“Breathe.” His breath brushed her cheek.
She was breathing—for the most part.
“I wouldn’t have thought this would be so real,” she whispered.
“Leave it to Blackheart to ensure all pomp and circumstance be observed.”
But of course. She ought to have realized... “But he isn’t here.”
“He has other… obligations.” Quiet laughter rumbled in his voice.
Which reminded her… “I thought that you weren’t coming.”
He squeezed her hand. “Wasn’t going to let you off that easily.”
She tried to listen to the reading, reminding herself once again of the solemnity of the occasion but the priest might as well have been speaking in welsh for all she comprehended. It was absurd, really.
Her entire being fixated helplessly on the hand clasping hers.
Chase’s skin was warm and… thick, not as tender as hers. He gripped it with just enough strength for her to know he did so intentionally, but not so much that she felt trapped.
T-r-a-p-p-e-d. Ironically, a seven-letter word. Did he feel trapped by her?
She started a little when Chase rose, the rector gesturing for them to return to their positions at the altar.
Once there, Chase turned to face her, and she followed his lead.
“Bethany Louisa Fitzwilliam, will you have this man to be your husband: to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health: and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.” Her voice sounded loud in her ears.
Theirs could not be a platonic union—although she’d heard of several ton marriages that were white—marriages in name only. But how could two people live together for the rest of their lives without forging some sort of bond? And shouldn’t that bond be both emotional and physical—even if these nuptials weren’t based on romantic love?
She wasn’t naïve, nor was she ignorant as to the rumors. She only hoped that he would be discreet as far as other women were concerned.
Or would he keep a single mistress? Her stomach churned at the thought. She didn’t want to share him that way.
“Triston Aaron Corbet, Will you have this woman…”
Bethany stared up at him, a strange awareness donning on her.
She didn’t know him at all, really. He was her brother’s friend. He was kind, charming, charismatic. But what kind of a husband was he going to be? If he didn’t love her, and didn’t want her love, what kind of marriage could they have?
She needed to protect her heart. Didn’t she? It was possible she’d been infatuated with an illusion all these years, but today she was marrying a real live man.
“I will.” Chase’s voice sounded sure. But he was watching her, brows furrowed.
“Take one another’s right hand and repeat after me, please. I’ll begin with Lord Chaswick. I, Triston, take you, Bethany, to be my wife.”
“I, Triston, take you, Bethany, to be my wife.” Chase diligently repeated all the rector’s words. “To have and to hold from this day forward, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.”
“And Lady Bethany?”
But before she could begin, unable to bear it any longer, she reached up and straightened his cravat. She could hardly recite her vows when something was so obviously off.
The corner of Chase’s mouth hitched up, and a teasing glint sparkled behind his eyes.
She cleared her throat. “I, Bethany…” She kept her gaze pinned on his cravat and somehow managed to repeat the words without stumbling once.
“The rings? My Lord?”
“Oh, but there wasn’t time to—”
“Wait. I’ve got them… somewhere...” Chase cut her off, dropping her hand and reaching into his jacket. The evening sunlight slanting across the altar made his hair appear more a caramel mixture than toffee, and a lock of it dropped along his jaw as he rummaged through each of his pockets. “Here.”
For the second time this afternoon, she nearly swooned. Of course, she had hoped to have a beautiful ring when she married—what woman didn’t?—but she never could have imagined this one.
The center diamond was cut in the shape of a heart, set in rose gold and flanked by two butterfly designs featuring numerous smaller diamonds. Butterflies were… perfect.
She glanced up at him questioningly.
“It almost made me late. I hope it fits.”
“Ahem.” The rector leaned forward. “We will discover that soon enough.”
“I don’t have one for you.” Bethany’s voice sounded little more than a whisper.
Chase merely grinned and, opening her hand and holding his closed fist above it, dropped a thick rose-gold band into hers.
“Oh…”
This wedding was real. It was happening. How could she protect her heart if he persisted in living up to the illusion?
The pastor spoke a blessing over the rings and then asked them to face one another.
“Bethany, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow.” Chase took her hand and repeated the words as instructed. “And with all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you, in the name of God.”
The ring slid on easily but not too easily. It fit perfectly. Just as she’d always found him to be. Perfect in her eyes.
Bethany barely followed what remained of the ceremony, feeling excited, terrified, and as though she was walking on air. Her knees wobbled by the time the rector finally announced them man and wife.
Chase squeezed her hand and brushed his lips along her jaw.
Their first kiss.
Chapter 10
Matters to Discuss
“Congratulations.” Greys was one of the first to step up and reach out a hand. Chase met his friend’s gaze and shook it heartily.
He’d made it through the ceremony, signed the license, and thanked Rector Hodgson and each person who had taken the time to witness his and Bethany’s hasty nuptials. Most of them now mingled in the vestibule or on the front steps of the church.
“Would everyone care to return with us to Well’s Place to partake of refreshments and a small supper?” Lady Westerley asked the guests in general. The ubiquitous pinched look around her mouth had finally eased.
Chase didn’t begrudge Lady Westerley her anxiety—she had every right after the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The nature of the marriage aside, he had very nearly been late, and would have been, if he’d had to rely on a driver.
Upon sitting down with the girls at Farm Street house and announcing his plans to marry, they had insisted that in addition to flowers, he needed to purchase rings. They’d accompanied him to a jeweler, which had taken up most of the afternoon, and after escorting them home, he’d returned to Byrde House where Mr. Smythe had been more fastidious than normal as he’d assisted Chase into wedding appropriate apparel. By the time Chase had located a flower cart, it was nearly four.
But all of it had been worth it.
The pleasure in Bethany’s eyes when he’d handed her the flowers and surprised her with the rings had warmed him in a way he hadn’t expected.
But now her mother wanted to host some sort of dinner…
“Does that meet with your approval?” Bethany stared up at him questioningly.
He winced. “I promised my mother we would return straight away to Byrde House so that she could meet you.” If he failed to return to take dinner with his mother, there would be no telling how she would react. “If you don’t mind, that is…”
His wife’s eyes flew wide, and she began shaking her head. Good God, he had a wife now.
“I hadn’t realized she was in town. Of course. Of course.” Bethany turned back to her mother to explain while Chase took a step back, wishing himself anywhere else. This sensation of awkwardness was unusual for him. Oddly enough, the actual ceremony had been the least uncomfortable o
f all their dealings since… the incident.
Lady Westerley was nodding approvingly, almost eager to conclude the business of her daughter’s nuptials. “The servants spent most of the afternoon packing up Bethany’s belongings. No need to provide your direction, Chaswick, I attended your mother’s at-homes without fail, before… well… years ago. I’ll have the last of my daughter’s possessions delivered right away.” Likely she wanted all of this sordid business behind them so her younger daughter’s come-out could go ahead as planned.
But would marriage between the two of them be enough to garner forgiveness from a majority of the ton, and even more importantly, Westerley’s forgiveness?
When Chase had arrived at Well’s Place to make his hasty offer to Bethany that morning, he and Lady Westerley had met together first. They’d agreed that he would address marriage contracts with Westerley after he and his new countess returned from their wedding journey. Delaying legal and financial specifics of their union was a most unusual circumstance but nothing about marrying Bethany fell within the realm of the usual.
In any case, he had no intention of accepting her dowry. He’d set up a trust for her with his own funds.
He folded the license and tucked it into his pocket, and the deep breath he took might have been cleansing if not for the various perfumes wafting around him. Lady Ravensdale, Lady Sheffield, and a handful of other tonnish ladies wished both he and Bethany well, and then exited out into the cool evening air. A stern look from Stone, a few handshakes and slaps on the back from Mantis and Greys, and then an unexpected silence fell when he and Bethany were left alone.
Crickets might as well have been chirping, echoing throughout the grand chamber. If they were going to stand a chance at a successful marriage, they most assuredly needed to move beyond this new awkwardness in which they found themselves.
“I’m afraid I didn’t think this through. If I was a proper groom, I would have a lovely barouche waiting outside for you. Do you mind walking, or shall I hail a hackney?”
“If this was a proper marriage, I imagine you’d have more than a few hours to think of such details.” She smiled weakly. “But I don’t mind walking… My Lord.”
“We’ll have none of that. It’s always been Chase.” He winged his arm. “Unless you’d prefer to call me husband. What do you say, Wife?” He pushed the door open, surprised at the evening chill.
“Chase.” She laughed and then shivered.
“A moment.” He paused, releasing her, and removed his jacket. “Here, put this on.”
“I’m fine.”
“What kind of husband would I be if I allowed my bride to walk in the cold while I’m more than warm enough?” An odd satisfaction came over him once she had slipped her arms inside the wool. She literally swam in the jacket, but she would be warm.
Walking along the street, this silence felt a little more comfortable.
“I suppose we have a few matters to discuss,” Bethany suggested before he had the chance. She was doing that counting thing with her fingers again.
“A few.” Chase adjusted his gait to her shorter one. “We did jump into all of this rather quickly.”
“To put it mildly.”
They both chuckled and Chase deemed that if they could laugh together, there was hope that they wouldn’t come to hate one another over all of this.
“Was your mother upset? Is that why she didn’t attend?” Any bride would want to know such information regarding her future mother-in-law. Not future. Mother-in-law period.
Chase rubbed his jaw.
“My mother is… complicated. Please don’t be offended that she didn’t attend the ceremony. She doesn’t go out, ever. Her world consists of what she reads in the papers, what I and my staff tell her, and that which occurs in her mind.” Chase went on to explain the more notable facets of his mother’s eccentricities, leaving out the whys and the whens.
His mother hadn’t always been this way.
As they walked along the pavement, Chase found telling Bethany about his mother easier than he’d anticipated. “She can be difficult but some days she seems perfectly normal. She took news of our… marriage… rather well, I think. She says she is looking forward to meeting you.”
“No one would fault her for being suspicious of me,” Bethany said. His wife’s voice, he realized, was sweet without sounding shrill. Another detail he’d failed to notice about her before. “You are quite a catch.” She dipped her head to glance at him with a smile. Was she teasing him?
“Not that you were casting bait.”
“No.” Her head snapped up. “I would never—"
Chase held up a hand. “Of course, you wouldn’t. I don’t doubt your sincerity for a second.”
“I just don’t want you to think—"
“None of this would have come about if I’d handled myself differently.” Chase cleared his throat. They’d danced around this long enough. “I knew Lady Starling had plans to go to Brighton. And if I’d taken even a moment to… I would have realized it wasn’t her handwriting. Had I considered any of these things I’d have realized it was a ruse.”
“I should not have gone outside alone.”
“I drank far too much that evening.”
“I ought to have announced myself the moment I saw you.”
Their feet ate up the pavement. “I know I’ve already apologized to you, but I cannot help but—”
“Are you in love with her? Have I ruined it for you?” Her question had him glancing over to see if she was serious. “Unless you intend to continue—that is—I mean—”
“I won’t.” Chase jerked to a sudden halt. He really hadn’t expected this subject to come up yet. It would have eventually, however, because the nature of their marriage failed to meet either of his two criteria. He hadn’t concluded whether fidelity would be a requirement between them.
Studying the circumstances rationally, he and Bethany were not a love match. Neither, however, had their nuptials been arranged to advance any business objectives. None of the details had been ironed out when they’d agreed to the wedding. But she was right in that they had matters to discuss. “We need to decide how to proceed—as husband and wife.”
“As far as..? Oh.” Pink flushed her cheeks as she stared at him. Her jaw dropped, revealing small white teeth and the tip of her tongue.
“Yes. Oh.” He replied, biting back a grin.
He’d considered kissing her on the mouth at the conclusion of their ceremony but hadn’t been certain how she would respond. She had a lovely mouth, really. It reminded him of the pink roses blooming in the extensive gardens at Byrde House. Her bottom lip was full, almost pouty, and the top a perfect Cupid’s bow.
Even as he studied those lips, they clamped into a tight line. Ah, perhaps that was why he hadn’t noticed them in the past. Bethany’s demeanor didn’t exactly invite gentlemen to appreciate such aspects of her person.
He steered her once again along the walkway. It was too disconcerting to have to look at her while discussing such matters as marital congress.
The thought, although less earth-shattering than it had been before, still shook him.
Bethany Fitzwilliam—Westerley’s sister—was his wife!
She looped her hand through his arm as they resumed strolling, both of them likely contemplating the future.
A detached sort of marriage, as many in society tended to be, ought to appeal to Chase. But this was Bethany. Although the image she projected to her family and to the world, for that matter, was one of independence and poise, he sensed a vulnerability, a…softness in her.
She would require protecting. What else would she need?
“I’ll defer to your inclinations as pertains to the physical aspects of our marriage,” he stated. And if she was under any misconceptions, he added, “Consummation.”
She didn’t answer right away as the two of them promenaded along the footway. Any other couple would be discussing the weather.
“I’m in
clined to…” She tucked her head down. “I will address it in whichever manner you see fit. I won’t force you, though. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
Her response had him inhaling sharply, which promptly sent him into a coughing fit. He bent over and dropped both hands onto his knees, practically choking, until he’d cleared his throat and was breathing normally again.
“Are you all right?” She was patting him on the back with very solid thumps. After he regained his composure, she extracted a handkerchief and held it out to him. Good Lord, tears were streaming down his face from the bout.
As he dabbed it to each corner of his eyes, he caught a whiff of her fragrance—fruity, sweet, a hint of floral. Tucking the handkerchief into his pocket when he was done, he shook his head, astonished still at her response.
“Why wouldn’t I want to?” He nearly choked again.
If possible, her cheeks flushed an even darker pink.
She gestured to her face, and then made a sweeping motion down her figure. “Because. Look at me. Nobody wants to... you know. Not with me! It’s not as though I’ve attracted any serious suitors since I’ve been out. One proposal.” She held up her finger. “And that was when I was eighteen. The gentleman in question was poor as a church mouse, nearing his seventies, and smelled of garlic and dill.”
This time, when she reached for his arm, she was the one to direct them along the pavement. “I don’t labor under any misconceptions of my desirability. Why else would my brother ask his friends to defend my younger sister from potential suitors but never me?”
Chase was taken aback by her honesty. He’d never have suspected she felt like this. He’d known her long enough and simply assumed she wasn’t interested in marriage or romance. He definitely hadn’t considered her opinion on sex.
Had he known her at all? What else didn’t he know about her?
“Perhaps your brother believed you are not inclined to succumb so easily to insincere compliments or seduction? Perhaps he didn’t see any need because he and your mother see you as levelheaded and sensible?”
Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 8
