The Marriage Mart (19 page)

For a moment, he thought he ought, that he could…but reality bit again. His shoulders slumped. “I am not good enough for her. No, Hortense, you know it as well as I. Do not deny it. I’ve bedded dozens of women. I’ve never been faithful to any of them. I was banished from the realm--”

“But no longer.”

“--and I’ve played games, always games with her.”

“On terms she accepted. She’s no fool. Why do you treat her like one?” Hortense cried.

“It’s too late. She deserves Bretwyn. He’ll bring her stability--”

“So could you.”

“Could I? I have no record of such fidelity or refinement,” he said bitterly.

“Don’t let your past ruin your future. Don’t allow Papa’s ridiculous, stupid, blind indifference to shape your life for one more minute--”

“Hortense, leave me. Please, as you love me, leave me. I cannot think. I…I need to be alone.”

She drew back, slowly nodding her head. Yes, let their words penetrate that stubborn brain. Perhaps…maybe…there was a chance he might hear what had been said.

“I could not love you as I do were you truly wicked or unworthy,” she told him, each word carefully enunciated, but then she left him without another word, although she kissed his cheek before she left.

In a little while John went out through the double doors into the gardens, closing the doors behind himself with the care and deliberateness of a man too agitated to do anything but what he ought, and made his way blindly to his carriage. His ostler was startled out of a light doze, the horses were quickly rigged to the vehicle, and John was borne quietly away from the party honoring two of the few he had come to admire in this world.

Morning brought with it a ceasing to the shivers that had possessed him in the night, but, too, it brought an unexpected visitor.

“John!” Hortense had cried stridently, opening the door to his chambers without so much as a knock and despite the frantic efforts of his valet to steer her away.

“What do you want?” John growled from his bed, the bed wherein he had done very little sleeping as he’d tossed through the night.

“I let you sleep all night on it, and now I want to talk to you again about this whole marriage business.” She reached for the sleeping jacket his wide-eyed valet was holding at the ready, and tossed it her brother’s way. It landed on his head, spilling down over his face.

From beneath the material she heard him say, “Go away, you gorgon.”

“Get up at once, you noddy,” was her immediate response.

He pulled the robe from his head, sighing, for the past had taught him Hortense would not be dissuaded by so little a thing as someone else’s wishes.

“Let me dress. You can talk at me in the carriage. In case you’ve forgotten, I must be a best man this morning,” he said hollowly.

***

Across town, Mary looked around the small room wonderingly. It was not that she did not recall how she had come to be at the church, it was rather she could not believe she had been able to do so. She had forced herself to operate on two levels. On the one, she’d gone about the business of getting dressed in a pale blue silk gown, her best, chosen for her bridal day. She’d made sure the flowers and the small bible she’d carry were as they ought to be. She’d seen to all of the tiny details her mother, sister, father, and brother had thought to throw her way. Yet, on the other side of her mind, she was in the middle of a battlefield. That side warned her to flee, to desist, to change her mind, to deny the day, to cease the plans.

She heard her own internal arguments, and did her best to ignore them.

It’s time to marry.

How can I marry him?

This was exactly what you were expecting! Why hedge now?

But Charles doesn’t deserve this…doesn’t deserve this lack of affection.

Don’t be foolish. Affection will grow.

I’m not whole. He doesn’t deserve half a person.

And what would make you whole?

There was only one answer to that, and she dare not even let herself think it.

Her mother looked over and saw her daughter’s eyes were once again rolling back into her head. “Hartshorn!” she cried.

Lydia pressed the vial into Mama’s hand, which was waved again under Mary’s nose. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes slid back into place, and she thrust out a hand to push the vile smell away. “I’m well!” she gasped.

“You are
not
well,” her mother chided. “That’s the third time you’ve nearly fainted this morning. Are you ill?” She put her mouth near her daughter’s ear and whispered urgently, “You aren’t expecting, are you?”

“Of course not!” Mary cried, blushing and feeling a little faint again when she did. “I’m just nervous.”

“Well, I never saw such a case of nerves.”

The door to the room the women had selected for re-readying the bride opened. Charles stood there, an anxious look on his face. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but at the last minute switched and said instead, “Everyone ready? The music is just about to begin.”

“Lord Bretwyn! Get out at once!” Lady Edgcombe cried, coming at him while making shooing motions. “You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

“It
is
the wedding,” he said dryly.

“Go on now.”

He retreated and the door was pulled closed, but not before Mary had a glimpse of the best man, John, standing silently a few steps behind Charles. For a moment their eyes met, but then the door was closed between them. She had seen Hortense there, too, at her brother’s side, speaking rapidly near John’s ear.

“Men!” her mother scolded, coming back to take her daughter’s elbow and help her to her feet.

Mary tottered for a moment, but the sudden dizziness was fleeting. She tried to give her mother a small smile, but she thought it must be more a grimace.

Then there was some lovely music, and her mother was led away on the arm of Randolph, and it was her father’s arm to which she now clung. He led her from the little room, and she stood at the back of the church with him. She looked away from where Mrs. Pennett stood in the row behind the family box, a kerchief pressed to her mouth, her fond eyes filled with a regret Mary could not bear to look upon. Hortense was at Mrs. Pennett’s side, frowning.
That does not bode well on a wedding day,
Mary thought, the observation coming as though from a distance.

Mary turned her gaze up the aisle, saw Charles and John exchanging low, soft words, and saw Charles scowl more deeply than Hortense.

Unexpectedly, John turned and strode down the aisle, and Mary felt a new trembling come over her. She closed her eyes, half wishing him gone from the church, that she might not have to look upon him this cheerless day. But she knew by the way Papa came to a halt that John had stopped before them, and she forced her eyes open.

He had a peculiar look on his face, half anger, half anxiety.

“We’ve a wedding to hold,” her father said, scowling at the marquess.

John ignored him. “Do you love Bretwyn?” he demanded of Mary, his blue eyes searching her face.

She made a small sound, and looked down the aisle to Charles. He began to walk her way--not hurried, nor seemingly particularly agitated by this interruption of the ceremony. She had to admire how poised he appeared. She felt anything but.

She thought about her future--and Charles’s--yet ,despite all, found her voice. She spoke loud enough for both men to hear the only answer an honest soul could give in a house of God, “No. I don’t love him.”

Lord Edgcombe’s eyes narrowed in his head as he glared at Rothayne as if he’d somehow forced the girl to say the words. “That is only wedding day nerves speaking!”

Perhaps there was a fleeting smile on John’s face, but an instant later his face went again sober. “I am all wrong for you, Mary,” he spoke only to her. “I am the not the finest of souls, but you are. Hortense has been buzzing in my ear all morning, trying to convince me that I might do for you, and yet I know you deserve a better man. You deserve Bretwyn.” John glanced at the other man as Charles joined them, and some silent communication took place between them. Charles’s poise had gained cracks; he was frowning now, his mouth tight.

John turned back to Mary. “I would not speak, except Charles has said I may do so.” Both men looked at her. She stared back, her father beginning to bluster at her side. “And my baser self refuses to be denied,” John continued, overriding whatever Papa might have said. “I want you not to marry Charles. I want you to marry me.”

Gasps bloomed around them, spreading through the small crowd, and Mary’s father turned bright crimson, his eyes bulging.

Suddenly Mary’s trembling ceased. She dragged her eyes from John to Charles. “Are you so kind-hearted then?”

“No,” Charles said, his shoulders going back as his chin went up. “But I’m also not a fool.”

“What is this you say, sir?” Lord Edgcombe got out, pinning Charles with a look.

“Not a minute ago, Rothayne informed me he would have to kill either me or himself before he could let me wed ‘his Mary’.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw her once-seated Mama had risen to her feet, straining to hear, eyes round.

“I should call him out, I suppose,” Charles mused.

The two would-be grooms eyed each other, but then Charles shook his head and sighed. “I would have fought for you, my dear lady, but…well, truth be told,” he expanded, now speaking directly to Mary, “For myself, I’m not quite certain I was prepared to say ‘I will’ once you joined me at the altar. I was, frankly, not entirely sure of you.” He must have realized that a gentlemen ought not be so baldly truthful, because he swallowed and began again. “I hope you can forgive my hesitation--and I rather suppose I might have asked how you felt about this matter with Rothayne--but I am afraid your face has quite given you away.”

There was another flurry of gasps, and a quick glance showed Hortense and Mrs. Pennett were clasping one another and smiling, and Mama looked faint.

Mary’s attention went back to Charles; it was hard to meet his eyes. She started to speak, but a kind of gaspy hiccup made her have to try again. “My lord, I truly, truly regret any pain or embarrassment I have caused you--”

He waved her words away, now looking rather a bit more aggravated. “I want to marry someone who wishes to marry me. In fact, I deserve to.”

Mary inclined her head, accepting his reproach as her due.

“Mary,” John interjected. She looked up, and of a sudden her heart was a hundred times lighter than it had been not two minutes earlier. “Will you have me then?”

“I will,” she breathed, and now her heart was a bubble that floated up past her throat and bent her lips into a shaky smile.

The vicar, who’d frozen at the altar, called out in agitation, “Is there to be a wedding this morning or not?”

Glances were exchanged all around, but it was dear, kind, jilted Lord Bretwyn who pointed out the obvious to John. “I’m afraid you cannot possibly have a special license on your person. Or, heavens, do you?”

John’s answer was buried when Lord Edgcombe’s shock held no more. “Mary! Never say you want to wed this Rothayne fellow? This rake, this…this cad!”

“I do. I want it with my whole heart,” she said, her smile widening.

Papa’s rant died at the words, and once again all he could do was stare down at her.

“But Charles is correct, Mary,” John said. “I have no license hiding in my pocket. I came here, planning to be the good fellow and see you safely wedded to a fine, upstanding man. I was going to be good to you, you see, but I have failed. Failed entirely. At the very least, you find yourself in the middle of a scandal, which is all my doing.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed from sheer happiness. “My dear Lord Rothayne, you goose. It’s not all your doing, for am I not the one saying I want you?
You
are my fine, upstanding man.”

“I am not. I am ‘the Blade’, a man of outrageous reputation.”

“It is that very reputation that will carry us through. Yes, some of the sticklers will never forgive us this day, but how can I care for that? All I care about is that you love me.”

He grew deadly serious. “You have to know I shall never play you false.”

“You see? Oh, John. But I must hear you say it, for you will never say in seriousness what you do not mean.”

He smiled then, for she knew him so well. There were some thirty witnesses present to hear whatever the Blade said. “Mary, I could not let you marry Bretwyn, for, quite simply, I love you myself.”

Another ripple went through the crowd, followed by yet another as Mary was caught up in John’s arms and roundly kissed. Mrs. Pennett gave a squeal of delight, and Hortense actually clapped.

“My lords!” the vicar cried, looking from noble face to face, unsure how to proceed.

Lord Edgcombe gawped until his daughter was again set on her feet, but then was heard to mutter under his breath, “Told the wife Mary wasn’t acting as a bride ought. Fainting all over the place, and pale as death. At least now I understand it all…”

“Lady Mary Wagnall,” John returned to the formal style, speaking in a low voice. “I will warn you now, before we proceed any further, that you simply do not have the option of discontinuing
this
betrothal. Not after all these observers have witnessed my protestations of love.”

“No, my lord. I have no such plan or desire.” She smiled with lips still tingling from his kiss.

He lowered his voice even more, for her ears alone. “You do, however, have the option of beginning the honeymoon today. I shall simply make away with you right here and now--” he added in the familiar, beloved, teasing way he had.

“No,” she laughed, but there was real regret in her voice as she said it.

“Three days, and then I shall not accept that response,” he said throatily.

“Three days,” she sighed as the vicar began to shoo the wedding party out.

And so, though they were sure to be unwelcome past certain doors due to the jilting of one groom, and the public and vulgar display of affection and devotion to a new one, Mary left the church on John’s arm in complete contentment.

The three days flew past, and they had their special license and their true and binding wedding ceremony, from which they returned to Kent with all John’s sisters and his mother in tow. The Yardleys were not to be seen. However, the previously missing brothers-in-law met Mary for the first time, and Mary’s siblings and extended family members traveled there as well, stuffing the grand house to the rooflines. Her siblings gave the newlyweds a special gift: a double set of atrociously gaudy house slippers, which occasioned much laughter. Many other lovely gifts, of course, were forthcoming from the many females of John’s family.