The Thoroughly Compromised Bride (18 page)

One quelling glance from Charles silenced his protestations, but then Aunt Emily quavered, “Elizabeth?”

“Well?” demanded Charles.

But it was hearing Aunt Emily’s voice that decided Elizabeth that she must accept defeat as gracefully as possible. Whatever her own feelings, she could not endanger her aunt’s health and quite possibly her life.

“Very well,” she said in a nearly normal tone of voice.

Several sighs were heard round the room as Charles took Elizabeth’s arm to lead her back to Aunt Emily’s bedside, where the clergyman awaited them. Smiling pleasantly, Charles leaned to say into the ear of his betrothed, “Smile! Anyone would think you were being led to the gallows.”

As they took their places with the vicar standing before them, holding the small book that he carried, open in his bands, Elizabeth was smiling, but it felt stiff and unnatural. In truth, she felt much more like weeping, and she glanced up quickly at Charles’s profile, noting the rigid set of his jaw. She had not meant to anger him, but oh! why could he not understand?

This was all so very wrong! Oh, not the fact that they were being married in a sickroom, or that she was wearing one of her oldest and plainest day gowns, or that there were none of the usual trappings. None of those things were important. She would gladly have married Charles in a cow byre wearing nothing other than her nightshirt if only it were something that he wanted as much as she.

Nor had she been attempting to go back on her word. It was simply... but she didn’t know what it was. She supposed that she had hoped to have more time to prepare herself, both mentally and emotionally, for this unconventional marriage. They had not even discussed the particulars of it. She did not know what to expect of it or of him.

The sound of the clergyman’s voice had formed a background to her unhappy thoughts, and fragments of the wedding rite began to come through to her consciousness.
Dearly beloved.. .gathered here... this man and this woman... holy matrimony.
But now he was saying, “Repeat after me...”

And Charles was gazing intently into her eyes. “I, Charles, take thee, Elizabeth...”

He no longer looked angry, but it was impossible for Elizabeth to read his true thoughts or feelings from his enigmatic expression. She felt as if she might drown in the deep blue of his eyes, might listen to the sound of his voice forever and never tire of it.

And now it was her turn. “I, Elizabeth, take thee, Charles...”

She spoke her vows clearly, her eyes never leaving his, and she meant every word of them from the depths of her heart and soul. Whatever the future held in store for them, whatever a few legal papers might say, she would always consider herself married to Charles, joined to him for all time, until death parted them, and she hoped even beyond that.

And now Charles was claiming his bridal kiss; it was scarcely more than a soft touching of lips, lasting no more than a moment, and suddenly they were surrounded, with everyone laughing and offering congratulations. A glass of champagne was pressed into Elizabeth’s hand.

In a daze, she looked down at the ring Charles had so recently placed on her finger.
With this ring I thee wed.
The words echoed through her mind. She was married to Charles, the love of her life, the keeper of her heart, though he might never know it. But for how long?

In an effort to shake off her sentimental mood, Elizabeth swallowed the entire contents of the glass of bubbling liquid she had been holding, and found it instantly refilled. Lady Langley was kissing her on both cheeks, exclaiming, “My dear, I cannot tell you how very pleased I am to call you sister!”

Good God! This did make them sisters. How very odd to think of Lady Langley in that light.

“Rather daunting, is it not?” came Charles’s voice in her ear, and she glanced up swiftly to see the old teasing gleam in his eyes.

“You have been reading my mind,” she replied with a laugh.

“Would that I could,” he murmured.

But Melanie was beside Elizabeth, demanding her attention, embracing her and exclaiming, “Oh, this is famous! Now you shall be able to help launch me in the spring.”

“Yes,” agreed Elizabeth, smiling though a bittersweet pain stabbed at her heart. Would she be with Charles in the spring?

Her eyes were drawn to Charles where he stood talking quietly to the vicar, and she drank in his tall, lean form, his tight-fitting breeches and shining boots setting off long, muscular, but shapely legs; his coat moulded to broad shoulders that needed no padding; his handsome, aristocratic face that had become so very dear to her. Though his head was turned partially away from her, she could easily envisage those wonderfully deep blue eyes as they had gazed into hers during the ceremony, or crinkled with laughter as she had so often seen them.
My husband,
she thought with awe. This handsomely elegant man was her husband!

As though sensing her gaze upon him, Charles turned his head and smiled at her, but she averted her eyes quickly, turning back to Melanie. Good God! What was the matter with her? This marriage was merely one of convenience, and she had been in danger of forgetting that important fact.

“My dear niece,” came Charles’s lazy drawl from directly behind Elizabeth, startling her with its nearness, “you must pardon me for interrupting, but I’m sure you will not wish to deny me the pleasure of my lovely bride’s company for a few minutes.”

As he spoke, he moved to Elizabeth’s side and placed his arm casually about her waist, ignoring her self-conscious attempt to step away, and pulling her closer.

“Oh, Uncle Charles,” giggled Melanie, “as if you need ask.”

He bowed formally to his niece and, shifting his hand to the small of Elizabeth’s back, guided her to the window embrasure once more. There he braced one arm against the wall and, leaning towards her intimately, said, “And now, my love, we are well and truly tied.”

Elizabeth blinked and swallowed nervously before reminding him, “But only until it is possible to obtain an annulment, when Aunt Emily is again well.”

His eyes roamed over her face and he smiled slightly, but she was completely thrown off balance when he asked, as if she hadn’t spoken, “Where would you like to go for our wedding trip?”

“Wedding trip?” she almost squeaked, unable to believe she had heard him correctly.

“Certainly!” He grinned. “It is the customary thing. I believe its purpose is to ensure that the new bride and groom may come to know each other more... ah, better... away from the distractions of everyday life.”

“I know that!” she said indignantly. “But...”

“I should like to take you to a wonderful little chateau I know of in France, but since the little monster over there is not likely to allow it, have you another preference?”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Oh, but a wedding trip is not necessary in our case. Ours is not, after all, a true marriage.”

The amusement in his eyes deepened. “No?” he asked softly. “ ‘In the eyes of God and man... not to be put asunder.’ I’d call that very real indeed.”

At a loss for words and unwilling to permit herself to hope, she looked thankfully towards Aunt Emily, who was calling, “My dear child, come and let me wish you happy, for I am quite sure you have made me the very happiest of creatures!”

Charles frowned, but stepped aside, and Elizabeth moved obligingly to the bedside, where she leaned down to accept Aunt Emily’s kiss.

Smiling fondly, she scanned her aunt’s face, worried that so much excitement might have taxed her strength, but Aunt Emily glowed. Scarcely heeding her aunt’s stream of disconnected exclamations, she reached out absently to touch a small patch of white near the hairline on her aunt’s temple, then looked down at her finger where some of the stuff had come off on it. Her frown of puzzlement grew as she rubbed her thumb and finger together, not comprehending, for a moment, what it was. Then it gradually dawned upon her, and with it, the truth. It was face paint! Her eyes lifted to her aunt’s in disbelief.

Aunt Emily had fallen silent and was watching her niece apprehensively.

As if sensing some dramatic change in the atmosphere of the room, all its occupants turned their faces towards the bed, then registered varying degrees of astonishment, consternation and chagrin as Elizabeth cried out in ringing tones, “You have tricked me again!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Everyone seemed frozen into place for several interminable seconds, like a tableau, and the silence was a palpable thing until the vicar’s voice acted as a catalyst.

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” he fretted. “I feared as much. This is not what I can like! This is most unusual!”

Released from their wary immobility, everyone began to move and speak at once, but it was Charles’s voice that Elizabeth heard.

“Elizabeth!” he said authoritatively, moving towards her.

Elizabeth threw him one accusatory glance, lifted her skirts and ran from the room before he could reach her, not stopping until she had gained the sanctuary of her own chamber, where she slammed the door shut and turned the key in the lock.

Ignoring the pounding on the door and Charles’s insistent demands that he be admitted, she began to pace, her arms folded tightly across her stomach as though she were cold. But in truth, she was not cold. She was consumed by all the resentments of the past week, which now rose up to take strong possession of her. She fed her sense of outrage by recalling his abominable treatment of her, the insults he had subjected her to, and this final deception the last straw.

But she could not ignore the sudden loud thud that followed an ominous silence. She whirled about as the door crashed open, and Charles strode into the room. He did not stop until he was so close he was almost touching her, looming over her, and before she could prevent herself, she took a hasty step back.

“Do not attempt to lock me out of your room again!” he commanded.

Her chin rose stubbornly. “Get out of my chamber!”

“I will not! I am your husband!”

“By trickery.”

“By whatever means, I am still your husband!” His expression suddenly softened and he said, “Damn it, Elizabeth, let me explain!”

“The way you allowed me to explain at the inn?” she asked scathingly. “I believe you made it perfectly clear at that time what you thought of me. ‘Another man’s leavings’ was it not? Only I was
your
leavings, blast you!”

His face flushed slightly but at a slight sound from the hallway, he said in a low, urgent voice, “We cannot talk here. Get your bonnet and pelisse. We are leaving.”

She glared at him. “Have you lost all your senses? I am not going anywhere with you!”

“You are!” he declared with certainty, and grabbing her arm, he stalked over to the wardrobe, dragging her with him.

Throwing the doors wide, one hand still clamped on her arm, he located the garment he sought and began jamming her into it as though she were a recalcitrant child.

“Will you stop this?” she hissed.

He paid her no mind, but snatched a bonnet from the shelf, placed it firmly upon her head and began tying it under her chin.

“Hold still!” he warned when she tried to move away, and such was the tone of his voice that she obeyed him, though her eyes shot daggers at him.

Very well, she thought, she would go with him, but only so that they could have this out in private, and then she would demand that he bring her back and they could put an end to this sham marriage.

But her dignity was sorely threatened by having very nearly to run in order to keep up with his long strides as he pulled her along the hallway, past Aunt Emily’s open doorway, where several shocked faces stared out at them, down the stairs and across the entry hall where an impassive butler held the door wide for them and out to a waiting carriage.

Fairly tossing her into it, Charles gave an order to the driver, then climbed in after her, and the coach lurched forward.

Elizabeth pushed back into her corner of the seat to be as far from him as possible, but he only moved closer. She glared at him mutinously, as she said coldly, “I want an annulment.”

“And if I were to agree to that request, what would you do?”

“I would return to my former, uncomplicated life with Aunt Emily, of course.” Her quiet, placid, boring life, her mind said traitorously.

Charles was shaking his head slowly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I think not, sweetheart. I believe Miss Godwin will soon be accepting an offer from the good Doctor Smithfield.”

“Charles!” gasped Elizabeth, surprised into forgetting her sense of being ill-used. “Aunt Emily and Doctor Smithfield? No wonder he has been underfoot so often. Do you really think they will make a match of it?”

“Certainly! He is almost as besotted as I.”

Her eyes had begun to sparkle with laughter, but now she recollected her reasons for being here, and she schooled her expression accordingly.

“You need not lie to me. I know very well why you married me,” she told him.

“And why is that?”

“In order to satisfy your sense of honour because you had... had so thoroughly compromised me.”

“If you honestly believe that, my girl, then you are not as perceptive as I had thought.” Charles was turned partially towards her, with one arm along the back of the seat, and he lifted his other hand to brush a wayward curl from her temple. “Why do you suppose I went to such trouble to marry you when I had already explained that your reputation is intact and a marriage between us not necessary?”

“I don’t know,” she answered sulkily, then continued accusingly, “You insulted me unforgivably at the inn.”

He sighed. “I know, my love. And I am most damnably sorry. Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive me if I tell you that I was half out of my mind with jealousy?”

“You were?” she asked wonderingly.

“I was,” he assured her, untying her bonnet, removing it and setting it aside.

“But if you lo— If you cared for me, why did you give up so easily the other day in the summer house? Why were you willing to let me go without an argument?”