The maid poured her a cup of chocolate, talking all the while. “Just think, Miss Raven! You’ll soon be a duchess. ’Tis just like a fairy tale.” Nan sighed, her expression filled with reverence before she caught herself. “Beg pardon, miss. I shouldn’t let my tongue run away like that. But I’ve never known a real duchess before.”
Raven summoned a smile she didn’t feel. “That’s quite all right, Nan. I am a bit in awe myself.”
Turning to the hearth, the maid built up the dwindling fire to ward off the November chill, then bobbed a curtsy. “Your bathwater is heating, Miss Raven. If you please, I’ll return in half an hour to help you bathe and dress.”
“Yes, thank you, Nan.”
When the servant had left the room, Raven dutifully picked up her fork but set it down again as her stomach recoiled. In a few short hours she would wed the man she had chosen, a prominent nobleman who commanded the respect of the highest echelons of the ton. She had eagerly anticipated this day for months-so why did she now feel as if she were somehow going to her execution?
Bridal nerves. Her anxiety could be attributed merely to that. Every bride had misgivings on her wedding day.
She shook her head, determined to quell the knots in her stomach. It was absurd to be entertaining doubts at this late date about the plan she’d set for her future. Her marriage to the Duke of Halford would not only be the fulfillment of her mother’s most fervent wish for her-securing her rightful position among the nobility-but it meant she would no longer be an outsider.
She would at last belong somewhere.
As a duchess, she would be accepted by the cream of society…the society her mother had been denied after being banished to the West Indies more than twenty years ago by an irate father.
Raven raised her cup of chocolate to her lips, trying to ignore her qualms. Her future husband, the Duke of Halford, might be a proud, stiff-necked aristocrat more than twice her age-one, moveover, who’d had the misfortune to bury two young wives after accidental tragedies. But as his wife, she would no longer be compelled to fight the despairing feelings of aloneness that had haunted her for much of her life.
She was fortunate to have attracted Halford, considering the disadvantages she faced. Although a British citizen, she’d been born in the West Indies and had only come to England for the first time this past spring, a year after her mother’s death. Forcibly swallowing her reluctance, she’d reconciled with her estranged family-her ailing viscount grandfather and her dragon of a great-aunt, who had sponsored her London season as a debutante.
Since then, Raven had grown to realize how very much acceptance meant to her, how deeply she cherished the feeling of belonging.
To her relief and gratitude, her first Season had been a triumph. She was sought after by countless admirers and received a half dozen estimable proposals of marriage, along with several unsuitable ones. She’d fooled even the highest sticklers with her efforts at demure deportment. But with a hidden scandal in her past, she could give the ton no reason to challenge her entree into its select ranks, no matter how much she might like to thumb her nose in their faces. Not if she wanted to become one of them.
Her unconventionality was a definite drawback, Raven was keenly aware. Her upbringing on the Caribbean isle of Montserrat had afforded her a rare freedom, and she’d spent her hoydenish childhood swimming in secluded coves and playing pirate and riding to the wind. Even her name was unorthodox; she’d been named for the color of her hair, a throwback to one of her real father’s Spanish ancestors.
But once in England, she had striven to restrain her natural high spirits, repressing any sign of passion in favor of conformity, enduring the stifling rules of proper conduct because she was fiercely determined to be accepted.
One of her few concessions to restlessness was her early morning gallops in the park. And when she craved passion, she turned to her fantasies and her imaginary pirate lover. Though he was only an illusion-one that sometimes left her aching with an unfulfilled longing-she was certain her pirate could satisfy her deepest hungers far more profoundly than her real-life duke ever could or would.
Raven shivered, suddenly feeling the chill of the winter morning. Sternly repressing her apprehension, she set aside her tray and rose from the bed. Were this any other day, she would be riding at this very moment, but she had a wedding to prepare for.
She had just drawn on a woolen wrapper when another knock sounded on her door. To her vast surprise, her great-aunt entered.
Catherine, Lady Dalrymple, was an imposing figure-tall and elegant with handsome features and silver hair that lent her a majestic air.
“Is something amiss?” Raven asked with a frown. Never once in all the months of living with her great-aunt had she been visited like this. Nor did her elderly relative normally rise this early.
Aunt Catherine managed a stiff smile. “Nothing is amiss. I merely brought you a wedding gift.” She held out a small satinwood box. “These belonged to your mother. I suspect Elizabeth would wish you to have them.”
Raven felt her heart wrench at the mention of her mother. Opening the box with curiosity, she gasped to find a stunning strand of pearls and a pair of pearl-drop earrings, not large but with a lustrous sheen that suggested great value.
Raven gave her great-aunt a questioning glance, wondering what had caused this show of generosity. Lady Dalrymple usually treated her with a frosty reserve bordering on dislike.
“I harbored grave doubts,” her aunt answered her unspoken query, “that this day would ever come. But now that your nuptials actually are at hand, I think you are entitled to have these.”
“They are beautiful,” Raven murmured.
“Elizabeth refused to take them with her when she left,” Aunt Catherine observed with obvious disapproval. “Her defiance was imprudent, considering that she could have sold these for a pretty price. But I presumed you would wish to wear them at your wedding.”
Surprised but grateful for her aunt’s gift, Raven tempered her response. “Yes, thank you. I would like very much to wear them.”
Without speaking, Aunt Catherine turned to take her leave, but then turned back, arching one elegant eyebrow. “I confess you have pleasantly surprised me, Raven. I never imagined you would make such an advantageous marriage.”
“Why not?” Raven couldn’t help asking. “Because you didn’t believe I should aim so high, given the illegitimacy of my origins?”
“Few people know the secret of your origins, thank heavens. No, frankly, I didn’t believe you would have the good sense to accept Halford for your husband. You had so many suitors… I feared you might choose someone unacceptable just to spite us.”
She had indeed had numerous suitors, Raven reflected. In fact, one suitor in particular had hounded her relentlessly even after her betrothal to Halford was announced, nearly embroiling her in scandal. Thankfully her aunt knew nothing of that near disaster.
“I would never have behaved so rashly, Aunt-despite your estimation of me.”
“Perhaps not,” her aunt replied. “Still, I doubted your betrothal to Halford would last all these months, what with the vast disparity between you.” Catherine’s mouth twisted in the flicker of a smile. “Even I consider his grace a stuffed shirt. In disposition at least, he doesn’t appear at all to be the right match for you.”
“He isn’t all that bad,” Raven said in his defense. “Halford is reserved and very proper, certainly, but beneath the trappings of his rank, he is actually a very kind man.”
“Well, I am glad you don’t harbor foolish notions like marrying for love. Love does not ensure happiness, as your mother discovered to her everlasting grief.”
Raven felt herself stiffen. “Yes, quite the contrary. Love can bring great misery. I learned that lesson quite well, Aunt Catherine.”