Time for what? she wondered. Was this what he meant by “later”? But she wasn’t game to ask; it seemed she’d used up all her boldness for the moment. And the duke had—apparently—taken it all in stride.

Butterflies danced in her stomach. Was he taking her inside to consummate the marriage? To make sure of her? Now? In the daylight? Before the wedding breakfast?

Her palms were damp.

The carriage pulled up outside Everingham House and the front door opened. The duke ushered her inside. The hallway was filled with people: his servants, she realized, waiting to congratulate the happy couple. George’s next few minutes were filled with a confusing series of introductions and congratulations. She would never remember all of them, but their warmth and welcome were unmistakable.

She felt a sudden prickling of tears. She hadn’t expected this at all.

The duke held up his hand and there was instant silence. “My duchess and I thank you for your warm wishes,” he said. “Will you join us in a toast? Champagne for everyone, Fleming.” And with no delay at all, champagne corks popped and fizzing glasses were passed around—even to the young girl who George thought was the scullery maid. The butler, Fleming, made a short speech and then proposed a toast to the happy couple. Everyone drank, then, as if at a prearranged signal, the entire staff melted away, and George and the duke were left alone.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ve given the servants the night off. More private that way.”

The butterflies returned to her stomach. “Not at all,” she managed.

He held out his hand. “Shall we go upstairs?”

George swallowed. He really was going to do it, consummate the marriage—now. They’d be late to the wedding breakfast and everyone would know what they’d been doing. But they were married; she had no option but to go with him.

He led her upstairs, to a room that was obviously his bedchamber. The faint scent of his cologne hung in the air. The furniture was heavy and dark. In the center of the room sat a huge carved wooden bed, hung with rich dark red fabric. It would take place there, then.

“Take a seat and wait here,” he said. “Don’t look so worried, I won’t be long.” He went through into a small room off his bedchamber.

Take a seat? There was no seat, only the enormous bed. She waited. What was he doing? Getting undressed? Should she get undressed too?

After a while—it felt like an age to George but the clock on the mantel said only five minutes had passed—the duke returned—fully dressed—with a flat box in his hand. He handed it to her. It was covered with faded velvet.

Cautiously she opened it. And stared.

“My grandmother’s rubies. A little old-fashioned, perhaps—”

“No, they’re beautiful.”