The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  “Good God, Dulcie, what is there to lose?”

  “What would I lose?” she whispered fiercely, opening her eyes to reality. “Your respect. My respect for myself. My future too. If we can end this, someday I will marry.”

  “And so?” he asked impatiently. “Your husband will know you were married once before, won’t he? Whether he does or not, it makes no difference. I won’t do anything to let him know it if you don’t want me to. Please let me hold you, let me show you,” he said with tenderness and desire, his voice low and urgent. “I can touch you to delight, and let your touch help me to find mine. Hands, lips, oh, so many ways. You’re a virgin now, and you’ll still be a virgin for him then, but we can share great pleasure anyway, you’ll see.”

  It was everything she wanted, and nothing she wanted. She trembled with confusion. She wanted his approval, his touch, and his kisses, but she was greedy; she wanted more, too. She’d never known the pleasure he promised, and she didn’t doubt he could give it to her. But she realized he would give her nothing more.

  She liked him better than any man she’d ever known except her father, and she certainly trusted Crispin more. She admired him, and desired him as she’d desired no other man she’d ever met or seen. But he offered her only pleasure, though he had to know how much more she needed. The hurt of that cleansed her of all desire, leaving her empty and cold.

  “I see,” she said, nodding. “A knowing virgin. Is that what you’d make me? Because I sold my name in marriage once, you think I’ll sell anything?”

  “Dulcie, Dulcie,” he said, releasing her hand so he could cup her cheek and tilt her head up. “I’m only asking you to take comfort from me. It’s a simple, delightful thing. Kisses, caresses, touching, stroking—it’s lovely. Your body next to mine all through a long and lonely night. We’ll play, and nothing more. I’ll take nothing from you, and only bring you pleasure. What is wrong with that?”

  It sounded so simple, so exciting and pleasurable, so companionable, that she almost succumbed—until she remembered the name that had riveted his attention and struck her to the heart tonight.

  “Tell me,” she said in a firm voice. “If your lady, the beautiful and clever Lady Charlotte…” He stiffened at that name, and she went on quickly, before she could be hurt more deeply by the way he reacted. “If Wrede or some other man came to her and said, ‘Crispin is married now, so would you dally with me until he’s free? All we’ll do is share great pleasure, and he’ll never know, I promise.’ Tell me: would you mind if she agreed, as you are asking me to do?”

  She saw the truth in his eyes and in the way he remained still.

  “Yes,” she said, even as he did.

  Their words hung in the silence of the hall. Her hurt was so enormous that she didn’t know whether to run from him and his house or run into his arms so she could pretend it wasn’t true. She swayed where she stood.

  “But it’s different. Charlotte already knows me,” he said a little desperately. “You have no one else…” He stopped as he heard what he’d said, and winced.

  “That’s so,” she said slowly, realizing she had no one but him in her mind now, and perhaps forever. “But I have me,” she said, struggling to hold back tears. “I’m not a prig or a saint, and I won’t pretend to be. But I won’t make love with you, though you leave me a virgin seven times over. Maybe it’s because I want you to think I’m as good as your lady. And maybe,” she said, raising her chin, “it’s because I am.”

  Or maybe, she thought, it’s because I’m afraid I won’t care what you think, once I’m lost in your arms.

  “Good night,” she said, and managed to get into her room before she began crying.

  He stood there for a long moment before he went to his own room. He was tense and edgy as he readied himself for his lonely bed. He’d forgotten all caution, but he wasn’t so much alarmed as furious with himself. He should have been grateful for his narrow escape, but he wasn’t. She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her; there was no disguising that. Her body had grown as hot as her mouth. She’d kissed him with abandon and clung to him between kisses, her breath sawing as unevenly as his. They ignited each other; she’d never denied that. And yet she’d said no.

  He looked at his bed and thought of all the nights he’d passed awake there since he’d met her. Then he paced the night away, thinking and remembering, and realizing that he needed and wanted her more than he had ever needed anyone or anything.

  *

  Dulcie missed her father very much that night. She tried not to think of him, because it hurt so much. She knew he’d left London for her sake, but it seemed to her that the people she loved were always leaving her. Two people had done that: her mother and her father. And fortunately she knew how to deal with being alone. She’d had practice sleeping in strange places and being afraid of the morning to come. So she crept into bed and burrowed into her pillow and told herself a wonderful familiar story she’d made up, about another time and place, where good girls got the happiness they deserved. Then she lost herself in sleep. She had no trouble doing that because she’d had experience with loneliness and desire, and wanting things she knew she could never have.

  Wrede went to sleep early and effortlessly, and he slept dreamlessly. His mind was made up; he knew exactly what he had to do. He needed to rest so he could ride like a fury back to London at first light and set his plan in motion before time ran out. His friend was in danger and didn’t know it. And only Wrede could save him.

  CHAPTER 13

  The man appeared in the doorway and stood gaping at her. Dulcie was startled but not frightened. It would be hard to be afraid of such a young, innocent-looking man, especially with dozens of servants standing nearby. He had a tanned, round, blunt-featured face and was only a little taller than she, and stocky. His clothes marked him as a country gentleman. His long coat and breeches were dun brown and rumpled, his linen dusty, and his sturdy boots covered with mud. He wore nothing but his own sandy hair beneath his hat. That—and a fascinated stare.

  “Andrew,” Crispin said, as he came into the hall. “Good morning to you. Oh, I see you’ve met my wife.”

  “Agh,” the man said, whipping off his hat, turning it in his hands, and blushing beneath his tan.

  “We haven’t met,” Dulcie said, glad of that, if only because it gave her a chance to speak to Crispin. They hadn’t spoken since the night before. They’d been neatly avoiding each other all morning since the earl had left.

  Andrew said something else that was strangled by his collar or by the acute embarrassment he seemed to be experiencing. Dulcie hoped he wasn’t flustered because he’d been told something terrible about her. After last night she was prepared for anything.

  “Dulcie my dear,” Crispin said with no hint of irony, “may I present our near neighbor and my good friend, Andrew Moffit? He’s Squire Moffit’s son, a bruising rider and a fine judge of cattle. Andrew, my wife, Dulcie, the Viscountess West.”

  Dulcinea, Dulcie thought sadly. Now, that would have been a proper name to go with “Viscountess West.” Or Demeter, or something else long and full of syllables would have been much more fitting than plain Dulcie. But plain Dulcie was who she was and if the red-faced man presently trying to choke out something coherent didn’t like it, he could not like it, she concluded realistically, as she dipped a little curtsy.

  Crispin came to her side and put one arm around her waist. She worried whether she’d blundered—if she wasn’t supposed to give a man of lesser rank a curtsy. When Crispin spoke, she was so relieved that she leaned into him instead of holding herself up haughtily, as she’d planned to do when she saw him again.

  “She has lovely teeth, true, but she doesn’t bite,” Crispin said, his lips quirking. “Truly, Drew, she’s probably as afraid of you as you are of her. She’s from London and probably never met a country gentleman before.”

  “She’s beautiful!” Andrew blurted, then looked confused, as though someone else had said
that. He pounded the side of his head in vexation. “Never meant to say that. Meant it, but know it’s not the thing to say. Ecod! I’m turned about. First I hear you’ve wed, come straight to offer felicitations and an invitation; the parents are mad to see her. But then I see her and lose my wits! She’s beautiful, Crispin. Just beautiful.”

  “She also speaks,” Crispin said, “Or does she, I wonder?” he asked more seriously, looking down at her.

  His eyes were light blue, as clear as sparkling water in the morning light, but she could see traces of a sleepless night in the faint shadows beneath them. She could also see regret there, and a tenuous smile, offered to her like an apology.

  “Sometimes she speaks,” she said, looking up at him, “when there’s someone to listen.”

  He nodded. “If someone says he will, in future, will you believe him, I wonder?”

  “If he means it,” she said, lost in his warm gaze.

  “He does,” Crispin said, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to it. “So he vows.”

  “Ah…huh!” Andrew said, or coughed, growing red again at the look on the faces of the two people before him, who seemed to have completely forgotten him. “Came at the wrong time. Rushed my fences. Ought to have given you more time alone. Mother said so, and I, like a fool, didn’t listen.”

  Crispin laughed and turned to him, but didn’t release Dulcie’s hand. “I don’t want to say your mother was wrong, but she wasn’t right. You’re welcome here, Drew, anytime.”

  “Well, then, truth is I also came to give you back your horses, Crispin. I never felt right about buying them in the first place.”

  “Oh. You think I cheated you?” Crispin asked.

  “No, no,” Andrew said, horrified, “the opposite, I assure you. The plain fact is that those nags are too good for me. I coveted them and felt like the cock of the walk when I got them. But it’s no good wanting something that doesn’t suit you. Fine London goods is what those horses are. When I take them to town or market, it’s like casting pearls before swine. Oh, the men all gather ’round the team, and they touch them, feel them, sound them, and nod their heads, but they don’t know the quality of what they’re seeing. They’re as wasted on me as”—his eyes slewed to Dulcie, and he colored again—“as any other beautiful thing I see and want, and know is not meant for such as I.”

  Dulcie turned pink with pleasure when she realized what he meant. Imagine him thinking her such a fine lady that she’d be wasted on him! It wasn’t true, and not fair to him, but she was glad he’d said it. It was the loveliest compliment she could imagine, and she needed it badly this morning.

  “No man deserves loveliness,” Crispin said quietly. “It’s a thing he must earn. And you, Drew,” he went on in a lighter tone, “definitely deserve such horses. If you insist, I’ll buy them back. But I’ve already replaced them. I think you should keep them if you appreciate them. The point of quality is that it gives pleasure wherever it is. It’s not important what others think. It’s what you want and love that matters.” And as if those words had made him think again, he stopped talking to Drew and looked down at Dulcie, gazing deep into her eyes.

  “Right. Well. Aha! Then,” Drew said in a welter of words as he backed toward the door. “I’ll just be off, then. Thank you kindly for the advice, Crispin. Delightful meeting you, lady, and we’ll meet again. Good-bye,” he said, clapped on his hat, and escaped out the front door.

  Crispin and Dulcie didn’t notice.

  They went out and strolled in the gardens together, without speaking or, when they spoke, without paying mind to what they said. A sudden shower chased them indoors, but they hadn’t noticed the rain for so long that they were both sopping wet when they got back to the house. After they changed their clothes, they met by accident in the hall outside their rooms and smiling with pleasure at their chance meeting, went down to the salon together.

  Dulcie was afraid to believe in their harmony. It was wondrous, but not tranquil. She only had to meet his eyes and see the look in them and all her serenity was gone. It was a delicious sort of nervousness she felt; however, he actually seemed to like her now. He treated her like a friend, not just a potential lover. She refused to ruin the moment by worrying about what might happen, for joy wasn’t such a common thing for her that she could jeopardize it by studying it too closely.

  He was as bemused as she was. It wasn’t Andrew’s outright adoration that had made him see how rare she was—that was only confirmation. It was the way she’d borne up under what must have been unbearable tension. It was the way she effaced herself, yet never lost her pride. It was the way she appreciated his humor, enjoyed the same things he did, and made him feel, for the first time he could remember, that someone shared his least emotion with him.

  They were looking at a book together in his study when they got word of another visitor.

  “He’s here!” Willie panted in excitement, as he clambered in a tall window. He’d been running, a look of wild elation made his blue eyes sparkle.

  “My father?” Dulcie cried, and stood up, hands clasped together. She was both happy and terrified, for now she would have to do the right thing and give Crispin up, and she felt that it might kill her to do that.

  “Him? Nah,” Willie said, as he bent double, catching his breath.

  “You have a fear of doors?” Crispin asked curiously.

  “Waste of time,” Willie said, “what with footmen and butlers and all asking questions till you’re dizzy and not letting you go a step till they got permission. Why wait when there’s windows everywhere? Anyway, guess what?”

  “Oh, wonderful—games. Just when things were getting boring,” Crispin said, sounding so much like his friend the earl that Dulcie giggled. She was sorry the news wasn’t about her father, and yet enormously relieved, too. Now it would just be news—interesting, but not likely to shatter her life. Or more truthfully, she thought, suddenly sobering, not likely to shatter her dream.

  Crispin saw her smile falter, and took her dismay for fear. He spoke quickly, “Who is it, Willie? We haven’t time for games.”

  “I’ll say,” Willie said. “It’s Snode!”

  For a moment neither Crispin nor Dulcie, preoccupied with their own fears, could remember who or what “Itsnode” was.

  “He’s here. In town. Or what passes for town around here,” Willie said. “Jerome Snode himself. Nosing about out in the open, giving his right name and all, bold as you please. Talking to everyone in the tavern, and half of them he meets in the street. ‘And how is the new viscountess? Does she seem happy? Is the viscount happy with her?’ he asks. Going ‘um-hmm’ and ‘aha,’ like he has a right to know. Pure brass,” he said with a certain admiration.

  “Why, I wonder?” Crispin mused.

  “Trying to see if he can drive in a wedge,” Willie said knowingly.

  When they both stared at him, he said, “He’s wishful of knowing how you two are doing. Harry sent him—had to have. See,” he said with impatience when they both continued to look at him, uncomprehending, “if he can’t get his hands on the lady, or her da, he’s wondering how to make some kind of money out of it, anyway. So he’s asking how the newlyweds is doing, ’cause he’s wanting to know how anxious the viscount is to be rid of you, lady. That’s ’cause he does disposal work, too, you know.”

  It took a moment for Dulcie to understand what Willie meant, and then she went pale.

  Crispin’s jaw clenched hard, and he swore beneath his breath. “Well, if that’s it,” he said, his anger held deep and hard, “we’ll just give Snode something to see, won’t we? If the only way he can gain anything from us now is to sense an opening for mischief, let’s close that opening. There’s no money to be made from a loving couple, is there?

  “Dulcie,” he said, turning his back on Willie and speaking in a voice for her ears only as he took her hand, “can you pretend to love me, just for a little while? Can you come to the village with me now and play the doting bride? Can you pr
etend to be absolutely besotted with me? I’m not asking you to fall all over me; people wouldn’t expect that. But can you gaze at me lovingly, treat me to little whispers, knowing glances, tolerate my advances—a hand held here, a small caress there? Can you do it, for Jerome Snode’s sake, if not for mine?”

  But that was exactly what they’d been doing until Willie came in, she thought. She ducked her head to hide the confusion she felt. “Yes, of course I can,” she said. And then she raised her head and grinned. “For Jerome’s sake, of course.”

  *

  It was in the vicarage garden that the viscount planted a light kiss on his lady’s blushing cheek, when she wasn’t looking and everyone else was. She gave him such a look of coy reproach that all the women sighed, and the men tried to remember when, or if, they’d ever felt that way.

  The viscountess was given a hug by her husband, along with a rose, when the pair stopped at the farrier’s cottage and she admired the climbing roses there. She tucked the bud in his buttonhole and bent her head of curls beneath his chin as she did. The way he lowered that proud head of his so that his chin grazed her shining hair, stroking it as a great sleek cat might do, was seen by everyone and sighed over for hours after.

  They had a pint of ale, and one of cider, at the tavern. When they exchanged glasses the viscount took care to place his lips where hers had been. And then the smile he gave her was so warm, the tavern wench reported later, that she was surprised the cider didn’t bubble over.

  They walked close together and spoke to each other in murmurous whispers, and their hands, everyone noted, were always clasped. When they left the village, they could be seen sitting close together in the coach. That left everyone wondering just how long it would take them to get even closer. The most popular wager was: as soon as the coach turned the corner and went out of sight.

  But when that happened, Dulcie moved away from Crispin. His breath had been soft on her cheek, his hand hard on her waist, and the combination made her yearn to burrow into his arms and find whatever else was waiting for her there. She tingled in places she hadn’t known existed, but when he tried to draw her closer, she moved as far away as she could with his arm still around her shoulders. She was self-conscious at last—too conscious of how much she had enjoyed the deception they’d staged, too fearful that he knew it. She looked down to avoid his knowing gaze.