Chapter Six #2
That gentleman now stepped forward. “Captain Carlyon, Miss Frampton, if you will take your places before the altar, I will begin.”
The service was short and to the point. Within less than half an hour it was over and done with, the register had been signed and witnessed and Fitz found himself walking back down the aisle with a strange young woman’s hand slipped, with diffidence, into the crook of his left arm.
It wasn’t as though he was unused to the company of young women, although many were not of the sort one would introduce to one’s mother.
It was just that the woman walking by his side, who seemed astonishingly composed for the condition he knew her to be in, was his wife.
His wife?
Was he in some kind of overly realistic nightmare?
He glanced down at her, but her face, which he’d noticed would have been passably attractive had she not such a cold and superior expression, was mostly hidden by that infernal bonnet she’d chosen to wear.
Not at all the right thing for a wedding, when a man wanted to be able to see what his bride looked like.
Especially when he hadn’t laid eyes on her before the ceremony.
A bit like Jacob being given Leah in place of Rachel in the Bible.
At the door, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who had progressed down the aisle ahead of them, turned to face them, her henchman looming behind her.
Impossible to tell her expression under that heavy veil.
“May I offer you both my congratulations.” She sounded as if she might be smiling.
No doubt she’d done well out of this transaction herself.
Since her proposal of this arrangement to him, he’d found out a little more about her establishment and her propensity for organising unusual matches.
If he’d known in advance, he might not have let his friends lure him there.
Damn Billy Dugdale to hell and back. Perhaps.
He was aware of a nagging feeling that he’d played into the Black Widow’s capable hands and been trapped into this marriage.
Although…wasn’t it to his advantage? He couldn’t deny that.
Nevertheless, he bowed over Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you, ma’am.” He fixed her with a jaundiced eye. “It could never have happened without your aid.”
She ignored his expression. “My congratulations to you both. I will leave you to begin your married lives together, then, as Captain and Mrs. Carlyon. May it be a long and fruitful association. You will be pleased to hear that as part of my services I have arranged a wedding breakfast for you at The Angel Inn, a most respectable establishment just a few minutes’ walk along Piccadilly.
” She gave an elegant gesture in the general direction with her hand.
She’d thought of everything. Well… not quite everything. Fitz swept her a second, more elaborate, bow, aware of Miss Frampton…no, Mrs. Carlyon, performing a polite curtsey by his side.
“Thank you for all your invaluable assistance,” this young lady, his wife, said, her voice, which he’d only so far heard when she’d greeted him and in the required responses of the ceremony, almost dismissive.
She, like him, must wish to be away from all the connotations of such a hurried wedding ceremony, perhaps before someone spotted them. At least they had that in common.
“A pleasure,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon purred. “But now I must return as my business does not run itself. I bid you both adieu. I trust our paths will not cross again.” And she turned away from them, her henchman keeping pace with her.
Fitz had the distinct impression her veiled gaze had been fixed on him as she spoke these final words, in the form of a threat that he should not be returning to either gamble or make use of the upstairs girls within the Den now he was a married man.
He had the feeling, as well, that if he did dare to return she would not be backward in coming forward and having him forcibly ejected from her premises.
Her henchman had the look of someone who could bodily evict any gentleman she took against.
Turning towards the Angel Inn, Miss Frampton – no, Mrs. Carlyon, by his side, he set off in the opposite direction to the Den. His new wife had to hurry her steps to keep up with him, but he didn’t slow down.
The Angel was an old timbered building on the north side of Piccadilly with an arched entrance to one side into the stables at its rear and a large oak door that would lead into the main part.
Fitz stopped almost on the doorstep and looked down at the young lady by his side for the first time since they’d left the church.
She raised her head and looked up at him in an almost challenging fashion. Behind her glasses, gold flecks danced in her brown eyes. For someone so much in need of respectability, she had a very confident air about her. As though he were the one who had erred.
It was not like him to be tongue-tied, but right now that was the best way to describe how he felt.
Probably due to the novelty of the situation.
It wasn’t every day one married a young lady one had never met before.
A young lady carrying someone else’s child.
He swallowed. “I cannot call you Miss Frampton, obviously, and to address you as Mrs. Carlyon would be quite odd. Do you mind if I call you Georgiana?”
Those eyes twinkled up at him and he was struck for the first time by the notion that she was indeed a pretty girl and not the rather uninteresting thing he’d taken her for.
Not just passably attractive, as he’d first thought, but beautiful in an out of the ordinary way, especially now she was looking at him in such a manner.
Her mouth twitched. “It is my given name.”
Was she laughing?
The corners of her mouth curved in a manner he might have deemed delightful. “And what might I call you, husband, as Fitzwilliam seems far too long and almost a tongue twister?”
This was easy to deal with. “All my friends call me Fitz.”
She smiled, but rather as though she was making the best of things. “Then I hope you will allow me to call you Fitz as well.”
“Of course. We are husband and wife now and it would be odd for you to do anything else. I hope…” He hesitated. “I hope that we can at least be friends from now on.”
Did he? Where had that come from?
Her smile suddenly became more genuine. “I should like that, too, Fitz.”
The thought occurred to Fitz that he’d never had a friend who was female before. He’d known enough women, but not one he could count as his friend. This would be a first. In many ways. “I should like that as well, Georgiana.”
He put his hand on the door. “Shall we go inside?”