Bite Me, Your Grace

Sixteen


The last three weeks of the engagement flew faster than Keats’s nightingale. Angelica’s mother was over the moon with the joy of preparing wedding invitations. Margaret chattered in an incessant stream to her daughter as she pored over a guest list, reading spectacles perched on her nose. She had succeeded in her crusade to get her daughter married off, and her happiness shone to the world.

Angelica was torn between amusement and relief that the nagging had abated slightly. But now that her mother had accomplished her goal and Angelica would be moving away, what would Margaret do with the rest of her life? The thought gave Angelica a strange pang of discomfort.

“Oh my, I almost forgot the Wheatons,” her mother said, interrupting her reverie. “They are related to the Prime Minister, so we cannot risk offending them.” Margaret pulled out a black invitation embossed with silver—the Burnrath colors—opened it, then dipped her quill in silver ink.

Angelica watched her mother, happily engrossed with her work, and a frightening suspicion overtook her. “Mother, what do you plan to do when I’m gone?”

“Whatever do you mean, dearest?” Margaret asked. “You are not going far. I will still visit you often. After all, you will still need my help planning balls and musicales and other such things. And there will be the grandchildren to think of, of course. Why, it shall be as if you never left!”

“I see,” Angelica said with dawning horror. However would she get any writing done with her mother constantly pestering her? Not to mention the tirade that would come when she failed to get pregnant.

Margaret raised a brow. “I see the prospect doesn’t exactly delight you,” she said dryly. Her voice softened. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, but you must believe that I love you. After all, you are my only child and I’m afraid my heart would be broken if we became estranged after your marriage. I hope you can find it in your heart to permit me to remain a part of your life and perhaps lend my help and advice when you so require. I promise to try not to push you so much.”

Angelica blinked at her mother’s impassioned—and unexpected—speech. She was beginning to recognize that not all of their disagreements were entirely Margaret’s fault. When her mother said “white,” it was practically a reflex for her to say “black.” A childish impulse, she realized uncomfortably, and now was high time she grew out of it. After all, she was to be a duchess soon. She knew that they would never agree with each other on much, but the least she could do was make an effort to compromise.

“Of course, Mother,” Angelica whispered. “I would very much like for you to visit me. And,” she added, looking down at her lap. “I am sorry I couldn’t have been a more normal daughter to you.”

Margaret smiled and opened her arms. Angelica rushed into her embrace, heart light at the reconciliation. They would still bicker, she was certain, but at least they had become closer.

“Now,” her mother said as she wiped a tear from her eye. “I must get back to work, else there will be no guests at your wedding.” Retrieving the quill, she glanced up at her daughter. “I nearly forgot to ask. Is there anyone in particular you would like to invite?”

“I do not have any friends,” Angelica said with downcast eyes. She never had anything in common with girls her age. She preferred cats to horses and books to fashion. Because of the estrangement between her mother and the Earl of Pendlebur, her family spent most summers in town rather than in the country with the rest of the peerage, contributing further to her isolation.

Her mother sighed. “Well, perhaps we can invite the daughters of some of my acquaintances.”

Angelica frowned at the thought of having a group of insipid girls she hardly knew attending such an important event in her life. A thought came to her, bringing a smile. “I think it would be a wonderful idea to invite a few of Father’s nieces. I haven’t seen my Winthrop cousins since I was a child.” She tried to keep a note of accusation out of her voice. Her mother had limited her contact with her husband’s side of the family, thinking she was above them.

“But darling, they are nobodies.” Margaret didn’t bother to hide the scorn in her voice.

“They are family,” Angelica insisted. “And besides, maybe they could meet eligible gentlemen at the reception. And this is my wedding.”

“Very well.” Her mother set aside her spectacles. “Perhaps that will convey the message that it will not pay to offend the Duchess of Burnrath. But at least invite a lady of Quality to attend. I hear the duke invited the Duke of Wentworth. His wife would be a very wise choice.”

“That is brilliant, Mother,” Angelica said, and meant it. She had not forgotten the kindness the Wentworths displayed toward her family during that fateful night at the Cavendish ball.

***

Saint George’s Church was packed with nearly every member of the haut ton, all come to witness the historical marriage of the Duke of Burnrath to Miss Angelica Winthrop, granddaughter of the Earl of Pendlebur. The event seemed to bring more talk than the recent death of Napoleon Bonaparte. George’s Street was packed with carriages, their lanterns glowing in the night like stars and the fog curled up around the horses’ legs, making the creatures appear as if they were perched on clouds. Angelica peered out at the whimsical scene one last time before turning back to the mirror.

The ivory silk bridal gown was overlaid with gold spangled lace, transforming her into a picture of elegance as well as making her look ethereal and innocent. A fit bride for a duke, she thought with a wry smile, resisting the urge to lift her nose in the air in mocking imitation of her mother. Margaret knelt below her, toying with the arrangement of her skirts.

Angelica squirmed in impatience. “Mother, please stop fidgeting with my dress. The guests are all here, and if I do not make my appearance on the aisle soon, the duke will think I abandoned him.”

Margaret paused for a moment before returning to her frantic ministrations. “Just let me adjust your veil.”

Angelica bit back a curse. “Honestly, I do not see why I have to wear this silly thing. The confounded fabric itches and I cannot see through it very well.”

“This veil is the latest in Paris fashion and my daughter shall have nothing less.” Her mother was implacable.

“We are not in Paris,” Angelica grumbled under her breath as her mother poked and pulled at her further before handing her a bouquet of white roses and orange blossoms.

“There you are, a perfect duchess.” Her mother’s eyes misted. “This day is even better than I had dreamed! I am so proud of you.”

Her father entered the room and gently closed the door behind him. “It is time for me to escort the bride down the aisle.” His voice was almost comically hushed in respect for their solemn surroundings.

“We are just about finished here,” her mother said with a wistful smile. “She looks lovely, does she not?”

Her father gazed down at Angelica, love shining in his eyes. “You are the most beautiful bride I have ever beheld, my dearest… aside from your mother, of course,” he added, and Margaret made a small pleased sound.

“Thank you, Papa.” Angelica beamed and wiped a tear from her cheek, as she looked at her happy parents. “I will miss you both.”

She felt a lump form in her throat at their obvious happiness. As she took her father’s arm and prepared to march down the aisle, Margaret called, “Do not forget what I told you about tonight.”

How could I? Angelica thought as her mother’s lecture about the wedding night and the marriage bed flitted through her mind.

“There will be incredible pain the first time, darling,” Margaret had said. “And you might bleed. But you must submit to him without complaint until you are pregnant with his heir. After that, he should leave you alone for the most part and fulfill his baser desires on a mistress.”

Angelica did not wish to be subjected to something that would make her bleed, but she had a feeling some of those “baser desires” involved kissing. The thought of Ian’s lips on another woman’s made her want to scream. Thank God he said he is unable to give me children. That means I will not have to go through such unpleasantness! Also, in that case, he should have no need for a mistress!

Angelica walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, trying to look proud and confident. The smell of candle wax, incense, flowers, and over-perfumed bodies created a cloying miasma, making breathing extremely difficult. Or perhaps just her nervousness was overwhelming. Everyone stared at her, and their whispers shook the rafters.

She took comfort in the sight of her grandfather, the Earl of Pendlebur, smiling his approval on her and her father. The two men had actually been civil to each other today, and she had reason to hope that the earl would at long last accept his son-in-law. She tamped down the anger at her grandfather for his cruel threats. Today was not meant for unpleasant feelings, and she would do her best to at least be polite to him.

There were a few unfamiliar faces about and she wondered if some of Ian’s fellow vampires had come for the ceremony. The thought of vampires in church made her stifle a giggle. She longed to tell that Polidori fellow about it if she ever had the opportunity to meet him. Angelica took a deep breath and focused on putting one foot in front of the other and doing her best not to crush the bouquet of flowers in her nervous grip.

Her eyes locked on Ian, who stood at the altar waiting with a smile. He looked so dark and handsome that her knees almost buckled under her skirts. When her father placed her hand in Ian’s, an electrical current seemed to spring between them. Only a flicker in his eyes revealed that he felt it too.

The parson’s words droned on, just barely within her consciousness. I am doing it. I am actually marrying a vampire! She wondered if he would change her into one as well. Too late, she realized that she’d never broached the subject, for she’d been too concerned with avoiding marriage. The thought of drinking blood gave her pause, but the thought of living forever, especially with a man like Ian by her side, would make it all worthwhile. And when he vowed to honor and cherish her, she felt a thrill of warmth down to her toes. She smiled up at him and said her vows, though she stumbled a bit on the word “obey.”

He slipped a wide gold band over her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee honor, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Her heart thrilled at the warmth in his voice.

After what seemed to be an eternity, they were pronounced man and wife. Stunned gasps erupted from the audience as Ian’s mouth slanted across hers with such passion she feared the church would be set alight. When he lifted his head, he turned her to face the crowd. “I present to you Lady Angelica Ashton, Duchess of Burnrath.”

The cheers were deafening as they walked out of the church. Society’s capricious speculations now leaned toward a love match, for all eyes had examined her midsection for a telltale bulge that would have revealed Angelica to have been physically compromised, and none was observed. Also, she had looked so innocent in her gown of virginal white that only the most hardened souls could believe she was anything but a virtuous young lady.

However, the adoration in the duke’s eyes and the passion in their unexpected kiss led the wedding guests to concur that the duke and his new duchess were unfashionably in love. Still, a handful of fervent believers of Polidori’s tale wondered if the new duchess would survive her wedding night. Despite the church’s holy atmosphere, a few wagers were made.

***

Angelica could hardly believe the transformation of the Burnrath mansion. The ballroom glowed from the gaslit chandeliers, and the gilded mirrors sparkled. Not a speck of dust or ominous shadow was in sight. Menservants performed a stately march to and fro with silver trays bearing glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Musicians played lively melodies, to which the multitude of guests were happy to dance… at least, most of them were.

Two men held up pillars on opposite sides of the ballroom. Angelica recognized them from the wedding, but she had never seen them before that. The first man was impossibly tall, with shoulder-length hair the color of moonlight. He surveyed the merriment as if such joy was alien to him, but his stormy blue-gray eyes held the same trace of loneliness she often saw in Ian’s gaze. Was this another vampire?

The second man had exotic, golden brown skin and startling amber eyes set off by a mane of waist-length black hair. His features were so striking that it took Angelica a moment to observe that the left side of his face was scarred and that his left arm hung awkwardly at his side, as if it had lost its function. At first she thought his scowl was due to anger that he couldn’t dance, but then she followed the line of his sight and realized that he was glaring at the other man.

“I cannot believe the Mad Deveril is here!” the Duchess of Wentworth said quietly behind her.

“The Mad Deveril?” Angelica turned to her with a raised brow. “To whom are you referring, Your Grace?”

The duchess grinned. “Please, call me Jane, else we’ll be ‘Your Grace-ing’ one another all night.” She lifted her fan to whisper, “I was referring to the man you were staring at, the one with the striking hair and blue eyes. He’s much more handsome than I’d heard, though so very tall and thin. You are not contemplating an affair already, are you?”

Angelica gasped in outrage. “Of course not!” At Jane’s laughter, she realized the duchess was teasing her. Shifting her gaze back to the subject of their conversation, Angelica lifted her own fan to whisper, “Is he truly mad?”

Jane nodded. “Not in the dangerous or amusing variety, though. From what I understand, he is merely reclusive and hardly ever leaves his estate in Cornwall. He must be very close to your husband to have braved the wilds of London… or perhaps he was as eager as the rest of us to see Burnrath House. His Grace has never entertained before, you know.”

“I had heard that,” Angelica agreed, smiling at the duchess’s chatter as she digested the information. Likely “the Mad Deveril” was another vampire. She would have to ask Ian at the earliest opportunity. Where was he, anyway?

“I have been clamoring to see the inside of this place.” Jane’s green eyes shone with eagerness. “Though these gas lamps make me nervous! What if one were to set the house ablaze?”

Angelica felt an odd twinge of irritation that anyone would dare criticize her new home. “Well, I’d read in The Times that the Westminster Gas Light and Coke Company anticipates these lamps to be in every home within twenty years.”

“How very interesting.” As if sensing her defensiveness, Jane changed the subject. “I believe you lived nearby?”

Angelica nodded, thrilled that someone shared her interest in this magnificent house. “I did. Burnrath House has always held my fascination as well.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I still cannot believe that it is now mine.”

Jane smiled and tossed her auburn curls. “And the rest of society cannot believe that Lord Burnrath is now yours.” She inclined her head toward a group of young debutantes whispering and pouting in their direction.

Angelica frowned. She had heard enough on that subject from her mother. Surely the ladies were not that envious of her. Such a thing would be tragic, for she did so want to make some friends.

Her gaze strayed back to the scarred man. His scowl had deepened. “Who is that other man?” She was careful to incline her head only slightly.

Jane peered over the lacy edge of her fan. “I am not completely certain, but I believe he may be the infamous pugilist who Burnrath sponsors. He is only known as ‘the Spaniard.’ The description definitely fits him, anyway.” The duchess shook her head. “I do not understand why Burnrath invited him. He cannot dance with only one arm.”

“Yet he can box?” Angelica asked archly.

The Duke of Wentworth interrupted the fascinating conversation and winked at his wife. “You have monopolized the bride long enough, my lady. A multitude of gentlemen are waiting to dance with this beautiful creature.”

With that, Angelica was pulled onto the dance floor. She danced with so many men she couldn’t keep count, and for the first time in her life, she enjoyed herself at a ball. No longer were men dancing with her because they had designs on her dowry. Now dancing was merely a pleasant entertainment. A few asked her about the rumors of Ian being a vampire, but she laughed them off as if the concept was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard. Quickly, she glanced at Lord Deveril. He gave her a brief half smile and inclined his head as if he approved of how she had handled the situation.

Her Winthrop cousins giggled and danced as well, resplendent in their new formal gowns. Half of the young bucks in attendance were already obviously smitten with the gypsy-like girls. Angelica took as much time as she could to get reacquainted with them before they were all swept away for yet another dance. As the evening progressed, the gentlemen became foxed and tried to steal kisses from her. Angelica laughed as she ducked and bobbed to avoid their advances, the merriment increased by her new husband’s dark scowls.

“Come, let us retire,” Ian said, removing the champagne glass from her hand.

Angelica blinked. “But why? It is only midnight and the guests show no inclination of leaving.”

Ian smiled. “This is our wedding night. We are expected to go up to our bedchamber.”

Understanding lit her eyes. “Oh, I see.” Likely, his reputation would be harmed if people knew he could not have children. “What will we do up there?”

He frowned. “We will have our wedding night, of course.”

She gazed up at him in confusion. After looking around to make sure no one was listening, she rose up on her toes and whispered, “But I thought that you were unable give me children.”

He appeared to be torn between frustration and laughter. “I may not be able to impregnate you,” he whispered against her neck, sending shivers down her entire body. “But I assure you, my duchess, I am perfectly capable of the act.”

Shivering in trepidation, she changed the subject. “Is Lord Deveril also a vampire?”

Ian nodded impatiently. “Yes, he is the Lord of Cornwall.”

“And the Spaniard with the scars?” she prodded.

“He is my second in command, and he will remain on guard for the remainder of the ball.” Before Angelica could question him further, Ian swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the accompaniment of coarse laughter and ribald comments she could only half understand.