Free The Loves of Leopold Singer by L. K. Rigel Page A

house of the dead and the dying. This was wrong. She was supposed to be with Leopold Singer, as surely as she was supposed to breathe and breathe again. Even Vienna was nothing next to him. But convention, duty, and the dull inevitability of mundane expectation all herded her like friendly and familiar dogs back through her father’s door.

The Wedding Breakfast
     
    At the same moment in another part of the world, snow blanketed Carleson’s Peak. The valley sparkled in the afternoon sunshine and was blue-gray in the shadows. A jam of conveyances waited near Laurelwood Church. The bells rang, and a group of well-dressed people spilled, chattering, out of the chapel.
    Lady Delia had just become Her Grace, the Duchess of Gohrum, and the happy duke led her through the onlookers to his carriage. Those invited would caravan to The Branch, where the baroness was to host a wedding feast.
    Delia considered this marriage a defeat, and in the weeks after accepting Millie she’d indulged in scattered bouts of self-pity. Yet from the moment of her engagement her every circumstance had improved. Her father, who had forgotten her existence these past five years, was so pleased by the match that he started paying her allowance again. Then Millie paid her debts, cheerfully, as a wedding gift, so when he wanted to be married in the country she felt she could not refuse.
    This proved no sacrifice as the process had been pleasant in every respect. The local families admired her without artifice. And though none were at all grand, it was gratifying to be celebrated anywhere, especially not having worked to deserve it. Even in this winter weather, those charming people gathered outside the church to cheer the happy couple on.
    “Let me make you snug, my dear,” Millie spread a blanket over her lap and tucked her hands inside a fur muff. “We’ll be at Philly’s in no time.”
    This was entirely satisfying. She had lost the man she wanted. So be it; she was a duchess. How could she have thought that an undesirable thing? She was suddenly so pleased with herself, she purred, “I wonder what a bride must do to receive a kiss from her husband?”
    Millie looked as pleased as a puppy.
    Cold gruel . His kiss was soft and grateful, and all the goodwill in her trickled away. Regret clamped down like an iron maiden. When she could breathe again, she couldn’t breathe free. The rest of her life rolled out before her in a vision, like a narrow carpet running to an uninteresting vanishing point. She would be ordinary. She would be cruel. She would not respect her husband. Not all the fortune and deference bundled with Gohrum could disguise the utter lack of power in that kiss.
    Gohrum wasn’t Leopold Singer, and her chest hosted a jagged, ravaged wound where a heart could have been. Leopold could have made her happy, and she had lost him not through any mistake on her part. That whore servant of Gohrum’s had somehow bewitched him. Well, the wretch would pay. It was a shame to have to wait until May, but when Delia returned to London after her wedding trip, she would have that slut housekeeper thrown out.
    -oOo-
     
    Philomela Asher, Lady Branch sat between Gohrum and the sad new rector, one Reverend Doctor Jordan Devilliers, the new duchess’s youngest brother. As a rule, Philomela did not like men, her ward and Gohrum being exceptions. However, she was pleased with this one beside her.
    The scarring on his face was from a childhood pox, but it had healed well enough so that his skin merely looked rather weathered. More startling were his eyes, one blue and one green. If he would just show his good straight teeth more, she could forget the rest of the face altogether.
    “Lady Branch,” he said. “I was astonished by your generous gift.”
    “You had a pleasant ride from the church, then?” She had sent over a one-horse curricle and a young cob Carey himself had chosen.
    “Pleasant indeed, my lady. I am grateful.”
    “We can’t have you