The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “And you are the expert.” She tossed her golden head.

  “Watch me.”

  “Watch you? What do you have planned?”

  “Northcliffe’s lady will be in my bed. Not in days, I’m not a fool like you. But mark my words and watch. She’ll be my mistress. Northcliffe will be cuckolded, again.”

  Isadora stared at him, taking an unusually long time to find her voice. “You would throw me over for that creature?”

  Newton surveyed her slowly from bottom to top. “Yes, I would.” At her strangled gasp, he continued, “You’d throw me over for Northcliffe, given half a chance.”

  “My God! You are both animalth. Viciouth animalth.” Melbourne stood in the doorway, face flushed, hands fisted at his sides. His speech included both people in the room, but his accusing eyes focused on Newton.

  “Now, Melbourne. We were only playing a little trick on the newly weds.” Newton waved the younger man into the room, but Melbourne stood there stiffly, ignoring Newton’s summons.

  “I may not be the motht intelligent man on earth, Newton, but I am not deaf. I heard you clearly.” Melbourne took a deep breath. “It wathn’t tho bad when I thought we were trying to thave Mith—Lady Northcliffe from a man tho unworthy of her. But I won’t be party to a plan to hand her over to you.”

  Newton stared at Melbourne, astonished at Melbourne’s reaction. “Jeremy, I had no idea you cared so much. Lord, I’ve never heard you string so many words together.” He moved towards the door. “I won’t deny it. We used you.”

  Melbourne looked close to tears. “Thank you for not lying further. I am leaving thoon for my country houthe.”

  “Perhaps I may visit you there.” Newton nodded his head, surprised at the note of pleading in his own voice.

  “I think not.” Melbourne made a shallow bow to Isadora, as he backed out of the doorway. “Good day, ma’am. I may thee you briefly at the Whiltonth’ before I go.”

  “Maggie?” Jenkins had waited nearly an hour in his sitting room to share tea with the tiny maid and finally, in desperation, poked his nose into Lady Zel’s room.

  “What are you doing here?” Maggie emerged from the Chinese silk bed hangings, the rich color battling violently with the fire red of her hair.

  “The tea is cold.”

  “Oh, Marmeduke, forgive me.” The corners of her mouth turned down as she tied a curtain securely to the wall fastening. “I’ve been so distracted, I completely forgot.”

  “Worrying about your mistress?” He slipped into the room, feeling a sense of trepidation as he breached the forbidden domain. Neither the captain nor his lady had given orders against his entrance, but a valet simply did not enter milady’s chambers.

  Maggie beckoned him forward, moving with silent efficiency about the room, clutter becoming order beneath her hands. “Don’t just stand there, shut the door behind you.”

  Jenkins complied, surveying the clothes-strewn chamber. “I had no idea Lady Z was so, ah, disorganized.”

  “She isn’t normally this messy.”

  “Another sin to lay at the captain’s feet?” Jenkins picked up a few gowns off a chair and handed them to Maggie. The sheer night rail he surreptiously returned to the chair.

  Maggie hid a smile under her slender fingers. “I’m tired of worrying about his sins and her sorrows. I’ve never seen two such intelligent people behave like such idiots.” She took his hand, dragging him to the door. “Let’s forget them for a few minutes.”

  They stole from the room, down the staircase, finding a little-used salon. Jenkins squeezed her fingers as he settled beside her on the low settee. “What if we’re discovered?”

  Her laugh was clear and high as a silver sleigh bell. She didn’t laugh near enough. “And what would we do if we were? Have a rushed marriage as our employers did?”

  “Our situation is not quite so compromising.” Jenkins felt heat stealing up his face. He hadn’t blushed since he was a child. Maybe not even then. But her words so reflected his thoughts, he felt disconcerted. “And how would you feel if that were to happen?”

  She looked into his eyes as if she sought the answer to his question there. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “I know this is too soon, but an old fool is the worst fool.” Breathing deeply, he took her other hand. “Maggie, will you marry me?” He waved away her reply. “Don’t answer yet. I don’t have much to offer, only a few rooms, my horse, and some savings. But all I have or ever hope to have is yours.”

  “Oh, Marmeduke, I could never receive a sweeter offer, but—”

  “But, no. I’m not suitable husband material. I am too old, too ugly, too poor—”

  “Ssshh, you are not so old. You are rich and beautiful in everything that matters.” She gently squeezed his hands. “But you forget, I’m already married.”

  “I don’t care.” And as he gazed into the vibrant green eyes shining up at him, he truly didn’t care about anything but her. Ned no longer existed as far as he was concerned. They would work out whatever they needed to work out.

  “And everyone knows servants don’t marry.”

  “Captain and Lady Z won’t care, in fact they would be the first to rejoice in our happiness.” Jenkins raised her hand to his lips, savoring each dainty finger in turn. “I don’t have a ring for such a pretty hand, but I’ve kept this as a symbol of my vow to always love and protect you. I would like you to have it.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a delicate chased-silver snuff box. Then he smiled, his white-toothed smile no longer perfect with the conspicuous gap in the top front teeth.

  Maggie opened the box. Resting on a swatch of black felt were two well-polished white teeth.

  He accepted her smiling yes with his lips, her sweetness so much more than he ever believed life would give him.

  “Zel! I’m surprised my Wolfie let you out of the house in that gown.” Lady Darlington scanned her, frowning.

  “Your Wolfie has no say over my wardrobe.” Zel pulled the flimsy shawl tighter over her shoulders and chest. “He did ask me to purchase new clothing, but Emily helped me shop. Wolfgang hasn’t even seen any of the gowns yet.”

  “The cut is flattering on your tall, slender figure, and I’m pleased you haven’t added all those flounces and frills sc many young ladies favor.” Lady Darlington plucked at the skirts of Zel’s gown. “But I’ve never seen you in anything cut so low. The men will do nothing but stare at your bosom.”

  “Lady Darlington—”

  “No, dear, I told you to call me Grandmama.”

  “Well, then, Grandmama.” Zel took the older woman’s hand and tucked it in her arm, exiting the house for the waiting carriage. “The men at the ball will have better things to do than stare at my bosom.”

  “Zel, how little you know of the men of the ton.” She gave Zel’s arm a little squeeze. “I wish that husband of yours was with us. He has been conspicuous in his absence these last days, and now the season is nearly over.”

  “He has been busy with politics. The vote on his bill is tomorrow.” Zel handed Grandmama to the footman, who assisted her into the coach. “I fear I run a poor second.”

  “I don’t understand him, even if he is my grandson. A new bride should not be second to politics.” She settled on the squabs as Zel ascended into the coach. “I’ll talk with the boy.”

  “No, you will not.” Zel sat beside her, arranging her skirts. “It’s fitting he have an occupation important to him.”

  “I’ll abide by your wishes, but I’m not happy. I hoped you two would have a marriage different than most of the ton.”

  So had she. Zel gazed out the window onto the dark London streets. At Cliffehaven Wolfgang had been so charming and passionate, almost loving. She had believed the marriage could work. But after their arrival in town he drew away from her. After I love you had escaped unbidden from her lips. He hadn’t answered, made no perceptible response, but he was clearly unhappy, even angry, to have such an unfashionably emotional w
ife. He had never asked for her love, never offered his.

  The long line of carriages delivering guests to the Whiltons’ ball moved torturously slow. It seemed hours before they pulled up to the grand town house. As they alighted from the coach at the long staircase, Robin darted out of the crowd, grasped her arm, and drew her up to the reception line. Zel twisted to take Grandmama’s arm, hissing at Robin. “Slower, please, and take Lady Darlington’s arm.”

  “Why should I take his grandmother’s arm?” Robin’s quick glance at the woman across from Zel showed his cold eyes and tight mouth. “You have her arm, you keep it.”

  “Robin,” she whispered, “Lady Darlington is now my grandmother too. I will not have you be rude to her.”

  “Fine.” He grunted, stepping around Zel and placing both ladies’ hands at his elbows. “Don’t expect me to eat supper with you, I’ll be in the card room.”

  “Lady Darlington, you have met my ill-mannered brother, Robin.” Zel glared at her dark-haired brother, aware of the smell of alcohol on his breath. “I would prefer you not gamble.”

  “I’ll do as I please, neither you nor your husband is my keeper.” He guided them smoothly into the reception line.

  “Young man, show your sister respect.” Grandmama rapped his leg with her cane.

  He made no response, but frowned at the Whiltons and their plump little debutante daughter.

  “And where is your handsome husband, Lady Northcliffe?” Lady Whilton’s little eyes pried in unison with her words.

  “He has important business in Parliament tomorrow, Lady Whilton, and sends his regrets.” A feeling hit her that she would be repeating this line all night. Many sets of feminine eyes would tell her the merry dance was over. The chase had been prolonged, but she tumbled like all the rest and with much less discretion. She may have won the title, but she could not keep him any more than they could.

  Straightening her shoulders, she raised her chin and smiled at the wide-eyed Whilton daughter. “Lady Cecile, I hope your come-out is all you dreamed it would be.”

  Zel had ceased to be amazed at the way the ton now received her. Certainly there were sidelong glances, whispers, and pointed comments, but few cut her directly. Wolfgang was right, as a wealthy, married countess she would have to dance naked on the Covent Garden stage to earn complete censure, and even then some would probably look aside and call her eccentric. Tonight she pasted on her best smile, determined to secure more patronage for Aquitaine House.

  “Ah, Simon, old chum.” Robin squeezed her fingers, dragging her toward a familiar red-haired man. “Come meet my dear sister, Lady Northcliffe. Zel, this is Simon Bedford.” Robin grinned with a flash of exaggerated puzzlement. “Demmed if I know if he’s a relation to you or not. You were almost introduced several weeks ago at some gathering. He’s brother to Northcliffe’s deceased first wife, Rosalind Bedford Hardwicke.”

  “Simon.” Grandmama nodded a curt greeting.

  “Mr. Bedford.” Zel extended a tentative hand.

  Bedford looked at her hand, his face white, eyes narrowed. “Where is your husband, Lady Northcliffe?”

  She repeated Wolfgang’s excuses, but Bedford barely attended to her after learning Wolfgang was not at the ball.

  “Fleetwood, I’ll be in the card room. Lady Darlington, Lady Northcliffe.” Bedford ran cold eyes over Zel, turned on his heel, and strode across the crowded room.

  Robin bid a curt dismissal and followed after Bedford.

  Zel, trying for a measure of normalcy, danced two sets with men she had met at that first, fateful house party, her thoughts flickering back to the masquerade ball. Even then she had been falling in love with Wolfgang, for as flirtatious as she’d felt that night, her response to his touch signaled a deeper longing. A longing she fought to keep penned in, under control. But it had broken through as if it had a life of its own.

  Throwing herself on a settee beside Grandmama on Matron’s Row, she refused the next set, sending the prospective partner instead for punch.

  “Are you finally convinced you are a success, Zel?”

  “I had supposed I would be snubbed by everyone.” She fanned herself, stirring the hot humid air of the ballroom. “The last week has convinced me that no one has forgotten my indiscretions, but neither will they make a big to-do of them.”

  “Now all we need do is bring that foolish boy around.” Grandmama patted her hand. “And get you with child, then life will be sunshine.”

  “Here comes a little cloudburst.” Zel indicated the approaching gray-clad figure of Wolfgang’s aunt.

  “Grizelda, Lady Darlington.” Aunt Dorothea’s bell tones tolled.

  “Cousin, m’lady.” Cousin Adam peeked around his mother, peering down Zel’s neckline as usual.

  “Where is Hardwicke?” Aunt Dorothea scanned the room, a little scowl pinching her lips.

  Zel repeated her husband’s excuses, unable to hide a blush under Aunt Dorothea’s speculative gaze.

  Dorothea laughed, high and shrill. “Ah, he has already done his duty, and now abandons his bride?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Zel blurted out, wishing at the gleam in the woman’s eye that she’d held her tongue.

  “Are you pregnant?” Aunt Dorothea surveyed her coldly.

  Gasping, Zel glanced about to ensure no one had overheard. “I am barely married. It is much too soon to even consider.”

  Aunt Dorothea sniffed. “Let us hope so.” She took her son’s arm. “Save a dance for Adam. After supper.”

  Cousin Adam bowed. “Servant. Cousin, Lady Darlington.”

  “I expect to be the first to know when you are increasing, Grizelda. I’ll not take it kindly if you are hiding it from me.” She turned, dragging her son off in the train of her skirts.

  Speechless, Zel looked at Grandmama, not knowing whether she should laugh or scream. “And she has the nerve to criticize Aunt Diana?”

  “The woman’s always been a little off. She’d take the earldom if she could.” Grandmama coughed into her handkerchief. “Ignore her. She’s harmless as long as she gets her allowance.”

  Successfully avoiding relatives and other mortal enemies through supper gave Zel confidence the evening would progress favorably. But her luck did not hold. It was all she could do not to hide under the settee as she watched that fearsome threesome of Lady Horeton, Newton, and Melbourne stalk toward her. Of course, one could scarcely call Melbourne, who followed a pace behind, an unusual scowl on his face, fearsome unless one feared kittens. But the other two were predators, ready to feed on whatever hapless victim couldn’t escape their clutches.

  Newton bowed low before her, pressing his lips to her knuckles a moment longer than proper. “Lady Northcliffe, you are in excessive looks tonight.” His eyes traveled slowly up her body. “I do not see your husband in attendance.”

  “No, my grandson is engaged in Parliamentary business.” Grandmama rescued Zel from another explanation, then turned to the petite blonde. “Lady Horeton.”

  “Good evening, Lady Darlington and Grizelda. I feel I may continue to call you that, we have so much in common.” She purred, her delicate head tilted at its most flattering angle.

  “Indeed, Lady Horeton, I am certain we must.” Zel’s own husky tones were near a growl. “If we could only discover what.”

  “Touché, Lady Northcliffe.” A hint of warmth glinted beneath Newton’s cold eyes.

  “Mith Fleet—pardon, Lady Northcliffe.” Melbourne stumbled over himself reaching for her hand. “Would you … ah …”

  “What my shy friend is asking is that you honor him with a dance, after this set with me.” Newton glanced swiftly at his friend then back to Zel as he took her arm. Melbourne glared as Newton led her onto the floor to the strains of a waltz.

  Too late to back out, she faced her partner, ignoring that unpleasant little shiver running down her spine. As he placed a hand at her waist, moving into the gracefully swaying crowd, she forced herself to relax. “You are an excellent da
ncer, my lord.”

  “No, my dear, any grace lies totally with my partner. You should be enjoying the ball with your new husband.” Newton pulled her close to swirl about another couple encroaching on their space. “The man shows the best of taste in selecting his brides but then hideously ignores them as one would an ordinary mistress when the gleam of newness wears off.”

  “Thank You, McDougall.” Zel stepped through the entryway, pausing to look at her reflection in the lacquer-framed mirror hanging accusingly at the foot of the staircase. The gleam of newness. Had it worn off so soon for Wolfgang, before it could grow into something stronger, more lasting, as it had for her?

  Wolfgang hadn’t touched her in well over a week, other than a formal hand at her arm or a tiny half kiss on her brow that he seemed to regret afterward. She expected understanding when her courses began, but his passion before had not prepared her for this long abstinence. Over and over she tried to convince herself he waited politely, but she knew it wasn’t true. He was not a man to wait politely for anything he desired. And he knew her pain only lasted a few days. Now she could no longer deny that his withdrawal was complete.

  Little more than a se’ennight to undo all they had started to build. And a lifetime to live as strangers.

  Zel shook herself, rubbing at her burning eyes. All they started to build. What a fool she was. They had met only two months ago. What time had there been to build anything but false dreams? He was nothing but a stranger. A stranger to whom she had mistakenly confessed her love.

  Wearily, she climbed the stairs, mentally preparing herself for a restless night. As she turned toward her room she heard a rustling. She looked down the dimly lit hallway to the service stairway but saw nothing.

  Pausing at Wolfgang’s door, she searched herself for a modicum of courage. She stepped to the door, pausing again, placing her hand on the warm carved wood. Her forehead lowered of its own volition to rest on the smooth surface. With a deep breath, she reached for the latch.