The Marriage Truce

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Instead Huntington himself was to have the prize.

  How could his plans have gone so far awry? He’d meticulously thought it out. He would persuade Sarah to accompany him to Henslowe’s study. And then a carefully worded note to Lady Henslowe, saying that Sarah needed help, would bring her to the study just as Sarah succumbed to his kisses. Lady Henslowe with her rigid morality would see to it that Sarah would become engaged as quickly as possible.

  He hadn’t quite worked out the excuse to lure Sarah to the study, but had no doubt he’d come up with one. Ladies, particularly when someone was in distress, were likely to forget about propriety in order to render service. But when Sarah left the ballroom alone, he realised an excuse was not needed. His opportunity had been handed to him.

  But his nemesis had interfered again. Just as he had a year ago when Cedric had nearly compromised the rather stupid Lady Alethea, the Duke of Wrexton’s daughter. Her frightened screams had brought Huntington to her aid.

  Huntington had listened to him in his cool, arrogant manner as Cedric explained why he must marry the chit. And then Huntington had threatened to ruin him if a word of it ever leaked.

  Cedric had no doubt that Huntington would do so. Just as he had no doubt Huntington had had him blackballed from Whites’ when old Stanton had sponsored him for membership.

  Even now he was filled with a helpless burning fury.

  He stared out the window at the lush green lawn spread before him. This was what he had wanted, had been born for, a country estate, fine food and furnishings, the best tailors and bootmakers. If his mother hadn’t been so stupidly proud, he could have been the heir to Baron Ruckston’s riches, mixing with the best society, welcomed into the best circles. Instead, his mother had refused to agree to his uncle’s terms that she was to never see her son again once Cedric became his heir. And so Cedric remained a poor clergyman’s son raised with five whining sisters while he watched an insipid cousin take his rightful place. And Cedric was forced to scheme, gamble, scrape and bow, and steal when necessary, for everything he had.

  His mouth curled. He had no intention of allowing Huntington to interfere any more. Nor would Huntington have everything handed to him. It was time to upset Huntington’s plans.

  And Sarah Chandler’s. Her rejection of him still rankled. He’d cultivated her acquaintance, flattered and cajoled her and then she dropped him for a bigger prize. Perhaps the prize would not be hers after all.

  He smiled. Sometimes his less-than-desirable acquaintances could prove quite useful. And the wedding was the day after tomorrow. There was still time.

  Dev returned from London in the early afternoon of the following day. Most of the house party had gone off on a picnic and Henslowe was closeted with his agent, which suited him. He had no desire to speak with anyone, not even Jessica.

  Not that he’d had a problem procuring the licence. He yanked off his leather gloves and tossed them on the dressing table. No, the damnable document was safe in his pocket. The document he’d never intended to see his name on again.

  He dropped his coat on the bed and paced to the window. The sun shone brightly, the hills rolling away. In the distance he caught a glimpse of Monteville House. His stomach lurched with a nervousness he had not felt for an age.

  He turned away. What the devil was wrong with him? He’d marry Sarah Chandler and then have as little to do with her as possible. The sooner they began their separate lives, the better.

  It would hardly surprise him if she did decide to bolt. It was quite apparent she had no liking for him. However, he’d been deadly serious yesterday—he would hunt her down and force her to the altar if necessary. He suspected Blanton had no intention of giving Sarah up until she was safely wed. And he had no intention of letting Blanton near her.

  ‘My lord?’

  Dev jerked around to find a footman standing behind him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘This has arrived for you.’ The man stepped forward and held out a letter.

  ‘Thank you.’ Dev took it. The footman silently departed. Dev looked down at the unfamiliar but rather feminine writing. Frowning, he tore open the seal.

  His frown only increased after he read the short note. He had no idea what to make of it. He had not thought Sarah was the sort of female who would send vaguely worded letters requesting an assignation. Certainly he was one of the last persons she would ever desire to meet privately, so why she would want to meet him in the summerhouse on her grandfather’s property hardly made sense.

  He looked down at the note again. But then, he did not know her very well at all. And the thought of her waiting for him alone and at the possible mercy of Blanton was hardly appealing. He folded the note and laid it on his dressing table and glanced at the clock on the mantel. He had nearly an hour before he was to meet her there. Of course, he could ride to Monteville House and demand to see her in a more conventional place. But by the time he reached the house, she would already be on her way to meet him.

  A half-hour later, he pocketed the note, then picked up his gloves and quit his room.

  But there was no sign of Sarah at the Grecian summerhouse where they had sheltered from the rain. He glanced at his pocket watch. He was five minutes early, but he saw no slender figure coming up the gravel walk. He dismounted and caught the chestnut’s reins.

  The first assailant caught him from behind. He dropped Gawain’s reins and instinctively shoved his elbow into the man’s gut. The man groaned and abruptly released him. He jerked around, intending to land a blow to the man’s jaw, but a second pair of arms yanked him back. Before he could react, his first opponent hit him in his stomach. The pain nearly sent him reeling, but he managed to slam his foot back into his captor. He grunted and Dev used every trick he knew to break free.

  But, despite the hours spent at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon, he was no match for his two bulky assailants. The last thought before he lost consciousness was of Sarah Chandler. He prayed she’d changed her mind. He did not want her to meet his assailants. Or find him dead.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Sarah!’ Amelia’s frantic voice made Sarah jump. She had just returned to the music room from the side garden where she’d spent most of the afternoon, nerves on edge, half-expecting Lord Huntington to call any moment. The book she had carried with her remained nearly untouched and she had done nothing but ruin two sheets of paper with unsatisfactory drawings of flowers.

  She turned and her pulse leaped. Her usually unflappable cousin looked horrified. ‘Amelia? What is wrong?’

  ‘It is Lord Huntington! He…he is badly hurt! They have brought him in. I have been looking for you everywhere! You must come!’

  ‘Lord Huntington? I don’t understand. He is hurt?’ Sarah slowly put down her sketch pad.

  ‘Yes.’ Amelia grabbed her hand. ‘Nick and John found him by the summerhouse. He was barely conscious and so Nick went for help. John came to tell me and said I should fetch you immediately. He asked for you.’

  A cold pit of fear had formed in her stomach. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Upstairs in one of the bedchambers.’

  Sarah followed Amelia up the stairs, feeling as if she were in some sort of nightmare. And when she entered the panelled room and saw him lying on the bed, his face bruised, eyes closed, her heart slammed into her throat. She watched, horrified, as her aunt bustled around giving orders while one of the maids pressed a cloth to Devin’s face. He groaned.

  John looked up and saw them. He came to their sides, his normally pleasant face grim. ‘Nick has gone for the physician,’ he said in a low voice.

  Sarah clutched his arm. ‘John, what has happened?’ she whispered.

  His face was grave. ‘He was beaten near the summerhouse.’

  ‘Beaten? Who would do such a thing?’ The thought made her physically ill.

  ‘We don’t know.’ He glanced over at the bed and back at Sarah. ‘Can you speak to him for a moment? He seems worried about you.’

  ‘Y
es, of course.’ She had no idea why he would be worried about her. She moved to the side of the bed and knelt down. ‘My lord. De…Devin, can you hear me?’ Her voice shook.

  He slowly opened his eyes and focused on her face. ‘Sarah.’ His voice was slurred. ‘You are not hurt?’ It was obvious he was in a great deal of pain.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  He struggled to speak. ‘Good. Your note. I thought…’

  ‘Note?’ She stared at him, increasingly puzzled. Was he delirious?

  ‘In my coat. You wanted to meet me.’

  ‘I sent no note.’ She felt a sliver of apprehension.

  ‘No?’ His gaze sharpened for a moment.

  ‘No, my lord.’ He closed his eyes. She looked up as the door opened and then rose. Nick entered, followed by the physician and her grandfather. Both Nick and Monteville wore expressions that were as grim as John’s. Lady Omberley took Sarah’s arm. ‘Come, we must leave him to Dr Hampton. He will be in good hands.’

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced once more at Huntington, but the physician was already bending over him. She followed her aunt out of the room.

  Amelia stood outside, her blue eyes filled with worry. ‘Sarah, perhaps you should rest.’

  ‘No.’ She was still worried. ‘Amelia, where is Lord Huntington’s coat?’

  ‘I suppose it is in the room. Why?’

  ‘He said there was a note in his pocket. Please, could you have John look for me?’

  ‘Yes, but why do you care about a note? Surely it can wait?’ She touched Sarah’s shoulder. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock. At least come and sit with me.’

  Sarah scarcely heard her. ‘But he said the note was from me.’ She looked at Amelia, a vague fear beginning to take shape. ‘You see, I sent him no note.’

  Dev stirred and finally forced his eyes open, despite the fact that his head felt as if it had been kicked by a herd of horses. His ribs felt no better. At first he had no idea where he was—the room with its pale green walls and green and gold hangings bore no resemblance to any room he’d slept in lately. From the light falling across his bed, he judged it to be morning.

  He slowly turned his head towards the window, the movement making him groan. His sister sat in a chair, her eyes closed.

  ‘Jess?’ he said, puzzled. And then his memory returned. He was at Monteville House and someone had beaten him unconscious.

  Her eyes shot open. She stared at him and to his amazement, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Dev? You are awake, thank goodness!’ She rose from the chair and came to him, then knelt by his bed. ‘How…how are you feeling?’

  ‘As if I’d been mowed down by a mail coach.’ He attempted a grin, which was probably more of a grimace. ‘No need for tears, I’m still here.’

  ‘Yes.’ She caught his hand, trying to return his smile although hers was rather watery. ‘I was so worried, all of us were. We took turns sitting with you last night.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Omberley and Lady Marleigh, and me, and, of course, Miss Chandler. Even Aunt offered to come, but we feared she would fall asleep.’

  Miss Chandler spent part of the night at his bedside? The thought was almost too incredible to contemplate. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then remembered something else. He opened them and looked at Jessica. ‘I believe today is my wedding day. Perhaps you would send for someone to help me dress more appropriately.’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘Dev, you cannot possibly think of a wedding. Not when you are so terribly hurt.’

  ‘I am fit enough to say the necessary words. Please inform Miss Chandler that the marriage will go on as planned.’

  ‘Dev, I really do not think this is wise.’ Jessica looked at him as if he’d run mad.

  ‘But it is.’ He struggled to sit, despite the pain in his ribs. ‘And if you do not, I will be forced to tell Miss Chandler myself.’

  The look of resigned disapproval that crossed her face suddenly reminded him very much of his mother. Jess rose and looked down at him. ‘Very well, then. I just hope someone can talk you out of this completely idiotic scheme.’

  The abigail had just finished helping Sarah dress when there was a knock at her door. She opened it and was stunned to find her grandfather on the other side. He rarely came to her room. Her first thought was that Lord Huntington had taken a turn for the worse. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she asked, fearing the answer.

  ‘No, at least nothing new. May I come in for a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’ She stepped aside to allow him to enter. Her eyes went to his face, but as usual he was impossible to read. ‘Lord Huntington, is…is he better?’

  ‘Apparently so.’ A slight smile touched his mouth. ‘I have just come from his bedchamber. He is at least well enough to insist your wedding take place today as planned.’

  She stepped back in shock, her hand going to her breast. ‘He…he still wishes to marry me?’

  ‘Very much so. He is in the process of dressing and shaving.’

  Her head was beginning to spin. ‘I cannot marry him, not after yesterday. Not after that note.’ She felt ill every time she thought about it. It had been clear then that someone had used her name to lure him to the isolated spot where he’d been deliberately beaten.

  Lord Monteville’s expression held mild surprise. ‘My dear child, he hardly holds you responsible for yesterday,’ he said gently.

  ‘Perhaps not, but there is everything else.’ She took a deep breath and twisted her hands together in distress. ‘How can he bear to marry me? Not only is he forced into marriage with me because of my own foolishness, but I am the sister of the man who…who seduced his wife. He must completely detest me.’

  He smiled a little. ‘I hardly think he detests you at all. In fact, he is quite determined to protect you. I agree with him, however, that the ceremony should not be delayed. It will only make this marriage more difficult for you.’

  ‘But how can he even go through with a ceremony? He is not well!’

  ‘Apparently he disagrees. I do not think we can dissuade him. You will be married in the chapel as planned.’

  She glanced at his face. His eyes held a trace of sympathy, but she also knew argument was useless. ‘Yes, sir.’

  His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment. ‘Good. I will send Amelia in to help you.’ He walked to the door and then turned. ‘I believe, my dear, you will be quite safe with him. He is honourable and will treat you well. But you will need a great deal of patience, particularly at first. And, as always, if there is anything you need you may come to me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Sarah managed a shaky smile, but her stomach churned. She sat back down on her bed, her mind in a complete turmoil. Perhaps she should have taken up Blanton’s offer after all. Then at least Huntington might have been spared, not only marriage to her, but his beating as well. For she had no doubt Blanton was behind it.

  She had given the note to her grandfather as soon as John had retrieved it for her. Her grandfather had read the note and then she had haltingly told him of her encounter with Blanton. He’d not seemed the least bit surprised by her suspicion that Blanton was behind the attack. His assurances that they would discover the truth had given her little comfort. Neither had the news that Huntington’s injuries were no more severe than bruised ribs, a swollen face and a nasty bump on his head. She had no doubt he probably rued the day he’d even heard of the Chandlers, for her family seemed to bring him nothing but disaster.

  The light knock roused her from her unhappy thoughts. Amelia entered, a rather stunned expression on her face. ‘Grandfather has just told me you are to be wed after all,’ she said. ‘John has gone to fetch Mr Tuttle from the Rectory and a note has been dispatched to Henslowe Hall to inform them the wedding will take place. We must leave as soon as you are ready.’

  Sarah rose, feeling as if she was about to go to her own execution.

  ‘Sarah?’ Amelia looked more closely at Sarah’s face and went to her sid
e, catching her hands. ‘Sarah, please don’t look like that. Everything will be fine, I promise you. Lord Huntington may be rather difficult, but he is not unkind.’

  Her grandfather had said much the same thing. ‘I know. I…I will be all right.’ At least she hoped so.

  Amelia squeezed her hands, then released them. ‘You will be. Come, let me help you look more bride-like.’ She ran her eyes over Sarah’s cream muslin gown. ‘Your gown is very nice. You can wear your pearls and carry your best fan.’

  Sarah waited in a daze while Amelia found her necklace and then fastened it around her neck. After that she found a fan and pressed it into Sarah’s hand, then stood back to observe her. ‘You look very lovely. I’ve no doubt Lord Huntington will be pleased. Come, Sarah.’ She took Sarah’s arm in a gentle but firm grasp. ‘I think we’d best go or your bridegroom will think you have changed your mind.’

  The chapel occupied half of the north wing of the house and rose two floors. The day was overcast and grey morning light spilled through the high narrow windows and across the marble floor and carved altar. Sarah stopped inside the door, and her stomach leaped to her throat when she saw the pews were filled with people. She vaguely registered Lady Jessica in one of the front pews. And then her heart nearly stopped when her eyes fell on Huntington, who already stood near the altar with Lord Pennington and Mr Tuttle, the thin, stooping vicar. His eyes, dark and intense, met hers; then she looked away, the reality of what she was about to do hitting her with shocking force.

  Lady Omberley bustled forward and caught her arm. ‘Oh, Sarah! You are here, thank goodness! I really do not think Lord Huntington can remain on his feet much longer.’

  Lord Monteville suddenly materialised at her side. ‘Are you ready, my child?’ And then he was guiding her up the short aisle to join Huntington in front of the vicar.

  Huntington looked down at her. ‘So you are here,’ he said.