“There’s nothing George has done that I didn’t intend him to do,” Alex said. “When I met him in Marseilles, I saw that he was a man with no head for cards—or for liquor. I took advantage of both in order to achieve my ends. It was badly done of me. I’ve come today to beg your pardon for it.”
“To beg my pardon?” The vicar blinked.
“And to forgive the debt.” Alex felt Laura squeeze his hand. No doubt she thought it was a heroic gesture. To give up ten thousand pounds—a king’s ransom.
Alex knew better.
There had never been any chance that George would actually pay the sum. Alex had only continued to play against him because he knew there was another sort of compensation to be had. A chance to meet and marry an heiress. To win for himself what Justin Thornhill had somehow managed to gain—a wife of fortune and property.
But that was all over now.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Neither of you do.”
“You’re forgiving the whole ten thousand pounds?” George’s hand gripped the mantel until his knuckles turned white. “Are you in earnest?”
“Dead earnest.”
George seemed to sag in his boots. “Good lord, but I need a drink.”
The vicar looked as relieved as his son. “Mr. Archer…I don’t know what to say.”
“You needn’t say anything,” Alex replied. “I can only hope, in time, we might put this whole unfortunate episode behind us. Not just for my sake, but for Miss Hayes’s sake, as well.”
Laura’s mouth tilted into a cautious smile. “We’d like you to marry us, sir.”
“Indeed?” The vicar settled his spectacles back on his nose. “I daresay it’s necessary. People have been talking a great deal, and none of it to the good. It’s the way of things in a small village. I’ve tried to dispel the worst of it. And I intend to go further. This Sunday, my sermon will be on the scripture from Second Kings, when Elijah put his mouth upon the mouth of a dead boy and revived him with his breath. Not all such behavior is the stuff of scandal.”
“Mr. Archer saved my life,” Laura said. “If not for him…”
Alex’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if his rescue attempts had failed. If Laura had died there on the beach at Margate. The very idea of it was too painful to contemplate.
“Quite right,” the vicar agreed. “Would that an understanding of that would be enough to quell the gossip.”
“Will marriage be enough to stop it?” Alex asked.
“I believe it will. Nevertheless…” The vicar paused, frowning. “I should hate to think that was your only motivation to wed. The bonds of matrimony are sacred. They shouldn’t be entered into lightly.”
“We aren’t entering into it lightly,” Laura said. “Marriage was in our thoughts well before the incident at Margate.”
“It’s true. We spoke of it only last Monday.” Alex’s thumb moved over the curve of Laura’s finger. “Didn’t we, Miss Hayes?”
The most delicate of blushes rose in her cheeks. “We did,” she agreed. “So you see, it’s not merely because of the scandal.”
“In that case,” the vicar said, “it would be my profound pleasure. Have you a date in mind?”
“We do. Tomorrow morning at the church.” Laura cast Alex a questioning look. “Is that all right?”
Alex gazed steadily back at her. Tomorrow she would be his. Not just for an hour, or a day, but for all time. His wife—even if he left her. “It’s perfect.”
The vicar himself conveyed the pair of them back to Bramble Cottage in his carriage. From there, Alex retrieved his horse from the stable and made ready to depart for a hotel in the village.
“While I’m there, I’ll send a wire to Weatherwax,” he said as he and Laura stood alone outside the garden gate. “I’ll tell him we expect him here without delay.”
“He’ll never come.”
“He will,” Alex assured her. He gathered up the reins and mounted his horse.
“Are you’re returning for dinner?” she asked.
He smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Laura stood at the gate as he rode away. When she returned to the house, she found the vicar seated alone in the parlor. Magpie was curled up on a sofa cushion, watching him.
“Your aunt has gone to fetch a book for me from her room. But do sit, Miss Hayes. This gives us an opportunity to talk.”
Laura had a sinking feeling that she was in for a lecture. She perched on the edge of the sofa next to Magpie.
The vicar wasted no time in getting to the point. “Your aunt tells me this is to be a marriage of convenience.”
Her spirits sank further. Why on earth had Aunt Charlotte felt the need to tell him that?
“You’ll forgive me mentioning it,” he went on. “I was under the impression that it was by way of being a love match.”
She stroked Magpie’s head. Her words, when she spoke, were far calmer than she felt. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You have no fortune, Miss Hayes. It’s common knowledge in Lower Hawley. Yet Mr. Archer—a man who is best described as a fortune hunter—has betrothed himself to you. What reason could he have other than love?”
“My reputation was at risk. After what happened at Margate—”
“A fact which would be of no concern to a fortune hunter. Certainly not a man unscrupulous enough to take advantage of a drink-addled boy like George.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but…George isn’t a boy any longer.”
The vicar waved his hand. “Oh, I know very well my son isn’t blameless in this. At the same time, I have to wonder what sort of man would be so lost to finer feeling as to exploit a weaker creature to his benefit? To lure that creature into deep play, and deeper drink, only to hold it over his head for months on end? To torment him and make his life a misery?”
Laura stared at him, stunned. He made Alex sound like a monster. A true villain, incapable of kindness or compassion. “That isn’t quite what happened. Not in the way I understand it.”
“Then I thank God you don’t know the worst of it. Nor should you, a young lady such as yourself.” His brow creased with concern. “I fear you have a tiger by the tail, my dear. Such a creature isn’t capable of being tamed.”
“I don’t wish to tame him.”
“But you think to keep him here with you after you marry? To make a house pet of him, as you have of this one?”
Laura’s hand stilled on Magpie’s back. “No, I—” She broke off. “I believe Mr. Archer can be happy here.”
“Ah well.” The vicar sighed. “Who am I, of all people, to disbelieve in miracles?”
The vicar’s words stayed with Laura long after he’d gone. She thought of them all through dinner, even as Alex bantered with Teddy, and Aunt Charlotte commented on Laura’s impending nuptials. She had to force herself to eat and drink at regular intervals, lest anyone notice.
Several times Alex caught her eye across the table. His gaze was questioning. Laura always returned it with a smile. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing to fear.
She didn’t have a tiger by the tail, nor a wolf. Alex Archer might still be a mystery—an enigmatic figure with no family, no friends, and no fixed address—but when it came down to it, he was just a man.
A man she fully intended to marry.
When she arrived at the church in the morning, she found it decorated with fresh flowers and greenery, and filled with the familiar faces of friends and acquaintances from the village.
Word traveled fast in Lower Hawley.
It was Henrietta’s doing. Not only had she sent the squire’s carriage to Bramble Cottage to collect Laura and her family for the ceremony, she’d seen to the decoration of the church, too. She sat in the front row between her father and George—the latter of whom appeared to be th
ere on sufferance. Aunt Charlotte and Teddy sat in the front, as well.
As Laura walked down the aisle in her white muslin day dress, sprigs of lavender woven through her hair, she felt a distinct pang of sadness. For the first time in a very long while, she wished that her parents were alive. Her father to walk her down the aisle, and her mother to send her off.
But such sadness didn’t last.
How could it when Alex was waiting at the front of the church, looking at her so intently? He took her hand in his as he repeated the vicar’s words in a deep, strong voice, giving every indication that he meant them.
Laura almost believed he did. And yet…
She couldn’t escape the feeling that it was all for show. The way he looked at her. The way he recited his vows. It was for the benefit of those in attendance. The friends and neighbors she’d be left with if he departed for France—or wherever it was he proposed to disappear to.
He wasn’t pledging his life to hers. He was saving her reputation. Quelling the gossip for good and all. He didn’t mean any of it.
Laura wished she could say the same.
To her the vows were a sacred contract. She knew she would honor them, that she’d remain faithful to Alex Archer for the whole of her life.
A melancholy thought.
He might leave her in three months. And then where would she be? A wife in name only. Nothing but her ring, and her wedding lines, to prove she had a husband.
The ceremony was over before she knew it. She faced the wedding guests on Alex’s arm, feeling flushed and breathless, and very married indeed.
“Mrs. Archer,” Yardley said, pumping her hand. “I wanted to be the first to say it.”
Aunt Charlotte sniffled into her handkerchief. “Oh, Laura. If only my brother were here to see you! How like Her Majesty you look when she wed our dear Prince Albert. The same white dress and flower crown. So elegant. So beautiful.”
“She looks nothing like the Queen,” Teddy said. “Except for her dress being white, and even that doesn’t bear any resemblance.”
“It’s a compliment of the first order,” Aunt Charlotte said.
“No,” Teddy replied firmly. “It isn’t.”
When they left the church, Squire Talbot’s carriage was waiting. It was draped with the same blooms and greenery as had been used to adorn the church.
“It will convey you both back to Bramble Cottage.” Henrietta embraced Laura, her voice dropping to a whisper. “By the by, I’ve torn up the note you signed. You may consider that twenty pounds my wedding gift to you.”
“Thank you, Hen.” Laura hugged her back. “And for the flowers in the church. You made everything so lovely.”
“Good luck, Laura.” Henrietta extended her hand to Alex, her manner suddenly formal. “And to you, Mr. Archer. I trust you will take care of her.”
“I intend to, Miss Talbot.”
Seconds later, Alex assisted Laura up into the carriage. He climbed in after her, taking a seat at her side. The wedding guests who had come outside to see them off gave a little cheer.
Laura waved to her aunt and brother. They would follow in the vicar’s carriage, along with Yardley, back to Bramble Cottage where Mrs. Crabtree had prepared a wedding breakfast.
“You do look beautiful,” Alex said as the horses sprang into motion. “Beautiful, and happy.” He studied her face. “Are you happy?”
She smiled. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Given the circumstances…”
“The circumstances aren’t as grim as you imagine.” Laura had been reminding herself of that fact all morning. “First you saved my life, and now you’ve saved my reputation. I have no cause to be anything but grateful to you.”
His mouth quirked. “Gratitude isn’t the precise emotion I was hoping to inspire from you on our wedding day.”
She slipped her hand into his. “It’s more than gratitude.”
He made no reply, but his fingers closed around hers with a possessive strength.
“I had a thought this morning,” she said after a long moment. “A somewhat revolutionary one.”
“Did you?”
“What if, from now on, we were honest with each other? What if there were no more half-truths? No more convenient fictions?”
“A dismal prospect.”
“Why do you say so?”
“What you’re proposing is absolute candor. Laying all of our cards on the table, so to speak. Even those cards we’ve been dealt that are…less than ideal.”
“Yes, I believe I am. Whatever brought us to this juncture, we’re husband and wife now. We should begin as we mean to go on.”
“With honesty.” He sounded skeptical.
“With honesty. Even if we eventually part forever.”
His brows lowered. “Laura…”
“You said it would be my decision. That, if I wished it, one day we would quietly go our separate ways.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Is that what you want? To return to your old life in a month or two?”
He stared down at their joined hands for a moment, an expression on his face that was difficult to read. “The truth?” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “I don’t know anymore.”
Laura absorbed his words in silence. She wasn’t surprised by them. She’d sensed his growing uncertainty when they’d walked in Talbot’s Wood yesterday. “Shall I tell you what I’d like?”
His gaze lifted back to hers.
“I’d like this to be a real marriage, not a marriage of convenience,” she said. “I’d like you to stay with me.”
“For how long?”
“The usual length of time.” She managed a faint smile. “Until death, I believe the vicar said.”
Alex didn’t smile in return. “Forever, in other words.”
“Or…for as long as you’re able.”
“With you, at Bramble Cottage. As man and wife.”
She moistened her lips. “Yes.”
“In every way.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Would that be so terrible?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No. It wouldn’t be terrible at all. Not for me. For you, on the other hand—”
“It wouldn’t be terrible for me either,” she said swiftly.
His eyes searched hers. She’d never seen him looking so serious. “And what if I leave you with child?”
Her face was positively burning now. Such things weren’t discussed. Not even by married couples. It took all of her wherewithal to hold his gaze. “Would you leave? If I fell pregnant?”
“I don’t know what I’d do, or how I’d manage to ruin things. I’m not a good man, Laura.”
“So you keep saying. But except for your nefarious arrangement with George, I’ve seen no evidence of the fact. Rather the opposite. Since the day we met, you’ve been every inch a hero.”
He gave her an odd look. “How wrong you are.”
She would have questioned him further, but there was no time. The carriage slowed as it rolled up to the gate in front of Bramble Cottage. As the horses came to a halt, they whickered. Another team of horses answered back.
Laura looked out the window. A hired carriage was parked just ahead on the road. “I wonder who that is?”
She didn’t have to wonder long.
The words had hardly left her mouth when the door of the carriage opened, and Mr. Weatherwax stepped out.
Alex hadn’t given much thought to the Hayes family’s solicitor, except insofar as the man was a nuisance—a nuisance that would likely be eliminated by Alex and Laura’s marriage. When he’d sent the wire to London yesterday, he’d expected Weatherwax to respond in some form or another. An angry letter, perhaps. Or a grudging visit on Friday. But to see the man standing in front of Bramble Cottage less than twenty-four hou
rs after being informed of his client’s intent to marry was…interesting.
Laura’s reaction, however, wasn’t quite so academic. Indeed, at the sight of Weatherwax, her entire demeanor changed. Gone was the glow in her cheeks she’d had since she’d walked down the aisle—and the even brighter glow she’d possessed while broaching the subject of consummating their marriage. She’d gone pale, and grave, her body fairly vibrating with tension as Alex assisted her down from the carriage.
“What on earth is he doing here?” she asked under her breath.
“Miss Hayes! I must speak with you immediately!” Weatherwax hurried toward them, only to stop short. His gaze flicked over Laura’s white dress and flower crown. He staggered back a step. “Dear God, ma’am. Don’t say I’m too late?”
“Too late for what, sir?” Laura asked.
“To stop this travesty. What can you have been thinking, Miss Hayes?”
“It’s Mrs. Archer now,” Alex said. “We’ve just come from the church.”
The solicitor’s face fell. “You are married, then.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted the perspiration from his brow. “This complicates matters.”
Alex felt Laura’s hand tighten on his arm. He covered it with his own. “Let’s go inside, shall we? There’s no need to discuss family business in the street.”
She nodded. “Yes. Do come in, Mr. Weatherwax. You’ll want some refreshment after your journey.”
Mrs. Crabtree met them at the door. She looked as surprised to see the solicitor as they were.
“Mr. Weatherwax has come down from London to speak with me,” Laura explained.
“But your guests,” the housekeeper protested. “I’ve a wedding breakfast to serve.”
“This won’t take long,” Laura said. “We’ll go into Papa’s bookroom. If you would be so good as to bring some tea?”
Alex hadn’t yet seen the bookroom at Bramble Cottage. Far smaller than the parlor, it was located under the stairs and looked to be the place where Laura balanced the accounts. A desk was angled in the corner, heaped with leather-bound ledgers, ink pots and quills, and a tallow candle burnt almost to its nub. An old settee and chair graced the middle of the room, the fabric upholstery on the seats worn through from years of use.
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