Emma Jensen - Entwined (13 page)

Of course, the pained wheezing which accompanied each line of the ceremony was telling enough.

True, the man was performing what must have been an odious task, joining a church-avoiding nobleman and proclaimed harlot in holy matrimony. The fact that Clarke had been commanded by his bishop, no less, to perform the ceremony immediately must have made it all the more unpalatable. No doubt he would have preferred to see the banns read three Sundays in a row, giving him fodder for some maniacal ranting. But heathen though he might well be, the Marquess of Oriel was a rich man.

Rich men did not have to bother with banns. They simply bought special licenses and turned a library desk into a makeshift altar.

"... if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

The reverend sounded hopeful. Nathan stiffened, waiting for a damning voice. There was a tiny gasp, like an indrawn breath. Margaret, probably.

Of all the MacLeods, she was the one who had not been effusive in her well-wishes. Oh, she had said the words, in a soft, Highland voice much like Isobel's, but there had been wariness behind them. He could not blame her for it. MacLeod and his sons had no doubt seen their cup running over with his gold once Isobel married a nobleman. Maggie would have seen her sister sliding into the clutches of a beast.

The silence had all but become deafening by the time Reverend Clarke, obviously resigned to the fact that the wedding would go on, continued with the ceremony. Nathan glanced briefly toward Isobel, still and silent at his side, and knew at that moment he would have given everything he owned to see her face.

Would there be resignation in her eyes? Martyrdom? But no, his was the red Gallica rose. Hers was the white Alba, innocent and silent.

In the three days since she had accepted his proposal, she had not once complained. Not when he had all but dragged her from the garden, making them both stumble in his blind haste, nor when he dictated to her the terse, dispassionate request to the bishop. Not even when she had been forced to send a message to her sister, asking for her mother's wedding band as Nathan had none to give her.

And he knew she would not complain in an hour, when he would bundle her into a carriage, taking her from her family and into the midst of the cool, cliquish ton, where the best sport was had at the expense of others.

Where nothing was sacred. Nothing at all.

"... keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," Nathan answered, knowing without question that he had already gained far more in Isobel than their union could ever cause him to lose.

She answered as before, neither quickly nor with hesitation. If her voice was hardly light with joy, at least it was not laden with misery.

Reverend Clarke gained speed then, as if thinking that since there was nothing to be done to prevent the marriage, he might as well be done with it as soon as possible. It was simple enough, Nathan thought sardonically as he answered, short responses for perhaps the most ponderous questions ever put to man. Perhaps that was the point. Throw death, poverty, and sickness in rapid succession at a less-than-enthusiastic bridegroom, and he might well be out the chapel door before anyone could pronounce a bloody thing.

But he had never been reluctant to marry. How it pained him that he could not say the same of his intended brides.

He repeated the reverend's grunted words and slipped the ring on Isobel's finger. For a moment, her hand was pliant and warm in his, Then, as Clarke spoke again, her fingers clenched and, Nathan was convinced, turned cold.

"With my body," she repeated in turn, then drew an audible breath, "I thee worship."

And that was that. Nathan had a wife. A clever, warmhearted, sharp-tongued wife, who had vowed before God and her family to give him everything and refuse him nothing. A pang of regret hit him hard and fast, right behind the surge of proud possession. No, she would refuse him nothing, but that certainty paled in the face of another thought: She was not going to come tripping merrily to his bed.

Not that he had expected her to feel any differently. After all, what could he seem to her but an oversize brute, sightless and clumsy? No, he had not expected, but, as had become so common since she entered his life, he had hoped.

Hope is in the leaves, my lord. We 've but to wait to see what comes with
the blooms.

With his new wife's arm tucked through his, as much in guidance as symbol, Nathan turned away from the makeshift altar.

Isobel tightened her grip on her husband's arm.
Her husband.
She had just pledged heart and soul to a man she scarcely knew, a man whom others believed possessed neither heart nor soul. She darted a glance at his face. It was tense with concentration as he tried to cross the library without leaning either on his cane or her arm.

Although she had only spent ten days in his company, she was already seeing less the ravaged shell and more the bone-deep aristocratic beauty. It was still a stretch to call him handsome, but the promise was there. Some regular and decent meals would fill the hollows below his cheekbones, time in the sun would relieve the pallor, and a pair of shears would tame the wildness of the thick, black hair.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Married less than five minutes and she was already thinking of ways to improve her husband. No doubt any other marquess would be thinking of ways to make
her
presentable. But, of course, the man she had just married could not see her outdated, worn yellow gown or her scuffed slippers.

There was little she could do with the rest of the package, but she imagined the wardrobe would be simple enough. Not that a few new gowns would make her any more a part of his world. Maggie in silk might well be a gilded lily; she herself would be a cloaked weed. Yet she could not bring herself to be bothered by the fact. There was no doubt she was a wholly unsuitable wife indeed for the Marquess of Oriel, but perhaps she would do well enough for Nathan Paget.

Once she got to know him, of course. In more than a week in his company, she had formed so many conflicting impressions that she could have been in the company of a dozen different men. He was alternately gentle and gruff, even-tempered, then showing flares of fury that frightened her. He was an utter mystery. And he was her husband.

"Congratulations, my lord, my lady."

Isobel started as her father, grinning broadly, popped in front of her.

Aye, he was well pleased with this turn of events, too much so. Only her furious resolve had kept him from demanding a settlement from the marquess. It had apparently not occurred to him that a dowry might likewise be expected and that he was already in Oriel's debt.

Jamie was certainly playing the part of the proud papa to the hilt and had clearly begun celebrating early. "Good man!" he bellowed, giving them both a blast of liquor fumes and the marquess a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Then, oblivious to his new son-in-law's annoyance, he jerked Isobel into his arms. "Ye're a good lass, ye are, Izzy. You'll be seeing to our future now.

Daresay we'll all be cutting quite a swathe through London in weeks to come."

Still absorbing the fact that she was now Lady Oriel, Isobel was not quick enough with a response. Her husband was. "I would suggest you delay any plans to come to Town for the time being, MacLeod."

"Now why would I do that, with a daughter so well settled?"

Isobel felt Oriel's lean muscles cording beneath her hand. Had he been anyone else, she would have silently shushed, soothed. Here, now, she did not dare.

"You will remain here," the marquess replied, his tone all the more unyielding for its very evenness, "because we will not be receiving. And I would not recommend spending money on Town lodgings when you have a comfortable home here—at no expense to yourself."

Jamie did not even have the grace to blush. "I must say, sir, your lack of hospitality is surprising."

Oriel grunted. "I am afraid to say, MacLeod, your continued lack of sense is not." Then, moving his firm but gentle grip to Isobel's elbow, he announced, "We must move along, my dear, if we are to spend any time at our wedding luncheon."

Isobel managed a weak smile for her slack-jawed father as they moved away. "He'll undoubtedly find a reason to come to London regardless of your decree," she said softly, and sighed. "With every confidence of finding you hospitable."

"Is that a warning or an apology?"

"Well, 'tis both, I suppose. I
am
sorry you've seen so much poor behavior from him and so little gratitude. If I can, I will—"

"Isobel." He silenced her. "You will take no more of his transgressions upon your shoulders. Is that clear?"

"But after what he's done—"

"I am in earnest. We are beginning again, you and I, in a sense. What your father has or has not done is of no importance. I will see to your family because I can and because it is my duty as your husband. They shall want for nothing. But I will not tolerate his deliberate idiocy, and you will no longer take responsibility for it. Is that clear?"

"Aye, my lord." Torn between her own gratitude for his easy generosity and an equally strong loathing of being beholden to anyone, she bit her lip and said no more.

"Good. Now, shall we see what delicacies have been prepared for our nuptial feast?"

They remained at the table a very short time. The meal, such as it was, was somewhat less than appetizing, the company tense. Reverend Clarke, not so condemning, it seemed, as to refuse a seat at a marquess's table, muttered into his rubbery trout. The boys, when not gazing in envy at Oriel's blue Weston coat, amused themselves by flicking bits of hard bread at an unusually subdued Tessa. Jamie had dipped again into the wine. And Maggie, her lovely mouth set in a tense line, did no more than pick at her food.

Jamie managed an acceptable if brief toast to the future happiness of his daughter and son-in-law. Rob and Geordie followed with less grace but more enthusiasm, as toasting by nature involved the refilling of glasses.

That done, all three subsided into contented drinking.

Isobel did her best to keep a cheerful conversation going, but it would have been a task above even the ton's most experienced hostess. Her husband sat, still and brooding, at her side, eyes fixed sightlessly on the ill-set table. When he abruptly rose to his feet, announcing in no uncertain terms that the meal was over, she joined him with relief.

Her meager baggage had already been loaded into the carriage. She had feared the moment when she would have to leave her family but had managed to hide her dread. Now, with the carriage door open and waiting, and her family standing in a wavering line beside it, she felt her stomach give a painful jolt. The sensation was mirrored on Maggie's face. With a sob, Isobel rushed into her sister's embrace.

"Och,
Maggie, what will I do without you?"

"The same as I without you. You'll write, and plan for the next time we'll be together."

Isobel drew back, stared into her sister's beloved, beautiful face. "How it grieves, Maggie Líl."

"Aye, it does." Maggie reached up to touch Isobel's cheek gently.
"Dia
bhi maille ribh, Iseabail R
ò
is."
Then she turned to Oriel. Suddenly she looked like an avenging fairy, with her flame-touched hair and flashing green eyes. "I'll say God bless you, too, my lord."

"Thank you, Miss MacLeod."

" 'Tis a blessing that comes with a curse, though. Cause my sister pain, and I'll see that you regret it as long as you live."

"Maggie—" Isobel broke off as her husband's hand curved around her arm.

"I give you my solemn oath, Miss MacLeod, that I will take far more care with your sister's welfare and contentment than my own."

For a moment, Isobel thought Maggie was going to snap at him again.

But something in the gold eyes must have satisfied her, for she nodded instead. "Aye, well then, I wish you both happy." She reached out to give Isobel's hand a quick, fierce squeeze. "With all my heart."

Knowing she was close to shattering, and hating the weakness, Isobel embraced her father and other siblings. "I'll miss you," she murmured to a determinedly dry-eyed Tessa. "Don't you dare change a whit 'til I see you next."

Then, without looking back, she allowed her husband to assist her into the carriage. Her resolve lasted only until they reached the stone gates. She leaned out the window, just in time to see Tessa scampering easily up a towering oak where, Isobel knew, she would remain until the coach was out of sight.

Nathan allowed her her silence as long as he could. She would be grieving, he knew, for the family she loved so deeply. He knew, too, that she would rally. Self-pity was simply not in her nature.

"Your sisters are welcome to visit any time," he said at last.

"I'm glad. Thank you."

"In fact, I was thinking Margaret could stay with us next year, have a Season..." His voice trailed off; he was unable to think a year ahead.

"I doubt she'll want one," was Isobel's soft reply, "but 'tis kind of you.

I'll mention it to her, when next..." Her voice, too, trailed away. She was no more able to contemplate the months ahead than he.

As the carriage made a turn in the road, the interior, which had been in shadow, was briefly flooded with bright spring sunlight. Nathan could make out Isobel's form as she sat across from him and thought he could see the faint outline of her left hand against the dark seat. He was reminded of the thin gold band on her third finger. Her mother's ring. Guilt assailed him.

The ring was one more shabby link in the twisted chain in which he had snared her.

"Isobel," he said softly, and saw the copper halo shift as she turned to face him. "I am sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For, well, for today."

"Good heavens, why?"

"Why? My God, it was your wedding day! You should have had..."
What?
The list seemed unimaginably long. "A proper courting, roses, a ring of your own. Instead, you have had a three-day betrothal, a harsh, hurried wedding performed by an unwilling clergyman, and a godawful banquet."