Scandal's Bride

by Gibson, Pamela

  “Ignore them,” said Miranda. “I’ll stare down anyone who presumes to gape at us.” Tonight she looked every inch the countess in a gown of raspberry silk with cap sleeves edged in ivory lace, a glittering diamond necklace around her neck.

  “You are terrifying me, my love.” Jeremy put up his hands as if to ward off an evil spirit. “It is usually John who can wither a person with a look.”

  “Not me. It was Papa who had that particular gift. I believe he used a quizzing glass to great effect, examining a miscreant as if he were a bug ready to be squashed.”

  Jeremy nodded. “I recall the glass. Made his eye look the size of an ostrich egg.”

  John laughed, and his mirth was infectious. Soon they were all giggling as if giant feathers were tickling their ribs.

  “Oh, you do make me laugh, Mr. Montague. If this is what our life is to be, then I highly approve.”

  “You will find John is no stick,” said Jeremy. He nudged his brother with his elbow. “When we were children, he was always up for a lark. He was a scandal waiting to happen.”

  “And that’s exactly what my sister-in-law thinks of me,” said Gwen. “I am an antidote because my friends bring interesting people to my salons, and we engage in a great deal of frivolity.”

  “Then we are well-matched.” John took her hand and kissed the soft skin above her wrist. “I am scandal, and you shall be scandal’s bride.”

  The performance began, but the din in the theater made it hard to hear. If only Miranda and Jeremy had taken the front seats, but Miranda insisted the newly betrothed must be on display. They must show the ton theirs was indeed a love match to quell the poison spewed by Lord Caulfield. To that end, Gwen tried to look lovingly at her fiancé, especially when other theater patrons stared.

  He turned and smiled at her, clasping her gloved hand with strong fingers. “Are you enjoying the performance?”

  “The one on the stage or the one we are giving?”

  His grin calmed her, and as she smiled back, she leaned forward as if hanging on his every word. She sincerely hoped Lydia’s friends were present, so they could report back. Lydia would cringe in annoyance at their tales and go running to Reggie to complain no one would want to invite them anywhere because of his outrageous sister.

  At the intermission, John and Jeremy left the box to procure refreshments. Alone with Miranda, Gwen leaned back and tried to relax. “I do enjoy Mr. Kean, but I’m afraid more people are looking at me than at him.”

  “Pay them no mind. John is giving you exactly the right amount of attention. Most people are aware of Caulfield’s situation. He’ll have some other poor girl in his sights within a fortnight.”

  She sighed. “I do hope you’re right. While this is awkward, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have a practical solution present itself. I believe I would have eloped to Gretna Green with a footman rather than submit to that hateful rogue.”

  The curtains parted, and the gentlemen returned.

  “You shall never guess who we saw wandering the hall.” Jeremy sat down next to his wife.

  Gwen cringed. “Lord Caulfield?”

  “No, his nephew. He came right up to John and offered his congratulations on his upcoming nuptials.”

  Miranda shook her head. “If he’s celebrating his good fortune, I believe it is too soon. As I told Gwen, his uncle probably has his next candidate in his sights.”

  “You may be right,” John added.

  Jeremy sipped his champagne. “The betting book at White’s has a long list of wagers, but at this time, there are no leading candidates.”

  Gwen fanned her face with the sandalwood fan she’d borrowed from her mother. “I care not who the next Lady Caulfield is. Can we move on to another topic?”

  “No need,” John said. “The performance is starting again.”

  They all faced forward to hear the dialogue. Gwen breathed deeply and caught herself watching John’s face. He had a fine patrician profile. His narrow nose and strong jaw were set off by dark hair that framed his face and curled over his wide forehead. His dimple appeared in his cheek when he smiled, giving him the look of a younger man instead of one seasoned by war. But his eyes were his best feature. Brown with amber flecks. At times, they seemed to hide some kind of sorrow.

  Surely, he’s not regretting our engagement.

  He turned and caught her gaze, his hand shifting to cover hers, his mouth turning up into a warm smile. She was a ninny. He was committed to the marriage. She exhaled and turned to the performance. The second set of banns had been read. Next week John would be escorting her to a ball. In a little more than three weeks she would be a bride.

  A tingling in the area of her stomach made her catch her breath.

  A bride and perhaps soon after a mother? Life had suddenly become very sweet.

  Chapter 5

  Sunshine streamed through the windows of the Longley London town house on her wedding day, chasing away the last of Gwen’s misgivings.

  A sign. God favors this marriage.

  Gwen smiled as she peered out at the garden. Miranda’s staff had snipped off most of the remaining blooms to be arranged in white baskets placed at the edges of the pergola. An array of pink, white, and red roses would festoon the area where the ceremony would take place. Phoebe, Longley’s ward, would walk down the path first. Miranda would be Gwen’s only other attendant.

  “I’d hoped you’d be married at St. Paul’s.” Lady Culbertson sniffed into her handkerchief. “As usual, you defy me. Why can you not be conventional for once in your life? You’re my only daughter. I had such plans for your wedding.”

  “I explained, Mama. There wasn’t time. John and I have a long trip ahead of us, and Papa’s health is not good. Above all things, he wanted to see me wed.”

  “But outdoors? In a garden? It’s not done.”

  “As long as we are married under the roof of the pergola, it is legal to have the ceremony outside. Papa took great pains to arrange it. You know I am not one for convention, Mama. I like to be different. And the day is fine.”

  “You are fortunate the parson agreed to this. Your father made a considerable donation in order to persuade him.”

  The guest list had been trimmed to immediate family. Mama had wanted more, but the pergola could only accommodate a few dozen chairs.

  Gwen moved in front of the floor-length mirror in Miranda’s room and straightened her bodice. “Father wants my happiness. He was not averse to my idea. It was Reginald who objected.” She smoothed down the front of her ice-blue gown. “I believe it was Lydia who put him up to it. She abhors anything unconventional. But I am the bride. I should have the kind of wedding I want.”

  A loud sigh followed. At least it wasn’t a sob.

  “You do look lovely, my dear.” Lady Culbertson stood back while a maid straightened Gwen’s skirt. The gown was silver sarcenet over blue satin with long fitted sleeves, puffed at the shoulder, and a modest neckline. Tiny flowers were embroidered on the bodice and the hem. A veil of Brussels lace fell from a coronet of flowers, fresh from the garden and woven into her upswept hair.

  “Thank you, Mama. In this dress I feel like a princess.” She plucked her spectacles out of her beaded reticule and plopped them on her nose, pirouetting in front of the long mirror.

  “Must you wear those? It spoils the effect.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Montague won’t mind.” She smiled. “But I do not have to read anything during the ceremony. I shall keep them off until I sign the register.”

  Mama sniffed into her lace handkerchief. “You are fortunate to have made a love match after all this time. Now I know why you rejected other suitors. Why did you not confide in me? I should be cross.”

  Why was prevarication so difficult? She and John had agreed to keep up the pretense u
ntil after their departure. Papa was still skeptical, but Mama had accepted her falsehoods.

  “Oh, la! Do not be cross today.” She took off the spectacles and set them down on the dresser. “I am happy, Mama. Be happy for me.”

  Lady Culbertson dabbed at her eyes. Gwen was sure she wasn’t crying. Not yet. But at the proper time, her mother would sob loudly. Right now, she was fidgeting with a handkerchief, her eyes downcast.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Mama looked as if she wanted the floor to open and swallow her. “We have not had a chance to discuss certain matters pertaining to the wedding night.” The handkerchief twisted into a knot in her mother’s hands.

  Poor Mama.

  “I know you don’t like to hear it, Mama, but I am very well read. A number of books allude to the subject at hand, and I am not above eavesdropping on servants’ conversations.” Her lips twitched up in a grin at Mother’s shocked expression. “I know all about the wedding night. What I didn’t know before, Miranda has kindly enlightened me. Please do not trouble yourself further.”

  An audible sigh of relief met her ears. “Oh, well then, shall we make our way down the stairs? I believe I hear voices in the hall.”

  Miranda stepped into the room with Phoebe in tow. The young girl walked around Gwen and oohed and aahed over her gown.

  Miranda took Gwen’s arm. “It is time, my dear.”

  Butterflies knocked against her ribs. This was a faux marriage, one of convenience between virtual strangers. She and John had agreed to act as friends, not a married couple. She had nothing to fear.

  And yet her conversation with her mother made her wonder if he would want to consummate the marriage right away—just to get it over with. She swallowed past the knot forming in her chest, took a deep breath, and smiled at the three pairs of eyes looking at her strangely.

  “Are you all right? You seem a bit flummoxed.” Miranda tilted her head and waited for a response.

  Gwen pasted a bright smile on her face. “I am overcome by all this attention. I prefer to fade into the flowers of a room’s wallpaper where I can be the observer instead of the observed. But I am ready to proceed.”

  The procession made its way slowly down the elegant staircase, past the stained-glass windows showing angels in the heavens, and on to the ground floor. A set of doors opened to the terrace, and a few more steps brought them to the path ending at the pergola. Sun warmed her face, and the air was finer than most days in London. A brisk breeze had blown throughout the night, and the smell of plucked roses lingered in the air.

  Phoebe, in her white pinafore, led the group with stately grace. At eleven, she was still in the schoolroom, but elements of her future beauty were already evident. Miranda brought up the rear, straightening the skirt of the bridal gown and whispering encouragement when Gwen almost tripped.

  The few guests sat in chairs. Reginald occupied the one next to Papa and would help him up when time for him to give her in marriage. He had chosen not to walk her down the aisle because of his incessant coughing.

  Lydia was not seated next to Reggie. She’d probably invented a malady, so she wouldn’t have to attend this unconventional event. But Reggie wouldn’t stay away. Despite their differences, Gwen thought him secretly glad she was marrying. It would have pained him to cast her out once he inherited. He would have done it, though, to keep his wife happy.

  The only other prominent guest missing was John’s mother, the Dowager Countess of Longley. John had said his mother was too ill to travel, but when Gwen had suggested stopping at his ancestral home to make her acquaintance, John and Jeremy had both said no at the same time. Odd. The poor lady must be near death’s door.

  I’ll ask him again as we get near the village during our trip north.

  As she entered the enclosure, her gaze found John. Standing next to his brother, the earl, he beamed with pride, or was it merriment? He had proven to be a consummate actor and a considerate and amusing companion.

  She could not have found a better suitor.

  He was impeccably dressed in fashionable wedding attire. She wondered if unwed young ladies swooned whenever he walked into a room. Today his dark brown hair was cut in the style made famous by Beau Brummel, and the lock of hair that often escaped to fall over his eyebrow was securely tamed. His wide smile showed even teeth and often reached his eyes. He looked like a youth waiting for a prank to be discovered. Yet she found him principled and dedicated. And soon he would be hers.

  Her breath caught, but only for a moment. She recovered and smiled at John.

  I’ll be fine. A new adventure, that’s what this is.

  John took her arm when she reached him, and they gave their full attention to the pastor. The words of the traditional ceremony from the Church of England were familiar. Gwen had attended all the weddings of her friends. Now it was her turn, a turn she’d never thought she’d have.

  When the words, “you may kiss the bride,” were uttered, she held her breath and turned to face her groom. John grinned, his eyes soft with something . . . not love . . . but mischief? He lowered his head and kissed her on the lips, a light kiss that moved over her mouth with precision and promise, his lips as soft as the rose petals beneath her feet. Promise? She nearly swooned because it was unexpected. This was her first real kiss, and it was everything she’d dreamed it could be, except for the lack of sentiment behind it. The kiss was for show, and she was expected to smile. She let out her breath and stared into John’s eyes, forcing her mouth to lift up at the corners.

  He held out his arm. “Shall we recess?”

  They left the area with the guests following. A lavish wedding breakfast was already laid out in the dining hall.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Do you think we fooled them?”

  She nodded, unable to speak, her lips tingling from the kiss she had not foreseen. She’d expected a brief peck on the cheek, but John had played his part better than she had. Anyone seeing their kiss would believe theirs was a love match. And for a split second, she had wanted to believe it, too.

  Oh, la, what have I done?

  You’ve solidified your freedom. You’ve married a good man, even if he is interested only in your money. You’ve aligned yourself with your best friend’s family. And you’ve carved out a new adventure for yourself in a faraway place. The flutters in her abdomen when she gazed at John’s handsome face were nothing more than nerves. They would pass.

  She vowed to make John her new best friend and never to regret her decision.

  ~ ~ ~

  John peered into the coach to make sure there was a warm blanket for the journey. A basket of sweets, sent by the Longley cook, was tucked in the corner.

  “I’ll ride with you in the coach for a few miles, then you can have it all to yourself. You must be exhausted. You can stretch out on the seat and sleep.” He squeezed Gwen’s hand as he helped her inside. Following her, he sat opposite, so they could both wave at the small group seeing them off.

  Jeremy had insisted on the use of the Longley coach for the journey. It was more comfortable than anything John could afford to hire. He also provided a second small conveyance for their luggage. Gwen’s maid and John’s valet would follow with the luggage.

  The traditional wedding breakfast had gone on longer than expected. It would be nightfall before they reached their first stop. The journey from London to York on the Great North Road could be made in two days, but John had convinced Gwen they should travel at a more leisurely pace, giving them time to become better acquainted.

  They waved enthusiastically at the crowd gathered on the front steps as the coach rocked into motion and moved along the drive. The vehicle made its way through the streets, past parks and narrow buildings, past sidewalk vendors selling everything from meat pies to flowers. He knew Gwen read all the travel
books she could find prior to the trip and had a stack of books packed with her belongings. But she’d told him she had never ventured farther than her father’s country estate near Cheltenham.

  “How are you feeling? I’ve scarcely had a moment to talk to you, what with all the toasts and revelry. I must say it was a jolly crowd. I don’t think anyone suspected our little fabrication.”

  “We did fool them, didn’t we?”

  Dressed in a modest traveling dress of pale green with a fitted jacket and a straw bonnet with matching ribbons, Gwen looked as fetching as she had in her wedding attire. He wasn’t familiar with female fabrics, but the ensemble appeared warm and substantial.

  I’ve married a practical woman.

  The life he was taking her to would be harsh at first, but with her dowry, he would now have the means to hire workmen to get the manor house in order. Once they were settled, she’d have time to explore and engage in whatever pursuits interested her. He’d promised her independence, and by Jove she’d have it.

  How surprising to find he welcomed her companionship during the journey. “Why don’t you remove your bonnet and gloves and try to relax? This coach is old. It was purchased a decade ago by Father. But he loved comfort. I believe you will be able to nap if you wish.”

  “I am fatigued, and I am grateful your brother let us borrow it for the journey. But stay awhile, my lord. I would like to quiz you about Yorkshire.”

  He settled in, put his own hat and gloves on the seat next to him, and crossed his legs. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Tell me how your estate came into your possession.”

  “The estate is called Dorset Hall, although it was originally called Woodhaven Abbey and I am thinking of resuming its original name.”

  She cocked her head. “I like the name Woodhaven. Dorset is far to the south and would seem an unusual name in Yorkshire. Let us call it Woodhaven again.”