Trials of Artemis Page 6

  Now Jack had compromised everything, and her lone possible path was marrying the earl. Immediately. Even then there would be talk and speculation. Sam's prospects would be slim until the vicious gossip blew over, provided that it did. Her mother, never quite accepted for her bourgeois background, would be entirely snubbed. Her father was the sole one who could hope to continue his life without significant change, but she knew that wasn't his way. He would worry about them all and stay close to home, because if they weren't accepted in society then he would have no interest in engaging in it himself.

  She looked across the carriage at her dear father, tight-lipped, pale, with arms crossed and a rigid posture. He also studied the passing town homes as though they were vastly interesting. Feeling her gaze he glanced over to her. Her damp cheeks and woebegone expression pulled him from his own thoughts and he offered her a wan smile.

  "I thought you were going to kill him and save me all this trouble."

  Jack gave a watery laugh that turned into a sob. "Oh papa. I'm so sorry."

  With a sad sigh he opened his arms to her. "Come here, pumpkin."

  She went into his arms like the child she had once been, who had needed comfort after a skinned knee or broken teacup. He smelled like pipe tobacco and bay rum. He smelled like Papa, like home. A place she knew she wouldn't be much longer. No more tears, she promised herself. No more tears over things that couldn't be changed.

  Gideon sat at his writing desk and stared at his quill absently. He knew he ought to finish this letter. His future father-in-law would return presently, but that didn't seem to motivate any action. After reading the gossip column he'd been a bit surprised, really, that Walters hadn't finally called him out over this stain to his daughter's reputation. But he supposed that a dead earl couldn't marry anyone and right now the best way to reduce the damage was a quick marriage followed by a retreat to the country in order to ride out the storm of censure sure to follow. Not to Cornwall, though, but to his seat in Kent. His business in Cornwall would have to wait until after this fiasco was appropriately handled. Though it was hard to imagine a time when Jacqueline Walters wouldn't be causing him trouble. She was headstrong, smart, independent, and volatile. Honestly if he had written a list of the characteristics that he didn't want in a wife, those attributes would have all been on it. Nor did she want him, another item that would have made the list now that he thought of it. No, if he had to have a wife at all he would want a gentle creature. Compliant. Sweet and lovely. Not that he believed such a creature existed.

  He sighed. Perhaps she would be content if he gifted her with one of his smaller estates where she could live as she pleased. Perhaps he had something near where her parents lived. If he didn’t, then perhaps he could acquire something. Hearing voices in the hall, most likely Walters returning, finally spurred him to dash a few lines on the parchment in front of him.

  “Quince - After this morning's society page I must say the good news is that I am not calling on you to be my second. The bad news is that I must prevail upon you for something else. Could you be the best man at my wedding in the morning? Sorry for the short notice, old man, but I'm sure you can find something to wear.

  - G”

  He could only hope that Quince would grant an old friend the advantage of what amounted to a ducal blessing of the wedding. It would take much more than that to counteract the damage of this morning’s society article, but it would be a start.

  Jack packed her trunks with a numb, automated efficiency. Sam and mother tried to help but mostly they fluttered at the edges of the room and behaved as though they were afraid of upsetting her further. Since the family had leased out the country house this year, most of her valued possessions were here in London. Some of them were packed up at Sabre's house and she supposed she should send for them. She wondered where they would live. Or at least where she would live. She had no illusions that Harrington would want to keep her at his side in all things. She would most likely be sent to rusticate while he came back to London to perform his duties in Parliament. Perhaps she shouldn't complain. Being free to ride when she wanted, read when she wanted, and generally keep to herself were among the things she liked best. Whatever manor house he took her to was likely to be grander than the small estate where she had grown up, perhaps even grander than the Biddlesworth's.

  As a child, she had thought of Sabre's house as being the most amazing castle but had since learned that larger, better-appointed homes were spread throughout England. Undoubtedly a good number of the earl’s fourteen estates featured just such houses. And now she was to be their mistress. A sobering thought, that.

  She didn't care much for decorating, managing staff, or entertaining. She would make a horrible countess and be miserable doing it. She briefly wondered if running off to Scotland or throwing herself in the Thames might not more easily solve everyone’s problems. But no. She was, if nothing else, a Haberdasher. That meant that, as their pledge went, she could not “run from a fight, back down from a foe, ignore someone in plight, or bring another Haberdasher woe.” She smiled, remembering the old rhyme that Sabre had coined as their pledge of duties. She wondered if her hasty marriage would bring woe to her beloved friends. She hadn't received letters back from either of them yet, but it was no surprise, what with George being up in the wilds of Scotland and Sabre touring Italy. But she missed them desperately, so desperately, and wished that they could be here.

  The flowers had been brought up from the front hall and decorated her room. She very carefully pressed the duke's Canterbury Bells between clean sheets of parchment and tucked them into one of her larger books. She gave the yellow roses to her sister. One bright yellow petal had fallen to the floor. After a moment's hesitation she picked it up and pressed that in one of her books as well. Looking around she saw that in less than four hours every essential bit of her had been packed into three trunks. All that remained out was the dress that she planned to wear tomorrow. It was going on less than two o'clock and she had nothing useful left to do. As her mother took her downstairs for an early tea she was sure that the afternoon would be interminable. But it was better than having the morning come too quickly.

  Her father was waiting in the front parlor when they arrived, looking solemn but not as pale and tense as he had that morning. "All is prepared then?" he asked.

  Jack nodded, keeping her eyes downcast.

  "After I procured the license the earl arranged for the service to be at St. Mary's first thing in the morning. He will send a carriage around for your trunks to be loaded before the ceremony. After the wedding you will be repairing to Kent."

  Jack nodded again, feeling even more desolate. Kent, south of London. She had grown up in Derbyshire, which was leagues away. She had never been to Kent. Had never been south of London.

  The tea service was brought in and the family talk turned to inconsequential things. Jack sat with her teacup and cake, feeling as though she were already separated from them. She wasn't listening to the conversation but finally cleared her throat and looked at her little sister Samantha.

  "Would you... would you do me the kindness of attending me in the morning as my maid of honor?"

  Sam's large blue eyes welled with unshed tears and she gripped Jack's hand tightly. "Of course I will, Jackie. Of course."

  Later that evening the family sat at dinner, their last dinner together as a family, Jack couldn't help but think morosely, as a footman came to her father with a message. He raised his eyebrows at the note, and then looked over at her.

  "Jacqueline, there is a package and letter for you from the earl." He turned to the footman. "Have them brought in here."

  "And ask the lady to wait in the hall, sir?" the footman replied.

  "Yes, tell her it will only be a moment."

  Jack felt curiosity drawing her from her lassitude, and no small amount of irritation. Why did the earl have to intrude on their last evening together as a family? She supposed she had best get used to it. Harrington was d
omineering, temperamental, intractable, and rude. He personified the worst qualities she could think of in a man, proving in their very first encounter to be a rogue and a rake. At the moment she couldn't recall why she had ever found herself starting to soften toward him at all. The footman returned with a large box and a letter, setting them both near her on the large dining table. She decided to read the letter first, to keep whatever was in the box from being too rude of a surprise.

  "Jacqueline - Every bride should have something new and beautiful to wear on her wedding. Your father was kind enough to tell me the name of your modiste and although her selection of ready-made gowns was sparse I am hopeful that this one will be to your liking. Madame Lacress said the fit would be fair, but I have sent a seamstress for any last minute alterations.

  - 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.

  Chapter Ten

  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.