In the autumn of 1812, a year notable for rather more exciting events than this one, Miss Alicia, the only daughter of the esteemed Duke of Devonshire, was wed to her distant cousin, Mr. William Cavendish. One might say it was a match made in heaven, or at the very least, in the hallowed halls of the Almanach de Gotha.
The Duke, you see, was unfortunately lacking in the son department. This meant the dukedom would eventually flit off to a cousin, as these things often do, specifically the grandson of his uncle, the Earl of Burlington. This grandson, the aforementioned Mr. William Cavendish, was deemed a suitable recipient of both the title and the hand of the Duke's daughter. After all, what could be more convenient than keeping a perfectly good dukedom in the family?
Both parties were of such illustrious lineage that the prenuptial agreement alone took a full six months to hammer out. It was finally decided, among other things, that Miss Alicia would receive a yearly allowance of a mere thirty thousand pounds. A pittance, of course, compared to the vast fortune she stood to inherit.
Unlike the ton's typical preference for evening nuptials—a practice often necessitating a special license from the Archbishop and a rather dreary ceremony at home—the wedding was held at St. George's, Hanover Square, in the fashionable district of Mayfair.
The beau monde of London, it must be said, was positively agape with anticipation for this particular wedding, owing largely to the lingering mystique of the late Duchess of Devonshire. The newspapers, both large and small, had been churning out breathless reports for the past three months. The day of the wedding, reporters practically tripped over themselves in their eagerness to capture the latest tidbit of news.
The Cavendish family, you see, was one of the most powerful in all of England. And as if that weren't enough, the bride's mother was the only daughter of the Marquis of Stafford. The groom's side boasted an even more dazzling array of ducal relatives: Bedford, Marlborough, Richmond—the list went on and on. To put it plainly, the bride and groom were practically the most distinguished aristocrats in the entire country. Their union had been preordained since birth, a fact that seemed to please everyone but the parties involved.
The bride's wedding gown, a confection of intricate embroidery, diamonds, and crystals, was rumored to have cost a staggering ten thousand guineas. One might have mistaken her for a princess, had one not known better. The jewelry bestowed upon her by both families was valued at a cool one hundred thousand pounds, not to mention the truly obscene amount of dowry provided by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire.
A delicate lace veil concealed the bride's exquisite face. At the tender age of seventeen, she was a renowned beauty. Her debut into society the previous year had caused quite the stir, though it was generally understood that she would not be marrying just anyone. Several heirs to great dukedoms had pursued her, only to retreat in abject defeat.
The groom, a striking figure with raven hair and eyes the color of a summer sky, was as handsome as Apollo himself. The pair were undeniably well-matched, at least in terms of appearance. In temperament, however, they were like two peas in a pod—a pod filled with haughtiness and mutual disdain.
Mr. William Cavendish was nine years older than his cousin. Ever since he was sixteen, upon being chosen as his uncle's presumptive heir and informed that his future bride would be a certain seven-year-old girl, he had been in a state of perpetual annoyance. Even as she blossomed into a ravishing young woman, he persisted in seeing her as a willful child. He had little interest in children, willful or otherwise.
After the Duke of Dorset, one of the young heiress's more dramatic suitors, attempted to end his life over his unrequited love (a gesture that was thankfully unsuccessful), the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire hastily arranged their daughter's marriage, hoping to avoid further scandal. Miss Alicia, known for her rather difficult disposition and a keen awareness of both her innocence and her allure, initially resisted the arrangement. However, after a frank discussion with her cousin, she conceded.
"We have no affection for each other," she stated plainly. "Once an heir is produced, you are not to interfere with my life, cousin."
"Naturally," he replied with a nonchalance that could only be described as aristocratic. "No husband has any jealousy of his wife's lovers. I have never cared for such things."
Such was the nature of aristocratic marriages. Produce a male heir, and the provenance of subsequent offspring was of little consequence, provided any dalliances were kept discreet. Marriages of affection and fidelity were not unheard of—both their parents enjoyed such unions—but neither Alicia nor William had any desire for such constraints. They craved freedom.
Miss Alicia, having been raised as an heiress, naturally assumed that the identity of her children's father was irrelevant. She possessed sufficient status and wealth of her own. The need for her cousin's lineage was merely a formality, a means to secure the title and lands of the Devonshire dukedom.
They exchanged vows at the altar, the Duke of Devonshire escorting his daughter and delivering her into the hands of her husband. He slipped a carefully chosen yellow diamond ring onto her finger. Amidst the blessings of relatives and a flurry of confetti, they exited the church to the cheers of the London populace. Instead of the customary carriage procession, the groom swept his bride into a waiting carriage and whisked her away to their honeymoon destination, a secluded estate in Wimbledon.
Once inside the carriage, Miss Alicia's smile vanished. She lifted her veil, and there was no newlywed kiss, as one might expect. Her lips curled into a proud, almost disdainful expression. Her blonde hair and blue eyes, a striking combination, seemed to amplify her icy demeanor.
She smoothed her satin gown and extended her hand. "To a successful partnership, cousin," she declared.
Mr. William Cavendish, gazing at her undeniably beautiful face, felt a flicker of something akin to annoyance. He reluctantly took her hand, giving it a perfunctory shake before they both turned to look out opposite windows.
The honeymoon period following a wedding was traditionally a time for newlyweds to become acquainted with one another. They would spend several weeks in seclusion at a family estate, adjusting to life away from their families and embarking on their new life together. Due to the ongoing war, a continental honeymoon was out of the question.
Mr. William Cavendish had selected a rather charming villa for the occasion, nestled amidst trees and overlooking a picturesque lake. He was a man of refined tastes, a trait instilled in him from a young age. His mother had meticulously guided him in selecting gifts for his cousin, ensuring he was intimately familiar with her preferences, right down to her dress size. This familiarity, however, bred not affection but a curious indifference. They were like two sides of the same coin, too similar to truly appreciate each other.
After a four-hour journey, he offered to carry her down from the carriage, an offer she promptly refused. She permitted him to take her hand, however. It was soft and delicate, surprisingly warm within his grasp. He realized she had removed her gloves.
Miss Alicia always possessed this air of languid indifference, as if nothing truly mattered. Her eyelids were often half-closed, veiling those striking blue eyes. It was a calculated effect, one that made her appear utterly disinterested, leading others to believe they might be the one to finally capture her attention.
He felt a strange sense of disorientation. Was he truly twenty-six? Married? To his cousin, no less, the very girl he had always found so irksome? Mr. William Cavendish frowned slightly.
A gaggle of maids awaited them, ready to assist the new bride. They followed her upstairs, a flurry of helping hands. Miss Alicia extended her arm, and the maids began the arduous task of unfastening her elaborate wedding gown. She was accustomed to such pampering. The Duke's household boasted some three hundred servants, and they were not merely for show.
She and her cousin shared a similar upbringing, surrounded by opulence and deference. They were used to having their every whim catered to, and neither was inclined to yield to the other.
He followed her into the room, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. In the corner of a gilded mirror, she caught sight of his reflection, clad in a navy-blue coat, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips.
Miss Alicia's brow furrowed with displeasure. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded.
"I am your husband," he reminded her.
She let out a derisive snort.
Mr. William Cavendish had a talent for mischief. He delighted in doing precisely what others disliked. He approached her, a gleam in his eye, and began to undo her cape. First, the crimson velvet robe with its white ermine trim, a symbol of her status as the Duke's daughter.
"The jewelry," Miss Alicia reminded him, her gaze fixed on their reflections in the mirror. They shared the same striking blue eyes, so pure and intense.
"You are a nuisance, cousin," she added, her tone laced with disdain.
Mr. William Cavendish, standing behind her, unclasped the diamond necklace at her throat. He found himself captivated by the elegant curve of her neck and, on a sudden impulse, he leaned down and kissed it. His lips lingered there, a soft, almost hesitant touch.
"What are you doing?" Miss Alicia tried to pull away.
"We are married now," he said, a playful smile returning to his lips. He kissed her again, this time on the side of her neck, turning her slightly to face him in the mirror. He leaned in, his arm encircling her waist, and captured her lips with his own.
Miss Alicia pushed him away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I do not like you kissing me," she declared.
The servants had discreetly withdrawn from the room.
Mr. William Cavendish tilted his head, his expression suddenly cold. The fleeting moment of intimacy was gone, replaced by their usual animosity. They disliked each other precisely because they saw in each other a reflection of their own arrogance and indifference.
...
She changed into a pale blue gown, and they dined at opposite ends of a long table, a vast expanse separating them. Afterward, they pursued their own interests. She played the piano, read, and wrote letters to friends and relatives before they each retired to their separate rooms, bidding each other a curt goodnight.
Mr. William Cavendish recalled that during the honeymoon period, brides often felt lonely and out of sorts, missing their families. He opened his mouth to inquire if she was feeling alright, but she had already disappeared into her bedroom before he could even manage a proper goodnight kiss. He stood by the door, wondering if this was how their entire life together would be. Alicia's parents, known for their affectionate relationship and their love of travel, had instilled in her a certain detachment. She was accustomed to their frequent absences and preferred to make her own decisions.
Aristocratic couples typically maintained separate bedrooms. She surveyed her surroundings, noting that the room had been decorated to resemble her own at the Duke's estate. It featured the latest fashion in pale green silk, an Oriental-style screen, and exquisite French furniture, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance.
Her personal maid helped her remove her jewelry and let down her hair. Miss Alicia felt a slight discomfort on her neck where her cousin had kissed her. He was the epitome of a rake, the most dashing, the most conspicuous, the most arrogant of all the London gentlemen. He had been a fixture in London society since the age of sixteen or seventeen, and while he had many admirers, none entertained the illusion of marrying them. It was common knowledge that Mr. William Cavendish was reserved for his cousin. The only question was whether she would have him.
From the age of ten until now, everyone had told Miss Alicia that the most suitable match for her was her cousin. She ran her fingers over the spot on her neck, the memory of his soft kisses reminding her of a white cat she had once owned.
Her official debut into society the previous year had attracted a swarm of suitors, but none had managed to capture her heart. She found them initially intriguing, but quickly grew bored. In the mirror, she saw a girl with shimmering blonde hair, alabaster shoulders, and flawless skin.
She stood up, intending to have her maid help her change into her nightgown. A polite knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," she called out.
Her cousin entered, still dressed in the dark green velvet evening suit he had worn to dinner—she hadn't paid much attention to it before. Mr. William Cavendish possessed the long legs so prized by the aristocracy, a result of years of equestrian training. His fashionable, tousled black hair and pale, translucent skin accentuated the striking blue of his eyes, framed by long, dark lashes.
He dismissed the maid with a gesture and then reached out to touch her radiant blonde hair. He remembered when he first met his cousin, he was struck by her hair, which seemed to shimmer like spun gold. She had been sitting on a swing in the Italian-style garden behind the Duke of Devonshire's mansion, her gaze devoid of any emotion as she scrutinized him. She couldn't have been more than five years old at the time. He was fourteen, frowning as he assessed this girl who was so much younger than him.
Mr. William Cavendish held a strand of her hair in his hand, letting it slip through his fingers. "As you said, my dearest cousin," he began, his voice light and teasing, "tonight is our wedding night. I am here to fulfill my procreative duties."
He was deliberately trying to provoke her, knowing she would likely refuse, which would suit him just fine. To his surprise, however, she looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity in the lamplight.
She nodded. "I understand the basics," she said. "I have been instructed."
Then, to his utter astonishment, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
