The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “Can you do the Chinese pressure that helped so much before?” She looked up at him, face drawn, lips pinched and white around the edges, eyes wide with shy trust and need. He felt like a gaoler in charge of his own hanging. He could choose his own noose now, or wait for the more deadly one to come when she turned to Robin—and away from him.

  “I can’t. I have an appointment.” His voice rang hollow, harsh. He pressed his dry lips lightly on her forehead. “Take some laudanum.”

  He walked away, her brittle gasp cracking over him. Nearly upending the tea tray Maggie carried into the room, he hurried to escape what he would now see in Zel’s eyes. She might come to hate him, but she’d be safe.

  “If your darling captain doesn’t mend his ways, and quick, I swear I’ll shoot him with his own dueling pistols.” Maggie’s anger at his lordship spilled over onto his blameless valet.

  “Now, Maggie.” Marmeduke soothed, handing her into his little sitting room. “I think you know this is not like him.”

  “I don’t know if it’s like him or not.” Maggie tossed her head, feeling guilty for snapping at Marmeduke for the earl’s misdeeds. “But I won’t have him breaking her heart.”

  “He’s hurting too.” Marmeduke pulled out a chair.

  She frowned at him, placing herself carefully on the indicated seat. “But he’s doing the hurting.”

  “Now, don’t frown at me.” He settled a matching chair across from hers. “I don’t control the man.”

  “I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “If only he spent some time with her.”

  “A man doesn’t live in his wife’s pocket.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “In the country they were always together. Her bedchamber was used only as a dressing room. Now, after little over a fortnight of marriage, they are on their way to becoming another cold, fashionable union. Couldn’t you try to talk with him?”

  “What about her?”

  “I have talked to her.” Maggie smoothed her gown. “Lady Zel is mystified by his coolness and I tell you she is hurt.”

  “I’ve seen him act this way in Spain, the night before a big battle.”

  “But what big battle is he facing here?”

  “I know little and what I do know I’m not at liberty to share, even with you.” Marmeduke stood, turning from her. “The captain and his lady must live out their own lives. I believe he will come about eventually.”

  “I’m sorry.” Maggie rose to stand beside him. “I am being quite the gossip. I hate to see her unhappy, especially when she was so afraid of marriage. And if he doesn’t come about soon, it will be too late to regain her trust.”

  “And what of your happiness, princess?” He took her tiny hand in his. “Have you found some contentment with Ned on his way to the New World?”

  “I feel a sense of lightness.” She looked at their joined hands. “A lifting of a large burden.”

  “He was a big man.” Marmeduke smiled at her chuckle. “If you can fun about it, you must be healing.”

  “I believe I am. With him really gone, I am.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips warm and firm against her knuckles. “I’m happy for you.”

  “It was due to you.” Maggie’s gaze followed the rough lines of his face.

  “It wasn’t just me.” Marmeduke’s vivid eyes caught hers in a look so tender her breath stopped in her chest. “But there is nothing I would rather do than be of service to you.”

  She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his, couldn’t think of a word to say. So she stood there, for how long she didn’t know, probably looking for all the world like a dying fish with her mouth gaping, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  Marmeduke gave her fingers a little squeeze, his face solemn, scarred lips a steady line across his face. His other hand grazed her jaw, fingertips resting under her chin. “May I kiss you, Maggie?”

  The breath rushed from her lungs and her eyelids closed. Her lips still refused to function. She nodded and waited. His lips were as warm on her mouth as they had been on her hand, but now she could taste and smell just a hint of tea and honey. The tip of her tongue eased out of her mouth to sample more of that comforting taste.

  His hands dropped, abandoning her hand and chin. The sense of loss must have shown when her eyes flew open, for with a groan, Marmeduke wrapped his arms about her completely. He pulled her against his chest, lips pressing to hers. She found comfort in his embrace, but there was more. The bitter fear and loneliness she had lived with for so many years seemed to fade, nudged aside by the sweetness of his kiss.

  He released her lips, keeping her nestled in his arms, her head at his shoulder. Maggie held on to him, and that feeling of warmth and safety, tea-with-honey comfort, spiked with just a splash of the finest aged spirits.

  Zel threw herself onto an overstuffed sofa, wiping her brow with a less than adequate lace handkerchief. “This thing is worthless. I suppose real ladies don’t perspire.”

  Emily flopped down beside her. “You don’t need to do this, Zel. Your husband would give you the money to hire a regular housekeeper, in fact a whole army of servants, for Aquitaine House. We could use more footmen for everyone’s safety and you could spend your time organizing, writing, fund raising. Any of the things you prefer to housekeeping and do much better.”

  “I’ve already spent my allowance on furnishings and supplies. I will not ask him for more.” She looked about the large high-ceilinged room. The old stone house was shaping up nicely. It hadn’t looked like much when they started the repairs and cleaning months ago, but now one wing was filling with women and this wing would soon be ready for habitation. “Besides, it will feel good to go home bone tired tonight.”

  “Zel, what is wrong?” Emily grasped her arm, refusing to let her turn away. “You’ve been mooning about for days now. Is something amiss between you and Northcliffe?”

  “Why should anything be amiss? After all, we are newlyweds.” Zel stared stubbornly ahead. If she looked into Emily’s sympathetic eyes, she’d explode into tears.

  “You’re a horrible liar.” Emily threaded an arm around her shoulders. “Spill it out.”

  “I will not cry.” Zel blinked back the tears and let her anger rise in her throat. “He may not beat me, but he’s as big a fool as any man alive.”

  “I see marriage has not altered your opinions.” Emily gave her a little squeeze. “I should be happy for that, but I had hoped it would alter your too-firm hold on your emotions.”

  “It did. And my emotions were stomped into the ground.” If she could keep her back stiff and her face tight with anger, the burning moisture at the back of her eyes wouldn’t flow.

  Emily rubbed at the back of her head in tiny circles, almost the way Wolfgang had, what seemed ages ago, and then refused to do only a se’ennight before. The tears seeped out between Zel’s tightly closed lids. “Damn him.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being angry or sad or both.”

  Zel swallowed a sob, but her voice cracked. “You told me it was good to feel … well, I followed your advice. I handed him my heart … he threw it out with the rest of the refuse.”

  “I thought he cared for you.” Emily clasped her hand. “How could that change days after marriage?”

  “I foolishly told him I loved him. I thought he was asleep or I never would have said it.” Zel stood and walked to the window, staring at the traffic parading up and down the busy Kensington Street. “He never asked for my love, clearly it was not what he wanted of me. We would both be happier now if I had just become his mistress.”

  “Zel Fleetwood!” Emily jumped to her feet, glaring at her friend, adding almost as an afterthought, “Hardwicke.”

  “I don’t mean that, Emily. I could never live that way.” She rubbed her eyes. The tears had stopped, dried up, absorbed by the arid hollowness inside. “If only I hadn’t started to believe …”

  “Have you ever seen a longer face?”

  “Only
on his horse.”

  “I’ve had enough of your clever repartee.” Wolfgang threw down his cards, glaring first at his friends, then in general about the shabby tavern. “And I’m bored to tears of this inane card game.”

  The duke of Ridgemont lifted his eyebrows to their huge comrade seated across the table. “Freddie, we need to find a way to amuse the man. He’s bored with boxing, shooting, cards, drinking, theater, opera, driving, racing, and the conquering heroes’ return. Lord, he’s a hero himself with a string of ribbons and medals, even if his daring military exploits were years ago. But he’s bored with that, too. What’s left?”

  “Hunting.” Sir Frederick Ransley added his favorite. “But this wolf has never been keen on the hunt.”

  “He just prefers hunting two-legged creatures. That’s it. Fornicating! His specialty. It’s off to the Wilson sisters’ for us.” Rafael laughed at the scowl on Wolfgang’s face. “With all these late nights with the boys, Wolf, you must be in need.”

  Wolfgang lurched to his feet, leaning over the plain, sturdy table, hands braced on the edges. “Lucifer’s hairy back! Raf, keep your bloody nose out of my affairs.”

  Raf didn’t move, but looked coolly into Wolfgang’s face. “But, my dear Wolf, that is precisely the problem. You have no affairs into which I may stick my nose.”

  “And I won’t.”

  “So, the rake becomes the faithful husband.” Rafael dramatically wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. “I’ve seen it before, but it’s still a mournful sight.”

  “A faithful husband, if I have a marriage left.” Wolfgang flopped back into his seat.

  Frederick eyed him over the rim of his glass. “You won’t have a marriage left if you never see your wife.”

  “Or, if I have to hang her brother or ship him off to Australia,” Wolfgang murmured.

  “Not if you have to, Wolf, but when.” Raf leaned back in his chair, tucking the handkerchief back into his waistcoat. “You’re foolishly endangering yourself by refusing to act.”

  “We’ve bowed to your wishes, but if you don’t do something soon, one of us will.” Freddie gulped down his whiskey.

  “Stay out of it.” Wolfgang growled. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

  “But you are doing nothing.” Raf, as usual, was not about to let him off the hook. “As your friends we are obligated—”

  “You are obligated to do nothing, unless I ask you. And I’m not asking.”

  “You’re taking no action to save your life.” Rafael poured himself a drink of brandy, motioning to Wolfgang, who shook his head. “You’re not drinking, you’re not gambling, you’re not bedding your wife or anyone else. Jesu, don’t say you’re preparing to take religious orders. My heart couldn’t bear it.”

  “You didn’t mention Freddie’s second favorite pastime, tavern brawls.” Wolfgang glanced from Raf to a couple of rough characters across the whitewashed room, harassing a pretty barmaid. “A sport I’m dangerously close to initiating. We could get it going then slip out before much damage is done.”

  Rubbing his knuckles enthusiastically, Freddie permitted a rare smile to creep over his face. “I haven’t indulged in months. The innkeeper won’t mind, if we reimburse him handsomely for the usual broken chairs and crockery.”

  “Count me out of your infantile games.” Rafael stood to leave. “But don’t let my opinion stop you, Wolf. Your old cuts and bruises are healed, so if you think a few more injuries will cure your foul humor and ease your boredom, do it.”

  CHAPTER 17

  FUGUE

  A musical composition designed for a number of instruments or voices in which one or two themes are announced in one voice and developed by successively entering and continuously interweaving voice parts

  “Hold on to Remus, that’s Dorothea dead ahead.” Grandmama Darlington waved long fingers at a clump of elms farther down the muddy Hyde Park trail. “She’s seen us, there’s no escape.”

  “Steady boy.” Zel smiled at the elderly woman, grabbing the rope tied loosely around the dog’s neck with one hand, her other hand latched on to the fur along his spine. “I don’t know what it is, but he cannot resist jumping on her every time he sees her.”

  “The dog can be a bounder. But I can’t say as I blame him.”

  “Lucretia! You sound as bad as your grandson.”

  “Oh, Diana, we all know the woman is a loose screw.” Grandmama tapped Remus on the hind quarters. “Now sit!”

  Aunt Dorothea stormed forward, Cousin Adam in her wake. The deep scowl on her face made it clear she greeted them against her wishes. “Lady Darlington, Mrs. Stanfield, Grizelda.”

  Adam tipped his hat, offering a shallow bow. “Ladies. I’m surprised to see you out braving the mud.”

  “The park is still recovering from the parades.” Aunt Diana smiled. “But we couldn’t resist the sunshine.”

  “I need to see Hardwicke.” Aunt Dorothea lowered her nose enough to see over it, glaring at Zel. “Where is your husband?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest notion.” Tamping down her irritation and a desire to correct the woman’s refusal to use Wolfgang’s title, Zel looked into the narrowed brown eyes. “I am not his keeper.”

  “Did I say he needed one?” Dorothea’s shrill voice drew the stares of nearby walkers and riders. “I would never say it, although everyone knows he does. His wife could use one, too.”

  “Now, Mrs. Clayton—”

  “So, Mrs. Diana Ninnyhammer Stanfield, you wish to come to the rescue of your wanton niece and her rakehell husband?”

  “Dorothea!” Grandmama’s voice tightened in warning.

  Aunt Dorothea paid no heed. “If your grandson didn’t hold the purse strings, I would shun the lot of you.”

  “Now, now.” Aunt Diana laid out her most conciliatory tone. “Don’t throw the first stone unless you live in a glass house.”

  Dorothea glared at her, then turned her hard eyes back to quell Zel’s smile. “Have your husband call on me, immediately!” She clasped Adam’s arm, striding away on the tree-lined path.

  “I think I would rather have her snub me.” Zel watched her retreating back in confusion. “I never know what she’s about.”

  “If she can’t show a little more restraint, Wolfgang could make her allowance contingent on her permanent removal to a remote country estate. You shouldn’t have to deal with her insults.” Grandmama pulled Zel’s hand from its grip on Mouse’s fur and turned the small party to a narrow side trail. “Perhaps we can finish our walk in peace.”

  “Despite the early hour we seem doomed to run into everyone we know.” Aunt Diana pointed to a horseman rounding the next corner before them. “Isn’t that Northcliffe’s big friend?”

  Zel yanked a flower off a rhododendron bush and surveyed the enormous man on an equally enormous mount, remembering the last time she saw him. She tore at a petal. The night the blossoming intimacy of her marriage had withered at her premature declaration. A bud cut too soon to open. “It’s Ransley.” Her skin heated. “And Wolfgang’s right behind him.”

  The two men smoothly guided their horses to the little group of women. Ransley nodded while Wolfgang ran a finger across the brim of his hat. “Such a charming bevy of spring flowers.”

  Zel forced a smile and stared. Wolfgang’s face was a panorama of cuts and bruises, from a slightly swollen split on his lower lip, through a purplish blotch on his cheek, to a small, scabbing gash above his eye. Ransley looked no better, with a black eye and bruised jaw. She trapped her tongue between her teeth to keep in the questions.

  Grandmama had no such compunctions, berating the adult males in her most scolding tone. “You two are worse than a couple of overgrown schoolboys. Were you brawling?”

  Wolfgang looked sheepishly at his hands. “We were defending a lady’s honor.”

  Ransley coughed and directed his gaze down the path.

  “Couldn’t Ridgemont stop you this time?”

  “He didn’t try, Grandmama. Said it
would do me good, and it did.” Wolfgang grinned, then grimaced when his lip split further and a drop of blood dripped down his chin. He impatiently wiped it away with his fist. “For a while.”

  “Dismount and walk with us a bit, dear.”

  Zel studiously avoided the silvery gaze she knew focused on her. She couldn’t face another rejection.

  “No.” Wolfgang hesitated, then continued in a stronger voice, “Freddie and I have business.”

  Ransley glanced from Wolfgang to Zel, catching Zel’s eyes with a look she couldn’t decipher. “Wolf, we don’t—”

  “Yes, we do.” Wolfgang turned his horse, covering half the path before Ransley frowned apologetically and followed.

  “A toast to a job well done.” Newton raised his glass in salute to his coconspirator. “If I must say so myself.”

  “Are we finished with them?” Isadora raised her glass in response and sipped at the deep burgundy.

  “Never say we’re finished.” Scanning Isadora’s seldom-used library, Newton allowed a hint of a smile to touch his lips. “But I am satisfied, for the moment. The forced marriage seems to have done the trick. Lady Northcliffe is looking frightfully downcast. Northcliffe is seen frequently on the town, but never in the company of his bride. And best of all, he doesn’t seem at all his usual self. So quiet and glum.” He stretched out on the small sofa. “It’s delightful.”

  “I’m happy you are so pleased.”

  “The bloom is off the rose.” Sitting up straight, he looked pointedly at Isadora’s pout. “Why the big lip?”

  “Wolfgang may be free, but he shows absolutely no interest in me.” The pout grew.

  “You’ve approached him already? Have you no subtlety, woman?” And no brains, he completed silently.

  A touch of pink passed over Isadora’s cheeks. The jade could still blush! “I put myself in his way and he acted like I didn’t exist.”

  “Isadora, Isadora. How can you be such a fool? Listen to and heed the master.” Swirling his wine in the goblet, he stood over her to further make his point. “You must proceed slowly in these matters. Cultivate and groom your quarry. Be kind and sympathetic. Let him cry on your shoulder. Then make certain you’re there when he’s ready to succumb.”