by Liz Tyner
‘Rebecca. Are you all right?’ The voice. She heard Fox’s voice and looked around for him. Then she realised the man watching her wasn’t the duke. It was Foxworthy.
Her knees truly buckled, but it wasn’t her father who caught her. It was Fox. She looked into his eyes. ‘I will…’ her breath returned ‘…be fine.’
His face had healed. The bruising was mostly gone.
He cradled her and her strength returned. ‘Just give me a moment,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been married before.’
A cackling female voice jarred her back into the present, and Fox released her.
‘I have,’ the woman stated. ‘Twice. The trick is to outlive them.’
‘Beatrice,’ the man beside her said. ‘I would hate to think you’re not happy with me.’
‘Oh, I’m supremely happy. I’ve brought out the beast in you.’ She tapped his cheek, resting her hand against him, and swaggered her shoulders. ‘And made it purr.’
He clasped her hand and removed it from his cheek. A look passed between them.
Rebecca looked at Fox, searching out his expression. ‘Ignore them,’ he said. ‘They won’t go away so that’s all you can do.’
As Foxworthy completed the introductions, the earl’s carriage rolled up. Rebecca turned around. Her father had vanished into the church.
Perhaps he wouldn’t make good on his word to marry her.
Chapter Thirteen
Fox stood at Rebecca’s side. So this was what one’s wedding felt like. Much like a late night with the rising moon in a contented smile and stars glowing. A rare night that made him want to sit and gaze above, not thinking, not drinking, just looking at the grandeur.
Not unpleasant at all.
He felt at peace. Willing to stand and feel the world around him. This moment. An orchestra of happy notes fluttered about in his memory and, for once, he was certain he did the right thing. It didn’t actually hurt.
In fact, this was the best he’d felt in quite some time.
The vicar didn’t look so relaxed. Rebecca’s father appeared to be choking. His forehead glistened and he stammered the first words.
Foxworthy kept his grin tamped down. The vicar was more nervous than the groom.
At the third word from the man’s lips, he paused, looking in Fox’s direction. He stumbled over his next syllables. A smile edged Fox’s lips. Really, Rebecca’s father looked as if he might faint away at any moment. He didn’t understand this was the right thing for her to do. Her children would have the heir’s advantage. Fox gave a half wink of reassurance to his future father-in-law.
Something hardened in the vicar’s face. He completely stopped speaking, staring at the smile on Fox’s lips.
The man’s eyes squeezed to half their size, reminding Fox of a raptor. Perhaps a grin hadn’t been a good idea.
Fox stiffened his own facial muscles. The older man struggled to breathe. Colour infused the vicar’s face.
Fox braced himself for the collapse. He’d catch the vicar if he tumbled. Fox had never heard of a cleric fainting at a wedding, but then, Rebecca was his only child.
Fox gave him another reassuring smile.
Her father’s colour heightened. His chin snapped low and he peered at Fox, and this time his words flowed smoothly.
‘Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife? To live together under God’s ordinance, in the holy state of matrimony? To love her. Comfort her. Honour and obey. In sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto her, for as long as ye both shall live?’
The muffled snort from the earl distracted Fox.
The vicar’s eyes locked on Fox’s face much the same way the husband’s did when Fox had danced too closely with the wife. The vicar’s digestion must be off. ‘I will.’ Fox nodded. He’d not realised that part about obey was in the man’s marriage ceremony. No one had informed him of that.
The vicar turned to Rebecca.
‘Will thou have this man to be thy wedded husband? To live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou keep him, in sickness and in—in—Forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto him, for as long as ye both shall live?’
Rebecca gurgled. Her eyes widened. ‘No—’ she whispered. ‘Father.’
Fox stared. After all this? She was backing out?
‘Rebecca,’ the vicar snapped. He put his lips around each word, pushing the sounds with force. ‘Will thou have this man to be thy wedded husband? To live together after God’s ordinance, in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto him for as long as ye both shall live?’
The vicar did all but sprout his own set of horns from his head after he looked at his daughter and then back to Fox.
Fox turned to her. If she’d changed her mind, the laugh would be on him, but he’d take the jest. In fact, he would run with it. The man who’d proposed a dozen times, jilted at the altar. This would be quite the tale. Perfect, in fact.
He looked at her, waited and shrugged.
Her eyes had that same surrounded-by-vultures look that her father had.
‘Oh, well, then, I will.’ She spoke with no inflection.
The moment had taken her thoughts and overwhelmed her, he decided.
Seconds later her father’s words completed the ceremony. At the moment they were wed, a guffaw erupted at Fox’s side, followed by a clap on his shoulder which jarred him from his reverie.
The earl walked to the vicar and clapped him on the back as well. ‘Thank you. Thank you, my friend.’ He crossed an arm over his stomach and bent, still clasping the vicar’s shoulder, still chuckling, his body racked with laughter.
‘You just vowed to obey her.’ The earl gasped in air, unable to speak and control his words easily at the same time. ‘You just vowed to obey her. And she gave you no such promise.’ He snorted in, gasping air. Rising, he swept a hand over his face, wiping his eyes. ‘Sweet Mother of Saffron, my son just vowed to obey his wife.’
Fox turned, appraising the vicar’s face.
Rebecca’s father’s gloom left his eyes. His lips firmed and he nodded the smallest movement. ‘I was nervous. I mixed the vows.’ He winked, but his face jerked forward when he did it, more of a jab than anything else.
‘You did that on purpose.’
‘I was nervous about it, though, son. I didn’t lie. I mixed the vows. Truth again.’
‘It was wrong, Father,’ Rebecca’s words burst through the men’s conversation. ‘That was—’
‘Can’t take it back now,’ the vicar said. ‘And we’re in a church and there’s witnesses, and you’re married. Besides—’ he tilted his head to Fox ‘—this one won’t be able to keep a vow of any sort.’
‘From my view, most vows have been a waste of breath,’ Fox said.
‘You cannot say such a thing. Here. Today,’ Rebecca said.
Fox stared at her. She thought to tell him what to say?
The vicar swayed, tumbling forward. Fox caught him as the book crashed to the ground. He knelt, lowering the older man, helping him to sit. Rebecca kneeled at his side.
‘Father?’ she whispered.
He looked at her. ‘I’m fine, Becca. It just hit me. I just can’t…just can’t believe I did that.’
‘It’s fine that you mixed the vows, Father. I will be a good wife anyway.’
The man sniffed. ‘That’s not what I mean. I stood there and did nothing to stop you from marrying this—man. I spoke the words condemning your life. I will not be able to live with myself for letting you marry this—’ He held his palm towards Fox. ‘It is as if I put a noose round my own child’s neck.’
‘It was my choice.’ She clasped his hand. ‘Father. I will survive this.’ Her voice pleaded. ‘I survived Mother’s death.’
Fox watched his wife sitting on her knees, consoling her father that he had not condemned her to death.
‘Vicar. Becca.’ The
earl knelt, speaking softly. ‘I have provided a generous marriage settlement for her. It’s not truly a settlement, but more of an inheritance. Becca is my daughter now. And no matter what, if Fenton should pass on and she should marry again, I want her well cared for. She’ll always be my child. Her children will be my grandchildren. My heirs to the extent the law allows.’
Fox reached out, taking Rebecca’s elbow and helping her rise to her feet. ‘I will take care of her now. I am her husband.’
‘A…a…guh…’ Her father collapsed back, falling completely to the floor.
She jumped forward, kneeling beside him. His eyes opened, a trickle of tear running to his cheek.
‘Father…’ Rebecca’s eyes brimmed ‘…please do not take this so hard.’
‘Andrew,’ Fox said to his cousin. ‘Help Father take care of the vicar.’
While his cousin moved in, Fox lifted Rebecca to her feet, his hands clasping around her arms. She weighed less than a winter’s coat. He’d not noticed before how slender she’d become. She couldn’t have eaten more than a bite since he’d seen her last.
She looked up. Her eyes didn’t have the white circle of fear he’d seen in a hare’s eyes before, but they were close.
He walked her towards the back of the church.
As he walked by the man sketching, Fox spoke, a challenging upbeat tone in his voice. ‘You’d best not put any of this in your paper.’
The man’s eyes flickered, and Fox walked out the door.
In the air, away from the mourners inside, Fox looked at the carriages. Forget the wedding breakfast. Forget sitting around a table with the lovestruck Andrew and Beatrice, and the weeping father of the bride, and the father of the groom who’d managed to make his preference known.
Andrew would surely not miss his carriage for a day. Fox would send it back.
Fox walked to Andrew’s conveyance and the driver opened the door. Fox lifted Rebecca onto the steps. She didn’t move forward and he caught the ever-so-delicate scent of lilacs. He guided her in front of himself.
He met the driver’s eyes and gave the man a broad smile. ‘My cousin will be staying with my father a day or so, but he’s loaned me the use of his vehicle to go to London.’ It was true. Andrew was loaning the carriage. Perhaps unwittingly and unwillingly, but no matter.
*
Rebecca sat on the leather squabs and leaned back, shutting her eyes. London. He’d said something about going to London.
The seat squished down beside her when he sat. Way down.
He was going to take her to the marriage breakfast and then leave her at his father’s and return to London. To his home. She’d heard him say that. Well, the marriage had started better than she’d expected. She interlaced her fingers and raised her lashes just enough to glance at him. He stared ahead, looking at the dark wall of the carriage as if he could see actors on a stage in a quite demanding performance.
She didn’t know his face, this man sitting beside her. She needed to hear his voice to reassure herself that he was truly…well, not the vicar. The earl’s son. She knew the earl fairly well at least. Had known him from a distance all her life. He was a dear friend to her father. But the earl rarely visited their house, except perhaps to stop for a moment on a travel.
And she… She’d thought she’d known the new vicar. But he wasn’t quite the new vicar and he had a different face than she remembered.
Well, this wasn’t the first mistake she’d made. Just the most far-reaching. And mistakes could not always be fixed, but they could be lived with. Except when they couldn’t. Except this one could. She could manage. She’d put salve on Mrs Oldman’s bottom and that had been rather discouraging.
‘You’re snarling,’ he said. ‘You’ll like London.’ He looked to the window. ‘Shops. Soirées. And there’s a museum that I’ve heard is good. I’ve been to the art exhibitions at Somerset House. Beatrice had a painting there. Kind of a self-portrait. Andrew had it removed because he doesn’t appreciate art quite like I do. You would prefer his view, I fear.’
She turned her head just enough to see out the window. Then she straightened. She squinted. The carriage slowed. They were crossing the stream.
She turned to him. ‘The coachman is lost. We’re going the wrong direction.’
‘London.’ He spoke without inflection. Without smiling.
‘London.’ His voice sounded so smooth she didn’t feel she looked at the same person who’d helped her into the carriage. We are supposed to go to the marriage breakfast. My father is ill.’
‘It was just the shock of marriage.’
‘My father is ill.’
‘My father will take care of him…like a brother.’
She reached down, removed her slipper and rapped it against the top of the carriage. Instantly, the vehicle slowed.
‘Rebecca.’
‘I can’t leave him when he’s ill. I can’t.’
‘I would rather you wait until after the wedding night to leave me,’ he said.
‘Before works best for me.’ She rapped the shoe on the roof again. ‘My father is ill.’
He grasped the end of the shoe and lowered it with her holding the other end. With his free hand he gently removed her fingers from the other end of the slipper. He pulled her knuckles near his chest. ‘Are you certain?’
‘Positive.’
‘Well…’ his grin enveloped the lower half of his face, but didn’t quite touch his eyes ‘…I can never resist a beautiful woman.’
She snapped the shoe from his hand and leaned forward. ‘You’d best keep your distance from them then.’
The coach stopped. She dropped her shoe and slid her foot into it. The door opened on Rebecca’s side. The coachman leaned inside. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
She reached out. The servant had no choice but to help her alight as she moved towards him. She stepped onto the ground.
‘Rebecca.’ Fox bundled out behind her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I have to make certain my father is well. I will ask your father to see that I get to London later. I’m certain he will.’
‘I’m certain he will not,’ Fox said. He looked at the coachman. The man stepped back.
Fox lifted one brow and looked at her. She could see emotion flare in his eyes, then it turned inside out and a softness rounded his lips. He spoke to the coachman. ‘We’ll be taking my beautiful bride to my father’s estate now. I couldn’t bear to have her distressed on her wedding day.’
She would have preferred if he’d merely said distressed—not distressed on her wedding day.
She stood, staring, confusion bobbing around in her head. She did not have a mother to talk to. And she was standing beside a carriage on a road on her wedding day. No one had warned her about the day, only given her advice on the night. The only guidance she had was sermons and this man hadn’t listened to those sermons.
The physical intimacies didn’t concern her overmuch. The women of the village had each given her a different perspective on what to expect, so she knew a wide variety of tableaus on how the night was to proceed. But they all assured her that would be over by the next day. And then what?
‘Rebecca.’ His voice faded in the breeze. ‘Rebecca?’
She reminded herself that the martyrs had had difficult lives. Which he had mentioned, which of course did not mean he was to be a bad husband.
He was watching her. As if he’d never seen her face.
She wanted the disfigured vicar back. She wanted the bruises and bumps and man who needed her help. The stranger who hardly moved much and couldn’t speak much. That was the man whom she wanted to marry.
She blinked away the picture of her hiring several of the villager’s sons to help with a terrible, terrible idea.
He touched her arm, leaving her to her own thoughts.
She climbed inside the vehicle.
Everything was clear now, but it was a day too late.
The real reason for her marriage. She’d wanted ma
rriage. Wanted a life just like her mother and father and her prospects had been dismal. Her only true hope for marriage had been if one of the ladies of the village died and left a widower. And that was a particularly hideous and revolting thought. None of the men were as attractive to her as the mangled face of the stranger and then he’d had the audacity to go and change it.
And he did not even want to go to the marriage breakfast. Who had ever heard of such a thing? She’d married a complete and utter heathen. A heathen’s heathen. A wife’s burden.
Her words tumbled forward. ‘I liked you better…before…’ She put her hand over her mouth. Well, not really. She shut her eyes tight. She would have to be silent to be truthful.
Apparently he felt the same way.
The carriage interior wobbled as it manoeuvred to turnaround, and Fox moved as if one with the carriage, facing her.
‘I completely understand that you’re disappointed I didn’t heal well.’ He touched his cheek. ‘It still aches a bit and I’ll never look the same. The men whose wives I’ve danced with will have quite the laugh. But the last laugh will be on them.’
‘You don’t think to—’
‘Just the same old dances,’ he said. ‘Nothing to concern yourself with. Enough to make them note I’ve returned. I’ve had my horse sent ahead. And I have had men searching for the man with the gold buttons on his coat.’
On the positive side, an enormous opportunity for good works sat very near her. ‘Perhaps vengeance isn’t something to contemplate.’
‘Certainly.’ He shrugged. ‘No need in thinking about it.’
‘Evil men have to live with their misdeeds.’
‘Oh, yes. I agree.’ He patted her hand. ‘They will have to live with their misdeeds. I’ll see to that.’
‘You plan revenge.’ The words were flat to her ears.
‘Of course. But leave it to me. I’ll take care.’
She imagined the conversations she heard between her parents and their occasional disagreements. Her father had insisted that her mother would choose what would be selected and then her mother had insisted she wished for him to make the decision and the conversation had moved back and forth, with each stumbling over the other in their wish to give an agreement.
