Chapter Four #2
“Kes!” he called, and Kester came racing back, tongue and ears flying, his plumy tail up and wagging. He is the most adorable dog!
*
After their walk, Deo bade Miss Bromwich good night, intending to retire to his study to work.
Instead, he spent an hour staring at nothing, while his mind chased itself in circles.
Will she agree to stay? Have I done enough to convince her?
Am I entirely mad to propose tying myself to a woman I barely know, potentially for life, on the basis of one day’s acquaintance?
I have advertised for a wife, and heaven help me, I seem to have got one. He swallowed. The prospect was suddenly terrifying. What do I know about women? Absolutely nothing.
Yet the notion of letting her go was intolerable. He was almost too afraid to hope that his days of loneliness were at an end. His chest ached. He rubbed it absently.
“What do you think, Kes? Would you like to have her for your mistress?”
Kester put a paw on his knee and licked his face, which he took as a yes.
“I think I agree, old chap!” Deo scruffed the dog’s ears.
“Though I fear I may have wandered into foreign territory. I haven’t the first notion how to deal with a female.
I shall no doubt muck it up.” He frowned.
“She seems biddable enough. If I train her well in my habits and preferences, perhaps there will be little disruption to things. I don’t like disruption.
” He sighed. “I wished for this, however, so I suppose I will just have to put up with a little discomfort until things get sorted out. The felicity of her company will no doubt outweigh any minor contretemps that occur. She doesn’t appear to be a quarrelsome or naggish sort of female, nor is she hysterical or overly dramatic. ”
Kester pawed at him because he had stopped stroking his ears. “Perhaps we had best retire for the night. I may have to get married tomorrow. I should be well rested for such an event, don’t you think?”
*
After passing an uncomfortable night plagued by wakefulness and vague dreams that faded with the light, Deo rose early, washed, dressed, and waited in the morning room somewhat impatiently for Miss Bromwich to appear for breakfast. He was conscious of his ill temper and aware enough to know its cause was nervousness.
He was afraid that, all evidence to the contrary, she was going to say him nay.
He had convinced himself in the middle of the night that the whole enterprise was mad, and he was on a disastrous trajectory.
By four o’clock he was convinced she would refuse him anyway.
By the time he sat down to breakfast, he was so confused, he took refuge in grumpiness. It was comfortingly familiar.
Thus, when she did appear just after eight o’clock, he snapped.
“You’re late!”
She flinched slightly and changed color. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware there was a set time for breakfast.”
“I breakfast at seven,” he said roughly, wincing internally at his own rudeness.
“I shall ensure I am here at seven in future,” she said, quietly taking a seat. He sat down after her, and shook out his napkin. He had taken nothing but a cup of tea while waiting for her.
“You mean to stay then?” he asked, his heart thudding faster than it should.
“I do,” she said and then colored further. “That is, if you still wish me to?”
A surge of relief filled his chest, and he said, his voice gruff to cover the emotion, “Yes.” Then, “Of course I do!” He swallowed. “This damned project won’t get done without you.”
“Oh!” She smiled. “When will we begin?”
“Tomorrow.” He reached for some toast and buttered it, placing it on his plate along with a generous serving of ham and eggs.
“Today we will get married and set up your desk in my study.” He corrected himself.
“Our study. That will take some getting used to.” He frowned across the table at her as she blinked at him in shock. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I suppose I am a little shocked by how quickly things are proceeding. But I have no objection,” she added hastily.
He nodded. “Very well.”
She looked down at her gown and then up at him. “Where will we be married?”
“The local church. I have already warned the vicar. I obtained the license the other day from the archdeacon.”
“Oh, but how could you, when you didn’t know—”
“I had your name from your letter. You were my only applicant, Miss Bromwich.”
“Oh,” she said again. “And why was the chambermaid sleeping in my dressing room last night?”
“To observe the proprieties, Miss Bromwich. I told you all would be proper.”
“Indeed, thank you.”
“You needn’t fear that I will be bothering you, either,” he added, just to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “I said this marriage would be in name only initially. You have my word that I will respect that.”
“Th-thank you.” She flushed and looked down at her plate. After a moment or two she said. “My gown—”
He observed her gown of pale blue muslin, of similar cut and style to the previous day’s green affair. Both gowns were plain, but to his eyes quite becoming to her figure. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I—nothing.” She twisted her fork around. “I suppose this isn’t a romantic affair, is it?”
“No, it’s not,” he said, relieved that she was being so sensible. For a moment he had been afraid he was going to be subjected to female vapors. He was glad to observe that his initial impression that Miss Bromwich was a remarkably calm and collected young lady had not been wrong.
“We have an appointment with the vicar at eleven. Please be downstairs by ten thirty, ready to depart.”
She nodded. He threw his napkin on his plate and left for his study.
*
Emily stared blindly at her plate, wondering what to do.
The man had obtained a marriage license using her name as he thought it to be—the name she’d put on her letter.
If she married him under that name, would it make the marriage invalid?
Would her age make the marriage invalid?
She had no idea. But more importantly, if she confessed her real age, neither the earl nor the vicar would be able to allow the marriage without her father’s consent.
And it was possible that if she confessed her real name, he might just recognize it, too.
For all she knew, he knew her father. Admittedly, her father was somewhat older, but they were both peers.
It was not inconceivable that they knew each other. Oh, dear.
*
Deo noted that Emily was rather subdued throughout the morning, saying not a word in the carriage all the way to the village—which wasn’t far.
When they arrived, he wondered if he should ask her if she was having second thoughts, but having come this far, he was reluctant to entertain that possibility.
When they made their vows, she was pale but steady and did not falter, so he was glad he hadn’t asked.
He made his own with a faster-beating heart than he had anticipated.
He couldn’t help noticing the disparity in size of their hands when hers was put in his and when he slipped the ring on her finger.
It had belonged to his mother; it was a little loose but not so loose she would lose it, he thought.
He could have it made smaller if necessary.
As he stood holding her hand, he was reminded forcibly of how small she was.
Her head barely reached his shoulder. With the vicar’s eyes on him expectantly, he bent and kissed her cheek lightly.
Her skin was soft, and she smelled faintly of rosewater.
With a shock, he thought he might be smelling that scent for the rest of his life.
The vicar’s wife was their witness, and after they had signed the registry book, Deo swept her back up the aisle and out to their waiting carriage.
Right, that was done.
He handed her up into the carriage and took his place beside her as the vehicle moved off, conscious of a wave of relief.
Right up until the last, he had been convinced she wouldn’t go through with it.
At least now she couldn’t leave him without a lot of botheration and paperwork.
It gave him an unaccustomed sense of peace and comfort.
He had a wife, a companion, who shared his interests, was interesting in her own right, and didn’t appear to need a great deal of care and maintenance. Perhaps I can manage after all?
*
Emily took her seat in the carriage with a sense that she was in a dream and would wake up soon and find herself back in her room, faint with hunger and teetering on the brink of giving into her mother’s bullying.
Her new husband smiled at her with a slightly anxious look. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you.” She fiddled with the ring he had given her. Concrete proof, if she needed it, that she was actually married to this quite magnificent man. Someone whose intellect she had admired from afar and never dreamed she would ever meet, let alone marry!
He had taken out the book he’d been reading on the way here, and she turned to look out the window, glad enough to be left to her own thoughts as the carriage lurched into motion.
She was married, but was it valid? If she were somehow found, could Mama still drag her home or make her marry Bidenden?
And what would her rather fierce husband say to that?
She rather fancied he would be a match for Mama in a confrontation.
The idea that he might defend her, stand up for her in a way her father never had, made her heart leap and ache a little. Would he? She hoped that he would.
If she had told him the truth about her name and age, would he have still gone through with the marriage?
She doubted it. In the twenty-four hours of their acquaintance, she had gained the impression that the earl was quite rigid in regard to rules and regulations.
If he discovered her subterfuge, he would be understandably angry. Her heart quaked a bit at that.