Chapter 3 #3
Eleanor could not resist it. “Perhaps it is Madame Therese,” she teased, “unable to let you out of her sight.”
She received an unfriendly look. “More than likely. In which case it is I who will be followed. We don’t want the curious to know we are on our way to a church.” He turned to his bemused brother. “Go on as arranged, Kit, and I will meet you there.”
Lord Stainbridge made no objection, but Eleanor could not let this pass. “This is ridiculous. Are you mad? Who on earth would follow us?”
She knew immediately that Nicholas Delaney was not accustomed to having his orders questioned.
Even though his face was impassive and his tone level, he expressed displeasure as he said, “As you have suggested, my anxious lovers or any number of other people. I merely wish to make sure that nobody has ready ammunition for blackmail. If I cannot evade whoever it is, the marriage will have to be put off.” With that he disappeared into the shadows.
A minute or so later Eleanor glanced back and saw a figure cross the street and go in the same direction. “We were being followed?” she said in amazement.
Lord Stainbridge nodded. “Nicholas is never needlessly melodramatic. In his way of life he must make enemies.”
“But he might be attacked, killed!”
Lord Stainbridge shrugged. “Inconvenient, I agree. However, he is normally well able to take care of himself. This is the church.”
Eleanor looked at him in surprise, but saw by the pale light from the church windows that he was not as calm as he pretended. How hard it must be to love Nicholas Delaney. Thank heaven she was immune from that fate at least.
It was a small, simple church, neither new nor fashionable. The minister waiting for them was thin, gray, and tired. “Mr. Delaney and Miss Chivenham?”
Explanations were made, and the minister agreed with bad grace to wait for a little while longer.
He disappeared into his vestry while Eleanor and Lord Stainbridge sat in a very uncomfortable pew to wait.
Eleanor felt that perhaps she should pray; attempt to make something spiritual out of this momentous occasion, but the church was bleak, cold, and uninspiring.
She thought instead about her bridegroom.
What sort of life did he live, that he was followed everywhere? She toyed with the idea of begging Lord Stainbridge to marry her and save her from his brother, but knew it would be no use. For one thing, the special license would not apply.
And she had to confess that she found Nicholas Delaney fascinating, in the same way she had been fascinated by the gypsies who had camped near Burton when she was young.
She and Lionel had been warned to stay clear because they stole children, but she had crept over to their camp and watched them.
Then the gypsies had seen her and teased her so she had been scared.
Lionel had found out and told on her, so she had been whipped, then whipped again when it was discovered she had lost her gold locket somewhere in the adventure.
What was she going to lose in this one?
She had to admit that her husband-to-be had been pleasant enough thus far, but he did not seem to be the kind of manageable bridegroom of convenience she had been promised.
If he were to take it into his head to lock her up or drag her with him on his travels, or even to rape her again, she doubted Lord Stainbridge would be able to stop him, no matter what economic leverage he thought he had.
It was both frightening and fascinating at the same time. Most peculiar.
On the whole, however, fright outweighed fascination, and Eleanor was beginning to entertain the hope that the ceremony was to be postponed when the vestry door opened and the vicar returned.
He was followed by Nicholas and another man, older, smaller, and with twinkling eyes.
It appeared he was to be a witness. His name was Tom Holloway.
Eleanor seriously considered running away. Nicholas Delaney seemed to look at her and read her mind, for he came over and took her hand in a firm grasp and smiled. “There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Trust me.”
And against all reason, she did.
From there matters proceeded with prosaic smoothness. Eleanor soon found herself Mrs. Delaney in fact, and the gold ring was now legitimate.
As soon as it was done the little man smiled at her. “Honored to have been present, Mrs. Delaney, Nick. I’d best be off. London?”
“Yes, as arranged. If the others aren’t there try Tim or Shako. Good luck.”
Tom Holloway went out as he had come, despite the vicar’s expostulations. Nicholas soothed him with a handsome donation, and when they left it was with his blessing.
As they strolled back, once more just travelers stretching their legs, Eleanor felt moved to speak. But she did try to keep her voice moderate. “I would like to know, sir, whether my whole life from now on is likely to be conducted in the midst of sinister comings and goings. Who is Mr. Holloway?”
Nicholas smiled, and she gritted her teeth as she recognized a smile designed to humor and soothe. “Poor Eleanor. I am sure it was not the sort of wedding you would have chosen. But it really could not be helped.”
“Oh, I’m not romantic,” she said with a studied air of nonchalance. “Merely curious.”
“Now that is unfortunate,” was the plain reply, “for I have no intention of explaining my actions at the moment.”
She raised her chin. “You mean I am not to know why I am to be murdered in my bed?”
“If you are murdered in your bed, my dear, it will probably be because you know too much.” This was said in a conversational tone, and yet there was a ring of seriousness to it that chilled Eleanor.
She turned to Lord Stainbridge. “My lord, this does not accord with our agreement.”
As she had feared, he was no use at all. “I’m sure he is just playing one of his games, Eleanor,” said the earl soothingly. “Anyway, you can depend upon Nicholas to take good care of you.”
“Especially,” murmured her husband near her ear, “if you insist on demanding answers I am unwilling to give.”
When she whirled angrily to face him he threw up a hand and grinned. “Pax! We can discuss this later, Eleanor. You are only upsetting Kit.”
Which, she realized, was unfortunately true. A fine protector he was going to be. Well, she had lived by her wits before and she was determined not to be manipulated by Nicholas Delaney.
It was as if he read her feelings, for Nicholas spent the remainder of the walk back to the inn putting himself out to soothe her. Despite her resolutions, he succeeded. In the face of such humor and charm it seemed churlish to cling to her grievance.
And yet a part of her hung on to sanity. He was, she decided, a very dangerous man.
When they reached the inn Eleanor retired gratefully to her room. The traveling and the stress of events had left her weary, but she also wanted to escape her husband.
As she relaxed before the fire, however, she smiled with satisfaction.
She had done it. She had secured the future for herself and for the child that seemed more likely with each passing day.
If her husband would be difficult to handle, at least he was no monster, and she would doubtless see little of him.
Yes, it was all working out very well.
Until she realized that this was her wedding night. Was it possible that her bridegroom intended to inflict himself upon her once again? Surely not. But how embarrassing it would be if he came to her and she had to send him away. He might, after all, think she … she expected it.
With sudden resolution she knocked on the door to the adjoining room. It was opened not by her husband but by a thin, swarthy servant. His valet.
“I am Clintock, ma’am. May I help you?”
“Mr. Delaney is not here?”
“He is still below with his lordship, I believe, ma’am.”
She hesitated, but she knew she would not be able to sleep with uncertainty hanging over her.
“I think I will leave him a note,” she said.
Amenably, the manservant produced a traveling desk that opened to reveal supplies of paper, pens, and ink. He held a chair for her and arranged everything with a slow deliberation that made her want to scream, expecting as she did to hear her husband’s footsteps at any minute.
When Clintock had retreated she sought words to express herself. How impossible it was.
In the end she wrote:
As our marriage has already been consummated, after a fashion, I would be grateful if you would respect my privacy,
Eleanor.
It was terse and ungracious, but she could think of no way to better it and she wished to be gone from this room. She sanded it, folded it, and wrote her husband’s name on the outside. There was no seal or wafers, and surely no necessity.
Eleanor left the note there and beat a hasty retreat.
Clintock’s voice stopped her. “Would you wish me to take this down to Mr. Delaney, ma’am?”
“No, no. That will not be necessary.”
“Very well, ma’am. And please accept my best wishes on this happy day.”
Blushing, Eleanor stammered her thanks and fled. So, his valet was in his confidence. She supposed there was no help for that.
Next she checked the door for a key and did not find one. She shrugged. She did not think the man she had married today would force himself upon her, no matter what had happened a few weeks ago. So long, she supposed wryly, as he was not now downstairs drowning his wits in brandy.
She prepared for bed without ringing for a maid. She was well accustomed to managing for herself and valued the privacy. As she sat before the mirror in one of her voluminous nightgowns, brushing her hair with long, sweeping strokes, she considered the events of the evening.