The Wedding

by Edith Layton

  “Oh, it is, it is,” the earl of Wrede said. “I was only making an observation. Well, then, my child, what news?”

  Willie swallowed and then cursed himself for it, because he knew the earl had noted it. An honest man speaks right up, a liar swallows first, he reminded himself savagely, and spoke up quickly. “Not much. They’re April and May, more so than ever. They’re here for the last of the season, or till London gets too hot for them. That’s all.”

  “Is it?” the earl asked languidly.

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “A little bit about their stopover in High Wycombe would not be amiss.”

  “Oh. Well,” Willie said, “he got asked to Sir Francis’s place, and he went, and came back mad as thunder. You never seen such a taking! He’s usually such a mannerly gent. He didn’t like the orgies, nor the fact that nobody had told him about them, nor that he had to wander around half the night to get back when he wanted to leave.”

  “Indeed? Ah, well. It was a small chance,” the earl murmured to himself, and then asked, “And the girl, how did she take his absence? She was told of what went on there, was she not? I do hope so, since I spent enough coin to ensure it.”

  “She was told,” Willie said gruffly.

  “And?”

  “And she cried her eyes out. He came back, and the next morning they never let go of each other’s hands until they had to eat breakfast, but they took them up again right after that. Like a pair of simpletons. Couldn’t keep their eyes or their hands off each other after that. He rode in the coach all the way back to London with her. Didn’t leave it to sit his horse once—not once,” Willie marveled.

  The earl fell still. He sat back and observed the doings of the couple at the next table for a few minutes while Willie fidgeted. Willie found he was the one to break the silence.

  “That’s all,” he said abruptly. “There’s no more to say about them. I didn’t tell Harry nothing I didn’t tell you. My word on it. But listen, my lord, I got something else to say: I can’t work for you no more.”

  “Indeed?” Wrede said with interest. “And why not? Is Harry paying you more? Or threatening you? I wouldn’t let that bother me, were I you. I have power as well as money, you know.”

  “No. I’m not working for Harry no more, neither. Thing is”—Willie took in a deep breath—”I don’t want to be a rat no more. For anybody. Thing is, the viscount treats me good, and so does she. He done me a favor once, and I reckon I ain’t been too much of a friend to him lately. See, at first I thought, What’s the harm? Then there was all that at High Wycombe. That Sir Francis and his friends are real perverted, you know. It ain’t like I never seen such stuff before. What else do poor folk got here? Gin and maybe a grab at a thrill before God or the hangman gets them. But gents that’s got all that those lords got, doing the same and worse? It’s crazy. And it ain’t nice,” he said primly.

  “It was fixed so the viscount would do what Sir Francis and his lot was doing and break her heart. Or at least go to the abbey, so she’d think he was doing it even if he wasn’t. Either way, he’d look bad. Still, it turned out good for them. But I don’t like it, I really don’t. I’m not much, but I know what I owe. You paid me, my lord, I delivered, and now I’m saying, thanks, but no more.

  “If you push me, I’ll disappear,” he warned the earl. “There’s truth. Even Harry knows that. I got a talent for making myself scarce. But I don’t like to go to ground. So I’d like to just go now and stay friends, like. Maybe you’ll need me again sometime for something else. Something I can do. I’m good. I can spy and fetch and keep my trap shut. I’m fast, I think on my feet, and I got connections. Not like yours, but at the Fleet. Sometimes that’s just as good—for some things. And I don’t hold grudges. I’ll work for you anytime. But not at this. I can’t do this no more.”

  The earl regarded Willie from his heavy-lidded eyes. His face was so white and still that Willie shifted in his seat, ready to take flight at any motion more threatening than a blink. He didn’t expect a long gusty sigh.

  “Well!” the earl said. “To think I’d finally be put in my place by a boy! So be it. Be easy, lad. I’ve no further use for you. Now that they are in London, I can see to the matter myself. Believe it or not, the viscount is a friend of mine. I mean him no harm, I promise you. What I do, I do for his sake. Yes, that’s so, and I won’t go into it now, so spare me that look of utter disbelief. But tell me, are you going to stay on in my friend Crispin’s employ and Harry’s as well? Or were you braver with me than with Harry?”

  “I didn’t need to be brave with Harry,” Willie said, amazed at the thought. “Why should I? He’s all business, so he don’t care much about the viscount now that he don’t think there’s any money to be made from him. But yeah, I’m staying on with the viscount, for now. The pay’s real good,” he said, and added with an attempt at nonchalance to cover the enormous pride in his voice, “They lets me stay in the house now, too.”

  “Ah. So. I see,” the earl said with a smile.

  “No,” Willie said abruptly, “that ain’t it. I slept in a real house before—lots of times, lots of places. Listen, my lord,” he said, jumping to his feet and drawing himself up to his not very impressive height, his thin hands holding the edge of the table hard, “a bed ain’t my price. And all the money in the world ain’t, neither. I got no price, you hear? I can’t be bought. I do what I do ’cause I want to. I ain’t got much, but I got myself. Now you could collar me—if you’re quicker than a snake, maybe—and call the watch down on me. You could have me in jail quick as a wink for anything you say I done. You could maybe even get me to swing for something you want to make up. You’re a nobleman, and I ain’t nothing at all. I know that. But I’m telling you the truth anyway, because I want you to know Willie Grab is his own man, or he’s nothing. And there it is.”

  “I see,” the earl said quietly, studying him. “Our business is done, then, but our acquaintance, I hope, is not. Listen, lad. I don’t encounter many in my usual rounds, but I do enjoy meeting men of honor. Will you stay and have a drink with me now, Willie Grab?”

  “Oh. Well. Don’t mind if I do,” Willie said graciously.

  *

  “This is nothing, of course, to the Vauxhall Gardens,” Crispin said, and when Dulcie gazed up at him with a disbelieving stare, he touched the tip of her nose with one long finger. “I had to say that,” he whispered, “just the way I’ll have to say that Vauxhall is nothing to Ranelagh Gardens when we’re there instead of here. A gentleman never admires any place where he is, as much as the place he is not. It’s just not done.”

  She giggled. She’d been laughing all day, and now, at twilight, all she could manage was a contented giggle. They’d been together all day, and because it was such a beautiful evening, he’d brought her to a pleasure garden.

  They’d come by the Thames on a barge decorated with flowers. The bargeman had bellowed bawdy songs, between riper curses at any fellow bargeman who got in his way. Crispin had made her laugh, comparing him to the gondoliers in Venice. Now they were strolling the long walks of Ranelagh Gardens, hearing music being played from out of the green and growing dusk. While all of it was wonderful, she knew none of it would be as wonderful as the night to come, for each night in their bed he showed her even more wonders. She’d never been happier; she hoped it was the same with him—and so it seemed to be.

  “Tonight is fine, but how many nights can we go to the gardens?” he mused. “Now, tomorrow night we’ve been invited to a ball. A very grand affair.”

  She grew wary because there was something in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment before. “Oh. Do you think I’m ready for a ball?” she asked, meaning she wondered if he was ready to take her.

  “Of course. You were born ready.”

  They paused. The fireworks had begun. They stood silent, arm in arm, and watched as a streaming golden star rose from the earth to shatter in the dusky sky above them.

  �
�Whose ball is it?” she asked as they began to stroll again, toward the source of the light.

  “Lady Charlotte’s,” he said.

  She was very glad that a bombshell burst just then, fracturing the growing night with red and gold. She waited until the last glowing spark had left the sky before she spoke again.

  “No,” she said. “I can’t. There are some things I can’t do yet, or maybe ever. I can’t, Crispin. Lady Charlotte was supposed to have been your wife.”

  “What better way to show that I have made my choice, that it is you I want and need, than to take you to her ball?” he asked reasonably. But he didn’t look at her, and looking up at him, she saw only the reflections of the fireworks in his eyes.

  “That’s true,” she said, “but please don’t ask this of me. How can I go, when I’m not yet sure enough myself that that’s true?”

  Now he did look at her. “How can I make you see that it is true?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said miserably.

  “Like this?” he asked, bemused, as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  When he raised his head again, both their hearts were beating hard. But she still didn’t answer, and only rested her head against his chest.

  “Not through pleasure, then?” he mused. “Nor my constant company? Nor my flattery and encouragement? Then what do you want of me, Dulcie? Tell me, and I’ll try to do it.

  “I want only you,” she said.

  “You have me.”

  Do I? she thought, and answered. “Then I need time. Only time. Please, Crispin.”

  “It will be a very grand ball,” he said hopefully.

  “Yes? Well, then, it will just have to be less grand—without me!” she said with a burst of bravado, and he laughed. Then they strolled on in silence, she grateful, and he very thoughtful.

  He didn’t mention the ball again, but she knew he was thinking of it. The next night before they dressed for dinner he specifically requested she put on her new gown.

  “The yellow? Certainly,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding him. “I love the bright color of it.”

  “No, the new rose-colored one. I’ve a special reason. Please oblige me in this, Dulcie,” he said before she could protest.

  Of course she could not refuse such a simple request, but she would not go to Lady Charlotte’s ball, she vowed as she went upstairs to her room. She would go through the mouth of hell itself for him, but not there, for if she did, she was afraid she would lose him forever.

  In all fairness, she knew she should go with him. He’d been patient with her. They’d been invited everywhere, but he hadn’t looked up any old friends, or even told Wrede he was back yet. He’d taken her out alone instead. She’d had a wonderful time, but of course she knew she must do more than be entertained by him. She would. But not at Lady Charlotte’s ball. Not for her first foray into his world.

  The lady was everything she was not. Dulcie knew she looked good now, but she could never look like Lady Charlotte Barrington. Charlotte was tiny and golden and perfect. She was also born to privilege, not just getting used to it. And Crispin had once loved her. If Dulcie went to the ball, he would see them together, and the comparison would make him regret having married her. That would be too much for her to bear.

  Sometimes she wondered if he’d been so patient with her, keeping her to himself, because of his own fears, too.

  Dulcie paced her room. The new gown was brocaded rose-colored silk, the hue deep and rich, the fabric embroidered with floral sprays. It was low in front, with a long train in the back. She had a matching fan and slippers to go with it. The high color brought her own color up, and when she had tried it on she’d thought she’d never looked so pretty in all her life. But she couldn’t go to the ball tonight even though she knew he would ask it of her and it wouldn’t be right to refuse him.

  Every instinct she possessed warned her away from Lady Charlotte’s ball. She was not a coward. In fact, what she found herself planning would take great courage. She shivered at the thought of the possible results of her impudence: she might be embarrassed, rebuffed, even laughed at. But she would dare anything if it kept her away from Charlotte Barrington tonight. She dismissed her maid and waited for Crispin.

  Evening was drawing in when he came up to the bedroom they had shared since the night they’d returned to London. He dressed in his father’s old room and kept his clothes there. But, town or country, he remained in her bed.

  “Dulcie,” he called as he entered the room, “come, let me see you. Let me see anything. The curtains were drawn, and there was only a small lamp glowing. Are you feeling all right?” he asked in sudden alarm.

  “I’m fine,” she said quietly.

  “Dulcie,” he said with heavy patience, “hiding in the dark won’t answer, you know. I’m not asking you to attend a cockfight or a bullbaiting. This ball should be sheer pleasure for you, and for me. You look so wonderful in that gown that I want to show you to the world. And I want to dance with you—we’ve never done that, you know. A minuet, a country dance—any or all will do. Where the devil are you?” he asked as he stumbled over a chair.

  “Here,” she said simply, drawing the bed curtains back.

  She’d kept a lamp burning, and so he saw her suddenly, in the rosy glow of its light. She lay back against the high pillows and smiled at him, hoping he was far enough away not to see how her lips were trembling, hoping he would see only the rosy length of silk she lay upon. That and nothing else, which was all she wore. No petticoat, no corset, no chemise. Only her own hair and a tremulous smile.

  She’d never been so bold. Always before, no matter how impassioned their lovemaking, it had been done after he’d disrobed her. She’d never come to him naked as she was now. She scarcely knew herself. But she knew what she had to do.

  He stared down at her and then came and sat gingerly on the side of the bed, next to her. He touched her hair and then her cheek. He smiled. But she saw, even in the dim light, that there was something other than tender humor there. His face was still, his eyes serious.

  “Not just because you haven’t had time to dress?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I see. Not because you have a headache? Or a pain in the stomach—is it time for that?” he asked, remembering another night.

  She grinned and shook her head in denial.

  “Ah,” he said, considering this, and her. “Then, because you do not want to go to the ball?”

  “Oh, Crispin,” she wailed. She drew her knees up and covered her face with her hands, because she knew she couldn’t cover the rest of herself fast enough. But he didn’t let her try.

  He gathered her up in his arms and laughed, rocking her as she babbled in her consternation. “I thought you might enjoy seeing me like this,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d know what I was up to. This seemed like a good idea, even though it frightened me. I thought maybe you’d laugh at me, or even be bored with me by now, but I never thought… Oh, Crispin!”

  He wasn’t listening anymore. One minute he’d been holding her and touching her, and then he abruptly let her go. And then he was struggling out of his own clothes.

  He’d never seen her so blatantly naked, and his instant arousal had shamed him when he’d thought she was ill. He’d been relieved that she was not, and then amused at her idea of seduction. He was less amused, though, when he looked at her high firm breasts and the sweet swelling curves of her, all stretched out on bold display for him. But finally, with the warm, sweet weight of her in his arms, her smooth bare body sliding against his, her arms around his neck, his arousal overwhelmed him. He let it.

  He tried to tell her not to worry, he was going to say she shouldn’t be embarrassed, but, “Dulcie, Dulcie,” was all he could whisper against her breast when he’d finally freed himself of all his clothes.

  “I thought I’d say something provocative when you saw me. I was going to ask you if you thought the silk suited me… Oh, Crispin
!” Dulcie said.

  “You suit me. Good God, Dulcie, just look how you suit me!” he groaned.

  Shedding her clothing had made her free. Now, for the first time, she told him just what she thought of his lovemaking. “Crispin,” she whispered, “how I do love it when you do that to me.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d ever said when she was in his arms. He sighed with the pleasure of it, then found more to take his breath away. Soon their lovemaking was too overwhelming for words, too intense for thought, and she was with him every moment of the way.

  When he could finally speak again, all he could do was praise her. It was a while before he could think of anything other than their lovemaking. It was a time before she could think to worry again, too. Until he spoke.

  “The silk does suit you,” he said with a smile, as he covered his hand with the silk and stroked it against her skin and wondered where the one left off and the other began. “Dulcie,” he said, rising to one elbow, looking down at her, “as much as I loved this little surprise, was it only to avoid the ball?”

  She knew just what he meant, and answered from her heart. “At first. Now I think I’ll do it every night.”

  He fell back to the pillows and laughed with her. “This sort of intimacy instead of social intimacy? It’s a fair trade. But I was going to give you pearls to wear with your new gown tonight. They’re in my pocket.” He stretched one long arm out toward the floor, but since he refused to take the other from around her, he couldn’t lean down far enough to fish up his coat from among his discarded clothes. “No matter,” he said, giving up, “there will be another time—but only if you’ll come to a ball with me. Lovely pearls, they are, really. Don’t you want to see them? How about now? It’s early yet,” he teased. “Want to get dressed now? We still have time to go to the ball.”

  “No more time for loving?” she pouted, linking her arms around his neck and pressing against him, greatly brave, entirely brazen now, secure in her achievement.