Wedding Wagers

by Donna Hatch

  “How is this—” Her father’s strangled mutterings competed with the priest’s calm, methodical words.

  “—love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

  Emily looked at Eli again and just in time.

  Still smiling, he spoke his promise loud and clear. “I will.”

  Perhaps this at last resigned her father to their marriage, for he sat down hard, the pew creaking beneath his weight. But the others in attendance were far from quiet.

  Urgent whispers between the earl and Sophia flew back and forth. Emily didn’t bother attempting to reprimand her sister. Sophia had always had a mind and will of her own and never hesitated to kick up a lark wherever she went. Perhaps she and the earl, taken with one another as they were, could not keep their peace even a half hour.

  Emily felt slightly infatuated herself, unable to cease staring at Mr. Linfield. Eli. He made a striking figure in his new dark coat and trousers. She had never seen Eli in anything but work clothes before. And his face—she’d been attracted to his kindness, but the face he’d been hiding behind his beard truly surprised her. One might have called it aristocratic, had they not known he was of the working class. Being so, he was not above smiling and looking extraordinarily, unabashedly happy.

  She couldn’t stop the fluttery feeling erupting inside of her, an unexpected hope that this was all going to turn out so much better than she had dared imagine.

  At the priest’s cue, Eli took her right hand in his and began to speak once more.

  “I, Eli Alexander Linfield Rowley, take thee—”

  Rowley? Emily’s eyes snapped from their joined hands to his face. Surely she’d misheard.

  “—Emily Montgomery, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  Her head was spinning. As if he realized this, Eli tightened his hand around hers.

  “I, Emily Montgomery, take thee, Eli Alexander Linfield—”

  “Rowley,” he whispered.

  “Absurd! Cease at once.” The earl’s angry voice carried to the front. Everyone turned to look at him, including the priest.

  Sophia held onto one of his arms, trying, to no avail, to pull him back down again.

  “This marriage will not be legal. He is using a false name.” The earl attempted to push past Sophia, but she stood, blocking his way.

  “Sit down at once, or I will leave this place—and you.”

  The priest exchanged a knowing look with Eli, as if they had both expected this. “I assure you, all is in order. Now please, allow us to continue.”

  The priest’s gentle words, combined with Sophia’s threat, must have reached Lord Rowley, as he sat down hard, much as Father had a few moments before.

  Voice shaking and head still spinning, Emily finished her vows. Rowley—how? What else don’t I know? He is a stranger.

  The ring came next, and when she thought she could handle no more surprises, Mr. Linfield—Mr. Rowley—Eli—slipped the most exquisite ring she’d ever seen on her finger. Emily gave an audible gasp. This was no pinchbeck but a brilliant gold band with a rose-cut diamond at the center, positioned between two smaller rubies. She lifted her astonished gaze to his.

  He merely smiled and kept her hand, stepping closer as he spoke. “With this ring I thee wed; with my body I thee worship.” His thumb moved in slow circles over the back of her hand. “All my worldly goods I thee endow.”

  She glanced at the beautiful ring once more and felt her earlier concerns slip away.

  Eli kissed the back of her hand over the ring, allowing his lips to linger, then tucked her hand through his arm as they turned to face the priest.

  Silence reigned at last, along with the most curious feelings Emily had ever known. She felt her heart might burst and was not surprised when the tears flooding her eyes began to spill from them. She glanced up at Eli and smiled to let him know she was all right. Better than all right. In that moment she was happy.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lady Montgomery was sniffling again, though Eli felt it might be for different reasons than she had at the beginning of the ceremony. His bride was crying, too, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, but she had smiled at him, as if to assure him all was well. It was, but he suspected she was only just realizing that herself. She’d married him with no guarantee—other than his word—that she would be provided for.

  He loved Emily for it all the more and felt grateful that, today at least, he’d been able to spoil her with his mother’s ring. There wouldn’t be many times in their future when he could lavish his wife with jewels, but she would always have a wedding ring she could be proud of.

  The priest finished his prayer over them and pronounced them husband and wife. Emily looked at him long enough to offer a shy smile. It was all Eli could do not to pick her up and carry her out of the church and into his new carriage. But first, there were the marriage lines to be entered into the parish register.

  With some reluctance he stepped aside, allowing her hand to slide from his arm so she might pen the necessary signature. He added his beside and felt another surge of joy at seeing their names together. He had really married Emily Montgomery. He felt as if his life was beginning this very moment. All that had come before had been in preparation, and now he could truly begin to live.

  “Shall we receive our congratulations?” he whispered, bracing himself for what was to come and offering his arm once more.

  “If we must.” She, too, sounded as if she would have been happy to escape to his carriage.

  Her response elicited a chuckle. “I do so enjoy your company, Mrs. Rowley,” he admitted. “And you are so beautiful—the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”

  “Have you seen many?” Her brows drew together quizzically.

  “No,” he admitted with a short bark of laughter, which he tried to disguise as a cough. “I haven’t seen any brides before. Nonetheless, you are beautiful. Today and always you will shine everyone else down—regardless of the number of weddings we attend.”

  With her hand on his arm, he turned her toward the witnesses and well-wishers—and Sherborne’s fist, which only narrowly missed his face and only then because Lady Grayson lunged forward and grabbed his arm at the last second.

  Emily and her mother screamed. The baron swore and moved his large frame up the aisle faster than Eli would have believed possible, putting himself between his daughters and Sherborne, knocking the latter to the ground as he did.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the baron demanded, reminding Eli of that fateful night in the stables.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Sherborne pointed a finger at Eli as he rose. “What do you mean by using my name, and looking like—” He stared hard at Eli. “And that ring—” Sherborne’s gaze shifted to Emily’s hand. “It was my grandmother’s. If you don’t believe me, come look in the portrait hall at Collingwood.”

  The baron shifted his focus from Sherborne to Eli. “You’ve definitely some explaining to do. Thought I was seeing a ghost when you turned around. No doubt you’re a Rowley, but how?”

  Eli wrapped a protective arm around Emily and pulled her farther away, well out of Sherborne’s reach. “The same way the earl is. The ring belonged to our grandmother. Years ago she gave it to our father, who gave it to his wife, my mother, on their wedding day.”

  * * *

  The wedding breakfast was to have been a simple affair, held at the house and for the family only, as there was no joy in their daughter’s hasty marriage to a common man. But the table remained empty, the food long since cold, before Emily or anyone else was able to enjoy it.

  Unexpected circumstances being what they were, Father was in no mood to eat—a rarity—and had instead orde
red his new son-in-law and Lord Rowley into his study when they arrived. For the past three quarters of an hour they had been in there, arguing heatedly, given the volume of their voices carrying through to the other side of the door where Sophia stood, her ear pressed to the wood.

  Every few minutes she would tiptoe across the foyer to the sitting room and relay to Emily and their mother exactly what was being said. Thus far she had discerned that the main argument centered around how Emily was to be addressed from now on. Their father said that, as she had married an earl after all, she must be reintroduced to society as Lady Rowley. Likewise Eli, as well, should be presented as the heir he was.

  Eli, however, disagreed rather vehemently with her father, and he, along with the earl—no longer entitled to be called such—did not wish anything to be different than it had been before this morning. But now that the proper documents, evidence of Lord Rowley’s first marriage, had been produced there were bound to be repercussions.

  Sophia was at the door again now, looking both resplendent in her pale-green gown and delighted with whatever she was hearing.

  Emily watched her sister through the open sitting room doors. She has always been one for drama and excitement. This morning they had both in spades.

  Sophia left her post and practically skipped back to them. “The earl—my earl,” she clarified, “has just said that he will see your earl in court before he forfeits his title or property. Your earl—” Sophia looked at Emily, “—said he has no interest in either the title or property. He said he would never have revealed himself as Lord Rowley’s son, had there not been need for it in order to meet with the Archbishop to get the license to marry you.”

  “His face alone revealed his parentage,” Mother said. “When he turned at the church, so that we saw his profile—it was as if we were seeing Lord Rowley some twenty years ago. Such a shock to your poor father.”

  “Poor father?” Sophia said. “And what of Sherborne? How do you think he felt?”

  “Rather terrible,” Emily said, actually feeling sorry for him. How devastating it must be to know that everything one had, from his title to his property, might be swept away.

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Their mother stood and looked out the window, checking, as she had repeatedly since their return, to see that no one was coming up the drive to witness the catastrophe that was her daughter’s wedding day. “Emily’s husband was never acknowledged as legitimate, so it matters not who his father was or that he was born first.”

  “It should always matter who one’s father is—titled or not,” Emily said. Her emotions were still jumbled, and likely would be for some time, but the thought of what Eli had been through these many years was enough to elicit a well of compassion that swelled her heart toward him even more.

  “It did not matter enough, nor, apparently, did your husband’s mother to Lord Rowley. By the time her baby arrived, he had wed another.”

  “That’s just it, Mother!” Sophia jumped onto the sofa, landed on her knees, and clutched a pillow to her chest. “The new earl insists—”

  “—Sophia,” Mother exclaimed in a harsh whisper. “For heaven’s sake act your age and like a lady. Jumping on the furniture...” She brought a hand to her head as if it pained her.

  “Ladies my age are boring.” Sophia leaned forward, apparently eager to share what she had overheard. “Emily’s husband insists that his father never divorced his mother. So it is Sherborne who is illegitimate.”

  Mother’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly for several seconds, bringing to mind a guppy.

  “If that is true,” she said at last. “This is an even worse scandal. I cannot see why you, of all people, Sophia, should be excited by this. After all, you were set to marry the man.”

  “We shall still marry, regardless, Mother. We are happy together. I have had my titled husband and paid for it dearly with several years of loneliness and boredom.”

  “Marriage is not about happiness,” Mother snapped.

  “For Emily and I, it is—or so I hope it to be.” Eli stood in the doorway, looking somewhat disheveled, his tailcoat long since abandoned, his waistcoat unbuttoned, shirt partly untucked, and his cravat loosened to a slouchy mess about his neck.

  Emily wondered how he felt about all these fancy clothes. While he looked exceptionally fine in them, she sensed his discomfort—with the clothing and all else that came with the life of an earl. She felt no desire to force it upon him.

  Emily’s mother crossed the room to stand before Eli. “Tell me of your mother.”

  “Her name was Margaret Linfield.” A sad, fleeting smile curved his lips. “She died when I was eleven. I loved her very much. Ours was a happy home.”

  Simple statements, yet Emily felt a depth in them that had been lacking in her own upbringing. She knew her parents loved her, of course, but there were expectations tied to that love—expectations that, since her failure of a season years earlier, she had not met.

  “But who was she,” Mother persisted. “Who were her parents?”

  Eli smiled. “My grandfather was the gardener at Claymere.”

  “This changes nothing, then,” Mother exclaimed. “Your father did what Emily has just done and married far below his station.”

  “My father married for love,” Eli said. “He just did not have the courage to stay for it.

  But you are correct; this changes nothing.” Eli looked past her mother to catch Emily’s gaze. “I am still Eli Linfield—a common man, my own man. I prefer it that way—independent of any title or inheritance for either my well-being, sustenance, or happiness.”

  “Oh, well said, well said.” Sophia rose to her knees once more on the sofa and clapped enthusiastically. “If you had not married him already, Emily, I might have.”

  Emily cast her sister a dark look of warning. Sophia had stolen the earl from her, but she could not have Eli.

  Sophia laughed. “Not to worry, sister. I shall let you keep this one. I can see that you want him.”

  “Enough!” Mother whirled from Eli and marched toward Sophia. “You are the one who sounds as if she was raised a heathen. Have you no mind for what is proper conversation?”

  “I have had my fill of proper, Mother. Let me be.” Sophia jumped up from the couch and headed toward the door, pausing to give Emily a hug. “Be happy,” she whispered. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Eli dismissed the footman with a brief nod, then held his own hand out for Emily to clasp as she climbed into the carriage. He cared not that it was considered uncouth. Why allow another to take my wife’s hand, when I might assist her myself? He climbed into the carriage behind her, and the step was put up shortly and the door closed.

  Holding in a sigh of relief as they started down the drive, Eli glanced at his bride, seated across from him, and searched for any signs of anxiety or sorrow as she left her home to journey to his.

  He noted no tears, and her hands lay placidly in her lap. Not too nervous, then. That was good. He’d enough nerves for both of them. It had been one thing to speak his mind to the baron, but it was another entirely to figure out how to please his new wife. Fortune and her colt could not travel yet, so she would miss her horse, at least. He hoped the pair he had purchased would do decently for riding until such time as she and Fortune might be reacquainted.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said when another minute had passed in which neither had spoken.

  “I am indeed thinking of pennies—and pounds. I was wondering how much this fine carriage has set you back, on top of the license, your clothing—and all other expenses you’ve incurred on my behalf in the past two weeks.”

  “Ah... Money worries already.” Eli settled into the seat more comfortably, stretching his legs out to the side of hers. “The carriage is used, and I obtained it at a fair price. You should know I’m a shrewd bargainer.” He winked. “I considered borrowing or renting one, but I wish you to be able to r
eturn home to visit your family whenever you like.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you.”

  “I am nothing, if not thoughtful.” Eli grinned. “On top of being shrewd, that is.”

  “Humble too, I see.” Emily returned his smile.

  “What else are you wondering about?” Eli asked, grateful for her teasing that had lessened the awkwardness between them. Conversing with Emily had always been easy, and he did not wish that to change now. Though their previous encounters had been brief, and he had kept strictly to the rules, regarding her as his employer, she had often chatted with him as he readied her horse, inquiring about the animals he cared for and even about himself at times.

  “I am curious who my new husband really is,” she confessed. “Since the moment you turned to face me in the church, I have wondered where the gentle, bearded giant who cares for our horses has gone. I believed I was marrying Eli Linfield, head groomsman, and instead I am discovering you are much more.”

  “Having a title makes me more?” he asked warily. Gentle, bearded giant?

  She shook her head. “That is not what I meant. You have been without home or family since you were eleven. You’ve lost both parents and had to fend for yourself from a young age. Your father would not acknowledge you—in society, anyway. You—”

  “Wait.” Eli held up a hand. “Let me address those points you have made already, before you bring up any more.”

  “Of course.” Emily looked away, as if abashed.

  He nudged her foot with his own. “There is nothing you cannot ask me. It is all right to be curious. You need not feel embarrassed about anything. We are husband and wife.”

  This speech brought a return of the pink he so loved to her cheeks.

  To set her at ease, Eli began the story of his parents’ courtship, as told him by his mother. It had seemed a fairytale to him as a boy, the story of two children growing up together in the splendid gardens of Claymere. They had run and played and laughed, and, as they grew older, read and talked and walked together on the vast estate. Then one day something both frightening and magical had happened. The boy had kissed the girl and asked her to wait for him while he was several years away at school.