Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (25 page)

“You’re not
the first Grayson who’s tried to escape your identity. Now tell me
the truth. Who is your father and where have you been? Tell me and
I promise they won’t hurt you. I’ll find you somewhere safe where
you won’t be able to hurt yourself.”

Joan pressed
her hands together as if in prayer, “Please Mr Lyndhurst, if you
want to help me take me to the Church of St. James.”

“And what if
there isn’t anyone waiting at the church Madam? Do you expect me to
believe that Robert Neilson has tried to stop Smirke from getting
married? I haven’t heard anything so fantastical in years.”

“If there
isn’t anyone at the church you can take me to Lansdown Crescent.
I’m staying with James and Agnes Smirke…please! The servants know
me, they know what happened.”

“I have more
important things to do than play games with pretty lunatics.”
Lyndhurst looked down into large pleading cornflower eyes and
sighed in resignation, “Very well, I will take you to the church,
but if they refuse to own you, you’ll be dropped off at the first
asylum we come to and don’t expect a room with a view.” Still
holding her arm, he hailed a hackney cab and shoved her inside. “To
the Church of St. James; quick man, before I lose my mind.”
Lyndhurst sat opposite his sobbing charge and after several long
noisy minutes held out a handkerchief. “Wipe your nose child and
stop making that obscene snorting noise. It brings to mind
frightful memories of great aunt Fanny.”

Joan
hesitantly accepted the clean white cloth, “Thank you Sir, I was
just thinking how you’re the fairy-godmother I was praying for…well
except I guess you’d be my fairy-godfather. I’ve had the worst day
of my life and it seems forever since breakfast. Mr Smirke looked
so beautiful in his red jacket…”

“I hope that’s
not a broad hint I buy you lunch.”

“I don’t want
lunch; I want my Mr Smirke!” The ugly man scowled at Joan’s angry
retort. He couldn’t help, but compare the pretty child with his one
friend, a lady who made him wish he wasn’t ugly. Feeling depressed
and irritable he pulled out his pocket watch. “What time is
it?”

“Eleven
forty.”

“How long do
will take to get there?”

“A few
minutes.”

“What were you
doing in that evil place?”

“Business.”

“What sort of
business?”

“I’m looking
for someone.”

“Why?”

“Because I
need to find them.”

“Why?”

“None of your
business, no more questions.”

“I was making
polite conversation Mr Lyndhurst. There’s no need to give me the
evil eye.”

“I’m the Duke
of Lyndhurst. You will address me as Your Grace.”

“I’d rather
call you Mr Lyndhurst. Your Grace sounds like something one would
call the Archbishop of Canterbury and you certainly don’t look
religious, unless you worship the devil…”

“My name is
not Mr Lyndhurst. I’m Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson, the Duke of
Lyndhurst.”

“Then why did
those men call you Lyndhurst?”

“Lords are
referred to by their eminent title.”

“That doesn’t
make any sense. If you’re Mr Grayson, how can you be Mr
Lyndhurst?”

“I’m not Mr
Lyndhurst; I’m the Duke of Lyndhurst.”

Joan met the
Duke’s frightening glare with wide anxious eyes reflecting doubt
and relief, “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be one of your
relations. I don’t look anything like you.”

“I look like
my mother who was a Stratton.”

“Why is a Lord
referred to by his eminent title?”

“How should I
know? I wasn’t alive a thousand years ago when they developed the
Honour’s System was I?”

“You look like
you’ve been alive a thousand years, though you do have a lovely
voice. Is your wife blind?”

“If you wish
me to allow the cabbie to complete this journey you will close your
lips and rant in silence. As it is, I’m having a very hard time
believing even John Smirke would chain himself to a pretty lunatic.
I’m very tempted to have the hackney stop so I can push you out. Do
you understand? No more questions.”

“I’m not mad.
And Mr Smirke loves me.”

“I’ll believe
it when I see it.”

“Oh ye of
little faith…”

“Enough!”

“You only said
I couldn’t ask questions. Now I won’t be able to ask you what sort
of painting you’d like as a thank you gift or where to send
it.”

“I don’t want
any thanks for this torture and I certainly don’t want a
souvenir.”

“Mamma, I mean
Lady Jemima who married Lord Belvedere. She says I’m very talented
and she would know. She’s one of the best portrait painters in the
Kingdom. You don’t believe me do you?”

“That was a
question.”

“You should
see the picture she did of Mr Smirke. It was so beautiful I fell in
love with him. It’s true he’s a villain, but he’s so…there’s
something magical about him that makes me feel like dancing. I
don’t suppose I can ask you if you understand.”

“No.” The Duke
of Lyndhurst took his watch out again and stared at the small
silver hands slowly traversing the face.

“May I see
your watch?”

“No.”

“Are those
rubies on the face?”

“Yes.”

“Are you very
rich?”

“One more
question and I’ll push you out of the carriage while it’s in
motion.”

“That wouldn’t
be very kind Mr Lyndhurst. I might die and then you’d end up in
hell and I feel I should warn you that Mr Smirke says hell is too
awful for words…Oh look we’re here. There’s Cecil, George and
Charles…Oh stop this thing and let me out.”

“Thank the
merciful heavens, wait till the carriage stops you idiot.” Only a
strong cold hand kept her from leaping to freedom and a broken
neck. A brief wait and Joan was allowed to safely escape.

Cecile stared
in shocked horror at the sight of his future aunt. Joan was a red
eyed medusa; blonde unpinned hair snaked in mad clumps, her
powdered face marred by tears and bruises. “Where the blazes have
you been? Nana’s had a burnt feather stuck up her nose for an
hour…and where the blazes are Uncle John and Papa? And where’s your
pink dress? Oh no, don’t cry…Blast.” Cecil rushed past Charles and
George and reached Joan first, sweeping her off her feet.

George put his
hands on his hips and glared at his elder brother, “I should be the
one to carry her. If Uncle John has died I’m her legal guardian,
give her to me.”

“I’m the
eldest, I get to carry her. Step back before I drop her.” Only
Charles Smirke watched the walking corpse climb down and pay the
cab faire. Feeling his flesh crawl, he turned and ran after his
bickering brothers. There was safety in numbers.

The Duke of
Lyndhurst slunk into the shadows at the back of the chapel and
watched the drama near the altar unfold. He was relieved to learn
the girl wasn’t mad. As nominal head of the Grayson family, he
would have felt obligated to take care of her.

The weeping
Lady Adderbury rushed to the beautiful young men and gestured for
them to put the girl down on a bench before attentively seeing to
the young woman’s wounds with motherly devotion. Even the icy Agnes
Smirke looked concerned when she wasn’t eyeing two small girls who
kept trying to sneak away. Lord Belvedere hovered nearby adding
reality to the girl’s strange story, while the five beautiful young
men stared down at the misshapen Joan Lark in frustrated anger as
her scandalous tale unfolded in-between echoing sobs. It was
obvious when she reached his part in her tale. The whole group
turned to stare in his direction. It seemed impossible, but the
story had to be true. Neilson, the perfect gentleman, had kidnapped
and mistreated an innocent. Lyndhurst clenched his teeth. He was no
fit judge or jury, but the thought of the large cornflower eyes
filled with fear fed a flickering chivalrous flame.

Lyndhurst
perched himself on an uncomfortable wooden pew and waited for the
groom to arrive. If anything, it would make an interesting episode
to include in his next letter to his friend. He tried to
concentrate on the story in the stained glass windows, but Miss
Joan Lark’s strong Grayson resemblance could not be ignored. Whose
daughter was she? There was a remote possibility she was a half
sister. His father had thought it his duty to spread his seed. She
could easily be the daughter of his older bastard brother, Thomas,
or any number of bastard uncles and cousins. The child was
definitely a Grayson, but her eyes were like cornflowers sealed in
glass, an eternal blue like no other. He’d only ever known one
other woman with cornflower eyes. There’d been only one Grayson
warming Lady Pelham’s bed in 1798. Lyndhurst bowed his head as
painful memories twisted his soul in agony.

John blindly
pushed open the church door with a heavy heart; he was wasting
precious time. His lark was somewhere in Bath attracting trouble
and he was dawdling at the church doors in hopes of a miracle. Rows
of empty pews blurred; he couldn’t see a scrap of pink. His
shoulders slumped as he turned to run back to the carriage. “Mr
Smirke! His head whipped around as a woman in canary yellow raced
down the aisle towards him. Colliding with the hoyden in a strange
ill-fitting dress, John locked his arms around Joan’s waist and
swung her in ecstatic circles before energetically expressing his
relief with his lips.

Peter stopped
next to the enraptured lovers and coughed as he took out his watch,
“You have t-ten minutes to t-tie the knot.” There was no visible
end to the kiss.

James slapped
his engrossed younger brother on the back earning a blistering
glare, “You have nine minutes to wed. Stop kissing Joan and get to
the altar, I want my lunch.”

“Nine minutes?
Why didn’t you say something?” Joan spun around and pulled her
guardian towards the altar. “Slow down Woman I can’t run…Oh my sore
rump.”

The Vicar
looked at his watch, “I don’t believe there will be time…”

John pulled
out the common license and waved it like a captured flag, “Start
reading that poxy marriage ceremony. If I don’t have a wife by
noon…I’ll…I’ll die!”

“Oh Mr
Smirke…”

“Dearly
beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in
the face of this congregation…I assume your brothers are your
witnesses?”

“Yes, hurry
up. Please.” Securely wrapping his left arm around the narrow
yellow waist, John could barely understand the words buzzing in his
ear as he contemplated Joan’s adoring eyes. The strange warmth in
his chest and the pleasurable ache of holding her safe was doing
strange things to his head.

The Vicar
sighed in exasperation, “Mr Smirke?”

“What? Why
aren’t you reading?”

“I’m asking
you an important question. Wilt thou have this Woman to be thy
wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy
estate of Matrimony?”

“Yes of
course. I’m not standing here to make her my parlour maid.”

“You’re to say
I will when I finish.”

“Well hurry up
and finish.”

“Wilt thou
love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in
health; and , forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long
as ye both shall live?”

John tried to
swallow a sudden lump in his throat, “I will.”

“Joan Lark.
Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together
after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou
obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and
in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so
long as ye both shall live?”

“I shall love
Mr Smirke for ever and ever and ever.”

“I will, is
the correct answer, Miss Lark.”

“Then I will
love Mr Smirke for ever and ever and ever.”

“Who giveth
this Woman to be married to this Man?”

“I do, now
marry us.”

“Mr Smirke,
this is highly irregular. You can’t give yourself…”

“Then my
brother, Lord Adderbury, gives her…get on with it.”

“Take her
right hand and repeat after me…”

“I John
Sebastian Smirke…take thee Joan Lark…to have and to hold…from this
day forward…for better or for worse…for richer for poorer…in
sickness and in health…to love and to cherish…till death us do
part…according to God’s holy ordinance….and thereto I plight thee
my troth.”

Joan sniffed
as a large single tear shimmered in her right eye, “Oh Mr
Smirke…you said it with such conviction…I need a kiss.”

“Stop talking
and repeat your lines.” He lowered his voice, “I can’t wait another
day to kiss my wife.”

“Just a small
kiss…”

The vicar
rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, “The kiss comes at the
end. Stop kissing and break hands. Miss Lark…take his right hand
and repeat after me the exact words I speak and don’t add any of
your own…”

“I Joan
Lark…take thee my beautiful John Sebastian Smirke…to have and to
hold from this day forward…for better for worse…for richer for
poorer especially poorer after I redecorate your London town house.
Your Mamma says it’s all black and yellow, I can’t live in a
bumblebee.”

“You’re not
going anywhere near Lincoln Inn Fields.”

“Why not?”

“Something bad
might happen. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You can’t
refuse to take me to London…what sort of husbandly devotion is
that?”

“It isn’t
safe…”

“Life isn’t
safe; I want to go to the theatres and see…”

“There are too
many people who hate me. I’m never taking you to London and that’s
final.”

“I can’t
believe you’re being horrid in the middle of our marriage
vows…”

“I’m not being
horrid; I’m being good.”

“If you’re
going to lock me away I might as well return to that brute Neilson.
I refuse to marry a man who won’t take me to London.”