The Uncatchable Miss Faversham (27 page)

    ‘Oh,’ Charlotte said, hesitant now, clearly worried that she had spoken out of turn. ‘Yes, yes, I must be mistaken.’

    The door opened at that moment and Louisa came hurrying in, her face flushed, her gown still clutched in her hands as though she had just run up the stairs. ‘Why are you not downstairs yet, Eleanor? The bridal carriage is waiting at the door and the servants are all gathered to see you off. You are already ten minutes late.’

    ‘A bride should never look too eager on her wedding day,’ Suzanne muttered darkly, but gave Eleanor an encouraging little shove in her back. ‘I’ll watch from the window. Go on.’

    With a grin, Louisa seized Eleanor’s arm and they hurried downstairs arm in arm, their new gowns rustling elegantly together, Charlotte following a few steps behind, already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

    ‘Oh, don’t forget your flowers,’ Charlotte prompted Eleanor in the hall, indicating the spray of white roses which had arrived a few hours earlier. ‘What marvellous roses. You were so clever to find any this early in the season. Such purity! They complement your gown perfectly.’

    She took her little son’s hand, admiring the neat sailor suit they had procured for him to wear. ‘Dearest Robert, you look like an angel. Doesn’t he look like an angel, Eleanor?’

    Louisa giggled, and Eleanor tried to suppress her smile, even managing to pat the little boy on his head as she squeezed past with her spray of roses.

    ‘Of course he does, Charlotte. He won’t be taking that drum to the church, will he?’

    Charlotte, Robert and his long-suffering Nurse climbed into the second carriage, and Eleanor took Louisa up with her in the open bridal carriage, its sides decorated with white roses. She turned to wave at the servants as the carriage pulled away, remembering to seek out Suzanne’s face at the upper window.

    ‘Goodbye, goodbye!’ she called cheerily, and saw her maid’s raised hand, her wavering smile.

    Dearest, dearest Suzanne. How strange it would be to have a new maid lay out her gowns and dress her hair, and not see that watchful face in the mirror or hear those fierce mutters of disapproval. But Suzanne deserved a new life with her new husband too, just as Eleanor’s life was about to change.

    The carriage turned left, heading smartly towards the church where she would soon be wed to Lord Sallinger.

    She sat down next to Louisa with a tight chest and lips frozen into a half-smile.

    Now that they were on their way to the church, she felt a sudden wave of panic, and struggled not to show it on her face.

    What on earth was she doing? Years of refusing every offer of marriage, some of them rather flattering, from handsome young noblemen able not only to match but exceed her own fortune, and here she was, about to give away her freedom and independence for fear of losing her reputation. She had no doubt that Nathaniel would treat her as fairly as any other man of his rank.

    And yet, she could not help wondering if Nathaniel would change once she was in his power, legally bound to him, and with all her worldly possessions under his absolute control.

    It was not too late to call a halt.

    She need only order the driver to turn the carriage around and return to Berkeley Square. There, it would take a few moments to change her gown, summon her travelling chaise from the mews, and set off before Nathaniel even discovered that she had changed her mind. Why, her trousseau was packed already. She could take Louisa as companion and chaperone, and travel up to Scotland, or into the damp green depths of Wales, and remain there at some isolated hotel until Nathaniel had quite forgotten about her, had given up and returned to Warwickshire, to choose some less flighty bride for himself.

    ‘Eleanor, is something amiss?’ Louisa leant forward and squeezed her hand. ‘Your face is as white as your roses.’

    Eleanor thought of the scandal, the amazed faces in the church, the shocked exclamations of her many friends and acquaintances at the news that she was not coming, that the Uncatchable Miss Faversham had run away from her own nuptials.

    No doubt the beau monde would talk for months of her wild behaviour, this wanton who would not be caught and brought to heel, even though she had been bedded and was no longer a reputable virgin.

    And when she eventually returned to London, they would still remember. No door would be open to the disgraced Eleanor Faversham, and the gentlemen who had once clamoured for her hand would turn from her in contempt and disgust. She might loathe the secret slavery of marriage, but there was no place in polite society for a woman who flouted the rules so openly, abandoning her seducer at the altar and attempting to live as a woman of independent means, despite the loss of her reputation.

    The only way ahead for such an unruly woman was the lonely path of the ‘eccentric’. And there was nothing eccentric about Miss Eleanor Faversham. She did not desire to live out her days surrounded by cats, or wandering the downs in search of rare flowers, or wearing comically unfashionable gowns and reminiscing with some bored young companion about the days when she too had been desirable.

    Rather marriage than such a dubious spinsterhood. Rather a man’s iron rule than disgrace and living with cats.

    ‘Nothing is wrong.’ Eleanor smoothed out an invisible crease in her elbow-length white gloves. ‘I forgot to take breakfast, that’s all.’

    Louisa was not convinced by her excuse, that much was clear from her friend’s raised eyebrows. But she did not probe any further, no doubt seeing the determined jut of Eleanor’s chin.

    ‘Look, we are at the church already. How many carriages there are! Yours must be the wedding of the season. Do you have everything?’

    Eleanor nodded, straight-backed, holding her spray of lush white roses like a defensive shield before her. ‘I am glad that it is not raining. There’s nothing worse than rain at a wedding.’

    The liveried driver helped her solicitously down the carriage steps while Louisa held up her gown, fussing with the silk skirt, which had somehow managed to become crumpled even in that short drive. It was bright outside the church, a bright sunny day. Perhaps too bright. Eleanor began to think she might be developing the headache. There were a few guests still milling about outside as they arrived, but they quickly disappeared inside.

    The priest came forward, a tall figure in an austere-looking gown, but did not speak to her directly.

    One of the thorns from the roses dug into her wrist, a tiny pinprick of blood staining her white glove. Eleanor stared down at it dumbly.

    A moment later, the second carriage pulled to a halt behind her rose-white bridal carriage, and Robert jumped down without the help of his Nurse, skinning his knee and bursting into noisy tears. That lady climbed down more gingerly and clutched the child to her ample breast, hushing him and stroking his hair.

    Charlotte hovered beside the two, unsure whether to stay and help her wailing son, or accompany Eleanor into the church as her future sister-in-law. Then Louisa took her arm and led her into the church porch. Inside the church it was cool and shady, and she saw the waiting congregation, their faces turned expectantly to the door.

    ‘There he is,’ Louisa murmured in her ear, still arranging the crumpled silk skirt of her gown, ‘right at the front. Look.’

    Obediently, Eleanor looked, not quite understanding what she meant, and suddenly saw, through the sea of blurred faces, Nathaniel standing at the far end of the front pew, looking back at her across the heads of their friends.

    Her heart seemed to stand still at the sight of him. Her bridegroom was wearing a double-breasted jacket of dark blue superfine with gold buttons, his hat tucked smartly under his arm, his vital dark hair combed back. His scarred face was perhaps a little paler than usual, but he seemed cool and poised, very much on his mettle.

    As soon as their eyes met, he gave a slight bow, and she saw his strained smile begin to relax. Had he feared she would jilt him at the altar?

    Well, she could not hold that against him, given how close she had come to doing that very thing.

    But oh, if this must be slavery and submission, in her heart Eleanor knew it would at least be love on her side. Whatever he might feel for her. The breathless she had felt on seeing him standing there, waiting for her at the altar ... That was love. Foolish, illogical, marvellous love.

    The church organ swelled with music, and somehow she found herself at Nathaniel’s side, without really knowing how she had got there. Charlotte and Louisa settled themselves at her back, one holding her white roses, the other her new matching reticule. The priest was speaking, and Eleanor replied smoothly, remembering the responses, following the prayers, her voice surprisingly steady. Nathaniel too spoke, and then he was removing her glove and slipping a thick gold band onto her finger.

    He kissed her briefly on the lips. Then they were moving down the aisle again, arm in arm, her gloved hand resting lightly on his dark blue sleeve, to murmurs of approval from the
beau monde
on either side.

    ‘Not yet,’ he muttered, as she turned to leave the church, her eyes fixed blankly on the sunlight outside. ‘There is something you have to do first.’

    She looked up at him, confused, almost as though waking from a deep sleep. ‘What is it?’

    ‘Nothing to worry about. There are some papers you need to sign, that is all. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes.’

    He drew her aside at the end of the aisle, nodding to the priest. Behind him, their guests were rising from the pews, talking amongst themselves, some of them watching her. She saw faces she recognised, and smiled vaguely as he led her away from them, their footsteps echoing across the stone floor, back past the pillars and into the vestry, Nathaniel pulling aside the heavy curtain with a rattle of gold rings.

    She stared into the vestry in surprise at the two dark-coated men waiting there, one a stranger, the other perfectly familiar to her.

    ‘Mr Downey!’

    Her round-faced solicitor came forward, smiling awkwardly, and bowed over her gloved hand. ‘My lady,’ he said, and she realised with a shock that she was no longer a simple Miss, but ‘my lady’, a member of the aristocracy.

    He gestured to the table behind him, on which were spread various documents, along with several pens and an inkwell. ‘There wasn’t much time to prepare, I’m afraid. But I think you’ll find we have everything we need. The documents are all drawn up and ready for your signatures.’

    ‘Documents?’

    The other man coughed, and Mr Downey introduced him with apologetically. ‘Beg pardon, my lady. This is Lord Sallinger’s solicitor, Mr Weston.’

    She nodded to the other solicitor, still bewildered. ‘Mr Weston.’

    ‘Lady Sallinger.’

    ‘Come, make yourself comfortable.’ Nathaniel steered her towards a high-backed chair at the table, his dark eyes giving nothing away. ‘I had a very illuminating conversation with your friend Louisa this morning. She led me to understand that your prime motivation for avoiding marriage was the fear that your husband would then control all your assets. Is that correct?’

    Rendered temporarily speechless, Eleanor stared at the solicitors’ respectful faces, then back at Nathaniel.

    ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘But we both know – ’

    ‘That the law gives over possession of a woman’s assets, both property and paraphernalia, to her lawful husband as soon as she is married.’ Nathaniel nodded, watching her. ‘However, since I am quite wealthy enough on my own, and have no desire to own what was rightfully yours until five minutes ago, I instructed Mr Weston and Mr Downey to draw up a nuptial agreement, relinquishing all claim to your estate as it stands today.’

    Mr Weston pushed one of the sheets of paper forward, offering her a pen. ‘Your husband signed before the wedding ceremony. So all that is required, my lady, is for you to sign here.’

    ‘I have checked the wording of every clause with great thoroughness, my lady,’ Mr Downey added reassuringly, ‘and can confirm that you will be able to retain your personal wealth once this agreement has been signed, and also to name your own heirs. It will also prevent your estate being handed to a third party in the unfortunate event of your husband’s death.’

    She stared at Nathaniel over their shoulders. ‘You would do this for me?’

    ‘We can discuss it later,’ he said firmly, and she realised that he did not wish to have this conversation in front of the solicitors. ‘If you are agreeable, sign next to my name. If not, leave it blank. Either way, we are married, but I have no intention of exercising my right to dispose of your property.’

    Eleanor hesitated a moment, thinking it might be better simply to trust her new husband’s word, not legally bind him to such a disadvantageous agreement. But then she thought of her father and all his hard work out in Jamaica, how he had built up a fortune in the wish to leave something of value to his descendants.

    She drew the sheet of paper towards her and signed her name beside his with a flourish of thick black ink.

   
Her new name.

   
With a shaky exhalation, almost as though he had been holding his breath too long, Nathaniel took her hand and raised her from the chair. There was a smile in his eyes, the contours of his scar somehow softened in the dim light of the vestry.

    ‘Now gentlemen,’ he murmured to the watching solicitors, ‘if you will excuse us, my wife and I have a carriage waiting.’

The closed carriage swayed to a halt, and Eleanor jolted awake, straightening her pelisse and gown, embarrassed to realise that she might have been drooling on her new husband’s shoulder.

    It was dark outside, the inn yard lit by large lanterns swaying on their hooks in a stiff breeze. Nathaniel had jumped down as soon as the carriage stopped, but soon returned, holding out his hand to help her descend.

    ‘Would you like supper straightaway, or would you prefer to rest first?’ he asked. ‘I’ve stayed here before. They do a good supper, and the beds are tolerably soft. My man bespoke a large bedchamber for us on the first floor. It is not above the taproom, so hopefully we’ll get a good night’s sleep before continuing our journey in the morning.’