Chapter Three
C hristine felt her legs melt and she gripped Laird Lindsay’s upper arms—very muscular upper arms—to keep from sinking to the floor. She had received a few kisses during her Seasons, stolen in a dark part of a corner during a ball, but comparing those to the laird’s kisses was like comparing a sack of pebbles to a sack of gold pieces.
Her heart thundered and when he pulled back, staring into her eyes, she had a difficult time getting enough air to keep from swooning.
She did not swoon.
He grinned at her, no doubt noticing her addled appearance. She stepped back and patted the sides of her hair, which—due to having put it up herself was falling in clumps around her shoulders. “Well, then. I guess we can let Mrs. Dove-Lyon know that we wish to proceed.” There, that sounded very composed and adult.
While no longer grinning, his eyes were full of mirth. She didn’t want to believe that there was someone listening at the door, but as soon as Christine uttered those words, the door opened and the man who had escorted her up to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon walked in, followed by another who she assumed was the vicar. At least he looked like a vicar. It did give her pause to wonder how someone with Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reputation, along with the club itself, would have a vicar on call. Unless she arranged so many marriages that it was necessary. Or maybe, even vicars had vices.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon appeared from the door at the back wall, carrying a piece of paper, along with a small, lovely bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers. It appeared the laird was either surprised or impressed—so it seemed—as well as she was.
Their hostess handed Christine the flowers and moved her, so she was positioned in front of the vicar. After handing the marriage license to the vicar, the male escort moved the laird into the proper space beside Christine and the vicar opened his book.
Growing up, Christine never really thought too much about her wedding day, only that she would most likely have one. No matter how hard she would have tried, she would never have imagined this one, set in an opulent yet dark room, with furniture moved to make way for them, in a notorious gambling den in the heart of London, or with a black-dressed and veiled gambling den owner for an attendant.
Still, it was a far better wedding setting than the one she’d have endured at the hands of her uncle, so she could only feel thankful, and especially, relieved.
The vicar droned on for a few minutes about the sanctity of marriage and their respective duties as husband and wife. Her brain was muddled, but when it came to these words, she flicked her eyes to Laird Lindsay as he said his vows:
With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Laird Lindsay slid a heavy, jewel-encrusted gold ring on her left hand—did he bring that anticipating they would indeed suit? It was way too large, but she held it on her finger with the tip of her thumb.
The vicar had them both kneel whereupon he blessed them. And then it was over. She was married. Safe from her uncle. She smiled brightly at her husband—my, that word felt strange—and he smiled back.
The laird stood and helped her to her feet. Before he was able to give her a kiss, Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I can already see that the two of you are very well-suited.”
“I believe you are right,” Laird Lindsay said. He then turned to Christine, taking both her hands in his. The vicar shoved a paper—most likely the marriage certificate—at the laird, closed his book, offered his felicitations and left.
“There is a hackney awaiting you downstairs,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, then cast her attention toward Christine. “I assume you will be visiting with your solicitor immediately?”
“Yes.” Christine had already arranged with her bank to release the agreed upon fee to Mrs. Dove-Lyon for her services once she saw her solicitor, who would then notify the bank.
“Then I wish you both well.” With those words, she also left the room through the back door. The man who escorted them up opened the front door and waved them out.
This all seemed so very rushed that Christine’s brain was spinning. She’d said yes to the laird’s proposal, the vicar entered, Mrs. Dove-Lyon arrived with a bouquet, a few words were spoken, a ring was placed on her finger, and they all left through different doors.
She looked up at her husband and shook her head. “What just happened?”
“What just happened as far as I’m concerned is I dinna get to bestow a kiss on my lovely bride.” He looked down at her with twinkling green eyes.
“It did all end rather abruptly, did it not?” As confused as she felt, she was also somewhat giddy.
Kerrigan gave her a brief nod, and then after leaving the building, looked around the area, then led her to the end of the pavement where a hackney stood, the driver leaning against the carriage, his arms folded, obviously hoping for a customer. She gave the driver the directions, then Kerrigan helped her into the hackney, following her behind. He settled on the bench across from her. “Do ye feel as though ye were rushed, lass?”
“Yes. A bit. But I’m thinking you feel more rushed since I am the one who needed a quick wedding, then a visit to my solicitor to protect my money.”
Kerrigan felt as though he should reach across the way and bring Christine to his side, but considering that only an hour ago they didn’t even know each other, ’twas probably best to give her time.
“Do ye wish to tell me about yerself? Or yer uncle who has caused this race to the solicitor?”
She shook her head. “I just want to get this part over.”
He nodded. “I am not verra familiar with London, since I try to avoid it at all costs, but I’m hoping ye ken of a place where we can have a nice meal when we’re through with this.”
Her face lit up. “I do! There is a charming restaurant on Bond Street that serves wonderful food. The best part is if you sit near a window, you can see the shoppers strolling by, and if that doesn’t appeal, we can take a table near the back of the room which is quieter.”
He leaned back and rested his foot on his knee enjoying the view of his pretty, petite bride and again he congratulated himself. He’d done well. “I’m all for quiet. I would like to spend our time enjoying a relaxed meal and getting to ken each other better.”
She smiled her agreement. ’Twas only a matter of about ten minutes when the hackney driver drew up to the pavement edge and stopped the vehicle. He jumped down and opened the door. Kerrigan stepped out first, then turned to help Christine. He then reached in his vest pocket and handed the man coins to cover the ride.
With his hand at the lower part of Christine’s back, he directed her into the building that apparently housed her solicitor. They walked down the corridor to a wooden and glass door with “Kendall– Solicitor” on it. A young man sitting behind a small wooden desk stood to greet them as they walked in. He then gushed over Christine, which Kerrigan had to admit annoyed him just a bit.
The office was small, but well-appointed. “If you will follow me, Mr. Kendall is waiting for you.”
They entered the man’s office, which was not quite as appealing as the outer office. Files were piled on various tables and the corner of his desk. The carpet was worn, and the walls in need of painting. He had a feeling the man was always too busy and disorganized to give the necessary time to having his workspace redone.
The solicitor was an older man, with a paunch and very little hair on his head. His face was a pleasant one, and his smile warm as he regarded Christine. “So you are married now, Lady Christine?”
“Lady Lindsay,” Kerrigan said.
Blushing slightly, she raised her hand where the very heavy ring hung. Another thing to do once they took care of this business and relaxed with some food was to find a jeweler and have his wife pick out a ring of her choice.
The one he’d brought with him was old, and possibly valuable, but since it was the only ring he could find before he left his home, he’d grabbed it. All other jewelry of value had been sold to keep the clan fed.
“Mr. Kendall, this is my—husband—Laird Kerrigan Lindsay from Scotland.” She turned to him. “This is Mr. Kendall, who has been our family’s solicitor for many years.”
The men nodded to each other, and Kerrigan pulled out a chair for Christine to sit. He settled himself, a tad uncomfortable since the solicitor obviously knew why they were here. He would also know that he would receive a great deal of money upon marriage to the former Lady Christine Spencer.
He shifted, feeling as if his body was comfortable, his brain would be also. In the short time he’d known her, he’d found his bonnie wife so intriguing and sweet that he was tempted to refuse the money, which was foolish since once her uncle grabbed it from her, it would be gone, anyway. And it would certainly not be used to feed hungry people. He needed her money to feed his hungry people.
“Laird, here is an accounting of the funds Lady Christine—I beg your pardon—Lady Lindsay owns.” He slid a document across the desk and pointed to a column of numbers. “These are all the holdings her father owned in property, stocks, investments, and money.”
He tried to pretend it was not an extraordinary amount, but since spending years as laird after his da died, he had developed an appreciation for financial security. Of which he’d had none, and apparently his wife had plenty. He nodded, his mouth drying. This was truly a fortune. And her uncle wanted to take it from her.
“Mr. Kendall, as we spoke of a few days ago,” Christine said, “since I am now married I am assuming that would keep my holdings from Uncle Carl’s grasp.”
The man nodded and Christine turned to Kerrigan. “May I have the certificate, please.”
Kerrigan reached into his jacket pocket, withdrew the document and handed it to her. She, in turn, placed it in the solicitor’s hand. “As you can see, it is all legal. We were married just this morning by a vicar with two witnesses.”
He smiled at her. “Lady Lindsay, I must say I have a great deal of respect for you. Most young women in your place would have spent her time wailing and complaining, and eventually doing as her uncle wanted.” He glanced at Kerrigan. “I expect you to take good care of your wife. Her uncle can be quite a cad, and sneaky. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean he will give up.”
Kerrigan nodded. “I can take care of my wife. No one will get near her or harm her.”
“Very well. I will have my secretary make several copies of the marriage certificate and send the documents to the necessary people to release your funds into whatever financial institution you wish.”
“That would be the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh.”
Mr. Kendall studied the certificate. “How long do you intend to stay in London?”
Christine looked at him for an answer.
“How long do you think it will be for you to take care of what you need to do that requires our presence?” Kerrigan asked Mr. Kendall.
“If I press my secretary, I can give you the needed paperwork in a few days.”
Kerrigan nodded and sat back, satisfied.
“I have always lived in my papa’s house, as you know, Mr. Kendall. Can you recommend a hotel where we can stay while we wait?”
He thought for a minute. “The only places I am familiar with are traveling inns outside the city. However, I would be more than happy to let you stay in a townhouse owned by my brother who is currently on the Continent.”
“That would be wonderful, Mr. Kendall,” Christine said.
He grabbed a piece of parchment and after dipping his pen into the inkwell, scratched out the direction. “The only staff there now is the butler and a maid to keep the place clean.”
“That is fine, Mr. Kendall. I am able to cook,” Kerrigan said.
Christine stared at him, a slight smile on her face.
“I will send my secretary to my brother’s townhouse with your travel bags and a message to the butler on duty, Stevens, and advise him you will be staying there for a few days.” Mr. Kendall folded his hands and placed them on the desk. “I will, of course, notify your uncle of your marriage. I’m not convinced he won’t try something else, but at least that should give you enough time to do what you need to do here and leave for Scotland.”
Christine stood, followed by Kerrigan and Mr. Kendall. The men shook hands and just as they arrived at the door, Mr. Kendall cleared his throat. “Just one more thing.”
He looked uncomfortable, and a slight bit of redness rose to his cheeks. “This is a delicate matter, but I feel it is my duty to inform you that unless the marriage is…ah, consummated, your uncle could attempt to force an annulment.”
Kerrigan glanced at Christine, whose shade of red was a bit deeper than the solicitor’s. “I assure ye that will no’ be a problem, Mr. Kendall,” Kerrigan said.
Christine didn’t wait for him, but hurried from the room, her head down. He couldn’t help the chuckle that rose from his throat.