by Gina Lamm
The drawing room doors opened, and Mrs. Templeton stepped aside to reveal…
Ella.
Patrick could hear the heavy sigh of the baron’s disappointment, but God help him, he could not focus on it.
She was lovelier than anything he’d ever imagined.
Dressed in a simple gown of pink, the neckline revealing a delicious hint of cleavage, she was positively radiant. Her sooty, dark hair was caught up in curls studded with tiny rosebuds and baby’s breath. Only one splash of purple was visible, in a curl just below her temple. Tendrils curled in front of her ears, dusting against her collarbone as if tempting him to kiss her there. Her face was solemn but no less beautiful for its seriousness. She held a small nosegay of flowers in her hands, but they were nothing compared to the beauty of the woman that held them.
She was the loveliest creature he’d ever seen, and in that moment, Patrick felt his heart sink.
Stepping into the room, she cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She bobbed a curtsy. “We haven’t met yet. I’m Ella Briley. I’m sorry that your daughter is missing.”
The pistol dropped from Patrick’s side, and his senses came back in a rush. Patrick turned to the older man, whose face had gone from manic to defeated in the space of a few short moments.
“I am sorry, Lord Brownstone. She is not here, and she never has been.”
“My Amelia,” the old man said, sinking onto the settee. “I knew she’d be here with you once I received confirmation that you had indeed returned home. But it isn’t her. It’s some other girl.”
Ella set her nosegay on a side table and sank down onto the settee next to the baron. She laid her hand over his, patting it softly. “I know. I’m sorry. But Patrick has been looking for her ever since she disappeared.”
Patrick’s guts dropped as the baron’s eyebrows arched.
“How did you know she was gone if you had nothing to do with it?”
Lying to the man’s face was a distasteful idea, but taking the justly deserved blame of Amelia’s continued disappearance did not seem any more palatable. Patrick swallowed as he considered his options, but Ella beat him to it.
“Patrick and Amelia have always been close. He heard she was gone and was worried, that’s all. But then I got sick and he took care of me here, so he wasn’t able to keep looking. Sorry about that.”
Patrick winced as the baron looked back at Ella.
“How long were you ill, my girl?”
“Oh gosh, I don’t know, about a week or two? Hard to say. I wasn’t exactly conscious through a lot of it. But Patrick was an awesome nurse. I don’t know that I would have lived through it without him.” She smiled up at him, clearly unaware that, with every word, she was sealing both their fates.
“And you had no female relatives here to attend you? Your accent sounds very odd. You must be from far away?”
“No, I don’t have anyone here—well, other than Patrick. And yes, I’m from the Colonies.” She nodded decisively, clearly happy with her made-up tale as Patrick smothered a groan. “My father is the mayor of New York, a really important man, and my mother is an expert knitter. She’s won ribbons and everything.”
The baron sat forward, his paunch sagging with the change in position. Patrick stood still as a statue, waiting for the pronouncement.
“So you, a respectable young lady, were here in the care of a young, single nobleman for more than a week. Alone. With no chaperone.” Warming to his role of outraged gentleman, the baron rose and approached the still and silent earl. “And then, like the disgusting young blackguard you are, you stripped her naked in the breakfast room! Well, I tell you, my lad, this young girl may not be my daughter, but as a gentleman, I cannot stand by and allow you to sully her good name in this manner.”
Patrick didn’t say anything to defend himself. What could he say? The baron was right.
“You’ll marry her, and you’ll do it now, my boy. Bishop, please issue the license. As you can see, they are both of age and have been living together most shamefully.”
“Wait a minute, what?” Ella flew to Patrick’s side. “He didn’t do anything wrong! It was consensual, and besides, I wasn’t—”
“Ella, enough,” Patrick said before she could admit her lack of virginity aloud. He’d not have the baron treat her like a common whore now. “The baron is right—I have not taken steps to guard your reputation. As a gentleman, I must marry you to save your good name and my own honor.”
She looked up at him, confusion plain in her gaze. “Patrick, are you sure about this?”
In all honesty, he wasn’t. He’d pictured his eventual marriage much differently than this. It would be to a woman of good name and probably some fortune, and they’d suit well enough, although never in what could be termed a grand passion. He’d certainly never pictured marrying a woman like Ella, strange and shy, yet bolder than she should be, artistic and beautiful and everything a man could want.
Especially when such a marriage could only be a temporary affair. She wanted to return to her home, and he could not blame her. But nor could he follow. His place was here, in this world. His duties to his name and estate could not be shoved onto another without his permanent guilt. He was the Earl of Fairhaven, and his father’s memory still loomed large in his brain. The old man would roll over in his grave if Patrick abandoned his responsibilities to follow a woman.
Theirs was a love doomed from the start, but Patrick nodded anyway.
“Yes. For the moment, at least, it is the only way. Marry me, Ella.”
She bit her lip, her heart clear in her eyes. Her answer both thrilled him and slayed him.
“Okay. If it’s what you really want, I’ll marry you.”
Twenty-Four
As the baron escorted Ella from the door of the small stone church in Cromer to her place in front of the bishop, beside Patrick, her groom-to-be, her subconscious was screaming bloody murder at her.
What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t marry this guy! You’ve only known him a few weeks! You only just realized you loved him…
Ella’s slippers stuck to the floor only a few feet away from her goal. The baron looked over at her.
“Are you all right, my dear?”
She loved him. She really loved Patrick. She wanted to knock him upside the head sometimes, but somehow in the mishmash of the last few weeks—running across the countryside with him, snuggling in his bed, hell, even making a mess of his desk—she’d fallen in love with the man. The future was all blurry, muddied up with questions about how she’d get home, if she’d get home, what they’d do then, but those questions didn’t really matter, not here and now. What mattered was that she loved Patrick Meadowfair, and that she was about to marry the guy of her dreams.
She’d wake up later.
“I’m fine.” She smiled over at the baron. “Sorry.”
With way more confident steps than she’d had before, she walked the rest of the way to Patrick’s side. She hoped she wasn’t imagining the tender light in his eyes when he looked over at her.
And then, the bishop began.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…” Ella glanced over her shoulder. Congregation? It was herself and Patrick, the baron, and Mrs. Templeton. Hardly what she’d call a congregation.
Meanwhile, the bishop was continuing. “…in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”
She glanced over at Patrick, trying hard not to bounce with excitement. She was really getting married! It was almost impossible to believe. But Patrick didn’t seem all that excited at the moment. In fact, his face was pretty serious.
Right. This was a big deal.
Ella schooled her features into a more solemn mask and turned her attention back to the bishop, who hadn’t paused in his droning. He really did have an unfortunately boring voice for a preacher.
“…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of His holy name.”
Ella bit her lip. Children? Yes, it was something she eventually wanted to do, but she’d never thought of it in the context of her and Patrick. God, what if she was stuck here forever? Having to give birth in the 1800s was a much different idea than a modern, nice, safe hospital room with tons of monitors and the epidural only a nurse call away. Ella felt all the blood draining from her face. She’d be good for another couple of months, but when her birth control shot wore off, what could they do to prevent pregnancy? The pill wouldn’t be invented for another hundred years or so. She’d just have to pray they found a way back to her time. With Patrick by her side and easy access to hospital narcotics, she was sure that childbirth would be much less scary.
“Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”
The bishop went quiet, and Ella held her breath. She was half-tempted to speak up herself when she thought about the whole children thing again, but at that moment she glanced over at Patrick.
His green eyes were trained directly on her, and his heart was plain in them. She let herself drown there, basking in the deep emotion.
This was right. It felt perfect. No matter what hardships came along, they could deal with them as a team. As long as they were together, everything would be fine. Ella smiled then, hoping he could see how happy she truly was. And when he smiled back, her heart did a funny little flip.
God, he was hot.
When no one spoke up, the bishop continued. And continued. And went on and on and on. Ella probably would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for the vows, and then the way the bishop kept insisting Patrick hold her hand, and the way the bishop held both their hands, and then the ring, and then more hand-holding. The golden band with its small cluster of emeralds was prettier than any piece of jewelry she’d ever seen in person. Patrick had said it was part of the Meadowfair family jewels. It had been his mother’s wedding ring.
Eventually though, she and Patrick both knelt down in front of the bishop, and he prayed. When they were allowed to stand again, the bishop proclaimed, “Forasmuch as Patrick Christopher Edmond Meadowfair, Third Earl of Fairhaven, and Ella Madeleine Briley have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Oh wow, was this it? Ella turned toward Patrick, her heart thundering against her ribs. That was it—man and wife. And now we kiss, right?
But her groom didn’t sweep her into his arms and plant a romantic kiss on her. Instead, he stared at the bishop as the man continued. “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favor look upon you; and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life…”
Oh, this was so not how she’d expected her wedding to go. Eventually Ella gave up on the idea of her perfect wedding-ending kiss. She didn’t really have a choice, because for the next twenty minutes, the bishop continued with prayers and blessings and psalms of procreation—those made Ella wince—so that at the end, when she and Patrick finally got to sign the register, she was just relieved not to have to stand there any longer.
After the ceremony, Ella gratefully accepted a hug from Mrs. Templeton, and a kiss on the cheek from a pleased-but-subdued Lord Brownstone. They left the church together, and the quick carriage ride back to Meadowfair Manor barely gave Ella a chance to realize what had happened. They were married? Seriously? But the jeweled ring on her finger didn’t disappear, no matter how many times she closed and opened her eyes.
Back in the sitting room, the baron poured glasses of champagne to toast the couple. “I am glad that you did the right thing, m’lad. Always knew you were a good sort.”
“Thank you, Brownstone,” Patrick said dryly as he accepted the sparkling glass of champagne. Ella laughed inwardly, knowing what Patrick was thinking.
“And you made a beautiful bride, Miss Briley. Oh, I should say Lady Fairhaven now.”
Ella’s glass trembled as she accepted it from the baron. “Right. Lady Fairhaven. Thank you.”
“To a long and fruitful marriage,” the baron said, raising his glass to theirs. Ella was just taking a tickling sip as the baron continued. “And in the morning, we shall all go together and look for that headstrong daughter of mine.”
Ella nearly choked. Patrick thwacked her on the back helpfully.
“What?”
The baron nodded, then drained his glass of champagne. “Patrick is her oldest friend, and if anyone can find the chit, it’s him. Have to admit, I had hoped that she would be here with you. Always thought the two of you would make a match of it. But no matter now. You’re married, and your lovely bride could do with some country air, I believe. So the both of you will accompany me to find Amelia. I’d not drag a new groom away from his bride, but I must have your help.”
Ella’s gaze flew to Patrick’s face, but the resigned acceptance there wasn’t exactly comforting.
“Yes, of course. We shall leave at first light to find Amelia.”
Well, so much for her crazy wedding-night plans. Ella drained her champagne. It looked like she wasn’t quite done chasing Patrick’s phantom girlfriend all over the countryside.
Even though they were married now, it didn’t stop Ella from being a little bit jealous of how important Amelia was to him. She wasn’t even going to be able to enjoy her wedding night the way she wanted thanks to Amelia.
Oh well. At least now she didn’t have to worry about Patrick marrying Amelia anymore. Ella smiled at the emeralds winking on her finger.
For better or worse, she and Patrick were married. Wherever they ended up, they’d do it together. And that was good enough for Ella.
* * *
The rest of Patrick’s wedding day didn’t progress as he’d imagined it would. Although why he thought such a normal day should follow such a strangely unexpected wedding, he had no idea. In any case, spending the whole of the afternoon closeted in his study with the baron, discussing possible motives and destinations for Amelia, wasn’t exactly the best use of his time.
But he could not blame the baron for his worry. Indeed, Patrick was concerned for his harebrained friend himself. The single note she’d sent was hardly comforting, and no word had come since.
“I cannot think why the chit would do such a thing.” The baron was pacing in front of the fireplace, a cheroot in his hand. He paused to take a deep draw on it. “She was spoiled, petted, had everything a girl could want. Perhaps I gave her too much. I do not know.”
“The reasons for her flight matter less than her current whereabouts,” Patrick said gently, trying to guide the man into a more helpful frame of mind. “Was there no note, no message left?”
Tossing the stub of the cheroot into the fireplace, the baron looked at Patrick. “Her maid spoke up but six days ago, when I threatened to dismiss her with no reference. Amelia told her maid that she planned to leave Town with you.”
“Ah.” Patrick stood and turned to the sideboard, pouring himself a decent-sized snifter of brandy. After a glance at the baron, he
poured a second and offered it to the older man. “I see.”
“Patrick, I have known you for most of your life. I have looked at you as I would a son.” The baron took the snifter from Patrick but didn’t take a sip. “I must ask you now for your complete honesty. Did my daughter tell you anything of her plans before she left?”
Quaffing his drink, Patrick then turned and poured himself another. With his back to the baron, he considered.
Amelia was his friend. She’d always been good to him, despite her schemes. Could he abandon her now? But what was the right course? She may be in danger, after all. But would she forgive him for ruining her plans?
A little longer. He’d continue the ruse for just a bit longer. Surely Iain had heard something by now. If there was no word of Amelia’s whereabouts when he next spoke to his cousin, Patrick would then confess Amelia’s aborted plan to the baron.
“I am afraid she did not. She is impetuous, you know that as well as I. It is likely that she decided to take a jaunt on her own. She has always craved adventure.”
“Damnation,” the baron groaned. “I had hoped she might have left word with you.”
Patrick turned, tamping down his guilt. “You have my apologies, my lord. I wish I knew where she’s flown. But Amelia, for all her notions, is a smart girl. She’ll be safe somewhere.”
The baron drained his drink, then passed his empty glass over to Patrick for him to refill. “The only clue I can recall is that vicar she asked me about. Can you imagine, the daughter of a baron settling for a penniless clergyman?”
“I did have the same thought,” Patrick said carefully. He’d not mentioned George Harrods—the baron had come to that conclusion on his own. “Unfortunately, I have been unable to locate Mr. Harrods.”
The baron frowned. “So this vicar is missing now, as well?
