Chapter Thirteen #3
“So if you knew I didn’t kidnap Lady Hewitt and she wasn’t my mistress, why the hell did you go around denying it to all and sundry?” Marcus demanded. “Because if anything was guaranteed to give credence to such a nonsensical rumor it would be energetic denials!”
“Well I know that,” Barney said indignantly. “And I tried to explain it to Lady Gosforth. But the old b—er, lady insisted. And don’t tell me I should have resisted—you know what she’s like! Apart from turning fellows to stone, she’s a dashed what-d’you-call-it, that Indian thing?”
“What Indian thing?” Marcus said, bewildered.
He glanced at his aunt, holding court on the other side of the table.
She might not be too keen on Cockney dressmakers who couldn’t even be bothered to feign a French accent, but she had no objection to being charmed by a handsome Irishman. “You mean her turban?”
“No, of course I don’t mean her turban,” Barney said irritably. “What on earth would that mean—‘she’s like a turban’? Make sense man. A turban is not the least bit alarming. Though depends who’s wearing it. No, I mean the other Indian thing. The one that your aunt is like.”
Marcus couldn’t think of any Indian thing that his aunt resembled. Her nose was admittedly large, but it was Roman rather than Indian. “This conversation is getting out of hand. Forget the blasted Indian thing. Why didn’t you tell her that denying the rumor would only make any gossip worse?”
“As I said, I did try, but listening ain’t her strong suit,” Barney said, and took another long draft of champagne. “Oh I say, look at that! What a splendid cake. And that trifle looks delicious. Very fond of trifle, I am. Did I say, my compliments to your cook?”
Marcus gave up. Despite Barney’s confusing explanation, one thing was clear to him: his wretched aunt was behind the rumors that had made it necessary for him and Tessa to marry. And she’d bullied Barney, poor sap, into spreading them.
For himself, he didn’t mind being tricked, though he loathed being the subject of gossip, especially false gossip.
Marrying Tessa was exactly what he wanted.
But she’d been forced into marriage twice before, and now it had happened again—or if not exactly forced, she’d married him on a false premise.
And he hated that this time it was his fault. Or at least his aunt’s.
He dreaded having to tell her.
Barney tugged his sleeve. “Juggernaut!” he declared triumphantly.
Marcus stared at him. “What?”
“Your aunt, the Indian thing—she’s like a Hindoo juggernaut! M’uncle told me about it once. Saw it in India. Terrifying thing. Unstoppable force. Crushes everything before it. Your aunt does that. Pass me that bowl of trifle, will you?”
#
THE WEDDING brEAKFAST was drawing to a close and Marcus gave Tessa a nod to indicate it was nearly time to leave.
She went upstairs and changed into more suitable attire—a traveling dress in sage green with a collar and cuffs in dark purple, a pelisse in a darker green, and darling green hat with a jaunty little purple feather.
Their carriage departed with everyone spilling out into the street, waving and wishing them well, but once they were on the road south, they fell silent. Tessa was happy just gazing out of the window, watching the passing scenery, and when she glanced at Marcus, he seemed to be dozing.
Her husband. She took a few moments to gaze at him; she’d never really been able to do so before, not closely, because whenever she looked at him, he always seemed to be looking at her.
She was married. To one of the handsomest men in the ton. And the kindest.
They were to spend the wedding night in one of Marcus’s friend’s country house just outside Folkestone.
“Why Folkestone?” she’d asked when he told her his plans. “Isn’t Dover the usual place to depart for the Continent?”
“Yes, Dover would make the trip shorter, but my yacht is currently moored at Folkestone, so we’ll cross the English Channel from there.” He’d given her a searching look. “I don’t suppose you know whether you get seasick or not? No, of course not, since you’ve never even seen the sea.”
“Why would that matter?”
“It will make a difference to our destination,” he explained. “If you’re seasick, we’ll take the shortest route to the continent—to Calais—to cut your suffering shorter. Otherwise, we’ll make for Ostend.”
“Ostend?” She’d never heard of it.
“It’s the most direct route to the site of the Battle of Waterloo. I thought you’d want to go there first. And after that, I thought we’d head for Paris, if you wish.”
Tessa was delighted with his thoughtfulness. He’d taken her wish to see where Louis had died seriously. And Paris was ‘if she wished.’ And he was concerned that she be as comfortable as possible on the sea journey. She hoped she wouldn’t get seasick.
For a time, the journey passed in silence. Tessa didn’t mind. She was enjoying the scenery. But she knew Marcus was tense; she could feel it. He fidgeted, and crossed and recrossed his long legs, as if uncomfortable.
After a while he said in a heavy voice, “Tessa, I have something to confess to you.”
“Yes?” She gave him an enquiring look.
“We were married—you were married—on a false premise.”
She frowned. “False premise?”
He nodded. “I didn’t discover it until it was too late to call things off.”
She stiffened. “You wanted to call things off?”
“No, I didn’t. But you probably would have.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because those rumors about you being my mistress and so on. They were false.”
“I know.”
“Yes, but what you don’t know is that the rumors were started by my aunt.”
Her jaw dropped. “By Lady Gosforth?”
He nodded. “And spread—under her orders—by my cloth-headed idiot friend Barney Wimple. Which he spread by energetically explaining to everyone that the rumors were false.”
“Which they were.”
“Yes, but denying them increased people’s interest and made them all the more certain the rumors must be true.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It was all a plot to ensure you married me. My aunt has long been determined to get me married.”
Tessa thought about that. “But you were taken in by those rumors, too. And if you hadn’t been, you would never have married me.”
“Not at all!” he said firmly. “I wanted to marry you almost from the beginning. The rumor nonsense was, I gather, to make you agree to marry me. To protect my reputation.” The carriage wheels jolted and rattled along a rough patch of road. Tessa thought about what he’d told her.
After a time, Marcus added, “I’m sorry. I only learned of it the morning of our wedding. In the church.”
So that was why he’d looked so grim before the wedding. And what he’d been talking to Mr Wimple about at the wedding breakfast—the serious discussion. Not because he didn’t want to marry her, but because he thought his aunt had tricked them both.
Which she had, finely.
Tessa recalled how distressed she’d been, thinking how Marcus would suffer from the slur to his reputation.
How the old lady had urged her to run off to Yorkshire and abandon Marcus to face the scandal alone.
Knowing that Tessa didn’t have it in her to abandon anyone.
Oh, the old lady was cunning indeed. Outrageous—worse!
And both she and Marcus had taken the bait which, now she looked at it in hindsight, wasn’t even terribly subtle. She ought to be angry. Furious. She hated being manipulated. But actually, looking back at what happened . . . She snorted.
Marcus blinked and looked at her.
Another snort escaped her and then it became a chuckle. Then another.
“Are you laughing?” Marcus demanded incredulously.
Now helpless with laughter, she nodded, gasping out between chuckles, “She is wicked, I agree, but oh, we’re a fine pair of fish, aren’t we?”
“Fish?” Marcus frowned.
Tessa kept laughing. “We positively leapt onto her hook, hardly needed any bait at all.”
His lips twitched. “We did. You don’t regret our marriage then?”
“No.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Not one little bit.”
The expression on his face stopped her laughter cold. He leaned toward her. She waited, breathless. Was he going to kiss her? Oh, she wanted him to, had wanted it for such a long time.
But after a moment he sat back against the seat and said only, “I’m glad.”
But he didn’t let go of her hand.