“Aye, sir,” John said. “Lady Gertrude screamed a bit, but ’Er Grace is plucky t’ the backbone!”
“That’s a blessing.” Clark shook his head. “But if I were superstitious, I would call this a bad omen.”
“Omen? Hell, this wasn’t an omen. This was deliberate.” Remington clipped his words.
Clark goggled at him. “What do you mean?”
“Second time in less than a week that my carriage has been attacked,” Remington informed him.
Taken aback, Clark asked, “Do you suppose?…That is, is this associated with the incidents you related to me?”
“Without a doubt,” Remington answered. “There may be others who want me dead, but few who can marshal such lethal forces.” He asked John, “Did you see the man with the gun?”
“Nay, sir, nary a soul, but I couldn’t look fer a time. Poor Roderick—he’s the left gray, sir—the bullet cut a notch in his ear. He kicked up a fuss, o’ course, and the ladies was jostled around before I got the team under control.” Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, John wiped sweat from his heavy brow. His complexion was gray, and his hands were shaking. “I don’t like t’ brag on meself, sir, but a lesser coachman wouldn’t ’ave pulled it out.”
One of the footmen had crept close, and he cradled his own arm as if it were hurt. “Aye, sir, Mr. Knight, sir, ’e’s right. Went flying off, I did, and I thought the carriage was going t’ topple, but John Coachman fought the grays t’ a standstill. Best bit o’ driving I’ve ever seen!”
Remington had hired every one of his servants with an eye to their skills, their loyalty, and their fighting ability. Now he’d been proved right in his choices on two separate occasions in the last week. He would have reflected with satisfaction on his shrewd choices, but he could not. Not in good faith.
Looking down at his hands, he saw they were clenching and unclenching. He had provided his duchess shelter, food, and now clothing. With this ceremony, she would be utterly dependent on him—and he had put her in danger. Yes, he was the target of these attacks, but she could be hurt, could even be killed.
He, who had planned every step of his revenge with such care, hadn’t thought of that.
Or perhaps it was simply that, before he’d met her, he hadn’t cared.
“ ’As someone got a grievance against ’Er Grace?” John asked.
“Unlikely,” Clark answered. “Most brides don’t go to the church in the groom’s carriage, so I suspect that Remington was the target.”
The men uneasily looked around at the surrounding buildings.
“Yes, I know,” Remington said. “It’s not a pleasant idea, to know you’re working for someone with people who shoot at him. Nevertheless, I must ask that you remain to take us home. On our return, we’ll not be going elsewhere.”
John was an older man, well-trained, and he nodded solemnly. The footman couldn’t manage such discretion and fought a grin.
“When we’re back at Berkley Square, go to the tavern on my largesse. In fact, go to several taverns. Express your dissatisfaction with my employ. See if you can hear any gossip about me. Someone is trying to make trouble.” Remington knew very well who it was, but he needed to know what further peril he could expect. “Disgruntled servants are a fertile ground for gossip, and perhaps someone will seek you out.”
John nodded, but the footman had been chosen for his fighting ability, not his brains, and he said, “But sir, we’re not disgruntled. We’re very gruntled.”
John cuffed him and led him away. “Come on. I’ll explain it t’ ye.”
Clark touched Remington’s sleeve. “Lady Gertrude thinks it odd that you’ve not come to welcome your bride.”
A chill swept down Remington’s spine. Was his duchess in peril now, standing on the church steps? He started toward her. “Come on,” he tossed back to Clark. “Escort Lady Gertrude.” Who was also in peril.
His duchess looked alarmed as Remington approached, but he didn’t care. He wanted her off the street.
In a breathless voice, she said, “Mr. Knight, I have something I need to tell you.”
Catching her by the hand, he said, “Tell me after the ceremony.”
“But sir, you’ll be angry when you hear it.”
Leading her through the heavy open doors, he turned on her. “I’m already angry.”
“I’m sorry for that, sir.” She clutched her bouquet in both of her trembling hands. “Could you tell me the reason?”
It was pure politeness that made her ask; she didn’t sound as if she cared at all, and in the relative safety of the narthex, he relaxed. “I trust you weren’t hurt on the way here.”
“What? No, I thank you, I’m well, although Lady Gertrude said riding in your carriages is most eventful.” Eleanor glanced down at the bouquet she held, out the open doors toward the clouds, as if seeking an answer. Then, craning her neck, she looked down the street as if expecting to see someone riding to her rescue. “I truly do need to tell you something.”
Pulling her further away from the doors, he said, “I know you’re embarrassed to look me in the eyes.”
Her gaze snapped up.
At the sight of that sweet, anxious face, his resolve strengthened. He needed to carry out his plan. He needed to keep her safe.
Regardless of the danger, the circumstances, or the environs, the need to mark her as his drove him ever more fiercely. He needed to put his ring on her finger so every man would know she was claimed. So that she knew she was claimed. He wanted every breath she took, every movement she made, to remind her of him. Of his possession.
He had never been as unsure of a woman as he was of her, and it wasn’t that she had aristocratic connections or that he’d won her in a card game. The woman herself was elusive, fey. She seemed always about to slip away from him, as if no claim he could make would keep her in his world.
In a quiet voice, pitched to reach only her ears, he said, “Don’t you dare imagine that I think less of you because you showed me the sweetest passion I’ve ever been privileged to witness.” He was so close to owning her. To having her.
She made an incoherent sound of objection and glanced frantically at Lady Gertrude and Clark.
“They can’t hear us. They deliberately aren’t listening.” That much was true. They’d moved away to give Remington and his duchess privacy. “I promise I’m going to show you the same madness of passion…although not so sweet. But don’t fear me. I’ve never hurt a woman, and you…you’re special. You’re going to be my wife.” Tenderly, he brushed his finger across her lips. “I promise I’ll make you happy. Do you believe me?”
To his surprise, his speech didn’t seem to lessen her fears. If anything, she looked less embarrassed and more wretched. She glanced longingly at the door as if expecting to see someone come through. “Yes, I believe you. It’s just that…Mr. Knight, I pray you listen—”
He placed his gloved hand across her lips. “Tell me after the ceremony.”
She stared at him, but she didn’t seem to see him. She seemed to be looking inside herself, seeking escape.
“No one’s going to save you,” he said softly. “It’s far too late for that.”
Her eyes grew determined, her chin lifted, and with a firm nod, she said, “I know. I’m going to have to do as I’ve resolved.”
“What is that?”
“To wed you.”
Triumph roared through him. Her declaration was what he’d been waiting for. There would be no last-minute balking at the altar. She would speak her vows, and nothing could go wrong now.
Chapter 21
“Then come.” Mr. Knight offered his arm and led Eleanor into the nave. “It’s time—past time—to get married.”
Eleanor blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The church’s ceiling soared out of sight. A few people sat in the back pews, their faces hidden by shadows. Curiosity-seekers, probably, and perhaps a well-wisher or two who had heard Mr. Knight’s announcement of their wedding.
Certainly no one stood and called her name, or Madeline’s, either. And thank God, for she wanted this wedding to happen. Sin or not, she wanted to marry Mr. Knight.
And there. Straight ahead. The altar. Candles burned in the great gold candelabras, the flames mere pinpricks of light. The clergyman waited in all his raiment, the parish clerk stood off to the side. The church was enormous and echoing, but the walk down the aisle seemed all too brief. Her last moments as a free woman were fleeting.
They stepped up to the altar. She smelled the beeswax on the wood, the faint odor of dust, age and holiness. Clark and Lady Gertrude standing beside them as their witnesses.
The clergyman was elderly, with glasses that rested on the tip of his nose and a worn, brown leather Bible that trembled in his veined and palsied hands. He smiled at her kindly, his face breaking up into a network of wrinkles. “I’m Mr. Gilbert, my dear, and I’m to have the privilege of performing your marriage.” He shot Mr. Knight a reproving glance. “I like to know the young people I marry, and I asked that you two come in for counseling, but your swain didn’t want to take the time. So busy, these young men—”
“Yes, exactly,” Lady Gertrude said. “One never knows what might happen if matters aren’t handled correctly.”
Gracelessly, Eleanor blurted, “Mr. Gilbert, could I see the information you’ve been given?”
Someone out in the pews coughed, as if in a great seizure.
“What?” Mr. Knight stared at her forbiddingly. “Do you think I would make a mistake? About this?”
Eleanor cleared her throat nervously. “I…um…would like to make sure that everything is correct before we proceed.”
“If you’re planning to make trouble—” Mr. Knight warned.
Mr. Gilbert’s white, bushy eyebrows shot up at Mr. Knight’s tone. Putting his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, he said, “If you would come this way, my dear, we’ll talk in my office.”
“I’ll come, too,” Lady Gertrude announced, and reassured Mr. Knight, “we want this marriage to be completely legal.”
The skin between Eleanor’s shoulder blades twitched as they made their way into Mr. Gilbert’s office, and she knew Mr. Knight was glaring at her, trying to discern her purpose. The man was suspicious and distrustful, and she was a fool for doing this. But she had let fate make her decision. Unless something occurred to stop the ceremony—unless Madeline or Dickie or the duke arrived—Eleanor was going to marry Mr. Knight.
Pulling the door shut behind them, Eleanor tersely said, “Let me see the personal information.” Seeing Mr. Gilbert’s surprise, she added, “Please, sir, the personal information.” Vaguely surprised, she realized she sounded like Madeline when the ducal mood was upon her, but then, that voice always produced results.
As it did now. Mr. Gilbert opened his book of prayers and extracted a small sheet of paper with the names scribbled on it. “I’ve never seen anyone so anxious about so simple a matter.” Taking Eleanor’s hand, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t truly want to discuss something else? Advice on how to handle your husband? He appears to be very domineering, and sometimes that’s frightening to a new bride.”
“He is domineering.” Eleanor wasn’t really paying attention to what she said. “But I’m not frightened.” Realizing that Mr. Gilbert looked shocked, she added hastily, “Lady Gertrude has given me many lectures on how to be a good wife.”
Lady Gertrude folded her hands and nodded piously.
“Ah.” He peered over his glasses at Lady Gertrude. “Very well. It’s good to know you have a mother figure to guide you through these turbulent new waters.”
Eleanor looked at the paper, and with a tsk, she told Mr. Gilbert, “This is what I feared. This says Madeline Elizabeth Eleanor Jane de Lacy. I’m Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy. Madeline and Eleanor are both de Lacy family names, and my dear Mr. Knight confused mine with my cousin’s.”
“Oh, dear.” Mr. Gilbert almost wheezed with distress.
“It wouldn’t do to make my vows incorrectly, would it?” Eleanor inquired.
“No, indeed.” Mr. Gilbert went to his desk, uncorked his ink, and made the change, his fingers shaking. “That would be quite irregular.”
“We can’t have that.” Eleanor indicated the door. “Now that everything is in order, shall we proceed?”
“Yes, but—are you sure you don’t have another concern?” the elderly clergyman asked.
Can you go to hell for pretending to be someone you aren’t? But there was no way to phrase the question, and no good answer to be had, so Eleanor shook her head and sailed through the door. As she returned to her place beside Mr. Knight, he placed her hand back on his arm and covered it with his, holding onto her as if, even now, he feared she might flee.
She stole a sideways glance at him. He looked irate at the delay, and…she hadn’t seen him at all yesterday, and even in that brief time apart, she had forgotten how handsome he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his black jacket, and long, muscular legs that made her think blasphemous thoughts right here in the church. His blond hair glinted like polished gold. His austere face made her want to trace his cheekbones and his strong jaw. His lips…all she wanted from his lips was to feel them on her somewhere, anywhere. His eyes were pale blue and distant—except when he looked at her. Then they held the heat and beauty of the hottest coals, and she knew they could burn her just as surely as warm her.
If he had set his mind to courtship, he could have had any woman in the ton. He might not have followed the prescribed methods, but Eleanor knew he could have cajoled his way into the marriage mart, and when he’d decided on a girl for his wife, she would have defied her parents and all of society to have him.
Look at Eleanor. She was taking him under false pretenses, and with the promise of anguish in the not-too-distant future. But she wanted him badly enough to betray her own ethics to have him, and she swore she would face the consequences, no matter what they were.
“Holy matrimony is an honorable estate…” The clergyman began the ceremony, his sonorous voice carrying across the pews.
Eleanor’s teeth clenched as she listened to him exhort them to enter into matrimony “reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.” She wondered if lightning would strike her through the roof for bastardizing such a solemn occasion. She waited for the moment that she knew would come.
“Face each other,” Mr. Gilbert commanded.
Eleanor’s heart thumped against her breastbone as she turned to find Mr. Knight staring down at her, his eyes brooding as he observed her.
“Repeat after me,” the clergyman intoned. “I, Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy, do solemnly swear to obey and serve…”
Mr. Knight frowned, but Eleanor gave him no chance to think about the change.
In a clear voice, she said, “I, Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy, do solemnly swear to obey and serve…” Dimly, she was aware of a small commotion in the depths of the church, a burst of mad laughter that made Mr. Gilbert frown.
Eleanor paid no heed.
Nor did Mr. Knight. All of his attention was focused on her. She almost thought he was compelling her to give herself into his keeping, and she had committed herself beyond hope of redemption.
He repeated his vows in a deep tone, each word resounding through the church. No one could say they didn’t hear or didn’t understand.
Finally Mr. Gilbert proclaimed, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Eleanor was stunned.
She had done it. She had taken what she wanted—who she wanted—without regard to what was right, and she would have to face the consequences. But not now. Not yet. Tomorrow, perhaps, or next week. Some time when she’d tamed Mr. Knight, shown him her love and perhaps, just perhaps, taught him to love in return.
Right now, she faced a man with a predatory smile. He viewed her as a starving man would look at a hearty pub meal. Taking her hands in his, he leaned down and presse
d his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, but in that kiss was the promise of so much more.
Clark broke in. “Eh, eh, there’s time enough for that later. Congratulations to both of you!” To Eleanor, he said, “You’ve got a good man, there.”
“I know.” She did know. She was depending on his goodness.
Mr. Knight looked sharply at her.
Lady Gertrude dabbed at her eyes. “Weddings always make me cry. Mr. Knight, be good to my niece. She deserves better than she’s had.”
Now a cynical twist tugged at Mr. Knight’s mouth, but he nodded. “I intend to take care of her.”
Mr. Gilbert herded them into the vestry, where they signed the register, Eleanor carefully etching her name below her husband’s. Then with thanks to Mr. Gilbert, they descended the stairs and started down the aisle.
Mr. Gilbert followed them, his robes flapping. “Look out the door,” he said. “The sun has come out. What a good omen for your marriage! A very good omen indeed!”
“Clouds first, then sunshine,” Lady Gertrude added.
At the back of the church, in front of the door, they could see a woman silhouetted by the watery sunlight. A single glance told Eleanor it wasn’t Madeline, but she did appear to be waiting for them. Something about the way she stood looked familiar….
As her face became clear, Eleanor stopped breathing. Stumbled to a halt. Lady Shapster. Dear Lord. It was Lady Shapster. Eleanor knew that sneer, that satisfied, catlike slant of the eyes. Lady Shapster had come to make mischief.
All Eleanor’s bravado shriveled away. How could she ever have imagined she wouldn’t be found out?
“Mr. Knight,” Lady Shapster purred as she blocked their way out the doors. “You look so handsome in your finery.”
“Madam.” He bowed and tried to lead Eleanor outside.
Lady Shapster moved in front of them again. “I came especially to see you wed, and you should be glad. So few guests. No friends.” She gestured at an ill-dressed fellow who scribbled on a slate. “Just a few newspapermen…”
A newspaperman. This got more and more dreadful.