had she felt when she’d entered the kirk? Warmth, love? She felt neither anymore, neither in her heart nor radiating from her new family.
Perhaps God had felt the need to punish her further by reminding her that the marriage was as much a sham as the wedding turned out to be. But Helena had been taught that a duke’s daughter should exude confidence and poise, so she held her head high as she walked beside him through the kirk door.
Where she was met by shouts and hands. Dozens of them, as children reached out to her.
* * *
John withdrew the purse he’d shoved into his pocket for this moment and pulled out a shiny coin. “Will a shilling do, lady wife?”
She didn’t take the coin. Instead, her face froze in a detached expression that looked too much like her haughty father’s for John’s taste. Meanwhile, the village children enclosed them, open-handed and noisy with congratulatory hoots. Why didn’t she take the coin? Was she as arrogant as her father, dismissing others below her in rank?
John’s jaw set. She was the new Lady Ardoch, and she must comply with tradition before displeasure—and then distrust—grew in the villagers’ hearts.
He reached for his bride’s hand and pressed the shilling into her palm. He’d been in politics long enough to know how to keep his voice level and diplomatic, but be able to convey a sense of urgency, and he strove to use that tone now. “The first one you saw.”
“The first?” Her gaze lifted to his, breaking her emotionless facade.
“Is it not customary for a bride to give a coin to the first child she sees after leaving the kirk on her wedding day?”
“I do not know.” Her fingers closed over the coin.
A trickle of shame slid down the back of his neck. He’d judged her as arrogant, like her father, jumping to the conclusion she didn’t wish to engage with the villagers, when in truth she’d been ignorant of local customs. He opened his mouth to speak, but she turned away and leaned over a ginger-haired girl in a brown frock. The cooper’s daughter. “I saw your smile first. Thank you for your welcome.”
“Thank ye, m’lady.” The girl bobbed a curtsy.
John emptied the purse of its contents and tossed the handful of dull gray sixpence over the children’s heads. While they shrieked and lunged for the coins, he offered her a small smile. Behind them, the children and wedding guests followed them out of the kirk. He waved at the crowd before assisting Helena into the landau they would share to Comraich.
John settled against the squabs beside her as the carriage lurched forward. “You must know how sorry I am about the scene the boys caused. And Margaret, and, well, all of it.”
“As I said, it will be a transition for us all.” Her expression was polite, which made it impossible to know what she thought.
It occurred to him that his first private words for her as husband and wife were an apology. Half the villagers following after their carriage assumed they were taking advantage of their privacy by murmuring words of affection, maybe even kissing.
Not that he wanted to do such a thing. Never. That one brief kiss he’d pressed on her lips was the only one they’d ever share, and while it had been quick, it had felt important, as if it sealed the vows he made to her—
John blinked. What had they been discussing, before his gaze caught on her lips?
Ah, the children. “My bairns know better. It’s no consolation, but they’ve been without a proper governess for some time. A candidate arrives tomorrow, and I’ll instruct the housekeeper to hire her.”
His bride’s brows raised a fraction. “No need. I shall see to the matter.”
“You don’t mind?”
“’Tis my role now, is it not, my lord?”
“John,” he corrected. “You are my wife. Please call me John.”
Her lips parted in surprise, breaking her polite mask. Many couples didn’t use Christian names, but he didn’t think he could stand it if his wife—convenient or not—called him by his title all his days.
“John. And I am Helena, but you know that already.” Her head dipped, but then her brows furrowed and she turned to look out the window. “Are they following us?”
The villagers’ cheers and the strains of flute and fiddle accompanied the carriage around the bend toward home. “Aye, for the wedding feast.”
“The entire village will be there?” Her fingers stilled, but her gaze met his in an apologetic look. “Forgive me. I’d not expected much celebration. My mother said—”
Her lip caught in her teeth, as if she bit back her next words.
“What did she say?” Plenty, no doubt, if she was of the same mind as her husband. Kelworth certainly thought John uncouth. “Did she think I’d be inhospitable?”
A vibrant flush stained her cheeks, burning away the cool mask she’d affected. “She said naught about you, just my...circumstances. That there was nothing to be celebrated.”
John’s amusement fled as understanding dawned. His wife expected no festivities because her wedding was no happy union, but a rushed embarrassment, the fruit of her ruin and his desperation.
He’d not known quite what to expect of Lady Helena, beyond Tavin’s assurances of her gentility, but he’d learned a few things of her since their first meeting in the ha-ha. She was willing to pay the price for her mistakes, and she was brave to have made the decision to marry him. Most of the time, she wore a mask that made her appear haughty, but beneath it, she was lost, unfamiliar with her new surroundings. And no doubt she felt quite alone.
The carriage rounded onto Comraich’s drive. John had but a moment left of privacy while the liveried footman hurried to open the door latch and lower the steps. “Your mother is wrong. There is much to celebrate this happy day.”
And it was true. He’d prayed for a wife to help him, and the Lord had sent Helena. Perhaps the tone of their marriage could be set now, with their first steps on his—their—land. “Comraich means welcome, and it is now your home every bit as it is mine.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” Her smile was small but enough to assure him his words comforted her. John preceded her out of the carriage and assisted her down.
Her head was regal as she met the staff lined in neat rows at the door. She greeted each one, from the lowest of the chambermaids up to the butler, Kerr, the housekeeper, Mrs. McGill, and his valet, Ritchie. Then the other carriages arrived, followed by villagers, and everyone moved to Comraich’s grassy yard, where the aromas of roasting mutton and beef tangled in the air with laughter and strains of music.
After welcoming the guests and nibbling on the roast meat and punch, John and his bride separated. He didn’t even glance at his wife until his portly agent, Burgess, stopped midsentence and lifted his brows. “Fetching scene, m’lord.”
John turned. His new wife, her white gown billowing in the breeze, linked arms with his niece Margaret as they strolled away from the festivities. Helena’s head bent toward Margaret’s, and she spoke softly. He couldn’t see Margaret’s face, but he imagined a smile there.
He expelled a long breath of relief. Thank You, Lord. It seemed he’d made a wise decision, after all. Despite the scene at the kirk, Margaret seemed to be regretting her attitude and was now warming to his new wife. Before long, the boys would, too.
He’d had nothing to worry about, after all. Everything would go well from here on out.
* * *
At least Margaret didn’t try to break free from Helena’s loose hold as Helena led her toward the house. “When did you find time to do it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Margaret