The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  CHAPTER 9

  A dense man-made fog lay over the room, so thick it was hard to distinguish faces in the gloom, but no one seemed to care. Indeed, many of the men in the room were contributing to it as they puffed their pipes. The smell of tobacco combined with that of beer, male bodies, and clothing that was too elegant to clean very often or very well. And yet the earl of Wrede paused as he entered the coffeehouse, elevated his long nose, took in a deep breath, and sighed.

  “Just smell that brew! Arabian beans, if I’m not mistaken. Jessup makes the finest coffee in London,” Wrede declared.

  “This is the best seat in the best coffeehouse in town these days,” he told Crispin as they sat at a small table. “You can hear what will be said in the House of Lords before the poor secretaries can write up speeches for their masters to mouth. This is where it’s really happening, politically, of course. In an hour we’ll be off to a tavern that has the latest literary gossip. Then we’ll go to a coffeehouse where I vow the latest news of court is already old hat. Then tonight: two assemblies, a choice of dinners, and a grand ball. How can you think of leaving London?” he asked, gazing at his friend with curious pity.

  “I might want to breathe,” Crispin commented.

  “Country air smells like manure and dirt,” Wrede said with a sniff.

  “And this?” Crispin asked, his eyes tilted in suppressed laughter.

  “Aroma of civilized man,” Wrede answered and then said, more seriously, “I understand why you think you have to leave, and perhaps you’re right, not to protect her from the gossips, but to protect the lady who bears your name from villains like Harry Meech, and to protect yourself from what might happen to that name if she runs away. That I do see. But your clubs—won’t you miss them?”

  “No,” Crispin said. “It’s strange—when I thought I couldn’t afford them anymore, I missed them terribly, but now that I can pay for my dues and dinner, I have no desire to visit them.”

  “No, really, Crispin. How can you? London has so many clubs and wonderful coffeehouses—Macklin’s, the Turk’s Head, Bedford’s—why go on? There are over a thousand. If a man has the money, he owes it to himself to join a club. I like the one Dashwood started: the Dilettanti. Some of our best minds meet there. And the Beef Steak Society and White’s, of course, and a dozen or two more for you to choose from.

  “A man has to unwind somewhere,” Wrede went on, ignoring Crispin’s boredom with the subject. “Why, I hear there are even clubs in the wilds of the countryside. They say there’s a gentlemen’s club in Buckinghamshire with many influential members. Women are provided, and they come in the guise of nuns or some such. There’s talk of orgies in abandoned abbeys, caves, haystacks, and other rural locales. A vigorous man like you might find it amusing,” he jested.

  “No, thank you,” Crispin said sourly. “I’ll take my women without any disguise, and in private. And as for clubs, I suppose I’d find them more pleasant if I could forget that when I didn’t have the money for them, I didn’t have the camaraderie of the men in them, either.”

  “You’ll forget,” the earl said comfortably. “I promise you.”

  “I wonder if I should,” Crispin mused.

  “But now, my friend,” Wrede said happily, “I’ll treat you to a time in London such as you’ve seldom had, so you’ll have a reason to hurry home from exile.”

  “I don’t think so,” Crispin said. “I have to be up early tomorrow, and I don’t want to start out with a pounding head.”

  “Marriage has made you very dull,” Wrede complained. “I’d thought it was the monotony of the marriage bed, but that isn’t the case here, is it?”

  “That’s something we won’t talk about, Wrede,” Crispin said coldly.

  “Oh, beg pardon. I hadn’t realized marriage made you so prim. I’m surprised. You have changed.”

  “Wrede,” Crispin said in a warning tone.

  His friend grew still, and inclined his noble head in thought. “Very well, very interesting,” was all he said.

  “I’ll share a cup or two with you now, visit some of your friendly clubs, have dinner, and then go home,” Crispin said.

  “I don’t like this change in you, my friend,” Wrede said, looking at him oddly.

  It was difficult for Crispin to know if Wrede was serious or not, for no sooner had the earl said this than he started joking again.

  They dined with friends of Wrede’s, and the lively conversation and good food did make Crispin sorry when it was time to leave. But he had things to do before the night was done.

  “I just don’t understand why you still insist on leaving for the country,” Wrede said in annoyance as they left the tavern. He paused to signal to one of the many linkboys standing in the street offering burning tarry torches to guide rich folk through the dark streets of London. A ragged boy came running with a spitting, flaring torch. He walked ahead of the two gentlemen and held his torch high to make a ragged circle of leaping light for them to walk in.

  As they walked on, Crispin said, “I like the country, remember? And it is the safest place for Dulcie. I don’t think she’ll try to run away again; she’s impetuous, but not a fool. Harry Meech and his cronies want her badly, and she knows it. And then there’s Lady Charlotte to contend with. She can pop in my door anytime when I’m here in London. She’s so mad at me she might forget that the harm she does may hurt us both someday—if I’m successful in ending this charade of a marriage. Stowing my ‘bride’ in the countryside makes sense. It won’t be so bad. It’s springtime. I know that means nothing to you except horseracing on the Mall, watching the chimney sweeps parade on May Day, and watching outdoor cockfights again. But spring is a good time in the countryside.”

  “I take it you mean to install the girl among the daisies and then come speedily back?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Crispin said. “I’ve arranged to be notified immediately if her father is found, and believe me, I have men looking for him. But so does Harry Meech, doesn’t he, Willie?”

  The linkboy’s torch dipped for a second, and even the earl’s shoulders jerked in surprise.

  “Aye, well, he still has the smell of money in his nose,” the linkboy said with grudging admiration, turning to show his sooty face split by a sheepish grin, “and he don’t give up so easy. How’d you know it was me?”

  “You haven’t changed your face, Willie,” Crispin said. “All I wonder about is how you got the torch? Did you pay for it with knuckles or coins?”

  “I got friends,” Willie said proudly, and added, “and they know I got knuckles. I got to hand it to you, my lord. Most gents don’t look servants in the face, never mind linkboys. They’re invisible.”

  “So they are. What made you look?” Wrede asked his friend curiously.

  Crispin smiled. “I’d be a fool not to. Try spending some time in those amusing lower depths, Wrede, instead of just observing them for sport. You might learn a lot.”

  “No, thank you,” the earl said, but he said it thoughtfully. “Are you working for Harry tonight, Willie?” Crispin asked casually.

  “The boy would be a fool to tell you if he was!” Wrede snapped.

  “He’s no fool, and I think he’ll tell me. Right, Willie?”

  “Right. I’m working for Harry, and I’m not,” Willie said, shrugging his thin shoulders. “He wants to know what you’re doing. So do I. I can always use a few pence. But there’s some things I won’t sell. Harry knows that. He’s got others watching you right now, likely. He knows you’re planning to go out to the country.”

  “So I suppose he’d pay, and heavily, to have someone in his hire there?” Crispin asked.

  “Dead right,” Willie said, “so when you get there, I’d watch out for a new maid or footman coming into the house if I was you, I would.”

  “Good idea. But if I had, say, a new boy to ride in my carriage with me, or a likely lad to work around the house or stables, a boy who knew what was up and could be watching for what might
come…that would be better, wouldn’t it?” Crispin mused.

  “Right,” Willie agreed. “You want me to look sharp for someone for you?”

  “I’d prefer to look no further,” Crispin said, staring at the tattered boy and his spitting torch.

  “Ah. Yeah, right. Makes sense,” Willie said slowly, “but I dunno. I ain’t never been to the country, and I ain’t sure I’d like it any more than the earl here does.”

  “Oh, well, but gold has a way of making any prospect brighter, doesn’t it? I’d pay well, and promptly,” Crispin said, holding out a gloved hand in which two big gold pieces shone in the flaring torchlight. “And often,” he added.

  “Done, then,” Willie said, and the coins disappeared.

  “Best get my things together. I’ll be in your back door at dawn, my lord.” And with a nod and a wink, boy and torch disappeared almost as fast as the coins had.

  “Was that wise? Have you hired yourself an ally or an enemy?” Wrede asked.

  “Oh, an ally, if it suits him, and I don’t know why it shouldn’t,” Crispin said. “And don’t think I hired him. I believe he signed on.”

  When they reached his doorstep, Crispin paused, his smile clear to see in the light of the lantern that hung by his door. “Care to come in for some brandy to take the chill off the night?”

  “No, thank you, I’ve buckets to consume before the sun rises. I’ll go now and wish you well. But, Crispin, I’ve a thing to say.” Wrede laid his hand on his friend’s arm. There was unusual gravity in his voice as well as in his long face. “I may jest,” he said, “but I’m aware this is a damnable situation you’ve gotten yourself into. To be forced into a lifelong liaison with a woman from the streets, simply because of a misapprehension, is more than wrong, it’s barbaric.”

  “She’s not a woman from the streets,” Crispin said abruptly, all the warmth gone from his voice.

  “No, she’s your lady now, but not forever, we hope. So what I want to say is: don’t give in to her, Crispin, not while there’s a chance you can be rid of her.”

  “Wrede,” Crispin laughed, “she’s charming, yes, but no siren.”

  “Whatever she is, she’s not what you wanted, is she? That’s the point,” Wrede said, seeing his friend’s suddenly arrested expression. “I want to warn you to wait on everything. You’ve put up with a lot from me these last days, as well as over the years. Just remember, Crispin, I’m not without influence. I know many men in many high places. You’re not alone. I’ll be doing what I can for you here in London. We’ll free you of this monstrous marriage, my word on it.”

  “Don’t promise what God can’t. But thank you for your offer.”

  “Then you’ll allow me to be your deputy in this, when I can, where I can?” Wrede asked.

  “I can’t see why not. But do be discreet. I don’t want everyone in London to know the details of this marriage.”

  “Not a problem,” Wrede assured him. “I’ll have it taken care of, just wait and see. Meanwhile it’s of utmost importance that you resist her. It’s lonely out there in the woods, and she’ll begin to look very good to you.”

  “Good night,” Crispin said abruptly, “and thank you, old friend. I’ll do what I must, you do what you can, and we’ll see what happens. No man can ask more of his friend, or of his fate.”

  Crispin watched the earl disappear into the night and then entered his house, patted a sleepy footman on the shoulder, and told him to go to bed. He didn’t seek his own bed, however, for although it was late and he’d passed an interesting evening, he was edgy and restless. He thought of his bed, then thought of who was sleeping down the hall from it, and turned and strolled to his library. There was nothing like a twice-read book to make a man bored enough to slip off to sleep.

  She was curled up in a chair by the fire fast asleep, with a forgotten book on her lap. He stepped softly and stopped when he stood over her. It made him feel strangely guilty to watch her as she slept, but he seldom got a chance to see her when she was unprotected by her wit and bristly pride. She was so very pretty, he thought, watching her. He discovered it wasn’t only the sparkle of her personality that gave her face beauty, she had plenty in the delicate structure of her very bones. Flushed and rumpled, she looked more than desirable. She looked so vulnerable he almost felt like waking her, taking her in his arms, and apologizing to her for leaving her alone this evening, for planning to leave her alone for the rest of her life.

  What was he to do with her? he wondered. She was a stranger, foisted on him by a doting father. It was hard to believe the worst of her. Still, he thought, his head cocked to one side as he considered her, how could he believe the best of her? How could someone who seemed so sweet and innocent be found entering into a false marriage in the Fleet prison, of all places? And yet how could he doubt his own senses? Whatever she was, he resolved, he would have to be very careful during the next weeks: careful of her—and of himself.

  He eyed the sleeping girl with caution. “Dulcie?” he whispered softly.

  Her eyelids flickered open, her eyes focused. She started and leaped to her feet.

  “I—I didn’t know… Was I asleep?” she stammered. “I only meant to read for a moment. I meant no trespass. I hope you don’t mind,” she said, backing away from him, clutching the book in front of her. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks flushed. She looked wholly adorable, and he felt like a monster because she was so afraid of him.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” he said. “I only wondered why you weren’t in bed.”

  Her eyes flew open wider.

  “Not that I looked,” he said, and then ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. “I mean, it’s obvious you are here, isn’t it?”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. He could see her smooth throat moving. He wanted to comfort her, but didn’t dare.

  “It’s very late,” he said. “I was out with Wrede, saying good-bye to London for a while.” A thought occurred to him. “How thoughtless of me! Was there anyone you wanted to say good-bye to?”

  She shook her head, “Only my father.”

  “Yes, so would I,” he said in clipped tones.

  He loomed over her, as immaculate as he had been when he’d left this evening. He had come in from the night with the soft breath of springtime on his coat, and the mingled aroma of his cologne and the lingering scent of tobacco on his hair and skin. She felt dowdy and frowsy and stale compared to him. She wondered what she was doing here with this fine gentleman. It all seemed unreal in the depth of this night. So unreal that she found herself longing for him to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. She knew that wouldn’t happen, but she couldn’t help what she wanted. She stared up at him, and everything she thought was clear in her eyes.

  It was a moment before he spoke. “I think you should go to bed,” he said abruptly, staring into her eyes.

  “Yes, I will.” She backed up a step because of the cold tone of his voice. “Good night,” she said, and fled, leaving him to sink into the chair and curse himself and his unruly desires.

  *

  Dulcie sat in the carriage in solitary splendor. It was such an unfamiliar situation, and she felt so pampered and privileged that she hardly felt a pang of worry as the coach rolled away from the viscount’s town house. The seats were plump and soft and smelled of fine new leather. There was a rug on her lap, a hot brick at her feet, and even little vases of fresh daffodils fixed beside each window. She was off to a house in the country, away from London and its terrors and pleasures. She had been promised that she would be told if her father returned, so there was nothing for her to worry about, really. Except that she was off to the wilds with a perfect stranger who was legally her lord and master for the rest of her life. A man who was everything she could desire in a man and nothing she deserved, and they both knew it.

  She refused to cry. Instead, she stared out the window and watched London slipping away from her. She was excited, in spite of herself. S
he was young and on the move, and anything might happen. Crispin rode outside, along with the armed footmen he had brought with him because travel wasn’t safe, as he explained. And because he couldn’t bear to sit enclosed in a carriage with her, she guessed. He looked very fine, she thought wistfully. Distance shielded her from those astonishing eyes of his, so she could gaze at him to her heart’s content whenever he rode up alongside the carriage.

  She had three gold coins and some silver in her purse, and she constantly fingered them, the way a nun might count her rosary beads. Those coins were her only hope of salvation. If things became unbearable, at least she had the price of escape in her pocket. She might be a viscountess now, but her purse had more weight than her title, no matter what Harry Meech thought.

  They stopped for luncheon in a wayside inn, and Crispin showed her into a private parlor redolent of stew and roast meat. She sniffed appreciatively as he helped her take off her fine new cloak.

  “I should have thought to have a maid accompany you,” he remarked, and she lowered her head, thinking he was annoyed because she hadn’t had the sense to take off her own coat. “But I sent her on ahead with the baggage, so everything would be ready for you when we reach the hall.”

  He seated her at the table and told the innkeeper to bring her a hot luncheon, whatever was fresh and best.

  “I’ll eat on the run. I’ve got to be sure the men have everything in readiness,” he told Dulcie. “We’ll be crossing the heath,” he explained. “There have been some highwaymen active there. I don’t think they’ll trouble us, there are too many of us. Still, we have to be ready for any possibility. Enjoy your luncheon,” he said, and was gone.

  The serving girl brought hot pigeon pie, roast beef, fowl, savories and meat pies, a selection of cheeses and fruits, and mince tarts. But Dulcie couldn’t enjoy eating alone, and the fear of encountering highwaymen made her lose her appetite. Her purse was, after all, her only insurance in this new world she was being taken to. She was served country cider. It was strong and winy, and she frowned after she tasted it. It didn’t taste as good as the kind she usually had, but she soon discovered it made her feel warm and pleasant, and so she downed the whole hearty glass of it—then another. She wasn’t afraid of anything by the time Crispin appeared to help her back into the coach. Not even him.