. Cleo felt an inexplicable stab of guilt. They’d been waiting for this moment a long while, it seemed. The moment their eldest brother finally married. She swallowed thickly and glanced down at the little bouquet of flowers Josie had thrust into her hands. She wondered if the girl—if any of them—would be quite so delighted if they knew the restrictions she’d imposed on their marriage. That this marriage was, in fact, a farce.
Logan faced her, his well-carved features revealing nothing. He’d held himself stoic all through their vows. Lowering his head, his lips didn’t so much as soften as he sealed their vows with the obligatory kiss.
The church burst into applause. Cleo supposed none of them thought anything amiss with the brief kiss. She knew, however. Everything was wrong with it. She’d been a recipient of Logan’s kisses before. She knew just how long and savoring and delectable they could be.
Turning, he took her arm and led her from the church. A barouche waited, decorated with ribbons and flowers, and Cleo marveled that so much had been accomplished in a few hours.
She settled onto the stiff cushion as Logan took up the reins. With a flick of his wrist, they lurched forward. Villagers lined the road leading up to the castle, waving and cheering, tossing flowers. It was like something out of a fairy tale—and Cleo was caught in the midst of it.
Logan waved and called out greetings. Cleo’s cheeks warmed from so much attention. She hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected any of this. It was as though Logan ruled over a small kingdom here, so far from the drawing rooms of the ton. No wonder he seemed so indifferent to that world. It meant little to him. This was his world.
And he’d just made her a part of it.
Something in her chest tightened at the thought of that. Lifting her han
d, she waved to the villagers, fighting back feelings of shyness. They welcomed her with unabashed enthusiasm. They wanted her here. Without even knowing anything about her, they’d embraced her. Because Logan had chosen her.
Amid all the well-wishers, one face stood out. Very likely because she was so beautiful, with her vivid red hair and curvy figure. But more than likely because she was scowling. The only unsmiling face in the crowd. The girl’s gaze fastened with stark intensity on Logan. Tears swam in her red-rimmed eyes, shining wetly.
She quickly forgot the woman as they arrived at the castle and were ushered into the great dining hall. Tables laden with food awaited them. One table sat upon a dais, well above the others. Logan guided her into a chair at the center of the table. Jack and her family soon arrived to join them, along with Logan’s siblings.
Toasts rang out as they ate and Cleo couldn’t help marveling how unlike this was from all the stuffy dinners she’d attended in Town.
And she was glad for that. Voices and laughter whirled around—all save her own. No one seemed aware that she was mostly silent, only answering questions, absorbing her new world—a world in which she was now married to Logan. This reality sank upon her slowly, like pebbles descending in water.
She nibbled on a bite of roasted pheasant, achingly aware of the man next to her. He radiated heat. Life and vitality.
“Are you not hungry?” he asked as Jack was regaling everyone with one of his anecdotes. She nodded just as everyone burst into laughter as he reached the high point of his story. “I’ve eaten my fill. Everything has been delicious.”
“Then perhaps we should retire. It’s been a long day.”
She gulped, wishing suddenly she’d drawn out her dinner, toying with her food and at least acting like she was eating. Now she had to walk up those winding stairs with him and climb into that big bed.
A bed big enough for an entire regiment. They wouldn’t even have to brush toes with each other. With that encouraging thought, she took a fortifying breath and rose to her feet. It wouldn’t be awkward. They had an understanding after all.