Together they dressed Faith for her wedding. A petticoat in paler pink, embroidered with summer flowers, enhanced the rose silk. Her gown was exquisite, the final fitting done on her body, the pleats at the back used to adjust the fit, then stitched down. Deborah came behind her, and Faith saw her loop a frilled piece of lace around her throat. She put her hand to her throat, while Deborah tied it off for her, tugging a little too tight, but perhaps that was needed to keep the lace in position. It made a pretty finishing touch, but it felt a little as though she was being strangled, a choker indeed.
Faith had no jewellery. That had gone long ago to fund her living expenses. The last, a pearl necklace, went to make enough money to bribe the guard at Bedlam. How long ago that seemed now.
Someone thrust a fan into her hand, a lace and gilt item. She was ready. It wanted ten minutes to twelve.
Her stomach tightened. She swallowed against the increasing dryness of her mouth, the choker forming an impediment. She dared not take a drink, as she might spill it, her hands were trembling so much. Faith was terrified. She looked around in momentary panic. Deborah took her hand, stroked the back in a gesture vaguely reminiscent of her brother.
Faith turned her head and smiled, but drew her hand away. “Time to go.”
“Don’t you want to keep him waiting? It’s a bride’s privilege.”
What a petty thing to do. “No. I want to go now.” She addressed Cerisot. “Thank you. I’ll try the gowns on and we’ll contact you.”
Cerisot and her little assistant nearly dropped to the floor with their curtseys.
Faith followed Deborah to the small salon on the floor below her bedroom. Servants waited, just happening to be there when she passed. Although she knew she shouldn’t, Faith smiled at them, wanting to share her good fortune and her happiness. She even received a few smiles in return.
They were waiting for her. Gerard, resplendent in rich blue velvet coat and breeches, with a heavily embroidered ivory waistcoat, came forward to take her hand and salute it formally with a gentle kiss. The duke bowed to her, unsmiling. Behind him stood a man, dressed in the garb of a clergyman, who bowed when the ladies entered the room. Faith dropped a curtsey, making it as elegant as she knew how. Deborah, behind her, received similar courtesies.
George stood by with his footman. Faith embraced him warmly. “You see, my dear, here I am, as I promised.”
George gave her one of his blinding smiles. “You are beautiful, Faith. I wish you happy.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. George usually stumbled on multisyllabic words like “beautiful.” He must have practiced to get it right. She took both of his hands and gave them a squeeze. “Thank you, George. I’ll be happy this time.”
She only needed his smile for an answer.
The duke came forward. “As you see, ma’am, I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. I trust you will deliver your part.” Not a gracious speech, but the duke was now visibly holding himself back from her and his son, his face a cold mask. A mask indeed, thought Faith, remembering what he had allowed them to see the other night.
“I will do my best, sir.”
“Very well.” He held out his arm, and Faith placed her hand on it, unable to refuse the unspoken command. Her hand trembled before she controlled it. She couldn’t deny that he filled her with fear. Perhaps he wanted that. She glanced around for the reassurance of Gerard and discovered someone missing. “Is Lord Stretton not here?”
The duke shrugged. “As you see. I fear my son is sadly deceived in his friend. Stretton is probably at some debauch or other, your concerns entirely forgotten. He was here when the vicar arrived, but has taken himself off.” He paused. “Perhaps your beauty drove him to despair.”
Faith caught her breath at the blatantly sarcastic tone. Keeping her mind firmly on the task in hand, she said nothing and carefully kept her face blank. This affair was obviously not what the duke wanted for his son. She could expect no kindness from that quarter.
The duke led her to a table set out as an altar, with a fresh white cloth and the communion cup for of chased silver and gold.
When the duke took her hand and gave it to him, Gerard placed it reverently on his sleeve, his touch an intimate caress. Faith hung on.
The vicar, prayer book in hand, began the service. This time all her promises counted, and she said them directly to Gerard, not wavering at all. He made his promises to her in a firm, clear voice. He added no emphases, no innuendoes, when it came to “with my body, I thee worship,” but said them as firmly as he said everything else. It meant the same to him. Their minds chimed with their words, no extraneous images forcing their way in, everything concentrated on their commitment to each other.
When the service was over, Gerard took her in his arms and kissed her, unafraid and unashamed to show his love and gratitude. He said nothing in her mind, spoke everything aloud for all to hear. “Thank you. You’re my woman now, Faith, and nothing will keep us apart ever again.”
Faith opened her mouth to reply, but a commotion outside interrupted her thoughts. Astonishment replaced her initial annoyance after the door opened to admit Stretton and two other men.
One was d’Argento, dressed in grey, but in street clothes, not wedding finery. Stretton, in wine red taffeta, obviously dressed for the occasion, led the way, and made his companion seem almost ethereal, although the effect was in d’Argento’s colouring, not his physical form. He pale skin and unpowdered fair hair gleamed palely in the early afternoon sunshine pouring through the large windows of the salon. The man behind them wore the garb of a professional man, lawyer, clergyman, stockbroker, in neat but unassuming clothes of a dark hue. He stayed behind, hovering in the doorway.
Faith recognized him. He was the clergyman who had given the sermon in St. George’s Hanover Square the previous Sunday. What on earth was he doing here?
Stretton gave them no time to protest, but glared at the duke. “Just as well I’m a theatre-goer,” he growled. Faith, completely confused, moved closer to Gerard who stood, rock still. “Explain.”
Stretton took no notice of anyone but the clergyman. “How much is he paying you?”
D’Argento moved elegantly across the room, as though his feet didn’t touch the floor. He bowed to Gerard and Faith, ignoring the other occupants. “My lord, Lady Bradley.” Faith looked at Gerard.
Gerard covered her hand with his. “Lady Bradley no longer. Lady Bradley has just given me the honour of her hand in marriage.”
D’Argento straightened. “I fear not, if what Stretton tells me is true, and I’ve never had cause to doubt him before.” He cast a glance at Stretton, who still glared at the vicar. “Except when he is mad. He seems perfectly coherent to me now.” He swept a bow to the duke, mockingly brief. “Amidei Masino, Conte d’Argento at your service, your grace. It is delightful to meet you again. I believe I am a—distant relative.” There was no doubting his meaning. After all, Mercury was related to the Kronos of myth. The duke wouldn’t miss that implication.
She stared, then realized she was staring and looked away, hearing d’Argento chuckle. “No matter, madame. Welcome to the family.” Before she could duck away, he took Faith into his scented arms and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on each cheek, featherlight. She smiled a little shakily. To anyone else his words might seem fanciful, but she knew they were no more than the truth.
He flashed another smile then turned to watch Stretton.
Stretton had advanced on the cleric and backed him into a corner. “Will you tell them or shall I?”
The cleric visibly swallowed. “What will you do?”
“Nothing, as long as you promise never to do this again. If I ever catch you impersonating a clergyman, I won’t wait for the constable.” His voice lowered, growling with menace.
The clergyman faltered a promise. “I swear.”
“Get out.”
He didn’t need telling twice. Glancing at the duke, the man left, breaking into a run when he realized his wa
y was clear. Stretton spun around, the skirts of his elaborate coat catching the sun in a blinding flash of gold. “Well?” he demanded of Boscobel.
“You thought I would see my son marry a nobody without a fight?” Boscobel said, his voice pure reason.
“I thought you might allow your son some happiness. You believe him to be dying, don’t you?”
Boscobel turned to Gerard, his lip curled in a sneer. “He thought so. I made sure of it. Everything was under control until she arrived with her brother. Pawns, I thought them. I should have known better.” Ignoring Faith, he gestured at Stretton. “You, on the other hand, I knew were a menace from the start.”
“I know. You were right. I never thought you had such callousness in you—Boscobel.”
The clergyman remaining in the room, the real one, took a step back. Clearly he must have thought he was in a madhouse.
D’Argento raised a hand. The clergyman stopped moving, his eyes took on a glazed stare, a single example of Stretton’s demonstration at the theatre. He stood still, as if frozen in time, but Faith saw his chest rise and fall as he breathed. Her attention went to her brother. If he were disturbed, she would take him away, wedding or no wedding. But he and James were both fixed in their posture, breathing gently but otherwise not moving. Deborah seemed to be in the same state. Standing asleep.
“They will remember nothing of the next ten minutes,” D’Argento told her gently. “They won’t be harmed, I swear it.” His tone hardened. “You will be brief, Bacchus.”
Stretton nodded. His attention had not wavered from the duke’s face. “Enough. We know you. Give your son his wife. He has taken her. In our eyes they are already married, but they must receive the sanction of the church for your world to accept them. You will have your heir.”
“Not with the woman of my choice.” Boscobel’s voice deepened, and his face appeared smoother, the signs of age lessening. “How did you discover who I was?”
“When I saw you in the garden last night, you had a moment of triumph. Unguarded arrogance. I looked into your mind and knew you for what you are. Kronos, Titan.”
Boscobel gave an ironic bow and when he straightened, his hair had turned from grizzled to pure, gleaming black and his face smoothed out to that of a youth.
She looked away, to the reassuring presence of Gerard. He opened to her, his presence steady and calming. He’s right. We belong to each other now, Faith. You are mine to care for. Hold steady, my love.
Yes. They had given to each other without stint. Only formal recognition remained.
Boscobel was still speaking. “I had a woman for him, one of our kind. She would have given him immortals, mating like to like.” He gestured to Faith. “This is a red-blooded female, a woman of no importance. A woman who will give him red-blooded children. They will not achieve anything. You know that.”
“I know no such thing.” Stretton had calmed, his voice cool once more. “Red-blooded humans have achieved great things. They don’t need us.”
“They do, whether they know it or not.”
“We are not overlords.”
“We have been and will be again. The natural order of things will be restored.”
Stretton turned his back in a studied insult. The duke drew a deep breath and raised his hand. Unseen menace shimmered through the room, real and terrifying. Faith froze in fear. She saw nothing, heard nothing, but that threat existed in its own right.
Gerard put her aside, his hands firm but careful and he lifted his hand in a similar gesture.
Lightning shot across the room in a blinding, searing flash. It missed the duke by a fraction of an inch.
“Next time I won’t miss,” Gerard said. His voice, already deep, gained an enriched timbre, a resonance like an echo. Strange in such a small room. “Leave be, Father. If you are my father.”
Boscobel’s eyes turned from Stretton to Gerard, cold and bleak. Faith thought the life behind them gone, but then they gleamed, and she could have sworn a white light shot from them, straight into her heart. “I’m your father in every possible way, boy. I’ve been your father before, and after this fiasco I have every intention of fathering you again. We will do this dance until we get it right.”
He turned his attention to Faith and the light burned through her eyes. She couldn’t look away, much as she wanted to. He held her, forcing himself on her, through her, into the depths of her being.
Gerard moved swiftly, taking Faith by her forearms and thrusting her, none too gently, behind him. “No.” She clutched his coat, careless of the creases she forced into his wedding finery.
Faith shook her head to right her senses. Light sparked before her eyes, and then her vision cleared. She didn’t think she’d suffered any harm. Too late if she had.
She peered around the comforting bulk of Gerard’s body. “You are welcome to try with me,” he said, his voice a quiet purr of menace, “but not with Faith. If you hurt her, I will kill you where you stand.”
Boscobel’s voice sounded mocking. “Take sides with a woman you hardly know against your family? You’re unbalanced. Like your friend.”
“Only when I choose.” Stretton kept his voice as quiet as Gerard’s and sounded just as menacing. “I control madness. Would you like me to remind you, sir?” Faith nearly smiled. That “sir” sounded ingrained, as though Stretton was hardly aware of using it.
“I’ve had experience of it.”
“How long have you hidden from us? How long have you planned your move?”
Boscobel shrugged. “Not long. The Kronos before me was ancient and vicious. No subtlety. I wish to make this world a fairer place, a place where everyone will have what they need to survive.”
“What you choose to give them, you mean.” Gerard sounded calm now. Faith decided to stay where she was. “Above all, man must have his own free will. We have no more rights than anyone else to tell everyone else how to live.”
“You think so?” The sneering tone fell harshly on Faith’s ears. She wanted to cover them to shut the insistent voice out, but she feared she would miss something.
The cultured Italianate tones of d’Argento came as a relief. “We have no time to discuss philosophy now. Leave it. I suggest a truce.”
“Very well.” Gerard shot a glance at his father. “Accept that I am marrying this lady, Father, and do not try to hurt her. We can discuss anything else later.”
Boscobel shrugged. “Agreed.” He stared in the mirror above the fireplace, and his features once more regained the aspect of a man in his sixties rather than a thirty-year-old. Lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and the hair she could see under his elaborate wig once more regained silver streaks.
George blinked and then looked around. The others woke too, similarly unaware they’d slept on their feet for ten minutes. Can you do this? Send them to sleep? Faith asked.
I have no idea. We’ll no doubt find out. Come, my love. Let’s get married.
The clergyman stepped forward and took his place behind the altar, removing a small pouch from his pocket. He drew out some wafers with reverent care and placed them on the small salver placed ready. The silver wine goblet still contained wine, and they watched him bless it.
“That should do.” He glanced at Stretton. “The licence, my lord?”
Stretton gave him a folded paper, then turned back to Gerard. “I’m afraid that was forged too. I had the inspiration of calling in at Doctor’s Commons and discovered the special licence you applied for, waiting for collection.”
Gerard’s mouth firmed into a hard line, and Faith wanted to touch him with sympathy, but he wouldn’t appreciate it now. Later, perhaps.
For the second time she stepped forward and listened to the vicar. This one didn’t need a prayer book. He went through the service firmly and clearly, and Faith found herself making the same promises again. She didn’t mind. She would make them as many times as necessary.
When it came to their promises, Gerard made them just as clearly as
he had last time and with the same depth of feeling. However, at the end he gave her a comical lopsided grin. She smiled back. This time when he drew her close for the ritual kiss, she opened her mouth for him.
He plundered, and if his arms hadn’t circled her firmly, she might have staggered under the power of his onslaught. Try as she might, Faith couldn’t find an ounce of shame inside her. She loved him, she was proud of him and she wanted the world to know it.
Eventually he released her and they gazed at each other for a full minute before the vicar cleared his throat. “Congratulations, Lord and Lady Ellesmere.”
Then Faith did flush and Gerard laughed. Hand in hand, they received the congratulations of the people in the room. Even the duke managed a civil, “Well done,” which could have been taken more than one way. The only time Faith let go her husband’s hand was to embrace her brother, who showed delight in her choice.
Stretton gave her a wry smile, and murmured, “If I’d seen you first, I might have courted you.”
Faith frowned at him. “You did see me first.”
Stretton’s smile softened. “Ah, but then you see I was stark raving mad and I thought you were an angel.” He paused. “Or something a little less heavenly. But a figment of my imagination, certainly. By the time I came to my senses, Ellesmere had secured your interest.”
Faith suspected he didn’t mean it. She never knew when Stretton joked and when he was serious. She wasn’t even sure she liked him, although as Gerard’s friend she would trust him.
Despite his sleep, George was tired, and Faith wanted him to attend the ball with her later that day, so she sent him off to his room with his servant. Deborah congratulated them quietly and excused herself, after a sharp glance from her father. The clergyman was thanked, and Faith saw Gerard press a purse into his hand. She hoped it was a heavy one. After a celebratory glass of wine, the vicar left. Now only Ancients remained in the room. And Faith.
The door closed and a moment of silence fell before d’Argento spoke. “I am glad to see we have our Jupiter back.” He bowed, low.
Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1 Page 20
