Cousin Stanton, who sat opposite Sarah by the fireplace in their candlelit parlour, eyed Georgianne with displeasure. After a few moments, good manners prevailed. He stood and bowed to Georgianne, Tarrant, and Langley. His nostrils pinched together. “Welcome, I did not expect to see you again so soon after your recent visit.”
Sarah jumped up to embrace Georgianne. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Her flesh chilled by the November evening, Georgianne shivered.
Sarah removed her shawl. “Stand by the hearth to warm yourself.” She wrapped the shawl around Georgianne.
Tarrant stepped toward Cousin Stanton. “I have returned to give you the honour of marrying me to Georgianne.”
As though his knees buckled, Cousin Stanton sank onto his chair. “Wed you to Georgianne? Impossible without a regular marriage licence from the bishop.”
Tarrant handed him a paper. “Signed by Viscount Langley’s uncle, Bishop of St Albans.”
Langley coughed. “Excuse me. I must make sure my horse is properly stabled.”
Cousin Stanton paid no attention to Langley, who left the parlour. Instead he glared at Tarrant. “It is too late to marry you today. In accordance with the law I can only marry you between eight in the morning and noon.”
Sarah’s hands fluttered. “Dearest Tarrant, though this is romantic, what will our parents say?”
Cousin Stanton shook his head. “They will say it is more foolhardy than romantic.”
Sarah ignored him. She hugged and kissed Georgianne. “Congratulations, my love, we will be sisters as well as cousins.”
“I will not refuse to marry you,” Cousin Stanton said.
Tarrant grinned. He had anticipated Stanton’s agreement. After all, as he had said to Georgianne, Stanton must be keen to retain his place as the Earl of Pennington’s heir.
“Wine, Mr. Stanton?” Sarah rang a hand bell. “I will send for wine. We must toast dear Tarrant and Georgianne.”
While they waited, Sarah drew Tarrant aside. “Georgianne is a dear girl so I could not be happier for you. However, the marriage will not please Father. I fear he will blame me.”
“Why should he blame you?”
“He will think I should have prevented you. He and my mother looked higher. They hoped you would marry a wealthy young lady from an influential family.”
“By all accounts they are fond enough of Georgianne to come round.” He smiled down into her anxious hazel eyes. “What is it? I suspect something else troubles you.”
“You do not know the earl as I do. I am frightened. Although he appears charming, I suspect his pride will never allow him to forgive Georgianne for rejecting him.”
Before he could make light of Sarah’s fears, Stanton approached them.
* * * *
After breakfast on the following morning, dressed in an elegant sky-blue, silk gown, Georgianne, with one hand on Sarah’s arm, went downstairs to the hall where Viscount Langley waited to escort them to the church.
His lordship’s dark eyes glowed. “Upon my honour, Miss Whitley, I have never seen a more beautiful bride.”
“Thank you.” She touched the edge of her high-crowned, broad-brimmed bonnet, trimmed with artificial forget-me-nots, and tied beneath her chin with a blue and white striped satin bow.
“I will be proud to give you away. Rupes and I have been good friends since we went to Eton. In fact, I regard Rupes as a brother. This means I now regard you as a sister. I hope you will also think of me as a brother, so please call me Adrian.”
Much moved by his kind words, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, but it would be most improper because I am not your sister, and even if I were, as you well know, I would call you Langley.”
“No need for tears, although I suppose most brides shed a few on their wedding day.”
Sarah frowned. “Why are you crying?”
“Papa,” Georgianne whispered. “I wish he could be here.”
Sarah patted her back. “Dearest Georgianne, please do not weep. If he had lived, I am sure your father would be happy for you.”
Perhaps Sarah was right. Georgianne forced herself to smile. Certainly, Papa would be surprised by her appearance today. He had been accustomed to seeing her exercise her dog in all weather, instead of delegating the task to a servant; and she knew he was proud of her when she joined the hunt, even on the muddiest days. Alas, since his death, her mother constantly demanded she modify her conduct.
Her lips quivered. She clasped her hand tight around her posy of Christmas roses and rosemary. Everything was happening so fast. The earl proposed, her mother beat her, the major proposed, and now, she was within minutes of making her vows.
Sarah kissed her cheek. “Come dearest, it is time to leave for the church.”
For a moment, Georgianne wanted to flee. What did she know of marriage? What would her bridegroom expect of her? Would she be able to tame the wild streak in her nature in order to conform to society’s expectations of suitable behaviour?
Her cousin embraced her. Perhaps Sarah sensed her panic. “Tarrant is a loveable creature. I am sure you will be happy.”
Of course, she had nothing to fear. Her husband-to-be was not only good-hearted but also chivalrous. What reason did she have not to think of him as a man of honour?
When they arrived at the church they entered it, and Georgianne took her first step down the aisle with her hand on Langley’s arm. She reached the altar from which she could not retreat.
Cousin Stanton squinted at her husband-to-be. “Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness, and in health? And, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
* * * *
Tarrant knew that no matter how light the touch of Georgianne’s hand on his arm was, he would be bound to her, for better or worse, until death parted them, for divorce or an annulment was unthinkable.
He smiled at his beautiful bride. To his dismay, her eyes filled with tears. Did she regret her decision to marry him?
* * * *
Georgianne sniffed. Her father should have lived to give her away. The loving mother she knew in happier days, should be present. Unfortunately, if Mamma had attended the wedding she would have been sure to create a drunken melodrama. Sadness invaded her. In the past, whenever she imagined her wedding, she had assumed Helen and Bab would be her principle attendants. To marry without a single relative…
Cousin Stanton’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony. Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness, and in health? And, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.” With a sense of unreality she glanced at her solemn-faced bridegroom.
Tarrant’s eyes searched hers. His smile encouraged her. Yet, overcome by the enormity of the step she was taking into the unknown, her fingers trembled. She scarcely heard Langley reply with the words, “I do,” in answer to Cousin Stanton’s question, “Who giveth this woman to this man?”
It seemed as if she participated in a dream when she allowed her bridegroom to slip the broad gold wedding ring onto her finger. How heavy it felt.
Cousin Stanton looked up at the hammer beam ceiling. “Rupert James George Tarrant and Georgianne Eleanor Mary Whitley have together made their covenant before God, and this company. They have made their vows to each other, and have made their consent by joining hands, and the giving, and receiving of a ring. I therefore pronounce them to be husband and wife in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder. God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit bless, protect, and guide you. The Lord pour out the riches of His grace upon you, that you may live
together in His peace, and finally, by His mercy, live in peace, and obtain everlasting life. Amen.” His expression sour, Cousin Stanton stepped forward. “Congratulations. Come to sign the marriage register.”
Her bridegroom’s forehead creased. “Georgianne, you are extremely pale. Please do not worry, I promise you have nothing to fear from me,” he whispered in her ear.
Her pride refused to allow her to express her anxieties, doubts, and fears over marrying in haste. “If I am pale it is because my back is painful.” She forced herself to smile, taking courage from the satisfaction of having kept her promise to her father to look after her sisters.
Her husband patted her hand before they followed Cousin Stanton into the vestry where the register lay open on a high table.
Tarrant signed first. Georgianne added her name. Tarrant held her hand. “Our first act as husband and wife.”
Sarah kissed their cheeks. “Come to the vicarage, where I hope you have time to partake of a wedding breakfast before you leave. Follow me through the church to the door.”
Mamma, followed by Helen and Bab, erupted into the church. They lurched toward them.
“Helen, Bab.” Georgianne held out her arms.
The Earl of Pennington strode in. “Are we are too late to prevent the marriage?”
Georgianne glared at him. “Yes, my guardian gave his consent. I am married in accordance with both the law of the land, and the church.”
Mamma tottered forward. “I did not agree to your marrying Major Tarrant.”
“You did not need to, Mamma, you are not my guardian.”
Pennington glanced venomously at his nephew through his quizzing glass, before he advanced with a pace as leisurely as it would have been in the presence of royalty. “My dear Mrs. Tarrant, allow me to say how much I look forward to furthering my acquaintance with you.”
Before Georgianne could thank him for his polite words, her bridegroom, a blaze of red and gold uniform, strode forward. He put his hand on the hilt of his dress sword. “My lord, if you were younger, your insult to my bride would not remain unchallenged.”
Georgianne looked from one gentleman to the other. Insult? What insult? Had her bridegroom become mad?
“In that case your death would be imminent.” His lordship looked around. “To me,” he shouted.
Two men responded by rushing into the church with pistols in their hands.
Cousin Stanton stood still, whey-faced, palpably fearful of his powerful uncle. “I...I protest.”
A nasty gleam appeared in Pennington’s eyes. “My servants will retrieve my property. No one steals what is mine by right.”
“Property!” Tarrant exploded.
“Yes, your wife should be my countess. I had first claim on her. It is too late for me to wed her but not too late for me to have her.”
The earl must be mad. The idea of being taken away by force horrified her. “Surely you do not intend to abduct me!”
“Look out.” Her bridegroom pointed to a dim corner.
An old trick, yet it worked when the earl’s men looked in the direction Tarrant pointed. His dress sword streaked through the still air. He grinned when its sharp tip pressed against the intricate folds of Pennington’s neck cloth.
A moan escaped Cousin Stanton. “Consider what you do on holy ground.”
“Langley,” Tarrant murmured.
The viscount grinned. He pressed the tip of his dress sword to the small of the earl’s back.
Tarrant lowered his sword. He gestured to the earl’s men. “Throw down your pistols. Step back.”
“For God’s sake, obey him.” Pennington ordered.
Cousin Stanton’s lips quivered. “Shocking! Harsh words spoken. Violence threatened in the House of God.”
Surprised, Georgianne thought it would be more in keeping with her cousin-by-law’s cowardly nature, to hide from his uncle.
“Swords and pistols drawn before the altar of the Lord.” Cousin Stanton clasped his hands over his paunch. With obvious distress, he looked around the ancient Norman church.
Tarrant ignored Cousin Stanton. Grim-faced, he collected the men’s pistols before turning to her. “My dear, your sisters may accompany us. As you know, their guardian gave me permission for them to live with us.”
Nell Whitley staggered. “No, come here children. Come to your mamma, who loves you.”
They stayed by Georgianne’s side, obviously afraid their mother would seize them.
Tarrant patted Bab’s head. “Aunt Whitley, you are not fit to look after a snake.” He turned to Sarah. “I shall leave our aunt with you until some arrangement can be made for her care.”
Georgianne looked at her mother whose face crumpled into deep creases.
“You wicked girl, to marry without my permission,” Mamma shouted between sobs. “I nursed such hopes for you.” The smell of brandy permeated the air. “To think you could have married dear Lord Pennington. You would have worn a countess’ coronet.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He promised to give me a generous allowance. Oh, how I feel for him.”
“For him, or yourself, Mamma?” Georgianne shuddered, sickened by her mother’s selfishness.
* * * *
With the tip of his sword still against Pennington’s back, Langley forced him outside, followed closely by Georgianne, her bridegroom, and the others.
Every line of the earl’s trim person tensed. “How dare you?”
“What do you want me to do with him, Rupes?”
“A moment, if you please, Langley.” Tarrant bowed to Georgianne. “Please get into my coach with your sisters. I will join you soon.” He handed them up the lowered steps before he approached Cousin Stanton. “I suggest you take Sarah and my Aunt Whitley to the vicarage.” Cousin Stanton hesitated. “Now!” Tarrant insisted.
Sarah hurried over to her half-brother’s coach. She reached in through the window to clasp Georgianne’s hand.
“Please look after Mamma. Send her to my grandparents. I shall write to them.”
Sarah nodded. “With my husband’s permission, I will do as you ask.”
“Come, Sarah.” Cousin Stanton pressed his hand over his heart. “Oh, I dread to think what the consequences of this day will be. I wish I could assist my poor uncle.”
“Yes, you were ever spineless,” Pennington sneered, his countenance so furious he looked as if he would take delight in spitting at his despised nephew.
“Be happy, Georgianne.” Sarah squeezed her hand, released it, and then with her husband by her side, led her weeping aunt away.
Again, Tarrant pressed the point of his sword to the earl’s throat. “Langley, I will help you to tie up Pennington and his ruffians. We can use their belts and gag them with their cravats.”
Pennington grimaced. “This is outrageous.”
“Not as outrageous as your threat to my wife.” With his free hand, Tarrant indicated Pennington’s coach. “Langley, there is an abandoned village called Salterton, off the London road, between here and St Albans, do you know it?” Langley nodded. “Good, please oblige me by driving Pennington there with his henchmen. I suggest you leave them in one of the abandoned houses. It will keep them quiet until we send someone to rescue them.” Tarrant glared at the earl’s men. “If you offer any resistance I will carve little pieces off your master, and throw them out of the window for dogs to enjoy.”
After they stowed Pennington and his minions in the coach, Langley spoke too low to Tarrant for Georgianne to overhear. “Where are you going, Rupes?”
“To Calcutta Place.”
A crease formed between Langley’s eyebrows. “I do not recall it.”
“The house I inherited from my godfather.”
“From the nabob. Ah yes, I know where it is. What of Pennington’s coach, and his famous team of blacks?”
“If you will be kind enough to drive them to Calcutta Place, I will arrange for them to be returned to the stables near Pennington’s London house.” He chuckled. “Empty his a
nd his servants’ pockets. Even after our fine friend is released, he will be in difficulty for some time to come.” Tarrant laughed. “For now, his lordship has ample time to reflect on his sins.”
Langley whistled low. “He might lay charges against you.”
“I doubt it. He will not care for mention to be made of his attempt to kidnap a bride from a church in the presence of witnesses.”
“You have made an enemy, Rupes. The earl is a powerful man to cross. In the past, he has nursed grudges for which he has sought vengeance. Cardross snubbed him. To avenge the insult, Pennington abducted Cardross’s sister. He kept her in his house for a night. Needless to say, she was ruined.”
Tarrant whistled low. “You know more of him than I do.”
“There have been other unsavoury tales about him which involve the fair sex. Gossip says he is not right in the head.”
“After today’s outrageous conduct, I believe it.” Tarrant turned to join his bride and her sisters in the coach. “Ladies, my apologies for my threat concerning Pennington.”
Georgianne smiled at him somewhat tremulously. “No need to apologise, my father would have said something similar.”
“Well spoken, m’dear, you are a bride fit for a soldier.”
* * * *
Georgianne shivered as though ghostly hands touched her. She hoped her bridegroom would keep his word to sell his commission.
Bab bounced on the seat. “Would Papa have threatened to throw bits of the earl to the dogs?”
“Under the circumstances, I really think he would.” Georgianne looked at Tarrant, who now sat next to her. “To think how Pennington deceived me is mortifying. I even considered accepting his hand in marriage. Life as a madman’s wife would have been a nightmare.”
Tarrant raised her hand to his lips. “No need to dwell on it.”
An exciting ripple formed in the pit of her stomach. What did the future hold?
Chapter Six
Some two hours after leaving the vicarage, and a half hour from St Albans, the commodious travelling coach turned off the king’s highway. It passed through a village of picturesque thatched houses clustered around a peaceful green, in the centre of which a duck pond shimmered. After the horses drew the vehicle up a gentle incline, it halted before a twelve-foot high pair of wrought iron gates. To the right stood a red brick gatehouse. The gatekeeper came out tugging his forelock. He turned a large iron key in the lock, and then pushed open the gates.
Sunday's Child (Heroines Born on Different Days of the Week Book 1) Page 5
