Tainted Angel (11 page)

The chaplain of St. Mary’s Chapel greeted them in a very genial manner, which made Vidia wonder how much money had crossed his palm to bring the ceremony about on such short notice. As introductions were made it did not appear as though Carstairs had a previous acquaintance with the clergyman, and so she surmised the arrangements must have been made strictly for the purpose of having a quiet, out-of-the-way ceremony. And she was heartened by the fact that the chaplain refrained from taking a covert assessment of her appearance as they were introduced—the clergy should exercise some self-restraint, after all.

They were escorted into the rectory office, the chaplain indicating they should be seated while he reviewed the special license and filled out the marriage lines. Sunlight shafted through the diamond-paned windows in the stone walls as Vidia folded her hands in her lap and awaited events. I am not nervous, she assured herself; I am never nervous.

A matronly woman who apparently served as the chaplain’s housekeeper had agreed to act as witness, and she stood at the ready while the documents were reviewed. After adjusting his spectacles, the clergyman then looked up at Vidia with a twinkle, his quill poised over parchment. “Name?”

“Miss Invidia Swanson.”

“Parish?”

But Carstairs interrupted the recital in a quiet voice. “Your pardon—could you allow us a moment alone, please?”

The chaplain looked with mild surprise from one to the other and rose. “Of course, of course—please signal when you wish to proceed.”

He left, carefully closing the door behind him. Vidia watched him leave, then sat and contemplated Carstairs for a long moment while he returned her regard with a steady gaze. He said gently, “We are at
point
non
plus
, are we not? I think you must give your true name or the marriage will not be legal.”

Vidia felt her midsection twist as she decided this was probably true, and could not believe she had not thought of this problem before now—she had acted hastily, and without Brodie’s sound advice, and now she was not certain what was best to do. She dropped her gaze to the table, thinking.

Her bridegroom’s voice, amused and tender, interrupted her thoughts. “We will have a pact—I will never mention your name to another if you will promise the same to me.”

Looking up at him, she nodded, unsurprised that his operative name was not his true name—it was the way of things. But her disclosure would be one she had never made to another—not since San Sebastian.

He dragged his chair closer to hers so that he faced her, their knees almost touching. He took both her hands in his in a playful manner and bent forward as though he would hear a confession. “I am ready—do your worst.”

In the silence she could hear the ticking of the mantel clock over the fireplace. Pressing her lips together, she whispered, “Catalina Ana Inacio da Silva.” The soft syllables seemed to float in the room, lighter than air. It had been a long time since she had spoken her name. For a moment, she almost thought she could hear her mother’s voice, saying it.

He raised his head to meet her eyes in surprise. “I understood your name was Libby.”

“No,” she said only.

Thinking about it, he asked, “
Portguesa
?”

Nodding, she admitted, “
Si, minha mãe era Português
.”

The blue eyes searched hers while he pondered this. “Then your father was not in the Army?”

“No,” she said again, and decided she may as well tell him—or tell him as much as she was able. “My father ran a gaming house. I took the name of another girl I knew in the war after she was killed.” She firmly suppressed the vision of the bloody wall that sprang to her mind’s eye,; the memory of the synchronized crack of the rifles.

Rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands, he studied her thoughtfully. “And her name was Invidia?”

She swallowed, and said through stiff lips. “No. Her name was Libby—Libby Swanson.” Lifting her gaze to the far upper corner of the room, she fought the misery that threatened to overwhelm her and carefully withdrew her hands from his. “I cannot go through with this,” she said quietly. “But I appreciate the gesture, Lucien.”

He was instantly contrite and placed his fingers under her chin so as to turn her face back to his, the expression in his eyes concerned and sincere. “The fault is mine—here I am, pressing when I promised I would not. Forgive me, Vidia—it matters not a whit to me and I have upset you.”

She stared at him, close enough to see his long, dark eyelashes and the stubble of his beard in the cleft of his chin—it must be difficult to shave it. She could not find two thoughts to rub together.

“My own name is Luc-Damien.”

This brought her from her reverie. “Is it indeed?”

He gave a rueful smile. “It is a long tradition—my ancestors came over from Normandy with William the Conqueror, but you can appreciate why I do not use it.”

She could—it sounded very French, which was not a good thing, nowadays.

“Tell no one,” he teased, squeezing her hands.

“My hand on my heart,” she agreed absently. Impossible to think rationally whilst he sat so close.

Lifting her hand, he kissed her fingers. “Was your first marriage valid?”

She blinked. “Yes—yes it was.”

“Then I believe you hold his last name, at present.”

“Oh. Of course.” With a monumental effort, she righted herself. “McCord, then—Catalina McCord.”

His gaze intent upon hers, he said quietly, “Catalina McCord, I would very much like to marry you—if you will have me.”

He means it, she thought. And if he doesn’t, it hardly matters; I am lost. “I will.”

And so the chaplain was duly notified that Catalina Ana McCord, an unregistered widow, was to marry Luc-Damien Michel Dessiere, a widower of Sussex. Which is strange, thought Vidia, as she stood beside him and the ceremony in the quiet chapel commenced. I could swear he told me Suffolk.

At the ceremony’s conclusion he presented her with a very pretty ring, set with three small rose-cut diamonds. “Not what you are used to,” he noted as he slipped it on her finger.

“But worth far more,” was the sincere reply as she lifted her face for his kiss. I have married Lucien Carstairs, she thought with wonder, and could hardly credit her good luck. How fortunate that I am fertile, so as to be given the opportunity.

The chaplain congratulated them, the housekeeper signed as witness, and then they were back in the carriage and away, the towers of the Royal Naval Hospital disappearing behind them as they headed back to Belgrave. Once the deed was done, Vidia felt a rush of confidence replace all the qualms she had suffered leading up to the ceremony. As Carstairs had said, they took the proper course—she must learn not to be so wary that she imagined danger in every shadowed corner.

He kissed her soundly, a gleam of amusement lighting his eyes. “We had best get our story straight.”

She had also been thinking of how to break this alarming news to those who must hear it. “The truth, I think. There would be little point to making up a tale, after all. Shall we beard the Vicar and the Curate together?”

But he shook his head. “Allow me—some awkward questions may be asked.”

She leaned toward him, willing to show her support. “Are you certain? I excel at turning aside awkward questions—you need only ask the Vicar.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather have my hair trimmed alone, I think. On your end, shall I leave you to break the news to Brodie—or do you wish for reinforcements?”

“Allow me,” she repeated his own words back to him. “Some awkward questions may be asked.”

They smiled at each other and he bent to kiss her again. Tonight, she thought, melting into his kiss, I’ll be abed with him—he who is now my husband and will be abed with me on a nightly basis. She felt the stirrings of desire and asked, “Shall we plan to meet up for dinner? If I can find my new cook, I’ll request something appropriate for a wedding celebration.”

But her companion raised a skeptical brow. “I can’t imagine Brodie will allow me to take up residence in your town house.”

“He has no grounds to object,” she assured him, slightly surprised by the objection. “Remember—the house is mine in fee.”

There was a small silence. “I confess I would not feel comfortable living in the house that Brodie gave to you—surely you can understand.” His smile was apologetic.

Hiding her dismay at confronting yet another issue she should have thought through, Vidia gave him her most beguiling smile. “I’m sorry, Lucien—but for my part I don’t know if I could be comfortable in the home you shared with Marie.”

He ran a finger along her cheek. “We needn’t decide just yet—I had thought first to bring you to meet my family in Sussex.”

Mãe de Deus
, thought Vidia, I have been outmaneuvered. “That sounds lovely, Lucien. I shall look forward to it.”

He was gracious in victory. “Shall I speak to Brodie as one man to another? Would that make it easier for you?”

Smiling, Vidia said, “I too shall take the trimming alone, I believe.” And throw myself on Brodie’s mercy, she added silently. We’ll need a new plan, and quickly.

Looking up at Vidia in astonishment, Brodie slowly set aside the newspaper he was reading. “Well then—allow me to call for champagne.”

“None for me,” she reminded him as she sank down in the chair beside him. “And there is no one to call—Maisie is from home.”

They sat together in silence for a moment while she allowed him to process the startling news. “This is sudden,” he observed, his benign gaze upon her.

“You have no idea—I did not know of it myself, at this time yesterday.”

Upon hearing this, he leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, assessing her narrowly. “Was this your wish,
Bela
? Tell me the truth, if you please.”

“Yes,” she assured him with complete sincerity, her gaze steady upon his. “My hand on my heart, Benny.”

After a careful review he nodded, satisfied. “Yes—I did have a feeling you had met your fate in our Mr. Carstairs.” He rose and made his way to the sideboard to rattle the glasses. “Some cider then—we shall celebrate.”

Reading him aright, she confessed, “I was afraid you’d deter me with sensible advice, so I didn’t tell you.”

“You were always unpredictable,
Bela
.” He poured the cider and brought over the glasses, raised his to her and toasted, “To your happiness, Mrs. Carstairs.”

“It is not a trap,” she said with some firmness, watching him.

But he only said mildly, “I have no doubt it is not—you would never be so foolish.”

She set down her glass. “I fear I have been foolish, Benny—he wishes me to take a wedding trip to visit his family in Sussex and I hadn’t considered such a possibility.”

Raising his brows, he thought this over. “When would you return?”

“I shall be certain to return for the sailing of the
Argo
,” she assured him. “Sussex is not so very far away—only let me know when I must be in London and I promise I will be here—by hook or by crook.”

He nodded as he gazed out the window for a moment. “I am not certain it would be wise to give you any details ahead of time.”

Dismayed, she stared at him for a moment and then shook her head with vehemence. “I would never tell Carstairs anything about it, Benny—you know I would not—even if I trusted him.”

Brodie’s hand stilled on his glass. “You do not trust him?”

She sighed, thinking there was nothing for it—Brodie needed to know. “He was involved in the attempted seizure at Carlton House.”

Sinking back in his chair with a deliberate movement, Brodie did not attempt to hide his astonishment. “
Bela
, you have run mad.”

Fingering her wedding ring, she met his eyes with a smile. “Not quite as mad as it appears—I am afraid it is a marriage of necessity.”

After a surprised pause, his brows drew together. “Never say he took advantage of you?”

She quirked her mouth. “More like I took advantage of him.”

His brow cleared. “Well then; he poor fellow did not stand a chance—my further congratulations.”

He leaned forward, his glass aloft, and she tapped it with her own, grateful that he was willing to pretend she had not thrown an enormous spoke in the wheel of his carefully laid-out plans. “It is rather a shock—but it seems I am bound to retire from the lists, one way or another.”

Nodding, he conceded, “It does put paid to my Venice plan—I had hope of overcoming your objections.”

She ran a finger along the rim of the glass. “I was planning to go live in Yorkshire to raise the child, Benny—truly I was—but I thought I owed it to Carstairs to tell him—”

“You were always deplorably noble,
Bela
.” Brodie shook his head in disapproval.

“And he insisted we marry immediately; he hasn’t even told our people as yet. I imagine they will be very unhappy with him.”

Brodie lowered his gaze to the contents of his glass as he swirled the cider and made no comment.

Watching him, Vidia sighed with resignation. “What are you thinking—tell me the truth,
por
favor
.”

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I think it very fortuitous that you are now subject to Mr. Carstairs’s authority, your house will be left vacant, and you will be inaccessible to me.”

But she shook her head, unable to believe the implication. “Come, Benny—he had little choice, as an honorable man. He certainly didn’t plan to have a hurried wedding and an eight months baby—not with his wife just dead.”

But Brodie was unconvinced and raised his glass in a mock salute. “One can only admire his initiative and flexibility.”

“Benny,” she protested.

“I wonder,” he said thoughtfully, “if such initiative and flexibility can be used to our advantage.”

“I’ll not allow you to use him ill,” she warned, alarmed by the tack the conversation had taken.

“
Bela
,” he chided gently. “The man is your chosen husband—acquit me of wishing to use him ill. But perhaps matters may be arranged so as to bring everyone’s interests to a satisfactory conclusion—including the enterprising Mr. Carstairs.”

Suspicious, she eyed him. “I am given to understand you like to work alone.”

He returned her gaze with a benign eye. “I do work alone. But I can be unselfish.” Leaning his chair back on its legs, he contemplated the view out the window for a moment. “Go to Sussex for your bride visit—where exactly will you be?”

“I am afraid I am not certain,” she confessed, feeling foolish.
Deus
, but Carstairs had taken her by surprise. “Shall I leave Maisie in the house here whilst I am away? She can man the ramparts.”

But he shook his head. “No—take her; I imagine you will need reinforcements.”

“I can handle any number of mothers-in-law,” Vidia assured him.

His hands in his pockets, he kept his gaze fixed out the window. “It is not his relatives I am worried about.”

She wouldn’t argue with him anymore—he was too often right. “I shall be wary, Benny.”

He brought his chair back down to the floor with a snap and changed the subject, his expression merry. “Plain Mrs. Carstairs of Sussex—and here I thought you could look to ensnare minor European royalty at the very least.”

She replied in a mild tone, “No, thank you—I do not have pleasant memories of Europe.”

“No,” he agreed, and they sat in silence for a moment.

Brodie set his glass down suddenly. “A wedding gift—I must think of something appropriate.”

“Benny,” she warned. “Pray bring no more trouble down upon me.”

“
Bela
,” he responded in a wounded tone. “I cannot allow the occasion to pass unacknowledged.”

“You terrify me,” she replied dryly. “And remember I have a husband’s sensibilities to consider now.”

But Brodie’s eyes were alight, thinking over possibilities. “It must be something worthy of this series of blessed events you have managed to bring about.”

She tilted her head in a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t have much of a hand in the managing, I’m afraid. I am sorry about this coil, Benny.”

But Brodie was unflappable—as always. “Not to worry, all is in train—a pox on all warmongers for requiring such exertions of me.”

“Confess,” she teased him. “You enjoy the exertions—and the rewards.”

His chest rising and falling, he sighed hugely. “This one shall be particularly rewarding—when this little rabbit is snared. A fouler man never walked the earth.”

Sobering, she nodded in agreement. “You will be careful, Benny?”

“
Bela
,” he chided in a reproachful tone, “when have you known me to be careful?”

“Forgive me,” she said with a smile. “I forget myself.”

He raised his glass to her again, his eyes gleaming. “Never fear—Invidia shall once more have her revenge.”

Toasting him in return with a graceful tilt of her wrist, she returned, “And you shall have yet another fortune—and well-deserved.”

“To your future.”

A bit mistily, she confessed, “I wouldn’t have one without you—do not think for a moment that I am not aware of it.”

“
Bela
,” he warned her with distaste. “Pray don’t be maudlin.”

Smiling, she offered, “Well then—to your future as well, Benny.
Saude
.”

“
Saude
,” he agreed, and drank.