Edith Layton (10 page)

B
ridget hesitated on the church steps. It was a small distance to the church, but a huge and irrevocable step she was taking. She stopped in order to think about it for one last time.

Surely, she thought, no one had ever married in such haste. She’d had the leisure to worry about it, too. Yesterday, the morning after that embarrassing dinner out, she’d awakened to find a message from Ewen lying on her pillow.

After luncheon she got another message.

After a late dinner that she fretted and picked over, hoping to see him come in the door every second, the butler delivered another note to her.

It was endearing and challenging, all at once. How like him, she thought. And how like this new Bridget, she realized in alarm, to be excited about it.

He sent a gown, all creamy antique lace, for her to wear the next morning. She sat up far into the night admiring it. She was awakened in the morning by the maid he had
sent to help her dress for the day. There was a bouquet of roses and gardenias for her to carry, and some to pin in her hair. When she was dressed, his coachman took her to an old church in an out-of-the-way district.

When the coach stopped, Bridget gazed out the window at the church, and for the first time since Ewen had set their wedding in motion, she paused. It occurred to her that not only did she not know the neighborhood, she didn’t know one person inside the church but her groom! She hadn’t even been a
guest
at such a wedding before. She stepped from the coach and hesitated again.

“Miss Cooke?” She looked up to see Ewen’s red-haired friend. Rafe, bounding down the steps to her. He was dressed in formal morning clothes, his face solemn. He bowed.

“Lord Raphael Dalton, at your service,” he said, offering her his arm. “I hope you’ll permit me to be your escort today. The thing of it is, Ewen wanted someone to give you away. I daresay I can do the job well as anyone, though I’d never give such a stunner as you away, had I a choice. Blast—that’s not the thing to say to a bride, is it? Pardon. Never done such a thing before, you see, and I’m all thumbs with it.”

“Well, I’ve never done a thing like this before, either, so that’s all right,” Bridget said, managing a nervous smile for him.

His lips tightened, but he nodded abruptly. She put her hand on his arm and walked up the stairs with him, trying not to think how awful she felt because she didn’t know any gentleman who could take the place of her father. Her only male friend was the one she was about to marry, and she really wasn’t even sure she could consider him a
friend
.

For a moment she considered flinging down her bouquet, running back down the steps, and going someplace far away. But of course she didn’t. There was nowhere to run, and in truth, the only person she wanted to discuss it with was waiting for her inside the church.

The oaken double doors to the old building swung open. A little girl with shining hair the color of sunshine stood there waiting for them. She was dressed in a lovely pink frock and held a basket heaped high with violets. She bobbed a curtsy and gave Bridget a gloriously gap-toothed grin.

“Dashed little charmer, isn’t she?” Rafe commented.

“Who is she?” Bridget whispered, half afraid to find out. She could have sworn she’d heard Ewen had no children with his late wife, but then, she didn’t know that much about Ewen. Her heart sank. She hated herself for being so trusting, so weak-willed, so dazzled and intimidated by him that she hadn’t asked more questions.

“Ewen said you’d know her,” Rafe said, frowning again. “Trust him to be ripe for a jest. Well, the little chit’s been all smiles the whole morning because he bought her that dress and all her violets, too.”

Bridget blinked. It was amazing what a bath and clean new clothes could do. She stared at the girl—who tipped her an enormous wink. “The flower girl, from Regent’s Park,” she breathed with dawning recognition.

“Aye. Ewen said who better to be a flower girl than a real flower girl? The fellow loves a joke. He said you’d enjoy it, too.”

She did, and she felt a sudden glow that took the chill from her hands and her heart. She went into the
church and down the aisle, the little flower girl fairly skipping in front of her.

There were less than a dozen people in the old church, sitting together. All the empty pews made it seem as though there were even fewer. She saw Ewen’s butler standing a bit apart, watching her approach the altar. She got a quick glimpse of a regal-looking couple around Ewen’s age, a dashing soldier in a bright red coat, two sober-faced gentlemen, a neatly dressed little man, the vicar, a plain-faced, hostile-looking woman who had to be his wife—and Ewen. And then Bridget had eyes for no one else.

He wore a dove gray morning jacket, slate-colored trousers, and a silver waistcoat. There was a single creamy rose at his lapel, and a single luminous gray pearl shone from the pin in his elaborate cravat. He radiated confidence and contentment. His eyes approved her. He took her hand and led her to the altar.

Bright daylight shone in through the high rose windows. Even though the rays were tinted mauve and lilac by the pattern of the stained glass, Bridget bowed her head the minute she felt them strike her face. It was a reflex, what she always did in public. But now she was glad of it. She didn’t know these people who had come to witness her marriage, and she didn’t want to see their expressions as it went forth.

It went forth so fast, it was over before she had a chance to be badly frightened. Surely she must have heard wrong, or time itself had telescoped, because one moment she heard the vicar begin the marriage service, and it seemed only a scant second later that he asked if she agreed. She must have squeaked her consent, because she heard Ewen murmur his, and then she
heard the vicar tell him he could kiss his bride. Ewen turned to her and lifted up her chin with his fingers. She gazed at him in confusion and surprise. She was his bride? She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

It seemed to her he spent more time looking down into her eyes than the whole marriage service had taken. His face was grave, and she didn’t know what he was searching for in her expression; she was too busy trying to read all his secrets in his stormy hazel eyes. Someone coughed, and Ewen seemed to recall himself. He bent his head and brushed a featherlight kiss across her lips, then turned to take his friend’s congratulations, leaving her standing alone, even more surprised and confused. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

He didn’t get many congratulations, Bridget thought unhappily. The vicar shook his hand. The vicar’s wife shook her head, scrutinizing Bridget with narrowed eyes. The butler congratulated Ewen and bowed to Bridget.

“You’re a lucky girl,” the regal-looking lady told Bridget. “He’s a gentleman. He’ll treat you well.”

Ewen heard her. He put his arm around Bridget’s waist, “No, my lady,” he said, “I’m the lucky one.”

“Indeed,” the lady’s husband said as he bowed to Bridget. “Permit me to introduce myself. I’m Charles, Baron Burnam, at your service. This is my lovely lady, Millicent. It’s awkward meeting the bride on her wedding day, and I’m sorry for it, but Ewen explained the reason for his haste. I wondered about why he wanted such a hurry-scurry affair. But now that I see you, I know he was lying.”

Bridget blinked. Ewen’s face became tight. His friend Rafe’s head went up. “My God, Burnam!” Rafe protested.

“Of course he lied,” Burnam went on, unfazed. “One can’t blame him for it, either. He said you weren’t new to London, and that can’t be true, because if you’d been here over a week, you’d have found a far better fellow. He had to secure you at once. Ah, don’t fret, my dear, I’ve known him since the dawn of time. Old friends have a responsibility to taunt each other, don’t you know?”

Odd friends, not old ones
, Bridget thought in annoyance.
Poor Ewen. One of his friends drops in for meals whenever he fancies, the other insults him and thinks it’s amusing
. She was surprised at how angry she was—for Ewen’s sake, not her own. She was used to disrespect, after all.

The two sober gentlemen bowed over her hand and wished her much happiness.

“Don’t blame you,” one of them told Ewen.

“Lucky man. Now I suppose we won’t be seeing much of you for a while,” the other said abruptly.

The soldier wished her happiness, slapped Ewen on the back, and then stood laughing with Rafe.

The neat little man turned out to be Ewen’s valet. He was even more formal than the butler had been with her.

“We have to sign the register before we can leave,” Ewen told Bridget.

He led her to the vicar’s office at the side of the old church. She took the freshly dipped pen she was handed. But when she bent to sign the papers he put before her, there was a dull clanking sound, and a thick gold ring fell from her finger. She hadn’t remembered his having put it there. Ewen picked it up before she could, and frowned.

“I thought so. And now that I see it on your finger, I see it’s too common, too. It’s the best I could do on
short notice. You deserve a rarer, better one, and shall have it: my mother’s. It’s in my father’s vault. There are jewels that go with this position, you know. They go from viscountess to viscountess. They’re beautiful, but they can’t be yours in the sense I want them to be. Fairy gold, my mother called them, since they aren’t owned in the truest sense and must disappear with each succession. You wear them for state occasions and then pass them on to your son’s wife. Sad stuff, that. What if you don’t like her? What if you come to love them? I hadn’t thought of it before now.” He scowled. “Never mind. I’ll buy you more to do with as you please.”

His voice grew deeper as he looked down at her. “Something to go with those misty eyes of yours. Sapphires, I think, and opals, to cool the fire of the diamonds. Dulcet and subtle, like the lady they’ll adorn. Yes. But I think you’ll like her ring.”

“I’ll be honored to wear it,” Bridget said.

“No, it is I who will be honored,” he said, dipping the pen again. “Here, sign once more, and we are done.”

Bridget hardly noticed what she signed, but Ewen snatched up the parchment as soon as she wrote her name.

“I’ll take this,” he said. “The marriage lines are yours to keep—after we show them to my father,” he told her, slipping the paper and the ring into his pocket. “I worked too hard and paid much too much to risk letting this document out of my sight now.”

He led her from the alcove. “And now,” he announced to the little group by the altar, “I invite you all to adjourn to my house for some light refreshment.”

“Heavy refreshment or nothing,” the soldier laughed.

“Regrets, must get back to the office, old man,” one
of the two sober gentlemen said. The other nodded agreement.

“We should love to,” Baron Burnam’s wife said, her tone of voice making what she said an obvious lie, “but we’ve a previous engagement. This invitation was so sudden, I don’t know how we managed to come at all.”

“Pleased that you could,” Ewen said with equal insincerity.

There were five guests at Bridget’s wedding reception: Ewen’s friend Rafe, the young soldier, the flower girl, the butler, and the valet. There was a table laden with delicacies, and the wine flowed freely. But since the butler and valet only stayed to share the first toast, and the flower girl was more interested in eating her fill, there were only two guests to keep toasting the pleased groom and nervous bride.

After a merry hour, the soldier remembered another appointment. Rafe, realizing he’d be the only adult left with the happy couple, wished them well and left with the soldier. Then there was only one guest left. She was still eating, but more listlessly, picking at one dish, tasting another. But she stayed standing at the table, looking hungrily at all the food and drink.

It was suddenly silent in the room. Ewen stood at Bridget’s side, and from the corner of her eye she could see he was staring at her.
Well, but I’m married now
. she thought on a shaky breath.
Still, it’s broad daylight, it would be indecent
. But what did she know about what he thought was decent, after all? What did she know about him? Her breathing grew shallow, her heart raced.

Ewen watched Bridget’s breasts rise and fall rapidly. He knew if he took her wrist he’d feel her pulse skittering.

Lovely
, he thought with irony,
exactly as it should be with a shy new bride
. He sighed. It could only be one of two things, and he knew it wasn’t desire. She was clearly panicked.

“We have a whole day before we leave for my father’s estate,” he said. He saw her shoulders leap. “We could, of course, leave now. But it’s better for the horses and the passengers to start in the early morning—keeps them both fresh. I don’t want you exhausted our first night together.