Wedding Wagers

by Donna Hatch

  Chapter Eight

  Eli raised his hand and, for the first time ever, lifted one of the brass door knockers on Baron Montgomery’s front double doors. Three times he let it fall, the heavy metal thuds coinciding with the hammering of his heart.

  Lowering his hand, Eli glanced down, checking his attire once more—clean, white muslin shirt, smartly tied cravat, trousers that were not buckskin, a newer pair of suspenders, and a borrowed waist coat. He had no jacket, or one he wished to wear anyway, in this heat. Comfort over propriety. His boots were scuffed, but also clean, having taken him a good hour to get that way, sitting on an overturned bucket in the stable and scrubbing with the stiffest brush he could find. His responsibilities were not kind to his footwear.

  No doubt the Lady Montgomery—if she saw him today—would take notice of that and his simple clothing. He would remedy his shortcomings there before the wedding but had no time for that now. He intended to be off this morning to obtain a license to marry. While he was confident that the Archbishop would meet with him, locating the man could take days.

  After what seemed an inordinate amount of time, the door was opened by the baron’s capable butler, Benson. Eli had taken dinner with him a time or two below stairs and also at the local pub.

  “Good day, Benson.” Eli paused, discomfited by the unusual circumstance before him. Servants did not call at their employer’s front door—ever. Nor do they marry their employer’s daughter. He ignored the disapproval in Benson’s knowing eyes and downturned mouth, and plunged ahead. “Is Miss Montgomery at home? I am here to see her briefly about a matter of importance.”

  Benson said nothing but stepped back into the foyer, pulling one of the massive doors with him so that Eli might follow.

  “Wait here.” Benson left Eli to take in the foyer with its circular staircase, immense portraits, polished floors, and vases of fresh flowers.

  I cannot give Emily anything this grand. Eli studied the painting closest to him, a Montgomery ancestor looking down upon him with a severe expression. Instead of feeling disturbed or discouraged by the wealth surrounding him, Eli felt a thrill of excitement at the challenge ahead. He could not give Emily anything this fine, but he could give her much more of importance and show her how freeing and grand life could truly be.

  “Mr. Linfield.” The female voice did not belong to Emily, but her mother, who had always been polite, if not quite cordial, to him before.

  “Lady Montgomery.” Eli gave a slight bow.

  “Emily is presently being fitted for her wedding gown. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Lady Montgomery spoke almost as if Emily was to be married to someone other than himself.

  “I came to inquire of her the date and time she wishes to wed. I intend to stop at the church on my way to obtain the license.”

  Lady Montogmery’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You intend to go through with this, then?”

  Eli nodded. “Unless or until the time your daughter tells me she does not wish to.”

  “If you care for Emily at all—and it appears you must somewhat, as my husband has made it clear there will be no financial gain for you, should you marry—then it would seem in her best interest for you to bow out and leave her to restore her engagement to the Earl of Shrewsbury.”

  “I do not wish to restore that engagement, Mother.” Emily descended from the top stair, her pale pink gown trailing behind.

  Eli had hardly ever seen her dressed in anything other than a riding habit, and this morning found she took his breath away, with her curls bouncing and the feminine drape of her gown.

  Her mother moved toward the stairway, as if to intercept Emily before she could reach her destination. “We have discussed—”

  “—Even if Mr. Linfield has come to tell me he has changed his mind, I will not marry the earl.” Emily sidestepped her mother, then slowed her steps until she stood before Eli. “Have you come to withdraw your offer?”

  He smiled. “I believe you were the one who offered for me, but no. I have not changed my mind about accepting.”

  As Eli wondered at his audacity to tease her, the color in her cheeks rose, surpassing the pink of her gown while still complimenting it nicely.

  “Have you second thoughts, Miss Montgomery?”

  She shook her head and met his gaze only briefly.

  “In that case, there are a few matters of business we must attend to. I shall be leaving today to obtain our license to marry. Is Saturday next at ten o’clock in the morning agreeable to you?”

  “Saturday next,” Lady Montgomery exclaimed. “It is preposterous to think of planning a wedding so quickly.”

  “Make that two weddings, Mother.” Lady Grayson entered the room from a side door. “Sherborne has already left to obtain our license. We are to be married on Friday.” She sashayed past her mother and gave Emily a quick hug. “Isn’t it splendid, sister?”

  Emily nodded but did not say anything.

  “I’ve also brought a bit of string—” Eli felt his own face warm as they stared at him. He wished he was out of this house, away from so many females, or away from two of them, at least. Emily did not seem like her mother and sister. “—to measure your finger for a ring. May I?”

  Emily hesitated, glanced at her mother and received a disapproving frown, then held her hand out to him anyway. With great care he wound the string once around the third finger of her left hand, holding the measured piece between his thumb and forefinger when done. Emily lowered her hand, and he pulled out a knife and cut the string where he held it, then tucked the piece carefully into his pocket.

  Too late he realized this was probably not how this process was done. Lady Montgomery’s eyes had gone wide, and her mouth pinched so severely Eli wondered if perhaps it might become stuck that way. Lady Grayson hid her face behind her hand, in a poor attempt at hiding a fit of giggles.

  “Thank you,” Emily said. “That was very thoughtful. I had not expected a ring.”

  No doubt she did not expect much at all of their marriage, save for a way to escape the gossips, the earl, and her father’s wrath. Eli could not fault her for this. This union was the fulfilling of his wildest dream, not hers. But he could not let himself worry that he would disappoint either Emily or her parents. He had a few surprises—for all of them.

  “Until Saturday next.” He bowed slightly, first at Emily and then her mother and sister.

  “Thank you,” Emily said once more. Their gazes touched briefly before he turned away, and the look of vulnerability in hers was such that he wished he could whisk her away this very moment, or at the least convince her that all would be well.

  Emily Montgomery and the baron and his family would not be the source of fevered gossip in the months to come. Or, if they were, it would be with a sense of wonder at the baron’s cleverness in marrying his youngest daughter off as he had. It was with great difficulty that Eli held his tongue.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you still terribly angry with me, Em?” Sophia adjusted the circlet of flowers on Emily’s head. “You’ve hardly spoken a word to me the past two weeks.”

  “Not angry, but I am hurt—that you would so completely disregard my feelings in your quest to steal the earl from me.”

  “One cannot steal from someone who does not have.” Sophia rose up on her tiptoes, adjusting the fragrant petals this way and that. “You, my dear sister, never had Lord Rowley—at least, not in the way that matters.”

  Emily sighed and looked at both their reflections in the long mirror. She ought to be further hurt by such a statement, but there was truth in it, and she could not feel bad about her loss. The earl had not loved her and she had not loved him. Likely, Sophia had just saved them both from a lifetime of misery.

  Sophia met her eye in the glass. She nodded slowly. “I see you have come to the same conclusion.”

  “If only you had asked me if you might have him,” Emily said. “I would have given him willingly. What hurts
is that you went about it behind my back. And now look what has become of me.”

  “What has become of you!” Sophia exclaimed. Grasping Emily’s shoulders, she turned her around so they were facing one another. “You are about to be married to a man who adores you, who will worship the ground you tread upon all your days. He will make you happy, Em. Just wait and see.”

  “But Father and Mother are both so terribly unhappy with my choice.”

  “Bah.” Sophia swatted the air. “Who cares what they think. We are grown women now and must make our own decisions.”

  It was a terribly forward way of thinking, but then Sophia had always been terribly forward. Emily admired that about her, wished for at least some of that bravery herself. Perhaps she had found the one shred she possessed, that night in the stables when she had declared she would wed Mr. Linfield.

  “Do you love Lord Rowley, then, and does he love you?” Emily asked. Though she’d not voiced her concerns, she was fearful for Sophia. The earl had not procured the license as promised. Yesterday, the day they were to wed, had come and gone, with no sign of him.

  “I don’t know that love is the way of things between us as yet, but I’ve no doubt it will come.” Sophia did not sound concerned in the least. “We have a jolly good time together. He makes me laugh, and I amuse him, and that is far more than I had with my first husband.”

  “Do you think—will he return with your license today, or will banns be posted?”

  “I received word late last night that he was home.” Sophia’s dreamy sigh turned to one of resignation. “He will have the license now. I had to give him the money for it. Alas, he is somewhat cleaned out at present.” She smiled suddenly. “But not for long. My inheritance was generous, and I am happy to share it with him.”

  “It will be more than sharing, if you wed,” Emily said soberly. “It will be his.”

  Sophia shrugged, then smiled coyly—a gesture Emily knew all too well.

  “What are you up to, sister?”

  “Up to?” Sophia’s brows rose as if surprised, while her wide eyes and parted lips portrayed a near-convincing look of innocence.

  Emily wondered how long it would be before the earl could decipher such looks. “Well?”

  “I am up to nothing,” Sophia insisted. “My fortune, however, has recently been up and away, disbursed in various locations, so that the earl’s acquisitions upon our marriage are not the entirety of my monies. I am well aware of his gambling habits, and until I’ve cured him of them—have provided other amusements to occupy his time and attention and am assured they will continue to do so—he shall have no idea of the true wealth he has married into.”

  Emily frowned. “That sounds a dangerous game. Men are so particular about money.”

  “Most men, you mean.” Sophia turned away with a swish of skirts. “Your Mr. Linfield does not seem to value it overmuch. I thought I should die of laughter at Mother’s look of horror when we saw him hold your bare hand and wrap that bit of string around your finger.”

  “How else was he to measure for a ring?” Emily asked, indignant on Eli’s behalf. She had found it a sweet gesture. “That he thought of a ring at all, after the money he had to spend for the license...” Her voice trailed off as the secret worry she’d harbored the past week returned. In spite of Eli’s promise that he could provide for her, she felt misgivings, knowing nothing of where or how they would live.

  “Do not be surprised or dismayed if the one he gives you today is little better than the string—pinchbeck at best.” Sophia paused in front of the dressing table to check her reflection. “He does love you, Em. I can see it in his eyes. But all love comes at a cost. Yours is giving up this.” She swept her hand across the room, indicating the grandeur they had grown up in.

  “You might have thought of that before your dalliance.” Emily twisted her hands in agitation.

  “Don’t muss your gown.” Sophia pulled Emily’s hands away from the layers of satin stitching. “You do realize I did not intend to involve you in my affairs that night—other than to free you from a betrothal you didn’t want in the first place?” Sophia held up a hand when Emily would have spoken. “When I passed by your door earlier that night I heard you, crying your heart out. And don’t tell me it was with concern for your horse. You were weeping with dread over your impending marriage to the earl. I set out to free us both from situations we did not wish. That you happened to be at the stable was your own doing.”

  “You meant to be found out,” Emily said, only now realizing the depth of her sister’s deception and planning.

  “I did.” Sophia raised her chin, showing absolutely no regret. “I told my maid when to check the stable and when to fetch Father, so he would discover us. Only he discovered more than I had bargained for.”

  It was Emily’s turn to sigh. Because of that night she was about to pledge herself to a man for the rest of her life. She would be leaving everything and everyone she knew. Except Eli. That thought was both terrifying and hopeful.

  Sophia grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “It is time, sister. Do not make your bridegroom wait.”

  Emily allowed herself to be pulled from the room. The time for regrets or second guessing was over.

  Chapter Ten

  The groom would not look at her. Emily walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, conscious of the stares from those few persons seated in the pews on either side, but even more conscious of the fact that her intended stood stiffly at the front of the chapel—facing away from her.

  She’d attended enough weddings in the past to recognize that this was not a good sign. At her friends’ weddings, the bridegrooms had always stood facing the back of the church, or at least sideways, where they might turn their heads to see the bride approaching.

  Perhaps Mr. Linfield has never attended a wedding. Perhaps he does not realize...

  If so, this would be only the first of many social faux pas he was likely to commit. Her mother had feared it would be so and had tried time and again to dissuade Emily from her decision. But Emily would not budge. Her reputation in tatters, she must do what she could to salvage it. She didn’t care how many mistakes Mr. Linfield made or if he embarrassed them all. He was kind and would be true to her, and at this point that was all she might hope for from marriage.

  As they reached the front of the church and Mr. Linfield’s side, Emily slid her hand from her father’s arm. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and glimpsed the sorrow in his eyes. He had not wanted her to marry this man, under these—or any other—circumstances. But he had not forced her to wed the earl, and for that she felt grateful.

  With a pang of regret that she had disappointed her father again and that this could not be a happier day for him, Emily took her place beside Mr. Linfield. A hush fell over the already near-silent gathering.

  “Dearly beloved—”

  Mr. Linfield’s arm brushed against hers. A second later his hand followed, moving around a bit until his pinky finger laced with hers. Emily’s heart pounded, and she felt her face heat. Such intimacy! And in front of her mother. Emily didn’t need to be told this was scandalous. But she found comfort and courage from his touch, convinced now that he had not been unwilling to look at her, simply that he had not known to do so. Just as he did not realize it was not proper to be touching during the ceremony for all to see.

  “We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.”

  Her mother sniffled loudly, making it difficult for Emily to concentrate on the words being spoken. Or perhaps it was the sensations going from her finger to her hand, up her arm, to her pounding heart. Save for a few dances during her coming-out season and at last month’s ball, and those occasions she had been helped in and out of a carriage or upon a horse, no man had ever touched her. She’d never stood so close to one, either, with her arm brushing against Mr. Linfield’s as it was.

  “The
union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy—”

  Joy—or a chance at something like it. That was why she was doing this. Over the years she and Mr. Linfield had become friends. They’d never had opportunity to develop that friendship, but Emily believed they could. Far more than the earl and I ever could have. It was not a romantic notion so much as a practical one. If nothing else, she knew that their mutual love of horses afforded them some commonality.

  “—for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity.”

  Her mother’s sniffles grew louder, and Emily felt a pinch of unease. It does not matter if we are prosperous or not. It does not matter...

  At the priest’s cue, she turned to face Mr. Linfield. Her eyes traveled from the shoulder

  of his crisp, new tailcoat to his pale, beardless face—a face she had not seen without hair for many, many years, not since they were scarcely older than children.

  Eli? Her lips parted, but no words came. A sort of strangled cry sounded from the pews behind them, but Emily had no concern for whomever might be upset. She felt overcome herself, staring up at the stranger before her, a handsome man with a strong jaw and a dimple on one side when he smiled.

  Emily’s gaze left his upturned mouth as she sought his eyes. Relief flooded her as she recognized the familiar, warm brown tones. Eli’s smile had reached them as well.

  The priest finished speaking, his voice rising in question. Emily had no idea what he’d just said but, when he looked at her, remembered enough to answer, “I will.”

  He turned promptly and began speaking to Eli. “Eli Alexander Linfield Ro—”

  An outright cry came from the congregation, and Emily took her eyes off Eli long enough to shoot her mother a dark look. But it wasn’t her mother who appeared to be protesting, but her father, who had risen from his seat, face purple, eyes popping, mouth open as if he was about to interrupt.