Marry in Haste (The Vaughns #2)

Chapter 7

S t. David’s was a fine old building. Though many of the churches in this section of London ascribed to the modern sensibilities of the past century with their neoclassical facades and great colonnades, this far less imposing structure had remained unchanged for hundreds of years. Timber beams stretched overhead, sweeping upward, and whilst the walls were mostly plastered over, gray stone peeked out from the archways and windows.

The pews gleamed, their polished wood sparkling in the sunlight that filtered through the slitted windows, and the massive stained glass at the altar glowed with rainbow hues as the saints and holy figures stared down at the victim of the matrimonial noose. Leaning his elbows on his knees, Eddie rested his head against his palm as he stared at the tiles at his feet and the intricate pattern of black, brown, and cream that spiraled throughout the nave.

Yes, the church would suit for the business to be done this morning.

A quiet cough shattered the silence, though Eddie didn’t bother looking at the family seated on the pew beside him. Mustering as much of his strength as he could, he forced his expression into a semblance of calm, but he couldn’t look at them. He felt his family’s attention on him as they waited, and he struggled to maintain anything approximating what a happy groom ought to feel at such a moment, all while he sent out a silent prayer for a swift execution.

Aunt Christiana and Uncle Franklin knew the truth, but the rest needn’t discover his folly. All the times that Mother and Father had lectured him about keeping good company surged to his thoughts, and though they weren’t ones to rub a man’s nose in his mistakes, Mother would wring her hands with the anguished expression of one seeing her greatest fears manifested whilst Father remained silently stoic as his eyes filled with disappointment.

Fighting the instinct to groan, Eddie forced himself upright. Blast Harris and Morty. And Doyle for that matter. He’d known they were doing something wrong and did nothing to stop it. None of this was of Eddie’s own making, but he was made to bear the brunt of it.

But another thought whispered from the back corners of his mind, “You knew what sort of men they were when you chose to associate with them.”

It wasn’t as though they were terrible sorts. Just thoughtless. Eddie hadn’t anticipated getting swept up in their antics, yet he couldn’t deny that he’d known trouble was within the realm of possibility.

Turning his thoughts to Miss Crosby, he tried to focus on her. This was for her sake. To protect her. The circumstances of this marriage were less than ideal, but something good was coming from it, and that knowledge allowed his heart to settle. A little.

It wasn’t as though he disliked her. Perhaps not his first choice of companion, but when Miss Crosby’s nerves calmed, she was rather enjoyable. She wasn’t a shrew or a spendthrift. Everything he’d seen of her suggested an agreeable personality —when she wasn’t working herself into a dither or licking his boots.

“Eddie—”

He jerked at the sound, his head lifting to see Morty standing off to the side, his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels.

“I wanted to speak to you about this nonsense,” said Morty, waving a hand at the altar.

Even speaking quietly, the sound carried through the nave, drawing his family’s attention, and Eddie shot to his feet, yanking Morty toward the transept and ducking around the corner.

“What do you want?” asked Eddie in a low (but furious) whisper.

“Why are we sneaking about?” asked Morty, though he had the good sense to match his friend’s hushed tone.

“As far as the world is concerned, Miss Crosby and I are a love match, finally brought together because of the well-meaning antics of my friends. I will not allow you or anyone else to besmirch her good name.” Drawing in a sharp breath, Eddie added, “Now, why are you here? My bride-to-be will arrive any moment.”

Morty held up his hands in placation. “I came to rescue you. I’ve been thinking about my behavior and my part in this debacle.” The gentleman’s expression darkened, his brows pulling low as he frowned at himself. “We truly didn’t mean any harm, but it’s clear we did quite a bit of damage.”

“That you did.”

A flinch twitched through Morty as his gaze dropped to the ground. “I haven’t been able to sleep since I heard you offered to marry her. If I hadn’t written the blasted announcement in the first place, none of this would’ve happened, and it isn’t fair that you are made to bear the brunt of my actions.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Morty straightened, pulling his shoulders back as he met his friend’s gaze with steely determination. “Harris and I can’t both marry her, so we flipped a coin, and I am here to take your place.”

The words rang through Eddie like the church bells in the tower, sweeping through him with a jolt of heat and vitality that made him feel as though he had finally awakened from the dream that had taken hold of him three days ago.

Morty continued, “We can delay the wedding for a few days while I secure a new license, and meanwhile, you can return to Yorkshire. People will find the change in groom odd, but we will simply tell people that I was the one with the tendre for Miss Crosby.”

Possibilities clanged in Eddie’s head, bringing with them a plan; he would have to remain in town a few extra days to ensure that Morty did his duty, but then he would be free to return home, unshackled. The possibility thrummed in his blood, making him want to shout and dance about. With a decent story to explain the sudden switch, Morty’s proposition would fulfill any duty on Eddie’s part.

An escape. A way to protect Miss Crosby—

Eddie’s muscles tightened as that thought sank into his head. The entire purpose of this farce was to protect that young lady, and though marrying Morty would do so against the gossiping tongues, there were far more ways for Miss Crosby to fall prey to this wretched arrangement.

Could he honestly say Morty would be a good husband to her? Provide for her? Respect her? Love may not be a possibility at this juncture, but at the very least, she deserved a husband who respected her and valued the family they would build together. Was Morty capable of such a thing? The very fact that he was standing here admitting his guilt spoke well of the fellow. But was that enough?

The moment he posed that question, Eddie’s insides roiled and churned, bringing with it such a definitive “no” that he couldn’t pretend his instincts were telling him anything else. The thought of handing her into Morty’s safekeeping made everything inside Eddie rebel, his conscience roaring to life as it scowled and cursed at him for even suggesting such a thing.

Mortimer Bell wasn’t a terrible person, but that was a far cry from being a good one. Edward Vaughn may have his flaws, but he knew he could fulfill the role of husband and father far better. And realizing that made him wonder anew why he’d allowed such a friendship to blossom in his life; surely it was better to remain alone than to foster such a defective relationship.

Turning his thoughts back to the impending marriage, Eddie considered the question before him. Morty had presented an option but not a solution—saving her from becoming a laughingstock only to condemn her to a likely miserable marriage.

Could Eddie bear a lifetime of regret, knowing he’d abandoned her to that? And would leaving make him the irresponsible man his parents feared him to be?

“That is good of you, Morty, but I must decline,” said Eddie, his brows rising at his own admission. “We could cobble together an explanation for the change in grooms, but it is just as likely that no one will believe it, which will leave Miss Crosby trapped in an unwanted marriage for nothing. I am going to make this right.”

The heaviness in his chest shifted at those words, changing into something that felt as though it propped him up rather than bearing him down. Gone was the helplessness that had haunted him for days, replaced with a strength and rightness that he’d never felt before. It was certainty, pure and simple, and he knew this decision was the most correct he’d ever made in his life.

Miss Crosby needed him. Eddie didn’t know if there was anyone else in the world who could say such a thing. Of course, his family adored him, but none of them required his assistance. Even with his degree and experience, Eddie could do nothing for his father that the gentleman couldn’t do better himself, and though eventually, he would be handed the medical well-being of the residents of Thornsby, for now, he was little more than an apprentice.

His elder brother certainly required nothing of Eddie. Having taken after their mother, Gregory thrived as the skilled hands behind the family apothecary shop, keeping the shelves stocked with all the medicines they required. And his younger sister, Sadie, was quite capable of managing her affairs.

But Miss Crosby couldn’t free herself from this mess without Eddie, and that knowledge settled deep inside him, drawing his shoulders up and straightening his spine.

“Dr. Vaughn?”

Ducking out from their hiding place, Eddie found the vicar standing at the front of the chapel, his hand motioning toward the altar.

“Your bride has arrived,” said Mr. Poole, and Eddie nodded, taking his place before the gentleman.

A true smile graced his lips as he considered what was to come. This was his decision, and Eddie embraced it, vowing to himself that he would do his best to ensure this marriage was a success.

*

Joanna Crosby didn’t believe in signs. Such manifestations (whether good or bad) were easily fabricated and twisted to mean whatever one’s heart yearned to see. However, she couldn’t help but feel that there must be something providential in the clear skies on the morning of her wedding; with rain soaking the world for the past several days, the blue expanse and gold sunlight couldn’t help but lighten her spirits. At the very least, it protected her from the damage such foul weather would’ve caused.

With trembling hands, she smoothed her skirts as the party stepped into the church porch, and Joanna drew in a deep breath that still held hints of the rain that had saturated the world. Her wedding day.

Her stomach gurgled, but despite forgoing breakfast that morning, she felt not the slightest bit hungry. Just the thought of eating had it souring. But heavens, she could use something to drink. Her tongue felt as though she’d been licking a beach, all rough and dry.

This was the right choice. It must be.

Yet she felt swept up in a whirlwind that tossed her to and fro until she wasn’t certain where she was or what she was doing. Just a few days ago, Dr. Vaughn had declared his intentions, and now, they were about to be man and wife. Between the announcement in the paper and his need to return to Yorkshire, the speed of their engagement was understandable, but her husband-to-be stood on the other side of that door.

This was what she wanted. He was what she wanted.

Heat blossomed beneath the layers of her sturdy jacket; when she’d put the thing on, there’d been a bite of cold in the air, but as the sunshine grew, a sheen of moisture gathered on her skin. No doubt she would appreciate the thick covering when they began their journey to Yorkshire, but for now, her face was a deep crimson. And not for her usual reasons.

Papa opened the door, leading them into the vestibule, and Joanna began unbuttoning the wretched thing, but Aunt Patricia batted her hands away.

“They are waiting for us,” she whispered as she ushered her niece forward.

“I am overheated.” Joanna offered the only excuse she was willing to admit as there was no need to acknowledge that her vanity demanded she cast off the brown wool obscuring her favorite gown.

Aunt Patricia nodded and quickly removed the item, draping it over her own arm before motioning for Joanna to step into the nave.

“May I not have a moment with Dr. Vaughn before the ceremony?” she whispered with a frown. “You’ve kept me so busy preparing for the wedding that I haven’t seen him since our engagement, and surely we ought to be allowed a moment to speak.”

Patting her niece’s cheek, the lady beamed. “What need is there to delay? This is everything you wanted, kitten. He is such a good man, and I know you will be happy together.” But with a sigh, the lady gazed down at Joanna’s gown. “I wish we’d had time to have a proper wedding dress made. A lady ought to have a special dress for such a special day.”

“This suits me far better,” said Joanna, her nose wrinkling. “I know most brides favor white nowadays, but it doesn’t suit my complexion at all, and it is so impractical, as it is impossible to keep clean. I will be able to wear this gown for years to come, and whenever I wear it I will be reminded of this day.”

“But why blue?” asked Aunt Patricia with a frown. “I wish you’d worn your pink silk. It is so lovely on you, and a bride should look her best.”

Smile stiffening, Joanna glanced down at the rich blue fabric that (though simple) suited her far better than the flowery confection her aunt preferred. If this was to be her wedding, she wasn’t going to wear anyone’s favorite but her own. And Dr. Vaughn’s. She hid a smile as she considered why this particular shade had quickly become her preferred color.

But in truth, this simple shape suited her to perfection. One needn’t adorn and ruffle so much when a gown was made so beautifully—though Joanna did love the simple band of scrollwork embroidered along the hem. With it being the same color as the fabric, the ornamentation wasn’t ostentatious but gave a hint of texture and interest to an otherwise plain dress.

“I like this gown better,” whispered Joanna.

“Of course. Whatever makes you happy, kitten,” said Aunt Patricia with a smile, though a flash of disappointment had Joanna rethinking the choice she’d made.

Turning to her father, she found him staring at the painting that adorned the wall, his hands tucked behind him.

“Papa?” she prodded.

He straightened as he turned to face her, though his gaze never rested fully on her. Joanna’s heart constricted as his eyes drifted past, turning instead to the direction in which they ought to go. But Joanna didn’t move at the silent nudge. Standing there and fluffing her skirts, she pleaded for him to say something. Surely she ought to hear a compliment from her father on her wedding day.

But Aunt Patricia grabbed Joanna’s hands, drawing her attention away as the lady’s gaze grew misty. “I only wish your mother was here to witness this.”

Papa cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot before deigning to speak. “Come, now. We do not want to be late.”