Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

He turned to his mother as the girls trooped out. “May I ask a question, Mother?”


“Of course,” she said in surprise.

Gareth took a deep breath. “Would you have married Father if you had known how little time you would have together?”

Her lips parted. “Oh, my. Without a doubt. I loved him too much. A year with him made me happier than a lifetime with any other man could have done.”

He nodded. “For years I thought otherwise, you know; that the pain of losing him was so great, you must have wished you had never loved him at all.”

She put her hands on his arms and studied his face. “No. The love was greater than the pain.” She hesitated. “I wish you every bit as much happiness, Gareth, and for many more years than I had.”

“I thought you might say that.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mother.” He ought to have listened to her from the start, he realized, and set off to make her wish come true.

Unfortunately, his luck was no better this day than the last. By the time he found Helen and was able to manage a quiet word with her alone, everyone had gathered for dinner.

He drew her aside before they went into the dining room. “I must speak to you tonight.”

She ducked her head. “Is it about tomorrow?”

“Er—yes.”

Helen put her hand on his arm. Gareth remembered Cleo doing the same thing, although her touch had sent a shock of awareness through him, while Helen’s only made him tense. “Your Grace, I want to speak to you as well. I think tomorrow will be difficult for us both, but you must know that I’m confident it will be for the best. I’ve been worried about the wedding, you see, but my sister helped me understand that it will lead to great happiness.”

“Ah—yes. About that….”

“I want you to be happy,” she said wistfully. “As much as I want my own happiness.”

This was not going well. Gareth cleared his throat. “Will you meet me later tonight, then?”

She hesitated, and her mother swooped in. “Helen dearest! Oh, Your Grace!” She curtseyed, beaming from ear to ear. Gareth remembered the veiled hurt in Cleo’s voice when she spoke of her parents and could barely bring himself to nod at Lady Grey. “What a lovely couple,” she gushed. “I was just telling Lady Warnford how handsome you look together. I’m sure Sir William will hire a painter to capture your likenesses so we might always remember how perfect a pair you form!”

“There’s no need to rush to do so. Mama, His Grace has just invited me to walk out after dinner. May I?”

Lady Grey gasped. “Indeed not! It’s the night before the wedding! Not only is it bad luck, you need your rest, my dear! Please understand, Your Grace,” she hastened to add. “You will have her every night after tonight!”

Gareth clenched his jaw as Helen demurely bowed her head. “Yes, Mama. I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“Quite right,” he said bitterly. How the bloody hell was he supposed to talk to her? He was the Duke of Wessex, damn it, and if he wanted to see his bride … in order to persuade her to jilt him … he ought to have the right to do so.

He barely paid attention at dinner, working out in his mind how best to present the problem. Cleo wasn’t there again, for which he was grateful. There was still a stir over the engagement yesterday of Miss Rosanne Lacy to the Earl of Bruton, although no mention of the duel. Even Jack Willoughby’s shocking announcement that he and Henrietta Black had agreed to marry only diverted Gareth for a moment. There were several rounds of toasts, and Sophronia declared that she’d suspected that match all along, but Gareth only saw the ring. After making a blushing Henrietta stand up with him, Jack had presented Gareth with the Cavendish heirloom ring that had been sent to London for cleaning and sizing. He was supposed to put that ring on Helen Grey’s finger tomorrow morning. It sat on the table in front of him, taunting him through the port and the ribald conversation of the other gentlemen when the ladies had left. Every man here seemed pleased to be getting married except him.