The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  “Oh! So you do care what happens to her? Ecod, man!” the earl said in mock astonishment. “She was the one who got you into this difficulty.”

  “Not so,” Crispin reproved him. “I was the one who got me into this difficulty,” he added with a rueful laugh.

  “This is a bad business. You bought yourself more trouble than I suspected when you took a bride,” the earl said, looking at his friend with concern.

  “No,” Crispin corrected him, “I bought myself more trouble than I knew when I let them buy me as a groom. Don’t worry,” he said when he saw his usually cynical friend so apprehensive. “I’ll be careful. With luck, I’ll be rid of my `wife’ before long. Then, my money restored, my unwanted wife gone, I’ll be able to live the normal, safe, boring life of a proper aristocrat.”

  “No need to be insulting,” the earl said huffily. But Crispin noted his eyes, usually so amused, were still deeply troubled when he left.

  Crispin stayed in his library, sipping brandy and staring into the fire for a long while. He was not as surprised as his butler was when he was eventually told that he had another visitor waiting to see him.

  “It is very late, my lord, and so I told him,” Stroud said, nervously fingering the buttons on his hastily donned coat. “We forcibly ejected this same fellow the other day. But he said it was a matter of life and death this time. He said he had news it was to your advantage to hear. He insists on speaking with you. I reasoned it was better to tell you of this imposition now than to have him accost you on the street tomorrow. The footmen searched him, and he carries no killing weapons.”

  “He carries only threats and plots,” Crispin said wearily, “but they’re better heard than imagined. You acted rightly. Don’t fret. Let him in.”

  “Hello, Harry,” Crispin said without looking up, when the man was shown into the room. “Have you found my beloved father-in-law?”

  “Regrettably, my lord, no,” Harry said, standing where the butler had left him, hat in his hands.

  Crispin turned his head slightly to eye his visitor. “You didn’t come at this hour to try to convince my lady `wife’ to leave her bed and follow you, and I’m too big to carry off—as you found out this afternoon. So, what is it? Have you come to challenge me to a duel? I didn’t think so. It must be something important, for you to risk coming to see me after what you tried today.”

  “I’m only trying to be helpful,” Harry said.

  “You? Here at this hour, to be helpful? Do tell,” Crispin said, and looked back into the fire. When Harry said nothing, Crispin cocked an eyebrow. “I forget my manners. Have a seat, Harry, and tell me what’s on your mind, before morning comes, please.”

  Harry perched on the edge of a chair opposite his host. The room was lit only by the fire’s inconstant light. But no trace of the amusement he’d heard in the viscount’s voice could be seen in his stern, handsome face.

  “You, my lord, have a problem,” Harry said, “and you blame me for it. But I had no way of knowing who you really were when you married the girl. Even if I had, you hadn’t a penny to bless yourself with when we met, so it wouldn’t have mattered. When things turned out the way they did,” Harry said, shrugging, “I tried to take some advantage of it, true. But you can’t really blame me for that, my lord. Oh, maybe if you were a man of God, like our poor addled Featherstone, you could. But you’re a man of the world.

  “Myself, I’m but a poor man,” Harry went on, “with no prospects except those I can invent for myself. You’re a nobleman, with a full purse. Your life stretches ahead of you like a pleasant prospect, but mine is an unhappy dream. The good Lord may have given us the same number of years in our cups, but I have to wake each morning and find a way to eat in order to get to the next day to see out my life. Sometimes the ways I discover are not lawful or moral, but they see me through and so I have no choice but to use them. Blame me or our society? I wonder, my lord.”

  “Touching sentiments. I won’t dispute them,” Crispin said dryly. “They need you in the House of Commons, Harry, not at my fireside. Get on with it.”

  “So you mustn’t blame me if my plans sometimes run counter to yours,” Harry said.

  “I mustn’t? But I do,” Crispin said. “When I found myself without money, I damned near broke my back earning some. You try to earn it from other people’s backbreaking work. We’ll never agree there. But you didn’t come here to talk philosophy. My patience is wearing thin, Harry. You wanted to see me tonight. Why?”

  “All right,” Harry said, “here it is plainly. You have a wife you don’t want. I can’t find her father, and I can’t get my hands on her. So there’s no profit there for me. I take what I can, where I can and when I can. There’s still a way for me—and for you, too—to profit in this. You’re a man of the world, my lord. Think on. We can work something out, surely.”

  The library was still except for the licking of the fire on the grate.

  “I want to be quite sure I understand you correctly,” Crispin finally said quietly.

  “There’s nothing to it. Just let her leave. And look the other way. You won’t ever have to see her again, I promise you that,” Harry said nervously.

  “Ah,” Crispin said, “and of course, you wouldn’t then come to me for more money for the rest of my life?”

  “How could I?” Harry asked. “A murderer asking a nobleman for money for such a foul deed? Even I could never do that. Who would believe me? I’d swing before I could hint it. You have connections, I don’t. I’ve no title, no property, no stake in the realm at all. That’s why I would ask a substantial sum for doing the deed. It would be quick,” he went on when he heard no answer, “and as painless as these things can go, too, I assure you. Little fear and less pain—that’s the way to snuff a lady. Then you’d be completely free and who would know—or care? The father’s gone, and of no account anyway. She’ll have no mourners; no one will miss her. It’s so simple, my lord. Expensive, I grant you. But simplicity itself.”

  Crispin stood in one lithe movement. “Harry, leave now,” he said so quietly Harry didn’t understand him at first. But then he heard the tone and saw the look in Crispin’s blazing eyes. They were the brilliant blue that burns in the heart of fire. “Leave before I make matters worse for me and for you. Never come back. If I ever see you again, it will be the last time you see anything. That I promise you.”

  Harry rose and began backing out of the room, never taking his eyes off Crispin, as though the viscount’s cold words were a hot wind from hell itself.

  When he’d gone, Crispin turned and gazed, unseeing, into the fire again. His teeth were clenched, his shoulders tight with anger. He was still furious, but mostly at himself now. He realized there had been a time, when all of this had first begun, when he had wished she had never existed. He had wanted her to vanish. She’d seen it and had damn near ruined herself trying to accommodate him. He flinched at the memory.

  He turned from his thoughts abruptly. The remembrance was painful, but she was his responsibility now, for good or evil. And he took his responsibilities seriously.

  CHAPTER 8

  Dulcie avoided her husband by taking breakfast in her room. She couldn’t have any of the lovely porridges and puddings they served downstairs, she thought with regret, but it was a fair trade because she avoided the eyes of the servants. She didn’t try her door to see if she was a prisoner after the maids left her breakfast either, because she didn’t know what to do if she wasn’t. She had no desire to meet up with Harry Meech, and less to meet the viscount’s eyes if she dared escape his house again.

  She didn’t remain idle in her room, though; she made herself very busy all morning. She rinsed out her underthings, and then she waited for them to dry. She also washed her hair, and sat by the fire until the dampness was out of it. Then she heard a tapping at her door.

  “His lordship wishes to see you now,” the housekeeper announced, “in his study.”

  Dulcie inclined her head in what she
hoped was a stately nod, and followed the stiff-backed woman down the long stairway.

  He was waiting for her in his study. He motioned her to a seat near his desk as soon as the housekeeper left the room.

  She sat, lowering her eyes, observing him from beneath her lashes until she saw he wasn’t looking at her. He stood beside his desk, staring out the window at a courtyard bathed in the watery sunlight of the early spring day. His dress was immaculate, and she was sure that she had never seen such a handsome man. Or a colder one. When he turned his head to find her watching him, she dropped her gaze in sudden confusion, fretfully smoothing the skirt of her dull brown gown. She did not want him to see what was in her eyes, and because of this, she missed the look of regret in his.

  “There are certain things that have to be taken care of,” he said, without preamble. “You need clothes, for one thing.”

  “Good morning to you too, my lord,” she said, her quick temper chasing away her fear.

  “Oh, is it a good morning?” he asked sweetly. “You treated me to such a lovely night last night. I really enjoy chasing through the streets of London, searching for a woman I don’t dare name to passersby. Wouldn’t that have sounded wonderful? ‘Excuse me, sir, have you seen my wife, the viscountess? No, I have no idea where she’s gone, but she’s wearing an ugly brown gown and is running for her life. From whom? Oh, from me, of course,’” he said, and glowered at her.

  She was helpless against his attractiveness, but she knew how to defend herself against his anger.

  “Oh, really?” she flared up. “Whose fault is that? You asked me to disappear. And this gown did very well for me before I came here. Besides, I have nothing else here to wear. I was going to get my clothes last night, as a matter of fact.”

  “Your clothes, and a fine lesson in reality from your friend Harry Meech,” Crispin said. He saw her grow pale as she remembered Harry’s threat. “You have to stay here with me until we decide what to do next. That’s all there is to it. Forget whatever you left at your lodgings. We’ll have to get you new clothes, anyway. You’re a viscountess now. My viscountess. People will talk if they see my household staff dressed better than my wife.”

  “But I’m not really your wife, and people are already talking. Why shouldn’t they? Who ever heard of a nobleman marrying a commoner on the sly and dragging her out by force to present her at a ball he’s supposedly giving to pick another lady for his wife? Your friends are probably not talking about anything else,” she said, rising to her feet, shaking just to think of what people must be saying about her. “So what does it matter what I wear? I could wear a queen’s clothes and they’d still talk.”

  “Yes. But their tone would be different,” he said more softly, hating the way she was shaking. “It would be interested chitchat, not vicious gossip. They’ll speak more kindly of you if you’re well dressed,” he said more gently, seeing the tears start in her eyes, making them even more dazzling.

  “Mistress Blessing,” he said softly, coming closer as she averted her head and fought back the treacherous tears, “this marriage is a mockery, but we have to make the best of it until we can dissolve it. After that, I’ll find a clever way to explain my part in it. You can explain away anything if you have money and position,” he said with a little smile. “Then I’ll give you enough money so you can disappear in comfort this time. Why, this marriage may be the making of you.

  “But,” he went on, “you have to behave like a viscountess as long as you are one. That means wearing new clothes.”

  “Why can’t you just let me disappear?” she demanded. But to her chagrin, it came out sounding more like a plea.

  “Because,” he said as he touched a fingertip to a tear that had escaped her vigilance, “while you’re my wife you’re my responsibility. You must pretend to be my wife for your own good now. You’re too valuable to too many bad people, alone and unprotected. Do you understand?”

  He hardly heard his own words. All he could see was those wonderful eyes, awash with tears, and that sweet plump mouth so near to his. He traced the tear track with gentle wonder as she stared up at him, breathless. Then he lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. He meant to comfort her. Or reassure her, but she was so fresh and lovely. He was shocked by the electricity that coursed through him at that light, tentative touch. And so, against all reason, he sought the warmth of her sweet mouth.

  Dulcie could only gasp in wonder at the delicious feel of his lips. She’d never felt anything like it. She’d been curious enough to have given a boy a kiss once, and then had to give him a slap for the kiss he’d tried to steal immediately afterward. But that had been nothing like this. This kiss was so sweet. His mouth was cool, then warm, then fiery. She gasped and he moved closer, taking advantage of her slight submission.

  What had begun as a light pressure against her lips became an altogether different sensation throughout her body, a pleasure that was new to Dulcie, but only too well known to Crispin. The kiss became deep and urgent as they both sought more. The thickness of her gown and petticoats encased her body from the waist down, but still she felt his body hard against hers, and she needed every bit of his strength to remain standing, seeking what his mouth offered her. He held her face like a cup from which he must drink his fill, both his hands in her silken hair, stroking it across the satin of her skin, everywhere smooth to his touch.

  It was only when his tongue touched hers, hot and strange and intrusive, showing her that this feeling came from someone else, someone who was invading her, that Dulcie came back to herself with a thump, as if she’d fallen a long way back to earth. This was a kiss that had turned serious. More serious than Dulcie had ever gotten. More serious than a girl like Dulcie could afford to get.

  She pushed him away, her eyes wild with anger at him and herself.

  “Ah!” she cried, shaken, “I see, indeed! Pretend to be your wife indeed! Wear new clothes and take them off to get into your bed, no doubt! Oh, I’m impressed. What a fine tale. And all the time you’ll be telling me that people will talk more kindly about me. Well, I can’t be bought, my lord, with a gown or with kind words.”

  “That kiss,” Crispin said as he stepped back and stared down at her with eyes hard as gemstones, “was a mistake.”

  “Oh, certainly,” she said. “And how many more are you planning? Let me go.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Crispin said, as angry at her as he was at himself. It had been a strange moment of inconvenient desire that he should never have allowed to happen. He could not afford to let a temporary desire ruin his whole future. If he took her to his bed, she would become his wife in truth—a high price to pay for a moment of pleasure.

  Unwilling to look at him, she stared out the window, seeing no way to escape him. She didn’t know what to say in defense of herself. She was spared the embarrassment of trying.

  “Good morning,” the earl of Wrede said as he strolled into the room, “We did have a luncheon appointment, didn’t we?” he asked, looking with interest from Crispin to Dulcie. “Am I interrupting something? Why I believe I am. Would you like me to leave?”

  “Wrede,” Crispin said threateningly.

  “Well, then, I have an idea,” Wrede said, as they both looked at him glumly. “Let me take Mistress Dulcie to get her new clothes. She bears a noble name now, she can’t cause more gossip by wearing threadbare garments. My presence will quell gossip, and the clothes will silence it further.”

  Crispin glanced at Dulcie and grinned. She thought he looked triumphant, and her eyes blazed.

  “What say you, Crispin? Do we get the girl new gowns?” the earl asked.

  “Have I no say in this? Don’t you consider me at all?” Dulcie blurted out. “I may be poor, I may have no title, but I am a person.”

  “You do have a title,” the earl reminded her, “and at the moment you are not poor, either. But you are dressed abominably.”

  “No! Not abominably,” Crispin said quickly, seeing the hurt s
pring to her eyes. “Just not extravagantly. And so not correctly, for a viscountess.”

  Dulcie looked up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Crispin smiled at her, a clear unshadowed smile. She had to look away from those smiling lips because she remembered how that mouth had felt against hers and when she did, she grew warm and embarrassed. Her rising color made him remember, too, and his eyes grew bright.

  He laughed when he saw how adorably confused she looked, but spared her feelings by pretending he still thought her reluctant to be properly gowned. “Be guided by Wrede in this, please,” he told her gently. “He knows what a lady should look like and, having three sisters, has much more patience than I have with such matters.”

  “She’ll need new gowns, caps, and wigs,” Wrede said comfortably, “which are now becoming fashionable for the ladies. It’s the latest craze. We’ll go to Monsieur Pamplemousse.”

  “No,” Dulcie said, “I mean to say: no, please. I don’t like to wear anything heavy on my head. It gives me headaches.”

  “Because you’ve tons of your own hair, child,” Wrede said. “Crop it and a wig will fit like a glove and feel very good, I assure you.”

  “No,” Dulcie and Crispin said in unison.

  “Ladies first,” Crispin said, and waited for her to speak.

  “Well, I just don’t want to wear a wig. I won’t do it,” she said mulishly, because she was very much afraid she’d be wearing one by nightfall, “and that’s that.”

  “That’s decided then,” Crispin said quickly. “No wigs. But Wrede will accompany you and help you choose a whole new wardrobe. All right?”

  Dulcie nodded, looking at him with gratitude. Crispin smiled at her. Wrede watched with a raised eyebrow as he saw the warmth of that smile.

  *

  Dulcie was due at luncheon, but was afraid to get dressed—or, rather, terrified to wear her new clothes. They belonged behind glass, surely, she thought, staring into her wardrobe. They were hastily altered leftovers from a canceled trousseau. Much more had been ordered, but Wrede insisted she have some things to wear immediately. She didn’t know why he’d bothered to order more. What she had now took her breath away.