The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  “A lifetime for this,” he said fervently, turning her over atop him, pulling her close.

  When she finally rested against his chest, he lay back and stared into the darkness. Now he could think clearly again, and what he thought made him smile. He hadn’t taken her to meet society tonight, as he’d planned. But there would be other nights. A lifetime of nights: enough for both ecstasy and conviviality. And maybe, he thought, running his hand along her back as she stretched and made a small sound of contentment, even something else from this night’s work. Maybe even a child. It was possible. From such ecstasy, a child? His eyes flew open wide. Then he closed them and grinned. Why not? Tonight every miracle seemed possible.

  After all, he had already plucked triumph from the ashes of his dreams. A bad bargain was turning out better than he could ever have anticipated. She was beautiful and had been innocent, was charming and bright and a sheer delight in his bed. If he had to bear with an unwanted wife, he could have done much worse. Tonight, he knew that he could not have done much better. Sated and sleepy, he slept.

  She burrowed into his arms and smiled, smug and sleepy, thinking of her great triumph on the night of the grand ball.

  *

  The house blazed with lights, a hundred candles on each chandelier. The guests looked like a company of angels. The ladies’ gowns were made of silks and brocades. Their fans and slippers twinkled with myriad jewels. The men were dressed as fine and colorfully, with as many gems at their throats and toes. They danced in careful measures to delicate music, creating intricate patterns as they threaded their way through the grand ballroom. Everyone of note in London was there—except the two who were the hostess’s reason for giving the ball.

  And so she told the earl of Wrede when he finally arrived.

  “They are not here!” Lady Charlotte snapped, looking up at the earl. He’d arrived at midnight. But although her ball would go on until dawn, no one of importance ever arrived after midnight.

  “Behold me unsurprised,” he said. But if he wasn’t surprised, he was certainly excited. She could see it. There was only a faint flush on his high cheekbones, a certain glitter in his bright eyes, an impatience in his stance. But he looked ready for something, ripe for mischief and entirely full of himself. Something had happened. But nothing she could see. That added to her anger.

  “Three hundred people eating everything in sight and boring me to death,” she whispered harshly, as she flashed a bright smile at a passing couple. “Not a sign of them. And for this, I gave a ball? A splendid plan, your grace. Everyone seems to believe I planned this gala in order to announce my engagement to Prendergast. He’s strutting around like the cock of the walk, not knowing that all I shall do is bid him good night. Not only is there to be no announcement tonight, but there will be no scandal to overshadow that fact. Everyone will think I have lost my wits, instead. Next time, you give a ball on some absurd pretext, and I shall arrive late, glittering and vastly amused.”

  “Oh, more than amused, my dear,” he said.

  “If I were a man I would call you out!” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You would kiss me when you heard my news, even if you were a man,” he assured her. “I’ve heard a wonderful thing. No, I have done a wonderful thing, which has led to wonderful news.”

  “And will I live long enough to hear it?”

  “Softly, softly,” he said with great amusement. “Let me relish the moment. Great news should be told at great leisure, rare vintages should be sipped, delicious dishes tasted, not bolted, beautiful women—”

  “If you do not tell me now, you may leave!” she cried, cutting him off. “Don’t play with me, Wrede. I won’t have it.”

  He moved away from her, strolling to one side of the room, nodding at passing acquaintances, and she thought he was leaving. But then he stopped and looked back at her expectantly. She snapped her fan closed, pasted a smile on her lips, and followed him. It wasn’t until they stood in a window embrasure, nearly out of sight of her other guests, that he spoke again.

  “We have triumphed,” he said. “It is done! Or rather, it is undone. Come, my lady, rejoice with me. Crispin is unwed!”

  “You are mad,” she said in disgust, “or disguised. Come to me sober, if you dare come to me again.”

  “I tell you I have not drunk anything tonight, only deeply from the cup of exultation,” he said. “I come from a special meeting of some friends of mine who are members of Parliament, my dear, not from a tavern—although I grant you there is not much difference.”

  He became serious, his eyes bright. “Charlotte, I am the first to know. You, the second. Not even Crispin knows as yet. But I tell you, it is done, or as near as done. They’re going to end Fleet marriages. Lord Hardwicke has pushed through his act. There are enough votes. There are to be no more Fleet weddings.”

  “Wonderful,” she said bitterly, “but I remind you that Crispin is already married. You may as well tell me they’ve done away with hangings at Newgate. What good does that do a man after he’s been hanged?”

  “All the good in the world. That poor demented vicar is now out of the way. He performed many of those damned marriages. The bishop was told of this, and he was appalled. And so the old fool was examined and was of course unfrocked. He’s been committed to a place where he finally makes sense to everyone. He’s in Bedlam, my dear. And all of his marriages have been declared illegal.

  “It took money and time, but I had both. And wit and great powers of persuasion, which I, of course, have in plenty. But it is finally done. The ceremony is invalidated, the marriage register erased, the vicar vanished. It is done and Crispin is… ”

  “Free?” she breathed.

  “Entirely,” he said with a huge smile. “Free as a newborn babe.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “Good afternoon, West,” the old duke said, pausing in the street. Then he added, with twinkling eyes, “and heartfelt congratulations. I heard all about it. You’re a very lucky fellow, you know. Just ask any of us old married chaps. What you’ve done is enviable. My sincerest congratulations!”

  “Thank you,” Crispin said calmly, although he was puzzled. He scarcely knew the old duke. “I didn’t know you knew the lady. But thank you.”

  “Hardly have to know her, my dear fellow. Heard of her, you see. Best of luck, although you hardly need it now, you lucky dog,” the duke said, before he sauntered away.

  Crispin wondered why the duke had stopped him. Tonight was the night he expected to take the polite world’s congratulations. Tonight he was going to launch Dulcie into society at three different affairs. The duke hadn’t seen her yet—at least not amid the splendor in which she was going to be presented. They hadn’t gone to Charlotte’s ball, and she had hardly shown her nose outside her bedcovers since then. He grinned to himself, remembering why.

  But it was possible the duke had noted Dulcie’s beauty on that terrible first night when Crispin had introduced her. This time he was going to do it right. Crispin smiled at the thought of the stir she would make in her new gown, on his arm willingly now, radiant in her obvious content. He sauntered on down Bond Street. But he didn’t go far before he was stopped again.

  “My dear Lord West,” Lady Exeter said, stopping and giving him her hand. She turned to her companion. “Elizabeth, here is the Viscount West, the gentleman we were just speaking of. Crispin, this is my bosom companion, Elizabeth, Lady Dace.”

  Lady Dace’s blue eyes grew wide as she curtsied to Crispin. “Congratulationth, my lord.” she lisped. “We are all tho happy for you.”

  “Yes, a happy day, is it not? We hope to see more of you now, my dear sir,” Lady Exeter said.

  “And my wife, of course,” Crispin said, bowing.

  He was surprised when both ladies went into gales of laughter. Lady Exeter smacked him with her fan. “Oh, you!” she said. “Yes, it will be delightful seeing you. What a humorist! Good luck and congratulations, my dear,” she said, and went off down the s
treet arm in arm with her friend, their heads close as they whispered together.

  Lady Exeter was a silly little woman who had more ancestors than sense. Crispin had never paid much attention to her or she to him. He was bemused by her sudden friendliness. But not for long.

  “Oh, I say, Crispin, Crispin West! The very chap!” a gorgeously dressed gentleman called. Crispin stopped and bowed. He knew the fellow, but not his name. He’d seen him at Wrede’s club.

  “Just had to stop and wish you well. Well done! Stunningly done. So pleased for you, my dear fellow. Words cannot say. Congratulations.”

  Crispin thanked him, but was more puzzled than grateful, and his befuddlement continued: by the time he got to the end of the street, he had been stopped several more times by bare acquaintances, all of whom were pleased to shake his hand and offer hearty congratulations. But they were too happy for a stranger’s luck, too full of mirth even for congratulating a new groom. They mouthed pleasantries, but there was something unpleasant in their smiles. Something that bothered him.

  Crispin turned on his heel and changed direction. He’d been on his way to the tailor, but he decided to go to Wrede’s house instead; he needed to find out what was going on.

  He was accosted every step of the way by people who wanted to offer him congratulations. He accepted them with increasing gruffness. He walked faster, head down. He wished he could just relax and enjoy the day without hurrying, without this new niggling discomfort he felt. He wanted to saunter along the streets of London, enjoying the rare fine weather. He especially wanted to think about the night to come. He’d persuaded Dulcie to agree to wear her finest gown, an amazing thing made of silk and pearls, as white and pink as her own sweet body. He thought of that body, and a slow sensuous smile grew on his face.

  “Thinking of me, are you?” said a sweet voice filled with mirth.

  “Charlotte!” Crispin said, stopping abruptly.

  She smiled at him radiantly, but all he could do was stare blankly down at her. She’d looked beautiful, of course: she wore butterscotch silk trimmed with fabulous lace, and her unpowdered hair gleamed like gold in the sunlight. But he noted her beauty as he would a work of art, as something lovely and well executed that had nothing to do with him or with his life. He felt absolutely no tenderness for her, he realized. In fact, he resented the way her presence suddenly shadowed his joy. He heaved an inward sigh. He dreaded what he had to do now, but knew he had to do it as soon as he could. Telling her the truth would be hard; that was why he’d avoided thinking about it. But now that they’d met, he couldn’t put it off any longer. His task was made harder because she was looking at him with such a fond, glowing smile.

  “Naughty,” she purred, shaking her finger at him. “I expected you on my doorstep at dawn, not with pistols drawn, but with flowers. But you’re going to make this reunion difficult, aren’t you? We’re going to begin again, are we? Ah, well, I suppose I deserve it. But wait!” she said gaily. “I think you’re right. To redeem the future, we must recapture the past. Yes. I think it’s incredibly romantic. Where did we go that first time?”

  He stared at her blankly.

  “Never mind all those stolen moments at balls and musicales,” she said teasingly. “I mean, after you were given permission to pay your addresses. When was the first time we were permitted to be alone together?” She folded her arms and waited for him to answer, looking up at him with a pretense of impatience. It was hard to maintain, because she looked radiant and very merry. Even her dour faced old aunt stood by her side treating him to a rare vinegary smile.

  “Charlotte,” he said, “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Oh. This is going to be very difficult, I see. Come, Crispin. The jest is over. You missed my ball. Will you take me to the Burtons’ tonight? It’s as good a place as any to begin.”

  There were a dozen questions to ask, but all he could do was stand rooted to the spot and say dumbly, “What?”

  “Your wedding,” she said gaily, “has been invalidated. The marriage,” she said triumphantly, “is over. Over! First the House of Commons, then the House of Lords forbade them. There are to be no more Fleet weddings. And Wrede and his friends have seen to the rest of it. Crispin, your marriage has been annulled—as though it never happened. You are rid of her. You’re free.”

  He had lost both of his parents. He had lost his entire fortune. Yet he’d never felt such sudden, cold, and numbing horror at a loss before. But how had Charlotte found out about the Fleet wedding? he wondered. Wrede! Of course, he thought with growing fury. And then he froze as another thought occurred to him.

  “Oh, my dear… ” She laughed, and then paused when she saw his expression. “Oh, my dear,” she finally went on, observing his sudden pallor and feeling a chill along her spine, “can you say nothing?”

  “Dulcie,” he said numbly.

  *

  “His lordship is still abed,” the butler said.

  “His lordship will see me now,” Crispin snarled.

  The earl’s butler wasn’t supposed to admit visitors before noon, but there was no way he was going to refuse the viscount. Besides, the butler told himself as the tall nobleman shouldered him aside and strode into the house, there was no danger to his employer. Whatever murderous expressions they wore, gentlemen didn’t slay each other at dawn, except with pistols or swords on a grassy field somewhere, not in each other’s bedchambers. Or so he hoped as he saw Crispin charge up the stairs to the earl’s bedroom.

  “Wrede!” Crispin shouted as he burst into the room.

  The earl’s valet put down his razor, looking outraged. But his master took one look at his visitor and picked up the towel to remove the rest of the lather from his face. He waved a hand to dismiss his valet, but didn’t look at him as he scurried out. He was staring at his unexpected guest.

  Crispin’s face was tight and set, his blue eyes blazing. His hands were in fists at his sides, and his whole lean body seemed to vibrate with tension.

  “And a good morning to you, too,” Wrede said calmly, but he wore a watchful frown.

  “I met Charlotte, and half London as well, on the way here. She told me that you invalidated my marriage.”

  “Damn the woman!” Wrede said, flinging his towel down in disgust. “Never confide in a female; that has always been my rule. Still, yes, my friend, simply put, after all my travail on your behalf: yes. You are a single man again.”

  Crispin stood still and stared at him. For once, his friend couldn’t read his expression.

  “Hardwicke finally pushed through his Marriage Act,” Wrede continued. “It needs only that the king sign it and a date of enactment be set. It will be more difficult to wed in England in the future. That means no more spontaneous weddings. No more mad elopements. More to the point, no more pledges made in drink and rued in the morning. The banns must be posted first. There will be a wait of weeks…unless one is a nobleman with friends in the right places, of course. But that’s always the way, isn’t it? At least the drunken nobility will be protected from the depredations of commoners. And the merchants will be saved, too. Paupers will have to find other ways to escape debt. There’s more to it, but what’s the point of laboring over the details? I’m no politician and neither are you.

  “But as for you, my good fellow! I found one crack in the wall and pushed until it all came tumbling down. Only see what I have done: Harry Meech has already closed his marriage shop. Dear Dr. Featherstone has a congregation in Bedlam now. The marriage register he scrawled in has been…misplaced. In the Thames, I believe, or so Harry said. And so any paper the girl’s father has is only that now—paper, nothing more. Give her a sum of money for old time’s sake and for any services rendered. Then send her on her merry way. The farce of a marriage is over, my friend. Entirely. Come, what have you to say to that?”

  Crispin said nothing. He tightened his fist and sent it crashing into Wrede’s face. The earl stumbled and fell. He lay on the floor, staggered by more
than the blow.

  “Damn you for a fool!” Crispin snarled. “Get up so I can kill you.”

  “You wanted to be free,” Wrede said in amazement.

  “Once, yes—but now… My God, this will kill Dulcie,” Crispin muttered, his eyes wild. “Why didn’t you ask me—tell me, first?” he raged at the earl. “Why was I the last to know? My God, Wrede, why did you have to tell all London? Are you a washerwoman now, so full of gossip that you tell the world and its uncle all your personal business?”

  Wrede struggled to his feet, touched his lip, and found blood on his hand. He drew himself up to his full height. “I did what I promised, Crispin—no more, no less, whatever you think now, after she’s spent time in your arms,” he said coldly. “How was I to know she had beguiled you? You were on fire to be rid of her. How did she put out that fire—by starting another in your bed?”

  “Enough!” Crispin said tersely. “Don’t say another word about Dulcie. You’re not worthy to discuss her. What you’ve done is bad enough. Don’t make it worse. Let me remember you for better things and better days. Because I will have satisfaction, Wrede.”

  “I see,” Wrede said with glacial calm. “I take it, then, that the blow you delivered was in lieu of slapping me with a glove?”

  Crispin nodded. He was beyond furious and seemed to see Wrede’s cold, contemptuous expression through a fine red mist. What Wrede had done was too terrible for him to fully comprehend yet. Only years of training kept him from hitting the earl again.

  “I suppose your second will contact mine?” Wrede drawled. “I use Bledsoe. He’s a fool, but he’s honest. The usual then? Swords at dawn? Tomorrow, I suppose?”

  “I don’t need a second,” Crispin said. “I want satisfaction. You have the choice, of course, but I would prefer pistols. And not at dawn,” he said, trying to free his mind of fury so he could plan. “I’d prefer to meet at dusk tomorrow. I have things that need to be done—or rather, undone. It will take me at least until dusk to fix what you’ve done. But you’re the challenged, so it’s your choice.”