Evan’s expression lightened with grim enjoyment of that image. “We’ll squash ’em, won’t we?”
Pru folded her arms. “Try that sentence again, if you please.”
Evan blinked. “We shall squash them, shall we not?”
Pru grinned nastily. “Like insects on the sidewalk.”
Melody looked up from where she was stringing up Gordy Ann. “Don’t squash the bugs, Evan!”
Evan grinned at Melody. “Just pretend bugs, sillykins. Come here. I’ll show you how to make a proper noose, sliding knot and all.”
Melody crawled obediently across to the opposite seat, happy to have an ally in her merry mayhem.
Pru leaned back in her own seat and watched them, her fierce determination flagging as she realized once more that by tomorrow she would be bidding farewell to Melody.
Forever.
My sweet baby girl. How can I let you go as well?
Because it was best. Melody needed her mother, and as much as Pru disliked Chantal, she would not rob her of her last months with her child. Unfortunately, knowing that she did the right thing gave her no consolation whatsoever.
Melancholy descended upon her like a stifling blanket. Her shining new life simply refused to glow in her mind. She would be better off than she had been in years and yet the future loomed like a gallows, dark and dreary.
She turned away from the children to stare out of the window as helpless tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, my love. How am I to wake every day and brave the opening of my eyes, knowing that you shall not be there?
How am I to go on?
Colin walked out of the hotel with only his valise in his hand. He felt strangely light, traveling only with himself. Light and empty, as if he didn’t walk in the same world as everyone else. People passed him, striding quickly, their faces wreathed in smiles or scowls or puzzlement—emotions he vaguely remembered but that seemed to have nothing to do with him.
The awful numbness was worse than the pain, for it didn’t ease the loss at all. He only felt more bereft than ever, as if he’d lost himself as well.
Pru, my love, you took my heart with you. There is nothing beating in my chest now. I am hollow.
Yet he knew she’d left him because she loved him. It burned, deep down beneath the ice, like snowcaps on a dormant volcano. For the first time, Colin truly understood Jack’s shadows. How could one continue to walk normally in the world without a heart?
Yet, he carried on. Numbly, he arranged a special license with the bishop in the arching halls of the Bath cathedral. Numbly, he rented a suitable carriage, comfortable and well sprung, the better for Chantal to travel back to London. Numbly, he entered Lementeur’s establishment, only to emerge pressed and resplendent and still entirely, completely numb.
Numbly, he climbed the steps of the church on his wedding day, prepared to marry a woman he would never love.
CHAPTER 41
At the altar, Colin waited with his single witness at his side. Chantal’s physician, Dr. Bennett, had been designated to give the bride away. Colin was still trying to decide quite what that symbolized.
Next to him, Lementeur brushed at Colin’s sleeve with a frown. “Lint,” the smaller man informed him in a whisper.
Was there really a world in which people worried about such things? It seemed bizarre, but then this day already had such an unreal quality to it.
The bishop cleared his throat and Colin looked up to see Chantal coming down the aisle on Dr. Bennett’s arm. She wore a gown of pale peach. It looked odd on her. Colin had only ever seen her in dramatic jewel tones.
She was wan but still so lovely. The picture of a delicate, nervous bride. When had he become immune to such obvious beauty? Chantal had once seemed to be all that was exquisite and precious and beautiful in women. She was even more striking now that she was ill—languid, misty-eyed perfection.
Her faultless face left him cold.
Regularity of features was an accident of birth. Chantal depended solely upon her ability to attract and did nothing to improve her chances of keeping. She did nothing to improve her mind or her personality. Traits that he would insist upon in a male companion—truthfulness, honor, courage, and intelligence—were entirely lacking in this perfect caricature of a woman!
Her blue eyes glowed like the evening sky as she met his gaze. Her smile, however, was the one she used on men she wished to avoid.
This marriage was not going to go well.
Yet, what did it matter? In mere moments, Melody would be nearly as legitimate as if she’d been born in the next year, which was quite good enough for Society’s standards. All the doors of the world were swinging open for his daughter even now.
Worth every moment of the coming hell.
Chantal came even with Colin and took her place by his side. Dr. Bennett and Lementeur took a step back as Colin and Chantal turned to face the bishop.
As the bishop began to intone the words of the ceremony, Colin spurned regret. That was useless now. He’d made this bed years ago and he’d done it with glee, thoughtless cad that he’d been. He took Chantal’s hand in his and opened his mouth. “I vow—”
“What?” Melody’s cry was practically a shriek, making Button cringe at her noise and lean away from her on the sofa where they sat.
“He married Chantal? How could he? What about Pru? What about Evan? What about me?”
Button gazed at her. “I can see that this particular story might not be the best way to calm your wedding nerves. Perhaps it’s time we got you dressed.”
“No! No, please, Button. I need to know. Really. I’m calm.” She smoothed her wrapper where she’d been clutching it tightly with both hands and plastered a serene expression on her face. “See. Very calm.”
“Hmm.” His gaze was skeptical but he returned to his spot next to her and allowed her to wrap his arm over her shoulders once again.
“Very well, then. Let’s see . . . where were we?”
“Colin and Chantal are just wed.”
“Are they? Well, let us see . . .”
Colin inhaled deeply. “I vow—”
A commotion at the church door drowned out his words. All faces turned to the back of the church to see a slender man lurching up the aisle, waving madly.
Colin squinted against the light streaming in from the open doors. “Purty Bertie?”
Lementeur made a humming noise. “Oh, my. Such an elegant fit . . .”
Chantal outright shrieked. “Bertie!”
With that, Colin’s bride shoved her bouquet into Lementeur’s hands and flung herself back up the aisle she’d so recently come down—
And into Lord Bertram’s eager arms. Dr. Bennett rushed after her.
“Miss Marchant, you must take care not to excite yourself!”
Colin realized he’d never seen Chantal so excited in his recollection. She was kissing old Bertie as if he had the only supply of air in the room. Bertie kissed her right back, his arms tight about her.
One elegant hand was planted firmly on Chantal’s arse.
Colin shook his head. “You truly shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
Lementeur watched the amorous couple with raised brows. “Even I might have called that one wrong, sir.”
Dr. Bennett finally persuaded Chantal to come up for air. Colin waited for the three of them to meet him at the top of the aisle. Really, he didn’t dare move for fear that his boots would begin to speak or something equally bizarre.
The bishop was fuming. “Sir,” he snarled at Bertie, “this is a house of worship.”
“Be nice,” Colin murmured in an aside. “He’s even richer than I am.”
The bishop stepped forward, his arms open to welcome the happy couple. “Sirs and madam, I can see that there are matters to discuss. If we might all step into my retiring room . . .”
In a matter of moments, they were all seated in the bishop’s quarters. Chantal had a death grip on Bertie’s hand. Dr. Bennett had her other one, o
stensibly checking her pulse although Colin suspected he was simply loath to let go of his favorite patient.
Lementeur remained standing at the back of the room.
“All the better to watch the proceedings,” he’d confessed to Colin a moment ago. “I am going to dine out on this story for years.”
“Dirty gossip.”
“Oh, I’ll make you out nicely, sir, don’t you worry. The shining knight, coming to the rescue of the beautiful, ill actress even though he loves another.”
Colin had glanced at him sharply. “How did you know?”
Lementeur smiled. “Miss Filby is a very unusual young lady, sir. You have admirable taste.”
The reminder of Pru made Colin ache. “Oh, all right, then.” He sighed wearily. What did a bit of gossip matter? He was going to have to pry Chantal away from Bertie and marry her anyway. He had no doubt that his entire life was going to be gossip when Chantal got through with her likely vengeance.
Now, the bishop could hardly get a word in edgewise, for Bertie and Chantal were breathlessly avowing their devotion to one another.
“I had to leave you behind!” Chantal was saying piteously. “Gaffin would have killed you!”
Bertie shot Colin a resentful glance. “But you said yes to wedding him!”
Colin frowned at that. “Yes, you said yes to wedding me. I suppose it is all right if Gaffin kills me?”
Chantal ignored him. “I had to agree to Sir Colin’s proposal. Here I was, stuck in Bath with nothing and no one—”
Dr. Bennett looked as though he wanted to interrupt, but Colin put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s no use, man. She only wanted you for one thing.”
Dr. Bennett subsided mournfully. Colin wagered that Chantal’s free medical attention had just come to an end.
Chantal went on. “I couldn’t send for you then, because I didn’t think you could ever forgive me!”
The unbelievable thing was that Colin didn’t think Chantal was acting, not for a moment. Gone were the practiced looks of longing, the seductive tones, the calculated displays of bosom and fluttering lashes. This was a Chantal he’d never seen before.
Bertie clutched her hands in his own, pressing them dramatically to his heart. “Oh, my darling, my forever love, there is nothing I would not forgive you!”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Colin murmured. After all, Chantal’s list was rather a long one.
The bishop rather obviously dropped a large volume of hymns to the floor. The well-calculated bang echoed painfully through the chamber, halting the lovers’ effusiveness at last.
The bishop smiled hopefully at Bertie. “My lord, it seems we have a bit of a kerfluffle. I provided Sir Colin with a special license only this morning in order for him to wed Miss Marchant. In the doctrine, this means that they have already entered into the marriage contract.”
“But—” Chantal was horrified. “But we never spoke the vows! How can we be wed if we never spoke the vows?”
The bishop made a show of rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That is true . . .”
Colin raised his hand. “Miss Marchant is forgetting one thing in her excitement.” He shot a look at his bride. “Our daughter?” he reminded her. “Melody?”
The bishop paled. “There is already a child of your union?”
Chantal fluttered a hand. “No, no, no. That was all a . . . a misunderstanding. I don’t have a child.” She had the grace to look ever so slightly ashamed of herself. “I wasn’t being entirely honest about that.”
Dr. Bennett cleared his throat. “How old a child, might I ask?”
“A scarce three years, perhaps.”
Dr. Bennett shook his head. “Then I can vouch for Miss Marchant’s innocence in that regard. The rheumatic fever she suffered nearly four years ago left her heart too damaged to withstand a pregnancy, if I might be excused for that indelicacy.”
The bishop seemed relieved. “Well, that’s settled, then . . .”
The air seemed to leave the room. The voices around him faded as Colin heard only one phrase echoed again and again. I don’t have a child.
If Chantal didn’t have a child, then . . .
Neither did he. Melody was not his daughter. Not his.
He’d thought he’d been in pain earlier today. He’d thought he could lose nothing more.
He’d been so damned wrong.
Oh, Mellie. Oh, my funny, sweet little Mellie.
He felt someone put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Lementeur.
“Sir Colin, all is not lost,” the dressmaker whispered into his ear. “Remember Prudence.”
Colin gulped air and shook his head. “I sent her away. I’ve lost her.”
“You can find her again.”
Slowly, through the dimness of his grief, Colin heard a thudding sound. The beat of his own heart, back in his chest where it belonged.
Ready to give away once more.
I can find her. I can have Pru.
And Melody was at Brown’s, where she should be. Jack’s daughter, after all. Chantal had no right to her.
Uncle, not father. Uncle Colin, forever.
Not as he’d wished it, yet not the worst of fates.
He stood abruptly. “I have to go.”
It took a great deal of persuasion to keep him there, but eventually the bishop convinced him that it was better to manage the legal matters now, to finish them for good. However, Colin itched at the delay. Only Lementeur’s soothing hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat.
Bertie leaned forward urgently. “If you could see your way clear to revoking the license, your grace, I would be most appreciative. Really, most appreciative.”
As the bishop’s eyes narrowed in calculation, Colin hid a sour smile. Bertie was going to pay a pretty penny for stealing his bride. Good. A man had his pride, even in such a twisty arrangement as this one.
When all was ironed out and the old special license burned and the new one made out, Colin was ready to make for the door. Hector had quite a gallop ahead of him tonight!
Just as he was impatiently making his polite good-byes, he heard Bertie make a comment to Lementeur.
“Thank you for sending me that message about the wedding, sir. Your courier found me on the road just outside of Bath. I shan’t forget the kindness.”
Colin turned to Lementeur with a frown. “You did that?”
Lementeur blinked. “Oh, my. Yes, I suppose I did,” he said smugly. “Was that wrong of me?”
Colin stared at the smaller man, his thoughts tumbling over themselves. “You . . . you are a most unexpected fellow, Lementeur.”
Lementeur smiled a puckish grin. “My friends,” he said with a small bow, “call me Button.” Then he gave Colin a playful push. “Get thee gone, sir knight. Your princess awaits.”
“Button, I am not a knight.” Colin gave the man a grin, joy bubbling up within him. “I’m a pirate.”
With that, he strode from the church, his heart beating strong and eager in his chest.
Right where it belonged.
CHAPTER 42
When Colin finally rode into London proper, he and Hector were filthy and exhausted. It was a miracle that Hector wasn’t lame as well, for Colin had not spared the speed, not even in the darkest, moonless portion of the night. However, good roads and a complete lack of baggage had made for fairly easy travel for the big gelding and Hector still trotted along, his head high and his tail waving like a black satin banner.
It was almost as if Hector could feel Colin’s joy.
Beneath that joy scurried little monsters of worry. What if she had already disappeared? What if he couldn’t find her? What if she couldn’t forgive him when he did?
He tried to remind himself that a mumsy carriage carrying four could not have made such good time to town. He even tried to convince himself that he’d arrived first and could very well be the one awaiting them at Brown’s.
Then again, Bailiwick’s horse was a great strong beast who coul
d likely pull that little carriage all night without noticing it. Pru might be in a tearing hurry to send Melody home and put all the pain behind her.
A gaggle of brightly dressed females crossed the street before Hector. Colin tried not to twitch with impatience, especially when he found himself forced to tip his hat and bow at the women, who turned out to be ladies of his acquaintance. Giggles and fluttering lashes met his impatient overture and the entire group slowed to a crawl, all the better to assess his outrageous condition.
He was filthy of course, as was Hector. Road dust coated them both and Colin’s suit might have been acceptable yesterday but a night’s worth of hard travel and that one short bit of rain had left him most sincerely rumpled.
This only fueled the storm of giggles and gossip that kept the gaggle swirling in place directly in his path. Irritated at the delay, Colin glanced this way and that, hoping that his lack of interest would send them on their way.
A flash of light reflected from something, catching his eye in truth. He looked to his left to see a jeweler’s window. Displayed upon velvet were a few pieces in gold and amber. The only brilliant thing in the display was a ring displayed upon a glove stuffed to present a hand.
Feeling Colin lean to one side, Hector obediently stepped closer.
The ring was a pretty thing. The diamond stone was not large, but it sparkled. The gold filigree work of the band was lovely in its simplicity. On either side of the diamond were set three gleaming moonstones, soft and shimmering counterpoints to the clarity of the diamond.
Moonstones. They reminded Colin of Pru’s eyes in the firelight.
Before he realized what he was about, he had dismounted. Striding into the shop, he commanded the clerk’s attention away from at least four customers and purchased the ring.
He left the shop, tucking the small box into his breast pocket. As he walked quickly back to Hector, who was obviously musing upon the idea of walking home to the mews where he was kept, Colin smelled something that stopped him in his tracks.
Turning swiftly, he realized that the shop next to the jeweler’s had a flower box beneath the window. In this box grew several pinkish flowers and a spill of familiar, spicy-scented leaves.
Rogue in My Arms: The Runaway Brides Page 29
