by Jane Feather
General Heyward stormed into the house on Pickering Place and slammed his way into the library. He filled a goblet with brandy and tossed it down, refilled it, and as his rage dropped from full boil to an angry simmer, he considered his situation. Marriage to the little Sutton had been his last chance to get a handle on things before they spun out of control. Burford’s disappointment at not getting Serena into his bed had turned nasty, and his threats to call in the mortgages grew more persistent by the day. Heyward knew he could not meet the payments, even with a killing at the tables.
He opened the desk drawer and took out the accounts, sheets of parchment covered in Serena’s neat columns of figures. Addition, subtraction, division—it was all there, and the conclusion was unmistakable. They were making small profits every night but nothing large enough to make a one-off dent in the debts. Serena had always stressed the need to build profits slowly, cautioning that if the bank started to win particularly heavily, then the gamers would become suspicious, and however addicted they were to faro, they wouldn’t play where the odds were consistently so heavily against them. There were other gambling houses.
He needed one coup. One perfect coup that would banish his troubles once and for all. Abigail Sutton was that coup. It was simply a question of how to effect it. He took his brandy to the window and looked out at the bare trees. An idea slowly took shape; it would need a little refinement, but it would work. The chit was such a naïve little fool; she would fall into his hand like a ripe plum. His reflections were disturbed by a sharp rap on the door. It was a rap he recognized. Serena was never one for gentle taps.
“What is it?”
She came in. “I just wished to inform you that I am going to be out for the day. I will be back for this evening.”
“And where are you going?”
“Oh, just visiting friends,” she said vaguely. “No one you know. But I will be back in plenty of time for the evening.”
He glared at her, wanting more than anything to assert himself but knowing that he couldn’t. That Rubicon had been crossed. As long as Serena performed her allotted tasks in the gaming salons, he could demand nothing else from her. He needed her skills more than ever at present, and that knowledge, together with his helplessness, burned like acid. The time for his vengeance would come, however.
He contented himself with a curt “See that you are.”
Serena nodded and stepped back, closing the door firmly, and her stepfather sat down at the desk, drew a sheet of parchment towards him, and sharpened a quill. An unpleasant little smile twitched his fleshy lips as he began to compose.
Chapter Eighteen
Serena felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she hurried out of the house. She had been right to tell Sebastian her stepfather’s reign of terror was finished. She walked quickly to the corner and smiled when she saw the Blackwater coach standing a few yards away, the door open and Sebastian waiting on the pavement by the footstep. He looked every inch a bridegroom in a suit of midnight-blue silk, a waistcoat of silver brocade, a froth of Brussels lace at his throat and wrists, his shining fair hair caught at his nape with a silver clasp, silver buckles winking on his shoes.
He greeted her with a seductive smile, eased her up into the carriage with his hand beneath her elbow, and jumped in after her, pulling up the footstep and closing the door. The coach started forward at once. He leaned back, regarding her closely. “No difficulties?”
“None.” She smiled. “I told you, love, I’ve drawn his teeth.”
“I’ll not rest easy until you’re out of that hellhole,” he stated.
She shrugged. “Once Jonas has made his move, I can make mine.” She glanced around the dim space. “Did you decide not to bring your brothers and Lady Blackwater?”
“No, they’ll meet us there. Perry will ride over, and Jasper will drive Clarissa in his curricle.”
“What did they say?” She tried to conceal her curiosity by leaning back into the corner shadows, but in truth, she was both curious and a little anxious. She knew Peregrine had reservations about her. She had never met the earl but guessed that if he knew the history, he, too, would regard this union with less than complacence. And she had more than once sensed the closeness of the fraternal bond that bound the three Blackwater brothers. It would not do for her to be a splinter in that bond.
Sebastian smiled a little. Peregrine, incredulous at first, had listened to the neat scheme whereby his twin’s love affair could be translated into the perfect, will-satisfying love match, and then he had laughed as the full beauty of the idea sank in. He had said only, “If you’re sure this will make you happy, Seb, then I am happy for you both.”
Jasper had been a little more reserved, listening in frowning silence to his brother’s explanation before saying, “Lady Serena made you very unhappy once.” Sebastian had simply said that Serena had had her reasons and they were good and sufficient. That was all in the past. Jasper had then given them both his blessing and promised that he and Clarissa would be at the wedding.
“They wished us both happy,” Sebastian now told Serena with a tranquil smile.
She wasn’t sure she was quite convinced but accepted the assurance anyway. She would judge for herself.
The journey to Knightsbridge passed quietly. After the night’s passionate encounters, the urgency of their time together seemed to be less pressing; there was time to sit in reflective silence, time to smile, to touch hands, to make the occasional casual remark. And Serena wondered if marriage would be like this, a serene, companionable closeness. She thought with an inner smile that while that was pleasant, the calm would need to be punctuated by more than the occasional bouts of passion.
Sebastian was thinking much the same as he regarded her through half-closed lids. He wasn’t sure which of the many facets of Serena he found the most exciting. She was so wonderfully passionate, whether in love or fury, but then, in the next breath, she could be as calm and rational as a philosopher. He adored her for her loyalty, her caring, even as it exasperated him when it interfered with his own plans. If it weren’t for that aspect of her character, they would be on their way to Venice by now, married, certainly poor, although that he hoped would be temporary, but safe and happy. Instead of which, she still teetered on her tight rope, he still stood helplessly on the sidelines, while they waited for Serena’s self-designated charge to escape her stepfather’s greedy grasp.
“What are you thinking?”
At the soft question, he opened his eyes properly, saying vaguely, “Oh, a variety of things, but all of them about you.”
“Won’t you share them?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no, you might become conceited.”
She laughed and leaned sideways to look out of the window. “We passed the Knightsbridge toll, so we must be nearly there.”
They pulled up outside the little cottage and went inside, where they were greeted with warm surprise. “Why, Mr. Sullivan, you didn’t tell me you was coming. I haven’t prepared anything, but there’s a chicken in the yard just about ready for eating. I’ll have that in the pot in no time.”
“First, Mistress Greene, we have to talk to the vicar,” Sebastian said. “Where will I find him, do you know?”
Mistress Greene looked startled. “Why, at this time, he’ll be in the vicarage, I’m thinking, sir. ’Tis hard by the church.” She looked curiously between them. “Something special, is it?”
“Yes, Mistress Greene, a wedding.” Sebastian couldn’t conceal his delight. “And we shall have the chicken to furnish the wedding feast. Will it serve to feed five, d’you think?”
“Oh, my goodness, well, glory be.” She clapped her hands in delight. “I loves a good wedding. I’ll need more than one chicken, that’s for sure, and I’ll have to get young Jen to give me a hand, then. Now, ma’am, you’ll be wantin’ to refresh yourself afore going’ to the church, I’ll be bound. Come along abovestairs, and I’ll bring up hot water and a nice glass of elderflower wine to soothe
your nerves.”
Serena thanked her with a smile. The last thing her nerves needed was soothing. She followed the landlady up to the bedchamber, where everything looked just as it had before—clean as a new pin, fresh and sweet, smelling of potpourri and the lavender strewn between the sheets.
Sebastian went off to the church, whose steeple showed above the thatched roofs of the cottages in the center of the village. He found the vicarage next door and was shown by an elderly lady into a study, where the Reverend Simon Boothby was dozing by his fireside.
“Vicar, a visitor,” the lady said, her voice loud enough to qualify almost as a shout.
The dozing vicar started awake. “Oh, my goodness me.” He fumbled for his glasses, which had slipped off the end of his nose. He set them straight and peered at Sebastian. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Marry me, in a word, vicar.” Sebastian handed him the special license.
“Oh, my goodness me,” the vicar repeated, examining the paper. “Well, well, don’t see many of these in my parish.” He looked up at Sebastian, his gaze unexpectedly shrewd. “Where’s the lady, may I ask?”
“Getting ready at Mistress Greene’s house,” Sebastian said. “I do assure you, vicar, the lady is more than of age, is very much in favor of our union, and is as eager as I to have the marriage performed.”
The vicar heaved himself to his feet. “Well, if that’s all so, then we may as well proceed. Did you bring witnesses?”
“My brothers should be here soon, sir.”
“Good … good. You go on and fetch the good lady, then, while I fetch my cassock. I’ll see you in church.”
Sebastian bowed his way out and hurried back to the cottage. Serena was waiting for him at the front door. She had chosen to be married in a gown of russet velvet edged in silver lace, with a fur-trimmed cloak of rich cream velvet with a high collar of deep sable fur. Her black hair hung loose to her shoulders, and she looked somehow younger than he had seen her since their disastrous parting three years earlier. Certainly more carefree, he thought with a surge of pleasure. He took her hand, raised it to his lips. “The vicar awaits, my love.”
“Then it would be impolite to keep him waiting any longer.” She tucked her gloved hand into his elbow, and they walked the short distance to the church.
Jasper’s curricle stood at the lych-gate, and he was in the act of handing his wife down as the bridal pair approached. He looked particularly elegant in a dark silk coat and breeches, a striped waistcoat, a diamond in the fall of Michelin lace at his throat, but he would cheerfully admit that his wife outdid him. Clarissa’s gown of emerald-green damask embroidered with silver thread was a perfect complement to the titian hair falling from a high knot in a cascade of ringlets around her face. A velvet traveling cloak edged with silver fox hung open over the gown’s wide panniers. Her shoes of green kid had scarlet heels.
Serena felt a warm glow. It seemed that the Earl of Blackwater and his bride, whether they approved of the marriage or not, were prepared to celebrate in style.
Jasper stepped forward as Sebastian and Serena came up to them. He bowed deeply, taking Serena’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Lady Serena, an honor, ma’am.”
“My lord.” She curtsied as deeply. “Thank you for being here.”
Jasper straightened, but he kept her hand for a moment, looking closely at her. Then he said with a smile, “I wouldn’t miss my little brother’s nuptials for the world, Lady Serena. May I make you known to my wife?” He gestured to Clarissa, who stepped forward. “Lady Blackwater, Lady Serena Carmichael.”
“Oh, enough formality,” the countess declared, coming close to kiss Serena lightly on the cheek. “My name is Clarissa, and we are to be great friends, united in the same cause.” Her jade eyes twinkled, and Serena couldn’t help an answering chuckle.
“I hope so, Clarissa,” she said.
“You are all before me,” a cheerful voice called. “And I made sure I would arrive before Jasper and his curricle.” Peregrine, on a bobtailed gray gelding, rode up to the lych-gate. He examined the little group with a nod of approval, declaring, “My, we are all very fine.” He swung down from his horse and handed the reins to Jasper’s groom, who was holding the curricle’s pair. “I hope I do justice to you all.” He was dressed in a suit of black velvet and gold brocade, and his fair hair was caught at the back of his neck with a black velvet ribbon.
“Rest assured you do justice to the occasion, my boy,” Jasper responded in the mock-lofty tone of an elder brother.
Peregrine greeted his sister-in-law with a warm kiss, then bowed to Serena, kissing her hand. “Lady Serena, I wish you and my brother very happy.”
It sounded sincere, and Serena could see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, we’ll be done with formality soon enough,” Perry said cheerfully. “I shall kiss you as my sister-in-law as soon as the business is done.”
“Then I suggest we get on with it.” Jasper waved a hand in the direction of the church door. He offered his arm to his wife.
The vicar was standing in front of the altar, prayer book in hand, as the little procession came up the aisle. He waited until they were gathered in a semicircle in front of the altar, the bride and groom in the center, before he began the service. Serena wondered for a moment if Sebastian had thought to bring a ring. Everything had been arranged in such haste it wouldn’t be surprising if it had slipped his mind. It was on the tip of her tongue to interrupt the service to ask him, but the reverend gentleman was in full flood, and it seemed rude to disrupt his flow.
She needn’t have worried, however. At the appropriate moment, Sebastian reached into an inside pocket of his silver brocade waistcoat and drew out a piece of lace. He unwrapped it to reveal a delicate circlet of seed pearls and amethysts. Serena gave him her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger. It could almost have been made for her, she thought, smiling at its delicacy, its lack of ostentation. She looked at Sebastian, who raised an interrogative eyebrow, a half-smile on his lips. She nodded, and he seemed visibly to relax as he nodded in his turn.
The vicar pronounced them man and wife, they signed the register, Jasper and Peregrine signed their own names in the register, and it was done. Sebastian slipped a golden guinea into the vicar’s palm as he shook hands, and they walked arm-in-arm, leading the little family procession into the bright wintry sunlight, blinking a little after the church’s dimness.
Sebastian stopped under the lych-gate, turning to Serena, his eyes devouring her. “So, wife.”
“So, husband.” Serena chuckled. “You are looking very pleased with yourself.”
“I’m feeling very pleased with myself.” Sebastian gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. “At last, I have you, Serena. Finally, you belong to me.”
A shadow passed across her eyes, then she dismissed it with a quick shake of her head. She understood what he meant. “And I have you,” she said softly.
He drew her tightly into his arms, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and then her mouth. It was a long, slow kiss of affirmation there in the open street, as heedless of the family audience as he was of curious eyes at cottage windows, and Serena felt as if nothing of importance had occurred in her life until that moment.
Jasper exchanged a glance with Peregrine, who nodded infinitesimally. Jasper nodded, too. It was good. When the bridal pair finally drew apart, Jasper said, “So do we return to town now? Or find some hostelry for a wedding feast?”
“Oh, ’tis all taken care of,” Sebastian said. “Our landlady is preparing chickens.”
“Landlady?” Peregrine raised an eyebrow.
Sebastian merely grinned. Jasper said, “Well, that’s all to the good, since I had the foresight to put a case of some of Blackwater’s finest burgundy into the curricle. My groom’s watching over it now at that inn … the Bear and Ragged Staff, I believe.”
“Then let us go.”
The wedding feast was everything Serena thought it should be. The food was plain but plentiful and well cooked, the wine flowed, and the company was convivial. Within an hour, she was feeling as if she belonged in this family, and Sebastian had been quite right—she and Clarissa were two of a kind.
“Let us stay here tonight,” Sebastian murmured as their guests finally took their leave. “There’s no need for you to go back now … now or ever.”
For a moment, Serena was tempted. How easy it would be to throw away the old life as if it had never existed. If she never went back to Pickering Place, it would all be over. Then she put temptation aside. Not yet. It would be cowardly to give in before she had completed her self-appointed task. She could never live with herself if she abandoned Abigail at this juncture.
“We have an hour before we must go,” she said.
Sebastian sighed but said only, “Then let us put it to good use, wife of mine. ’Tis time to consummate this marriage.”
“You understand what to do?” General Heyward regarded his visitor with a scowl.
The individual was a man of few words and contented himself with a nod as he continued to pick his teeth with the tip of his dagger. “Deliver the letter to Bruton Street.” He patted the inside pocket of his waistcoat.
“And then what?” Heyward demanded, his frustration obvious.
The man shrugged. “I understand that if ’n you pays me what we agree, ’alf now and ’alf on delivery, then I’ll do the job just like you want. If that’s not good enough for ye, then ’tis no skin off my nose.”
General Heyward’s nostrils flared as his temper rose, but he knew from experience not to press the man, who had never failed him yet, despite his insolence and infuriating taciturnity. But if he took against a job or decided he wasn’t being treated with suitable respect, he was perfectly capable of abandoning the business without a word.
