Trials of Artemis (9 page)

-
G"

Jack
set the letter aside and began prying open the box. It was large and heavy
enough that she stood up to better pull off the top. There was a cloud of white
tissue paper to be pawed through but at last she was able to get to the dress.
Forest green velvet trimmed with olive green water-shot silk. She raised the
bodice up and heard Sam gasp.

"Oh
Jackie," her sister crooned. "It is
just
the color of your eyes."

Her
mother came closer. "And it is the stare of fashion, my love."

She
looked over at her father. "You know the name of our
modiste
?"

He
smiled wryly. "I pay the bills, don't I?"

Jack
looked at the gown again. It was remarkable. And probably cost more than the
rest of her wardrobe combined. This was what it meant to be an earl. To be able
to carelessly distribute kindnesses because the expense was inconsequential and
others were available to do whatever was required.

Her
mother began settling the dress back into the box. "Let's go upstairs and
try this on."

"I
don't want to wear it," Jack said quietly.

Her
mother looked aghast. "What?"

"I
don't want to wear it. I'll have to wear what he requires me to soon
enough." Even Jack could tell that her chin had set in that mulish
expression that drove her mother to distraction.

Before
his wife could begin to get upset Mr. Walters spoke very calmly from his place
at the head of the table. "Do you remember when you were eight years old?”

Jack
narrowed her eyes at her father. He wouldn't dare.

"I
remember clearly,” he continued. “You were eight years old and absolutely dying
to pony race with Sabrina. When I explained that it wasn't safe you got that
same expression on your face that you have now. Do you remember what I
said?"

Jack
continued to stare at him.

"I
said that if I let you race ponies with Sabrina that you had to promise me
something. You had to promise me that you would allow me three times that I
could give you an order that you would obey without question. I've only had to
redeem that promise once before, do you remember? That summer when you were
twelve and your mother and I were both away to see Grandmother. You weren't to
swim in the lake while we were away. That had to be a hard thing for a young
active girl such as yourself, but you stuck by your word then and I've always
been proud of you for it."

Jack
looked down at her hands, indeed remembering the summer. She had spent an
entire hot month avoiding the lake. She had been deviled by temptation but
remained stolid and the pride of it had made her strong.

"Wear
the dress, Jacqueline," her father said. "It's a little thing to
do."

Jack
nodded quietly and, picking up the box, led her mother and sister upstairs for
the fitting.

The
clock was chiming nine when Gideon heard footsteps in the hall. He was still in
his office, sorting papers and deciding what to take with him and what to leave
with his man of business in town. A new steward in London was what he needed.
The last man had made more mess than anything, which was why Gideon now
preferred to do it himself, but he had to admit that having one would be far
preferable to the state of his papers at this juncture. A steward,
and perhaps a clerk for his Parliamentary papers.
Those were at least half of what was on his desk, the rest being reports from
his various properties and financial holdings. It was tempting to just leave it
all here and see what if anything was truly necessary once he reached Kent. The
footsteps came closer.

"His
grace," Dibbs announced.

Quince
strolled in, looking freshly turned out as always, and came up to place a
bottle of brandy on the middle of the papers on Gideon's desk. "I've been
saving this for a special occasion, Giddy. As your best man I take it as my
solemn duty to get you absolutely smashed tonight so that even if you have cold
feet you won't have the ability to find the door and try to run."

Gideon
raised one eyebrow.

"Don't
give me that look. I've seen you run from far less scary things than
marriage."

Gideon
continued sorting papers around the brandy bottle. "Marriage doesn't scare
me, Quince."

The
duke dropped into the chair angled in front of Gideon's desk. "You're
right, you don't sound scared. You sound dead inside."

"No
need for the dramatic. We're getting married in the morning. It's not the end
of the world."

"It's
the end of life as you know it. No more running around with loose women,
staying out late in dens of drunken debauchery. Because doing those things
would make you... what is the word I'm looking for?"

"Don't
do this, Quince. This isn't about politics."

"Oh
yes, that's right, that would make you a hypocrite. And no, this isn't about
politics at all. Certainly Miss Walters is delighted to know that she is
marrying a pillar of the community, a husband who will never stray nor engage
in unseemly behavior."

"That's
enough, Quince."

"I
don't see why you're getting upset, Giddy. I'm complimenting you on your value
system. Or at least how that value system will play out for that charming girl
you're marrying tomorrow."

Gideon
narrowed his eyes at his friend. It was easy to write off Quincy Telford as a
dandy and a snob if you didn't know better. But Gideon did know better and he
could see the truth in Quince's eyes. Jacqueline had somehow enlisted another
defender that would likely call him to account if he so much as offended her
delicate sensibilities. Fabulous. Perhaps he would have that drink after all.
He rose to retrieve two glasses from the sideboard and poured generous servings
for each of them.

"To
your health and happiness," Quince toasted him.

"It's
too bad this turned out like it has," Gideon said. "Because I thought
you'd like to marry her."

The
duke had unfortunately been mid-swallow as Gideon said that, the consequence of
which was brandy sprayed on both the desk and Gideon himself, followed up by
two minutes of coughing. "Good Lord, man,” the duke finally managed, his
voice rough, “what made you think that?"

"I
thought you would be a good match and you seem to like her."

"Of
course I like her. She's likeable." That comment received a snort from
Gideon but Quince continued. "I especially like her as a wife for you.
Trust me, I do not fancy her as a wife for myself."

Gideon
looked down into his glass. "Neither do I, but," he shrugged,
"that's how it's working out."

Quince
retrieved the bottle. "We obviously need more brandy."

"Indeed."

The
carriage had arrived shortly after dawn to load Jack's trunks. It seemed that
the earl's trunks were already stowed onboard as they would be leaving
immediately for the countryside. Jack declined the offer to use the rather
plush conveyance to the church, opting instead to ride with her parents and
sister in their more modest carriage. It would be their last morning together.
She might not see them for months or years after this. The quiet of their ride
seemed to honor this time together as a family. Father and mother held hands
while across from them the two sisters also held hands. As they drew near the church
Jack stretched her other hand out across the aisle and Sam, seeing her, did the
same. For a few moments they were a complete circle. Then the carriage stopped
and it was time to disembark.

Father
went to check in the church to make sure all was ready while mother and Sam
fluffed and fiddled and smoothed her dress out. Sam had made a lovely bouquet
from the flowers they had received the previous morning, insisting on
incorporating the yellow roses that Harrington had sent. Jack suffered through
all the fussing and primping, then father was ushering her forward and she
entered the church on his arm, mother and Sam preceding them.

At
the front of the small church Gideon stood with the vicar and the Duke of
Beloin. The earl was fitted with black breeches, a snowy white shirt, and a
coat of bright blue superfine. He looked roguishly handsome, although as Jack
approached she could see that both he and the duke looked a bit green. Well,
she might have been drinking last night if she'd thought of it. She took a deep
breath, handed her bouquet to her sister, and took her place beside Harrington
at the altar. After that the proceedings became a blur. Even the vows that she
recited didn't register in her conscious mind, she just repeated them by rote
while staring at the earl's cravat. Finally the clergyman called for the ring
and Gideon took her cold, stiff hand in his own.

Jack
finally looked up into his face but he was concentrating on his task. His
expression was the same picture of focus that a little boy had when building
his first castle out of sticks. One lock of his unruly hair had broken free
from restraint to curl over his temple and she wanted to brush it back, to hold
her hand against his face until he looked at her. She stopped breathing and
tried to shake some sense into herself. Being near him was weaving a spell over
her again.

Perhaps
sensing her gaze he did look into her eyes, his face earnest and solemn. It was
then that Jack realized that this morning she wasn't marrying Gideon Wolfe,
Earl of Harrington
,
but Giddy, the serious man
that she had enjoyed teasing during the curricle ride. She smiled as a tiny
flicker of hope came alive in her breast.

"Do
you like the ring?" he whispered to her.

She
looked down, realizing she hadn't seen it yet. It was heavy, a band of gold
with a large blue sapphire, the style made more delicate by the intricate gold
filigree decorating it. It was a lovely ring that looked like a treasured
family piece with a long history. It fit a bit loosely on her finger.

"You
could choose another," he said. "Or I could replace the stone."

Jack
smiled up at him and whispered. "You're right. I should have one in every
color."

He
raised a brow, clearly not sure if she was joking or not. The clergyman continued
the ceremony and was now called for the groom to kiss the bride. Gideon leaned
down to take her lips in a brief, sweet kiss. And then it was over. Her family
and the duke wished them well, signing as witnesses to the nuptials. There was
to be no wedding breakfast, no additional well-wishers. They entered the coach
that was to bear them to Kent and Harrington handed her onto the forward facing
seat before taking the one opposite himself. She scooted to the window to let
it down and wave to her family until they were out of sight. When she closed
the window again she looked over to see that Harrington had sunk low into his
seat, arms crossed and eyes closed, legs stretched out, from all indications
asleep. She opened the small bag she had packed for the trip and pulled out a
book. Apparently today was not the day they were going to discuss how they
would proceed.

Gideon
watched his wife from under his nearly closed eyelids. His wife. It seemed a
very strange term, meaning that he possessed her. Was in turn possessed by her.
He was a husband. It wasn't something he had ever aspired to be or expected to
be. But here they were, husband and wife. It had merely taken some influence
and a tiny bit of cash in order to have a wedding in less than a day. He had expected
the event to feel angry or rushed, but it had been sedate and almost unearthly.
When he had seen her entering the church she had been backlit by the early
morning sun, creating a halo around the soft waves of her hair. Once the door
had closed he could see her more clearly. The dress he had hoped would suit her
had done much more than that. Her skin glowed like the finest pearl against the
deep green. Her figure was shown to its best advantage, all lush curves and
slender grace in silk and velvet. Even sitting here reading in the mid-morning
light she looked like a feast he wanted to indulge in. Marrying a woman who
could ignite his lust after he’d polished off half a bottle the night before
was either a very good or a very, very bad idea. Knowing that she wasn't ready
for him to press her on that point he closed his eyes and tried to sleep off
the horrible hangover that Quince's brandy had given him.

He
jolted awake some time later to find that she had put her book away and was
herself dozing while sitting up. She didn't look terribly comfortable with her
head nodding to the side. He crossed the carriage and settled himself into the
corner, pulling her gently down onto his chest. She wriggled once while
settling in and his body responded with alacrity, but then she was in a deep
sleep again. He contented himself with settling one hand on her hip and using
the other to smooth her hair back from her face. She was a pretty girl and
looked much sweeter in sleep than he had suspected she could. Knowing that he
was driving himself to distraction he closed his own eyes again and slowly
faded to sleep.

Jack
awoke to the feel of the carriage rocking to a stop. She was lying against a
warm, rumbling surface that her fogged brain finally deciphered was her snoring
husband. When had he crossed the carriage? And what had he been doing? His arms
were wrapped loosely around her but tightened as she tried to sit up. His snore
changed to a low growl as he tried to make her lie back down against him.