The Fictitious Marquis

by Alina Adams

  Moses grabbed Jamie by the arm, and sternly shook his head.

  "You may not see the bride before the wedding."

  "May I see her after?"

  "If I possessed the slightest say in this matter . . . no."

  "You do not approve of Julia's reasons for marrying me?"

  "I approve of her reasons. Not her methods."

  "So you must know what those reasons are, then." Jamie clapped his hand against Moses' arm, hoping against hope that, finally, he'd stumbled upon the person capable of offering him some answers.

  "Allow me to explain a small matter to you, Mr. Lowell." Moses distastefully removed Jamie's arm from his shoulder. "There is very little that goes on within Miss Highsmith's household that I do not know about. In advance."

  Jamie lowered his voice. "Then tell me. Tell me what she is plotting. Damn it, Moses, if I am to be involved, I at least possess the right to know. Is it illegal, what she intends?"

  Moses eyed Jamie up and down as if he were a stray cat dragged out of the river, and dryly remarked, "I am certain that you, sir, would be acquainted with the extensive list of just what is and what is not illegal in this country, much more than either Miss Highsmith or I. Furthermore, if you will forgive my saying, I hardly believe that you of all people any longer possess the right to claim moral outrage when confronted with the possibility of legal impropriety."

  "So she is up to something bootlegged, then?"

  "I am not at liberty to say. And, if I recall the details of your arrangement correctly, you are not at liberty to ask."

  The door leading to the second flight of stairs opened with a barely perceptible squeak. Julia, wrapped only in a dressing gown, looked both ways to assure that they were the only ones about, before poking her head through the doorway, and waving, annoyed, at Jamie to stop his harassing of Moses.

  Jamie said, "I thought there reigned a penalty of death if I so much as caught a glimpse of you prior to our nuptials."

  He turned to address Julia, noting, in spite of himself, how pleasantly the sheer, heaven-blue, silk gown clung to every curve along her body. She hadn't yet found the time to fix up her hair, and it hung just the way Jamie liked it, tumbling in loose curls all down her back, and framing Julia's face into a perfect oval. Those stray wisps that she was constantly brushing out of her eyes, the ones that Julia found such a nuisance, Jamie thought her most appealing feature. Something about the fact that even she, the imperious Miss Julia Highsmith, could not control a few free-floating strands of hair, made her appear ever so much more human to Jamie, and thus, a great deal more engaging than when she presented herself all spit and polished, and indistinguishable from every other young lady of the ton.

  Julia said, "We have no time for such nonsense, now. I am afraid there was something I overlooked in planning this affair."

  "I can think of one most important thing," Jamie said softly, wishing desperately that she might comprehend his meaning.

  But Julia proved in too much of a tizzy to bother with anything but the common-faced meanings of every statement. "Oh, do stop whining over being kept in the dark, would you, Jamie? What I meant was, I completely forgot that you would need a groomsman for the ceremony."

  "A groomsman?"

  "An attendant."

  "I know what a groomsman is, Miss Highsmith. I was merely repeating your words in confirmation that I were listening."

  "Well, stop repeating, and commence thinking." She sighed, "It will look rather odd, don't you think, when you stand at the altar without a single attendant. Already, I worry what people may think when they realize that the only guests invited are those from my circle of acquaintances."

  "I had assumed we would explain that all of my friends and family remained behind in Australia."

  "Along with your groomsman?"

  "He," Jamie beckoned her forward with one finger and whispered conspiratorially, "was eaten by a kangaroo."

  In spite of herself, Julia smiled.

  Moses sniffed distastefully, and, when Jamie asked him what was wrong, he replied, "I suppose that you presume yourself to be frighteningly clever, Mr. Lowell."

  "He's always been frighteningly clever," Julia piped up before Jamie even had a chance to defend himself. "You've just never noticed it before, Moses."

  He wanted to sweep her off the ground and hug her. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to thank Julia, even though Jamie himself wasn't sure exactly for what. But, mindful of just what sort of reaction such an act on Jamie's part might provoke from Moses, Jamie settled for merely winking at Julia, grateful when she returned the gesture with a mischievous smile of her own, and said, "Actually, Julia, you are wrong. A member of my immediate family will be in attendance. Have you forgotten? The marquis of Martyn has accepted our invitation."

  "Actually, he accepted Aunt Salome's invitation. I fear those two are up to something. Although, I am certain that, if she asks, he will agree to stand up for you this morning."

  "The last time your aunt asked the marquis of Martyn for a favor on my behalf, I ended up face down in the dirt, listening to the sound of bullets shooting over my head."

  Julia saw Jamie's point. "Perhaps then I should ask him."

  Promptly at noon, the pews began to fill with wedding guests. Jamie thought that he had never seen so many buff coats, and evening coats, and riding coats, and tall-crowned hats, not to mention the rainbow-colored gowns with their two dozen underskirts, beneath a single church roof before. With the abundance of ladies' stylish, high-set hats and bonnets, Jamie doubted anyone but the front row would ever get to see more than the very tip of the minister, or of the ceremony.

  He stood on the second-floor church balcony, obscured well enough by the heavy drapes to prevent anyone seeing him, yet in possession of a glorious, bird's-eye view of his guests. He heard a rustle behind him, and turned around, surprised to spot Julia, still clad only in the dressing gown she'd modeled earlier. She stood on her tip-toes, attempting to peek over Jamie's shoulder and into the church below.

  He asked, "Shouldn't you be dressed by now? Fashionably late for a rout is one thing, fashionably late for one's own wedding . . ."

  "Salome and her seamstress are arguing over the best way for me to climb into my wedding dress. Salome thinks that I should step in through the neck and then pull it up, and Mrs. Tally insists that, if we're careful, I should be able to slide it on over my head." Julia shook her head and shrugged, indicating her indifferent preference towards either method. "So I thought I had best leave them be to discuss it."

  Jamie nodded understandingly and stepped aside, giving Julia broader view of their turnout. When she appeared to be having trouble seeing—a good foot or so shorter than Jamie, she couldn't quite reach the peephole break in the curtains—Jamie easily lifted Julia off the floor, sitting her on his shoulder.

  Her hip was only inches from his cheek, one hand clutching the top of his head for balance, and yet, Julia fit so comfortably atop his shoulder, it were as if the two had been chiseled exclusively for each other. He wrapped one arm about her legs, steadying Julia against his chest, enjoying the temporary intimacy that sprung from such an act. Yet, even though Jamie took great pains to keep his hands confined to the most neutral of areas, he nevertheless expected her to object, or at least to issue a perfunctory protest against his stealing such a liberty.

  But Julia only giggled in delight at her view of the church, and, after a few moments, said, "Thank you, Jamie, but you may put me down now. I've seen enough."

  He acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Sneaking a final peek at their audience, Jamie observed, "Not much to look at, is there?"

  She glanced up from smoothing down her hair. Jamie's impulsive bit of gallantry had shaken loose a few strands, leaving them to billow about her neck like a slipped halo.

  She dismissed his concerns. "They're only the same people we saw at the ball. The same people I've seen at every ball since I were old enough to stay awake past ten."

  Jamie nodde
d thoughtfully, then, rather self-consciously, he asked Julia, "Those people down there, do you think that they are better than me?" Before she had a chance to respond, he hurried to add, "Certainly, they are wealthier than me, and better dressed than me, and with finer manners than me. I do not argue any of that. It is only to be expected."

  "Then what exactly are you asking?"

  He wished he knew the answer to that one himself. "I guess, I suppose what I am asking is, all those people, all the people in the peerage, do you truly think that they are better than anyone else? That there is something inside them, a birthright, or a kiss from God, that actually makes them superior?"

  She wasn't certain how to answer his query, although even Julia could see how important the correct reply were to him. "Well. Do you think so, Jamie?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  Briefly, Julia catalogued in her head the assortment of guests she'd assembled for her wedding. The arrogant viscounts who pawned their wives' family heirlooms to pay off their gambling debts. The hypocritical earls and dukes who forced every tenant on their estate to attend church every Sunday, while simultaneously supporting both a wife in the country and a mistress in London. The great ladies and baronesses with a half-dozen children resembling neither each other, nor their mother's legal husbands.

  When stacked up against the hypocrisy gathered below them, Julia felt no qualms about assuring Jamie, "I refuse to acknowledge any sort of moral or personal superiority within the peerage." When he still appeared less than convinced, Julia took a deep breath, and, looking both ways lest they be overheard, beckoned Jamie forward and whispered, "My mother was not born into the peerage, either. And I never knew a grander lady."

  Jamie's head bobbed in surprise at her admission. "Truly?"

  "I swear it. She was the daughter of a merchant. A wealthy merchant—he was the first to import porcelain pots and pans from Germany to England—but a commoner just the same. The best my father could do was eventually arrange a knighthood for him. For services rendered to England's kitchens."

  Seeing that Julia found the tale equally as amusing, Jamie allowed himself a smile. "Well, isn't that slap up to the echo."

  Buoyed by Jamie's enthusiasm, and still as enchanted by the story now as she had been upon first hearing it, Julia elaborated, "My father met my mother at my grandfather's store. She kept the books there. She was very smart. He fell in love with her at first sight, and asked for her hand barely a fortnight later." Julia's face momentarily darkened. "She refused him at first. Wouldn't tell him why. But Papa persevered. Collin was furious."

  Jamie nodded. "Is that what your uncle meant, then? About the bad blood? He meant that your mother wasn't of the peerage?"

  "Yes." Julia seized on the answer with such force, Jamie took a step back in surprise. "Yes, that's it. That's all of it. That's what he meant." She glanced nervously over her shoulder. "I think I hear Salome calling me. I'd best be going. There is still the minor matter of a wedding for the pair of us to attend."

  No matter how much he tried to ignore it, Jamie could feel a familiar stirring in his stomach. The same beginnings of fear that he usually experienced immediately before embarking on some new con. He told himself that it were to be expected. After all, was not this wedding the biggest fraud of Jamie's professional career?

  And yet, it was hard to continue thinking of it as nothing but a subterfuge, while standing inside a holy church, surrounded by Jesus looking down in judgement from all sides, and about to recite vows that included the words "swear" and "forever."

  It was one thing to lie to fellow people. But Jamie thought it were quite another to out and out try to outwit the Almighty—which, after all, was what this wedding boiled down to. He and Julia were attempting to con God.

  And that did not sit too comfortably with this bridegroom.

  In his line of business, Jamie's major attributes were his looks and his words. Which was why he were always very careful, and took great pains to select just the right verbs, nouns, and adjectives to precisely relay his exact meaning. Despite what he'd been accused of in the past, Jamie never swore to God or made any promises that he did not intend to keep. Granted, he may have, at one time or another, carefully arranged his words so that, later, the young ladies may have sincerely believed they heard him make a proposition. But he could not help what someone else did or did not hear, now could he?

  Contrary to what people believed, Jamie had standards. They were very low, but he had them. And he had never, ever, in his life, made a literal promise while already knowing that he would not be following through on his words.

  Lying to God did seem like a most unfortunate place to start.

  Everyone rose for the wedding march, and turned their heads to watch Julia walk down the aisle on the arm of her Uncle Collin. She moved slowly, one foot evenly spaced in front of the other, but her face, at least to Jamie's experienced eye, was that of a woman who wished she could just dash up the aisle and get this blasted thing over with.

  She took her place beside him on the altar, and, when the duke passed Julia's hand to Jamie, he felt surprised to find it shaking. Jamie grasped her gently by the fingers, soothingly rubbing them between his thumb and palm. He tried smiling reassuringly at Julia. She did not return the expression.

  From their guests, Jamie could hear the murmur of ladies commenting on what a handsome couple the two of them made.

  Certainly, Jamie had never seen Julia look lovelier than she did at that moment in her wedding gown. White was the perfect color for her. It brought out the ebony of her hair and eyes, and the rose in her complexion. And it surrounded her with an air of vulnerability that Jamie might otherwise never have suspected.

  His heart sped up, beating in tune with the last few notes of the wedding march. Jamie stood straighter, wanting to look his very best in order to feel worthy of the loveliness around him. And before him.

  The minister spoke, and Jamie forced himself to look away from Julia, and to listen. With their vows looming closer, Jamie again felt assaulted by nerves. He swallowed hard and let his eyes wander, as if in the hope that an answer to his dilemma might magically write itself upon the walls.

  One option, of course, would be for Jamie to reword the vows in his own, noncommittal style. But he did not think that either the clergy or Julia would appreciate it.

  He could cross his fingers out of sight. But, surely, such juvenile tricks would not carry very much weight with the Savior.

  Even as the minister read aloud their vows in preparation for Jamie and Julia repeating them, the bridegroom still desperately searched for a way to insure that his words would not be noted in heaven as deliberate, deserving-to-go-to-hell-for, lies.

  But it was only as he actually began to make his vows to Julia, promising to love, honor, and obey until death did them part, that Jamie finally understood why it were that he was no longer in any danger of burning for eternity.

  Because, as he held Julia's hands in his own, looked into her eyes, and pledged his lifelong devotion to her, Jamie realized—much to his horror, delight, and every other emotion that fell in between—that he honestly, truly, meant every word he was saying.

  For Jamie, the reception following passed in a blur.

  There were hands to shake, toasts to make, and congratulations to graciously accept, when all he really wished to do was to go off somewhere quietly by himself, and take a moment to sort out the conflicting emotions that had so assaulted him during the ceremony.

  There was no doubt about it, the wedding vows had come from Jamie's heart. The big question, of course, was why?

  Hoping that maybe Julia understood better than he why being in a church in front of so many witnesses should make an event they'd bantered about for weeks all of a sudden feel so serious, Jamie waited until they rode in the carriage heading towards home from the church, before asking, "Julia? Did you—rather, well, when you were taking your vows, did you feel, even slightly, did you feel like we might be doing s
omething sinful?"

  "Sinful?" she asked. "In what way?"

  "We were, both of us, we were, in effect, lying to God, were we not? We promised things falsely. That's a sin."

  "Nonsense," Julia said. "It would only be a sin if we actually meant what we swore, and then went against it. That would be a lie. But, since neither of us meant what we said, when we break the vows, it won't be a sin. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. And no."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I understand what you are saying. I am not daft, you know. But I am not asking what you thought. I am asking what you felt." Jamie felt like a puppy with its teeth sunk into a piece of meat. No matter what Julia said, no matter what his own common sense said, he simply could not let this topic go. "Surely, you felt something. Regardless of the peculiar circumstances, we were in a church, taking our vows before God. We are married, Julia."

  "Are we?" She hesitated, asking a question that, under other circumstances, Jamie might have interpreted as sarcastic. But the curiosity in Julia's voice, the way she swiveled about in the carriage, arms crossed, facing him, head cocked pensively to one side, convinced him of her sincere ambiguity. "It were only words that we said, after all, Jamie. Are words really all that powerful? For instance, let us say that you went about your entire life thinking that you were, oh, say, a duke. And then, one day, someone comes up to you, and they say, 'Do pardon me, terribly sorry, but we seem to have made a mistake. You're not a duke after all. You're not even a peer, but rather the son of an itinerant gardener.' Should that change the person that you believe yourself to be? Would that change who you were, deep down inside?"

  "It would certainly narrow your social circle."

  "Exactly. But you would still be yourself. A few words couldn't change that. And it is the same with our wedding. You say that we were married in the eyes of God. But God knew that we were lying. After all, if He is supposed to see everything, it is a bit much to hope that our little sham escaped His notice." Julia sighed, "In fact, what we were actually doing was getting married in the eyes of the ton. For my purposes, their approval was certainly more vital than God's."