“Explain,” she said, the word calm, if a little abrupt.
“Yes,” he said, relieved she was giving him the opportunity and not reaching for the nearest blunt object. “My father and I have been at odds for some time, Odette. As I told you, he was furious with me for going to war, but as soon as I returned, he said it was my duty to marry and get my heirs. I’d just returned, though, and….”
Odette nodded, and he knew she understood that much. He’d not been ready.
“He gave me a year but said that, at the end of it, I must have chosen a bride or he would do it for me. Well, a year came and went, and I’d had several warnings but, two weeks ago, he wrote to me to tell me he’d done the job I’d been incapable of doing myself. I was to present myself at Blackdown House on the tenth of December to meet my bride–to-be. He told me to bring a ring and be prepared to propose.”
“That’s all?” Odette asked, wide-eyed. “You knew nothing of me?”
Chance laughed and shook his head. He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip as longing rose inside of him, hot and impatient. “Not even your name.”
“Oh!” she fumed, her eyes flashing fire and making him damn near breathless. “What an odious manner of doing things. Your father is as bad as my uncle.”
“I’ve no argument with that, love,” Chance said as a weight lifted from his shoulders. “I’m afraid I was angry, though… petulant, I suppose, at having my life organised for me. So, instead of turning up and facing him like a man, and at least meeting the beautiful girl he’d chosen for me, I went to a friend’s house and got drunk and… lost track of time.”
Odette snorted and rolled her eyes at him.
“I have regretted it, I swear, Odette. I had no idea it was you. Good Lord, if I’d had an inkling, nothing would have kept me away, but I intended to present myself to the young lady I had so insulted and offer my most sincere apologies. I swear that is true.”
She studied his face for a long moment before nodding.
“I believe you. I should have acted badly too in the circumstances.” She gave a little bark of laughter, adding, “I did!”
Chance grinned at her and pulled her close again.
“It’s fate,” he said. “The two of us meeting like this. And perhaps I ought not have been so angry with my father. He chose well, after all. Better than I deserve.”
Odette let out a breath. “You still wish to marry me then?”
“I do, and think how much easier it will be. They want us to be married, so we’ll just save them the fuss of a big wedding and get the job done.”
Her face clouded, and she shook her head. “My uncle wanted the fuss. He wanted a lavish London wedding for all the world to see, to help bring him back into society. He wants my money, too.”
“What?” Chance asked.
“I am an heiress, Charlie,” she said, almost apologetically. “But that is not your name, is it?”
Chance blinked, still a little winded by everything he’d just learned, including… an heiress? Good heavens.
“No. It’s Chauncey Kendall, Viscount Debdon.” He smiled and, though they were both still sitting on the mattress, bowed to her. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle de Bethencourt.”
“Enchantée, Monseigneur Debdon.”
They laughed.
“My friends call me Chance,” he said. “Because I’m a lucky devil. I begin to see how right they were.”
“You do?”
Chance’s heart thudded in his chest at the soft look in her eyes. She was so close. He could smell the scent of his shaving soap upon her skin and it lit something hot and possessive inside of him.
“I do,” he said, leaning in and brushing his lips over hers.
She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. Chance slid his arm about her waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. She opened to him with no urging, her tongue touching his, shyly at first and then with greater conviction as she learned the way of it. Her hand came up to his neck and the change in position overbalanced her. She fell back against the mattress and Chance followed her down. He broke the kiss, staring down at her. She had been through enough these past days, he would not compound the indignity she’d suffered by making love to her on the kitchen floor of an empty farmhouse. He could do better than that, and he would. She would not have the great wedding she had no doubt wished for, but the least he could do was treat her like the lady she was. Chance moved away a little, and the disappointment in her eyes was both a balm to his ego and an added torment. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed her again, a brief touch of his lips to hers.
“Tomorrow night we’ll be married,” he said.
She sighed. “That seems a very long time. Kiss me again, please.”
“Oh, Lord,” he murmured. “This is going to kill me.”
He did as she asked, too aware of the warm, lithe body beneath his hands. He drew back again, breathing hard.
“No,” he said sternly. “I don’t have enough willpower for this kind of torture. We must stop now.”
She pouted, her irritation as heartfelt as his own and utterly adorable.
“I think it is going to be a very long night,” she said sadly, and with such gravity Chance burst out laughing.
He stole another kiss, pulling her closer against him. His hand drifted down her back, over her hip, to cup her lovely behind while he tugged her closer still and groaned at the impossibility of it. Too many layers of fabric kept them apart. Stop it, stop it. While you still can. He broke away with a muttered oath.
“We’ll be married tomorrow,” he said, his voice hoarse as he brought himself firmly back under control.
He sat up and pulled Odette with him, before the temptation to get carried away was too strong to resist.
“The snow is melting so we’ll set out for Exeter first thing. My uncle is bishop there. He and my father don’t get alone. It’ll tickle him no end to marry us without his brother’s knowledge. No point in having a bishop in the family if you can’t make use of the fellow.”
“Oh, but he’ll think you’re marrying a… a….” She stared down at her rumpled clothes, at the muddy hem of her gown.
“Don’t fret, love. We’ll buy you something first. Something as beautiful as you are, though you’ll regret it when I’m so dazzled I can’t remember my name.”
“As long as you say oui in all the right places, I shall not mind at all,” she said with a smile. “Merci, Charl— Chance. You make me very ’appy.”
Chapter 6
“Wherein a hasty wedding.”
15thDecember 1817. Corry Brook Farm. Devon.
They set off after an early breakfast, ensuring to leave the farmhouse as they’d found it. Chance would let no one think Mrs Burrough had not left the place spick and span, and so they tidied and washed up, and he left some money with a note explaining it was for the broken window. He said nothing about who broke it or why. They could wonder about that.
It was an easy enough journey from the farm to Exeter in good weather and usually took no more than two and a half hours. With the roads full of slush and mud, and them both riding Ransom, it would be long and tedious, so when they got to Honiton, Chance bespoke a private room for them and left Odette whilst he hurried off and hired a carriage. Then he visited a dressmaker and paid a king’s ransom for the woman’s discretion and speed in going to the inn where Odette waited, to dress her for her wedding day. He spun some tale about a carriage accident, but doubted she believed him. She likely suspected they were eloping but, either way, it did not matter. The woman knew who he was and where her bread was buttered. A promise to be given the chance to outfit his future viscountess was not to be scoffed at, so she’d hold her tongue. Chance was further indebted to her when she suggested her youngest apprentice seamstress, Anne, go with them in the guise of Odette’s maid, thus lending a modicum of respectability to their journey.
Chance waited as Odette disappeared to one of the bedrooms with Anne to chang
e.
With time to think, he fretted about meeting his Uncle Will. Last night, he’d felt certain Will would marry them, but now, in the cold light of day, he wondered if he’d been hasty. His father would not be pleased with Chance’s behaviour and it was unfair of him to drag Will into it but, he could not allow any stain to attach to Odette’s character. It would all need hushing up as it was, but at least if they were married then propriety had been served, albeit in a rather unconventional manner.
At the sound of the door opening Chance looked up, and all thoughts of his uncle or his father’s wrath were chased from his mind. To his chagrin, he just stood staring like a fool, all sensible comments dissolving like sugar into syrup as his blood surged hot and addled his brain.
“Oh,” he said helplessly. “Oh, my… you…. Lovely. You look quite astonishingly lovely.”
This garbled compliment was accepted for its heartfelt sincerity, if not for its eloquence, and Odette beamed at him.
“How clever of you to find something so beautiful for me,” Odette said, staring down at the gown and cloak with obvious pleasure.
It suited her perfectly, a soft dove grey velvet dress and matching cloak trimmed with swansdown. Chance could not take his eyes from her.
“Married,” he said, taking her hand and practically dragging her from the room while the little maid, Anne, giggled and blushed at his determination. He didn’t care. “We must get married today. Now. At once. Or I shall run mad.”
The journey was a frustrating one, and it was well into the afternoon before they arrived in Exeter. Chance handed Odette out of the carriage and heard her soft intake of breath as she saw the cathedral. He smiled, realising then that she’d not have seen anything like it if her uncle had kept her all but a prisoner at his home. Chance made a promise to himself that, as soon as their honeymoon was over, he would take Odette to every party and play and event on offer, if she so wished. She could dance and meet new people and never again be so very alone. Nor he, he realised. He need not be alone either. The thought made something warm and happy unravel in his chest.
“Come along,” he said with a grin and she laughed, almost running to keep up as he hurried inside.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, stopping in her tracks despite him tugging at her.
She stared up and up at the immense, ornate building that arched high above their heads.
Chance paused, though he was taut with impatience and wanted nothing more than to find his uncle and get the deed done. For all he knew, Uncle Will might not even be here, and then they’d be in the basket.
“Chauncey? Is that you?”
With a sigh of relief, Chance turned around, recognising the voice. His uncle was a large, bluff man with a jovial face which made one think more of monks of old, like Friar Tuck, than a bishop. Will was good-natured and enjoyed life, and did not always appear to take things as seriously as he ought, which was usually a source of contention between him and his older brother, the earl. Nonetheless, he was respected in his own right and it was not entirely his relationship to Blackdown that had seen him rise to the heights of Bishop of Exeter.
“It is you!” Will exclaimed, hurrying to meet his nephew. “Well met, my lad, well met. It’s been an age, but what brings you… Oh, ho!”
Will beamed at Odette, his sharp eyes quickly falling to their linked hands and the hectic flush of colour staining her cheeks.
“Uncle,” Chance said, deciding not to beat about the bush. “We need your help.”
Not very much later, they were sitting in Will’s office by a crackling fire and drinking tea. Personally, Chance would have given anything for a brandy, but he didn’t think it the time or place to ask for one. Will was unlikely to bat an eyelid, but it didn’t do to give one’s bride the impression one was in the least bit agitated. By the time they had explained themselves, Will was muttering and tsking.
“That idiot, Blackdown! Whatever possessed him to do such a thing?”
Chance wisely kept his mouth shut.
“My uncle can be very persuasive,” Odette offered.
Chance bit back a grin as her pretty French accent worked on his uncle.
“Delightful,” the fellow murmured to himself before shooting Chance a conspiratorial grin. “Lucky devil.”
“Chance by name,” he replied with a smile.
“Still, it seems out of character for Blackdown to act in such an odd manner. Demanding you turn up with barely a moment’s notice. No information about the girl, her family. Rum,” Will said, shaking his head in consternation. “Very rum indeed.”
“Perhaps it is the money,” Odette offered.
“Money?” Will repeated, looking between them.
Chance nodded. “It seems Odette is an heiress. Though I don’t see that swaying father to act so out of character as you say. It’s not like he needs it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Odette continued as Chance took a sip of his tea. “One ’undred thousand pounds could make even a rich man a little mad, I think.”
Chance choked.
Odette sprang to her feet and patted his back. “Oh, Chance! Are you all right?”
“P-Perfectly,” he spluttered, still feeling somewhat dazed. “Did… Did you say…?”
She nodded, her expression grave.
“One ’undred thousand pounds. My parents left me everything when they died. You see now why my uncle is so….” She sighed and sat down again. “After André died, I think he went a little mad. I do not think it was all about the money. He did love André, though he never understood ’im, but losing the fortune he had counted on too…. It unbalanced his mind.”
Chance stared at Odette for a long moment, a little dazed and not entirely certain what he felt. “You told me you were ruined, worthless.”
She smiled, a sad expression that he hated to see. “I did not know you, did not know what you would say or do. So much money is a lure, it makes men do foolish things, and I was still ruined. No amount of money would make me acceptable to the ton once my reputation was so badly damaged, you know this, Chance, but now… I know you. I know you are a good man who would marry me not knowing who I was or whether I had a penny to my name. I know I can trust you, with my heart, and my fortune.”
Chance swallowed down a sudden surge of emotion that caught him off balance. He reached out and took Odette’s hand, holding it tightly as she smiled at him. Clearing his throat to move the pebble that seemed to have lodged there, he turned back to his uncle to see the man had gone all misty-eyed.
“Ah, young love,” he said wistfully. “I remember it well.”
“Well enough to help us?” Chance asked him. “We must be married at once if we are to have a chance of killing the scandal before it spreads.”
Will looked from Chance to Odette and back again. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Ah, well, Blackdown isn’t speaking to me, anyway. I don’t suppose it will change anything. Give me a few moments and I’ll sort out the licence.”
By four in the afternoon, they were married. Chance guided Odette back outside, blinking a little under the glare of a white sky. Married. Good heavens.
“No regrets?”
Chance looked down to see Odette’s dark eyes staring up at him, she looked pale and worried. His heart squeezed in his chest and he smiled.
“Not one, Lady Debdon,” he said, before leaning down and kissing her, a quick press of lips. It was all he dared here, in case anyone saw.
“Lady Debdon,” she repeated with a little laugh of surprise. “Oh, I like that, c’est très joli.”
“Not as pretty as you, wife.”
She blushed and Chance was relieved to see the colour return to her cheeks.
“Well, that was the easy bit,” he said lightly, wishing his stomach hadn’t tied itself in a knot over what came next. “Now we go home and face our relations.”
Chance was not certain if it was luck or misfortune that gave them a bright moon to travel by, as the usually sim
ple journey became an arduous crawl over poor roads, thick with mud and slush. If not for the moon they’d have given up when it grew dark and stopped for the night. For their wedding night. The temptation to stop was so damned tantalising, and yet he did not dare. They both knew yet another night away from home would only increase the likelihood of the scandal growing too big to manage, so they pushed on.
It was close to nine in the evening by the time they finally arrived at Blackdown House, though the impressive medieval fortified manor was less a house and much more a castle. In daylight it loomed over the surrounding areas, severe and forbidding to visitors, rather like the man who owned it. Set in a deer park that stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions, there was a feeling of time having been suspended. The earls of Blackdown had been here since the fourteenth century, a fact his father would beat Chance over the head with at every opportunity. Now, in the moonlight, and with the countryside still cloaked in white, the castle appeared like a villain in a melodrama, waiting to bring down the hero. Chance gave himself a mental shake and told himself to buck up and not be so bloody stupid. He had a wife now, and she was relying on him to make this right. So he would.
Chance handed a weary Odette down from the carriage, too aware of the terror in her eyes as she stared up at the unwelcoming edifice of his home. Though she had seen it before, it couldn’t have looked welcoming at any point, but certainly not now in the eerie moonlight. In truth, he loved the castle with his whole heart, every last mouldering stone. It was rather like a cantankerous aged relative; less than pretty, often bad–tempered, and yet beloved and familiar, with ties that ran deep into your soul.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, taking her hand. “I know it looks like the scene for every gory Gothic novel you’ve ever read, but it’s actually rather splendid when you get to know it and understand it.”
Odette tore her gaze from the dark shape of the walls that towered over them and looked back at him, searching his face.
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