Poetic Justice, a Traditional Regency Romance (Regency Escapades)

by Alicia Rasley

  "What do you mean, his machinations? When I left, he was going off on holiday to Tunbridge Wells."

  He started laughing, and for awhile she thought he wouldn't be able to stop. He must be weary too, if he drove through the night, and she knew that was what he would have done. She thought he must have stopped at an inn this morning, for he was clean-shaven and his cravat was impeccably tied. But under his eyes were shadows of weariness.

  Worried, she drew him over to the hard wooden bench that lined the wall under the shelf of ointments. When they were sitting side-by-side, her hands clasped in his, his laughter finally died and he laid his head back against the wall. She raised her hand to touch the faint remnant of a smile on his lips. "Tell me what is so funny."

  "It's not funny. It's just that we should have known Wiley'd never concede defeat so easily. Sweetheart, he had me abducted and thrown aboard a Navy sloop. I woke up fifty leagues out in the North Sea. And no one believed I had important business back in London."

  It was too much to take in, that he had spent these last weeks helpless while she cursed his intransigence. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have doubted you."

  "I doubted myself, for awhile there. But as soon as I got back to London, I figured your puzzle out."

  This Jessica found suspicious, considering how she had labored to set that puzzle up. "As soon as you got back? Surely it took you a bit of thought. I didn't mean for you to decipher it by lightning flashes."

  "Well, your note to your uncle had all the clues, but it took a letter from my sister-in-law to show me how to interpret them. Sophie went on and on about this mysterious shop assistant Dennis had hired, and finally I found the key to the maze you made for me. I still don't know how she guessed though."

  "I expect the princess was the one to guess. She came in here the first day I worked the counter, and recognized me straightaway. I made her promise not to tell you."' John looked ready to argue this, so she added quickly, "I told you, I didn't want to make it easy for you! I presumed, of course, that she would tell Lord Devlyn, and that he would write to you."

  "He wouldn't. He would tell her that I wouldn't appreciate her meddling in my affairs."

  "Men are so obstinate! I'm glad she was clever enough to tell Sophie, who must be less scrupulous about such things."

  "So am I. I expect," John added thoughtfully, "that means the princess has forgiven me."

  "Why was she angry at you?"

  "Because men are obstinate, as you said. Jessie, you know, I did this all wrong."

  "You found me, at least, though you certainly didn't leave much time."

  "No, I mean falling in love with you."

  She looked up to see trouble clouding his eyes. A bit of her happiness dimmed. "That's not all wrong. It can't be. It feels too right to me."

  "Idiot. I don't mean falling in love was wrong. But I didn't tell you that, did I? When I proposed."

  All the joy came flooding back, and she could indulge in a bit of play. "I don't think you ever truly proposed. You declared that I was to marry you, whether I liked it or not, but I don't think that counts as a proposal. At least, it was unlike any proposal I've ever received."

  He was grinning, a bit shamefaced, perhaps, but not as much as he ought to be. "I suppose it lacked a bit of passion."

  "Oh, no, it had plenty of passion. None addressed towards me, unfortunately. More directed at the injustices of the world which had led you to this disastrous development." Even after three weeks, and these last precious moments, she couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. "The most insulting part of it, of course, was that you seemed to think that I would be resistant to the prospect of marrying you."

  His assessing gaze took in their prosaic surroundings, then focused on her gray shopgirl's frock and dark blue apron. "Not such an unwarranted suspicion, considering that you fled the city to avoid our wedding."

  "Not to avoid the wedding. To—" She couldn't explain precisely, so she was relieved when he smiled and brought her hand to his lips.

  "To test me. Well, I suppose I deserved it, considering what a cock-up I made of the proposal. Will you let me try again?"

  Graciously she nodded, and to her surprise he went down on one knee before her, like the veriest cavalier, and took her hand in his hard grasp. "Doubtlessly you've noticed, my darling, that my devotion to you has grown to something more fervent, more fierce, something that can only be called—dare I name it?—love. Your beauty, your spirit, your quick intelligence, all this has won my admiration and my ardor. I will not know happiness until you say that you will be mine."

  He seemed to be waiting for some response, and with a smile tugging at her mouth, she gave him one. "That is much better. One of the best I have heard. Not quite as elegant as Damien's—he did his in tercets, like Dante—but much improved."

  He rose and yanked her to her feet, crushing her to him. "Say you'll marry me, or I'll not answer for the consequences."

  Breathlessly, she whispered, "Yes," and lifted her head to kiss him.

  The bell on the door tinkled, but for the first time in two weeks she was too occupied to pay it any mind. She pulled an inch away from John's mouth, just long enough to murmur, "I shall be with you in a moment," to the entering customer, before returning to the kiss.

  "John?"

  Even with her back to the door, Jessica recognized this disbelieving voice as that of her employer, Mr. Dennis Manning. She would have told him to go away, except that she recalled with a bit of guilt that she had been planning to vanish without giving him notice in an hour or so. So she just ignored him, and noted with pleasure, as John murmured love words into her ear, that this was a consensus decision.

  She should have known, however, that Mr. Manning wasn't one who took well to being ignored. A square hand took hold of John's shoulder and pulled him away from her. She managed to retain John's hand, though, and together they faced the intruder, wearing, no doubt, identical expressions of annoyance.

  Her employer, however, only looked astounded. Not for the first time, Jessica noted with some relief that John did not in the least resemble his stolid, stubborn brother, in feature or character. Dennis gazed blankly from one to the other, pausing to stare at their clasped hands.

  "John, what on earth do you think you're doing?"

  "Seducing your shop assistant." John turned away from him, bringing Jessica's hand to his lips and looking deep into her eyes. "Now be a good lad and go away and let me finish. It's all right," he added, "we're betrothed."

  "Wait!"

  Jessica ignored him, but John wasn't so stubborn. He sighed and raised his head to regard his brother. "What?"

  "Think of what Father would say. Lord, I can hear him saying it now—'What are you doing, Dennis, letting your brother scandalize the customers by seducing your shop assistant right there in the middle of the shop?'" Disgruntledly he added, "Wouldn't you know he'd blame me."

  Jessica closed her eyes, leaning against John's chest. "Perhaps this will surprise you, but he labors under the impression that your father haunts the shop. And, you might as well know it, the ghost does not approve of female shop assistants."

  "And Mother," Dennis broke in, "wouldn't approve of you marrying one either. She expected you to do better than that."

  Jessica felt John's chest throb with laughter and raised her head to kiss him again. She decided she would never get enough of that, of the absolute freedom to kiss him, even if it did cause employers and ghosts to squawk with outrage.

  "She's just pretending to be a shopgirl," John said, between kisses. "She's really an heiress."

  "An heiress?" This at least had the effect of silencing Dennis. In fact, he was so silent that Jessica became worried that he had expired from holding his breath too long. When she sneaked a glance over her shoulder, though, she saw that he was glaring at her.

  "An heiress, and you asked for a rise in pay? That takes cheek, I'd say!"

  "And now she's going to leave you without giving no
tice."

  "When?"

  John detached himself far enough to reach for his watch. "Immediately. We must be married and back to London by tomorrow morning."

  "Can we do it, John? Have you got a license?"

  "A special license. Now we just need a vicar."

  They were too engrossed in exchanging smiles at this prospect to notice Dennis, but eventually his throat rumblings turned into a statement. "Well, if you must marry, you must. Mother wouldn't be happy to see it done by special license, but I suppose that's what you must do with an heiress, snabble her before she changes her mind."

  "She's not changing her mind."

  Jessica nodded firmly, and Dennis sighed.

  "Then I suppose I should come with you to the church to stand up with you."

  John glanced at Jessica, then at Dennis, and after an awkward pause, replied, "Thank you, Denny, but I think that's a duty for my elder brother."

  For a moment there was silence. Then Dennis, with more grace than Jessica would ever have expected of him, said, "I expect you're right. I'll go for the vicar. He might require a bit of persuading, considering this is one of the days he communes with his Creator out on the fishing pond."

  Once he had gone, Jessica let John hold her in tender silence. But finally she had to ask, "Do you think that we should wait till after tomorrow to wed? Just so that we will always know that we married for love, and not the collection?"

  John groaned. "No more tests, Jessica. We love each other. We will share a life of adventure and achievement—and start by thwarting Wiley's attempt to slander Shakespeare. After a century or so together, if I haven't made you happy, then I will have failed the test. But give me until then, will you?"

  "A century?" It sounded rather too seductive to bear. "I suppose I can wait that long, if I spend every day with you."

  They might have sat in the old apothecary shop all morning, holding hands and talking of the future, if Sophie and the princess hadn't arrived to take her up to the Keep to dress. Jessica went unwillingly, telling John she'd just as soon be married in her gray shopgirl frock, but that was enough to make the other women gasp and drag her out the door into the dusty sunlit street.

  "You must dress for the occasion, dearest." The princess took the coachman's hand and climbed the steps of the carriage, saying over her shoulder, "We are of a size, so you may make yourself free of my wardrobe."

  Jessica's resistance faltered as she recalled the delicious gown the princess had worn at that fateful ball six weeks ago. She saw her face reflected in the carriage window and realized that the gray dress made her look rather washed out. "Well, if you don't mind...I suppose John would prefer me to look dazzling."

  "Yes, he would," Sophie assured her, giving her a bit of a shove up the carriage steps. "Men do prefer a dazzling bride. Gives them a memory to cherish when you're nine months gone with child." With a happy sigh, she settled next to Jessica on the upholstered seat and gazed around her. "What a commodious coach," she said to the princess, who had taken the seat opposite. "Thank you for inviting me along, your highness."

  "Oh, no thanks are due! And do call me Tatiana. We are all going to be sisters, after all. Oh!" The princess covered her mouth with her hand, like a small child who had uttered a naughty word. Her expression was so comic that both Jessica and Sophie burst out laughing, and soon, they were all whispering between chuckles as the carriage lurched up the long avenue.

  "It's obvious enough. They are next to twins, John and Devlyn," Jessica said, holding onto the handgrip to keep from falling against Sophie.

  "But if you'd known Mrs. Manning." Sophie rolled her eyes. "The most proper lady you ever imagined! She was shocked when I let little Tommy run about bare-bottomed, and he was but a year then! I just can't imagine how she ever managed it!"

  The princess gave a shrug of Gallic sophistication. "Well, I suspect that the late Lord Devlyn, for all his faults, was nearly irresistible. In fact, I know Michael worries that he will someday encounter other half-siblings, none quite so congenial as our darling John. Aren't you glad," she said to Jessica, "that the sins of the father seem to have bypassed these two sons? Not that John hasn't his share of sins, but profligacy with women isn't one of them."

  "I'm relieved to hear that. I think I'm likely to be the jealous sort, given the opportunity," Jessica observed, but hadn't time to elaborate before the carriage stopped and the coachman yanked open the door and bowed them out.

  The princess's wardrobe took up an acre or two of a dressing room, and Jessica, who ordinarily cared little for apparel, was transfixed by the array of colors and fabrics on display. Tatiana and Sophie held a whispered consultation amidst the gowns, and emerged from it with a consensus choice, an ivory blush dress with tiny puffy sleeves and a cascade of lace on the silk bodice. The princess held it up against Jessica's chest. "It's perfect for a bride, and I've never worn it. I've never been able to blush. I think it will do very well."

  And indeed, it made Jessica look both fragile and splendid, rather like Shakespeare's fairy queen Titania. She knew John would have loved her did she resemble a gnome, but it was a pleasure to see his eyes glow silver when she met him in the little chapel attached to Devlyn Keep. He wore borrowed finery too, a morning coat, a satin waistcoat, crisp white linen shimmering with colored light from the stained-glass windows. He stood with his brothers near the altar, looking for all the world like a pagan prince renouncing his ancient gods for the love of her.

  She wanted to tell him he need renounce nothing, that she wanted him pagan and all. She wanted to touch him, to trace the exotic lines of his face. But the vicar was entering, muttering under his breath as he fumbled behind his neck with the fastening of his clerical collar.

  So Jessica only stood next to her pagan, bending her head and smiling when he stealthily took her hand and hid the contact between their bodies. Very soon, his hand promised her, they would be alone, and they would be married, and no one in the world could keep them apart.

  There was just a moment when her joy muted, when she glanced back at Devlyn and the princess and Mr. and Mrs. Manning—John's family—and longed to see her own family there too. But she supposed it was enough that her uncle had consented to the wedding, finally putting her happiness above his grief. Somehow he—and Aunt Martha too—must have seen that John, for all his apparent faults, was the one she had to love.

  But the vicar wasn't so ready to let the past go. He shook his head until the sun danced off his shining pate. "Miss Seton, are you certain this is what you want to do? You must not know all there is to know about this groom of yours." The reverend shot an accusatory glance at John, who tried but failed to look innocent. "He wasn't always a baronet, you know. In fact, he was other things, far more disreputable."

  Jessica regarded him with a hauteur the princess might have envied. "I know exactly the sort of man he is, and I wouldn't have him any other way."

  She thought she heard a sigh of relief from behind her, where her two future sisters-in-law sat. John only pressed her hand and smiled down at her as the vicar made a minute study of the special license. "I suppose it's in order. We don't get many of these here in Dorset, you know. Most couples post their banns ahead of time, for they have nothing to fear and nothing to hide. And they haven't any reason not to place their own names on the license, the ones they received at their christening."

  No doubt this was an acquaintance of longstanding. Indeed, Jessica thought perhaps this old vicar had christened John so many years ago. Probably John had bitten him during the ritual, and the vicar had never forgiven it.

  At any rate, the ironic glint in John's eyes indicated that he was about to say something. Devlyn forestalled whatever it was, stepping forward so that he blocked the vicar's view of the disreputable groom. "Thank you, Mr. Tooley. Let's get on with it then. Do we need anything else?"

  "A ring," the vicar said, a bit sullenly.

  Beside her, John closed his eyes as if in pain.

  "You didn'
t forget the ring." Though Devlyn's voice was perfectly level, something in the way he gazed at the flowers on the altar suggested that he was about to laugh.

  Unexpectedly the princess spoke up from the first pew. "Of course he forgot a ring, darling. I'm surprised he remembered to bring his head with him, as distracted as he must have been when he left London. Fortunately, I thought of that, and checked my jewel box before we came down. Here."

  She interposed herself between Jessica and John, indicating with a nod that they were to hold out their hands. As if doling out candy to children, she said, "One for you, John, and one for you, Jessica. A matched set. Aren't they lovely?"

  They were, actually, a slender twist of gold in John's hand, crowned with sapphires circling a diamond, and a wider twisted band for Jessica to trade for the other. "But these must be worth a fortune!"

  "Not at all!" The princess closed Jessica's hand around the man's ring. "Oh, they are valuable. But they aren't part of the crown jewels, just some bits that my mother's great-granduncle left behind when he disappeared. That was Fyodor Romanov."

  "The Butcher?" Devlyn broke in, adroitly catching the ring John tossed him and putting it away in his pocket.

  "Oh, no. This was Fyodor the Intriguer. If he'd been the Butcher, he would never have disappeared." She flashed a blinding smile at John. "I tried to use them for our wedding, but Michael said he'd rather have his finger ripped off than wear a Romanov ring. I knew you wouldn't be so scrupulous. In fact," she added, slipping back between them to retake her seat, "you will appreciate them, both of you being so very Byzantine. Now, Mr. Tooley, do let us get on with it. The bride has another ceremony to attend tomorrow in London."

  Jessica was about to object that few men wore rings these days, but then she saw the glint of gold on Lord Devlyn's left hand and thought that perhaps the princess had the right of it after all. There was no harm in alerting other women ahead of time that a man was unavailable, especially a man who might well have inherited his father's irresistible quality.

  And so, with a clear conscience, Jessica was able to repeat the vicar's reluctant words, "With this ring, I thee wed."