“William,” Joanna cut in. “Apologize to your brother immediately.”
Preston smiled at his sister-in-law. His appreciation of her character grew with every interaction. William was a lucky bloke to have found her. Cornelia Hardcastle was another such feisty lady. He began to think he wouldn’t mind having her for a wife. If he wanted a real wife, that is. Or, if she wanted a real husband. But she didn’t. And he didn’t. They were in perfect accord.
“Sorry, man,” William said. “It’s just that…you were so opposed to marriage. I have never known you to change your mind so quickly.”
Preston shrugged. “This matchmaker must have uncanny intuition. We knew that first night in Vauxhall that we were made for each other. We made the social rounds for a few weeks to confirm it.”
Walker, the butler, entered, a tray with three full champagne glasses in hand. Joanna took a glass, then William, then Preston.
Preston faced the couple. “We make an attractive couple, dance divinely together, and find ballrooms exceedingly tedious. Will you not make a toast to our future felicity?”
William shrugged, but lifted his glass and said, “Best wishes.”
When they’d drunk, then set their glasses down, William crossed his arms and studied Preston’s face. “What about the banns?”
Preston leaned back in his chair. “Special license. The admiral knows the bishop, and the Hardcastles are to sail in barely a month, so…”
“And the vicar? Have you spoken with him yet?”
Preston waved a hand. “Done.”
“Where will you live after the wedding? Surely Cornelia will need time to redecorate,” Joanna said, beginning to show signs of what Preston called “bridal mania.” Every lady of his acquaintance suffered from it at one time or another. Except for Cornelia. She had been nothing but calm and collected since the first night at Vauxhall. Well, theirs wasn’t to be a real marriage. Perhaps that explained her composure.
“We’ll honeymoon in Brighton”—where he hoped to gain Prinny’s support for his upcoming East Indies business scheme—”and set up housekeeping in the Hardcastles’ townhouse, once they’ve gone. They are expected to remain in Canada for at least two years, perhaps longer.”
“Hmm.” William tilted his head to the side as he considered Preston’s responses. “I suppose Lord Liverpool was happy to hear of your upcoming nuptials. Has he offered you a position in the Home Office yet?”
Preston shifted uneasily. He wasn’t ready to admit that he had no intention of taking a position with the Home Office, that he planned to set sail for India within a month of the Hardcastles’ departure. If William found out—and told the Hardcastles—his perfect arrangement with Cornelia would be in the suds.
“Er, not yet.” He straightened his spine and gave his best imitation of an eager bridegroom. “I thought it best to wait until after the honeymoon. You understand, surely.”
William glanced at his wife, who flushed charmingly. “I do.”
He rose and clapped Preston’s shoulder. “I don’t know how you managed it, Brother, but you seem to have found the perfect wife. My congratulations.”
Preston beamed. He had, hadn’t he? Cornelia was just the sort of wife he could tolerate. Perhaps there was something in this matchmaker business after all.
* * *
Warrington, Cheshire
St. Andrew’s Church
Two days later
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”
As the vicar read the marriage service, Cornelia clutched her small bouquet of easter daisies, cream roses, and pink dianthus, wishing desperately for the service to end. Guilt had built during the week-long flurry of modiste appointments, obligatory social calls, and packing for her honeymoon. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to feel so remorseful about lying to her friends and family about her marriage to Preston.
Feigning excitement and flushing when teased about her whirlwind romance had grown tedious, especially when her mother and sister had presented her with a peach-colored silk nightgown that revealed more of her body than it concealed. Even worse, she had come to the realization that the lies would have to continue…forever. If her family ever discovered the truth—well, she wouldn’t be able to bear their disappointment. Then there was her sin of omission to Preston.
The instant she’d entered the church and glimpsed the figure of Christ on the cross, she’d become horribly aware that today she would be lying to God, as well to the vicar and the family members in the pews.
“I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it.”
That did it. She would go straight to hell for her lies and deceptions, but it was too late to retreat. Her whole purpose in concocting the scheme was to give her loved ones what they wanted, after all. It just so happened that their arrangement would make Preston’s family happy, as well. Surely, their heavenly Father would take that into consideration at the dreadful day of judgment.
She stole a glance at Preston, standing beside her, tall and handsome in his finely-cut black jacket and fashionable top hat. As if sensing her movement, he turned his head slightly and winked at her. Cornelia flushed, but took a deep breath and returned her attention to the vicar. If Preston could go through with the marriage, so could she, although she suspected he’d had far more experience deceiving people. In a real marriage, that could be a problem, but since the two of them were to live apart, it didn’t seem important.
As the service neared the end, the sniffle of her mother’s joyful tears gave her a sense of peace and calm. All that remained was a wedding breakfast at Warrington Hall, then she and Preston—her husband—would leave for Brighton, where they would honeymoon until it was time to accompany her parents to their ship in Portsmouth. She would return to London and her life would continue as usual, albeit as Mrs. Warrington, and Preston would depart for India, as planned. A perfect solution, really. She could do this.
* * *
Preston stood still as a stone as the vicar said, “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will,” Preston lied. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He would care for her. Would he forsake all others for her? Would she?
He hadn’t expected to feel a twinge of conscience for his deception. After all, his work in espionage had involved one deception after another, and some of them had led to dire consequences for the people he’d deceived. But that had been in a time of war, and those people had plotted against his country. He’d managed to keep himself emotionally aloof.
But those people hadn’t been his own family. Or honorable men who had served Britain faithfully and well for many decades. Eventually, they would know his marriage to be a sham, and they would be hurt and disappointed. He wouldn’t be there to witness it, of course, as he planned to be thousands of miles away, doing what he was born to do.
But Cornelia would.
Preston broke from his thoughts and realized the vicar had gone quiet. What happened? Then he realized he was expected to repeat the vows, and said, “I, Preston Alexander Warrington, take thee, Cornelia Elizabeth Hardcastle, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
The vicar cited the vows Cornelia was to repeat, then waited. Cornelia repeated her vows in a strong and confident voice, and Preston wondered once more why such a lo
vely, intelligent woman would have such an aversion to marriage that she would wish to entangle herself in such a pretense.
Then he glimpsed the tear sliding down her cheek. Good God, the last thing he expected from her was tears. She’d been so calm, so dispassionate and resilient throughout their brief courtship. She hadn’t shown a chink in her armor until now. He was reminded that this was a real woman he was vowing to care for till the end of his days, not simply a fake wife to be used and tossed away.
Her fingers trembled when he took the ring offered by the vicar and placed it on her left hand. Do not fear, my dear, he promised with his eyes. I will honor and protect you as a true husband should.
In a clear voice, he repeated his vows. “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Chapter Six
The George Inn
Stretton, Cheshire
That evening
The sun had long set by the time they arrived at the inn where they’d planned to spend the first night of their honeymoon. Cornelia had fallen into a deep slumber within a quarter hour of their departure, and Preston almost wished he had accepted William’s offer to spend their wedding night at the Hall. But neither he nor Cornelia had wanted to face their loved ones after a wedding-night-that-wasn’t, especially not having to deal with the unpleasantness of the state of the bed sheets and the gossipy nature of servants. But it had been a very long day, not to mention an emotionally draining one, and he didn’t like to see her so worn down. She had borne the strain with the fortitude of a saint, but even Cornelia had her limits, and she deserved a good night’s rest on the first night of their journey to Brighton.
“Wake up, Cornelia.” He gently shook her shoulder. “We have arrived.”
“Why are you waking me?” she responded sleepily. Then she opened her eyes and blinked rapidly until recognition lit her gaze. “Oh.” She sat up and peered past him at the dimly lit inn yard.
“We’ll need a good night’s sleep if we mean to make an early start tomorrow.” He hopped down from the carriage and offered his hand to his new wife.
Wife! It hardly seemed possible, but he now bore responsibility for a wife. The very idea of being accountable for the happiness of another human being was foreign to him.
She placed her hand in his and he steadied her as she descended the coach. They entered the inn arm-in-arm, and a rotund innkeeper looked up from a ledger he was studying at the counter.
Preston brought Cornelia to a halt at the counter. “Preston Warrington,” he introduced himself, “and this is my wife. We bespoke a suite of rooms for the evening.”
The innkeeper grinned. “Ah, the honeymoon couple. We’ve been expecting ye, Mr. and Mrs. Warrington. My felicitations on yer recent nuptials. My name’s Polk.”
Cornelia’s hand clamped onto Preston’s arm with a death grip. No doubt she was anxious about the wedding night, even though it wasn’t to be a wedding night, at all.
“Er, thank you,” he said. “My wife is quite fatigued. How soon might we take possession of our rooms?”
The innkeeper winked. “That eager, are ye?” He closed the ledger and pushed the register toward Preston. “Would ye like a meal sent up? Me wife makes a beef stew fit for a king…or a bridegroom, as the case may be.”
Cornelia coughed and turned beet-red.
Preston pursed his lips. “Cold meat and cheese will do. And some bread and wine. But hurry, man. Mrs. Warrington is dead on her feet.”
Mr. Polk instantly became business-like, calling a maid to show them to their rooms and tossing out instructions to his wife in the kitchen.
* * *
“I’m not really hungry,” Cornelia whispered to her husband as they ascended the stairs to their rooms.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You ate like a bird at the wedding breakfast, and you will need your strength for the night ahead.”She gasped, and he slapped his hand against his forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t mean— You needn’t fear—” He glanced at the maid, who hurried down the hallway a good ten feet ahead of them, then leaned close to Cornelia and whispered, “Surely you do not think I would violate our agreement. Damn the bloody innkeeper’s implications.”
She laughed. “A cheeky bloke, for certain. Although not more so than your brother. Or even my mother and sister,” she added, envisioning the peach silk nightgown.
He shook his head. “I suppose it is something we must become accustomed to. Many of the people we meet will know we are newlyweds.”
They reached their room and the she flopped into a chair once the maid left. “It’s all so exhausting.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I never thought it would be so difficult.”
He removed his hat and sat down in the chair opposite her. “Nor I,” he said with a deep sigh.
A knock on the door caused her to snap her eyes open. She straightened from the chair back.
“No need to worry, Cornelia,” Preston soothed.
She sat rigid as he opened the door. The coachman and a groom entered bearing their trunks, one of which was deposited in the adjoining room.
Preston closed the doors as the men left and faced her. “You know, Cornelia, when we are alone, we need not be on our guard against one another. Let us simply enjoy each other’s company on the journey ahead. I have always been fond of long journeys—there are always new things to see and do, you know—and new experiences are ever so much more amusing in the company of a lovely lady.”
Cornelia let out a huge breath. The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. “It’s a bargain.” She rose and approached him with her hand held out. “Shall we shake hands on it, Mr. Warrington?”
“By all means, Mrs. Warrington.”
Their gloved hands touched and Cornelia’s pulse raced.
Mischief lit his eyes. “Will you need help removing your clothes?”
She swatted his arm. “Did you not just promise to behave yourself, Mr. Warrington?”
He pulled away from her, feigning a look of horror. “I had nothing more in mind than offering to bespeak a maid for you, Mrs. Warrington. You have married an honorable man, you see. A bargain is a bargain, and I can be counted upon to uphold my end.”
Warmth spread through her body at the thought of him upholding his end as her true husband, but she managed a level voice and said, “My apologies, Mr. Warrington. I shall not underestimate you again.”
He bowed and turned toward the adjoining room.
“Oh, Mr. Warrington?”
“Yes, Wife?”
“I could use the assistance of a maid, if you please, Husband.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
He left the room. Cornelia waited as his footsteps receded down the hall, then she smiled. Perhaps this honeymoon would not be so disagreeable after all—so long as she didn’t wonder what it would be like if Preston were her real husband, soon to return to make her his real wife.
* * *
Preston watched Cornelia gaze at the rolling, sheep-speckled hills in the distance. They sat on a blanket in a meadow of flowers, having finished a picnic lunch of ham, cheese, strawberries, and wine.
“It is so beautiful here,” she mused. “The air is so fresh and clean and the grass softer than any silk.”
Preston took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The usual odors associated with horses and smoke were delightfully absent. He could not remember the last time he’d felt so at peace with the world. Perhaps it was as far back as his childhood at Warrington Hall, where he and William had climbed trees and fished and played games with the tenant farmer’s children.
Since the moment he’d gone off to school, his life had been an endless search for excitement and adventure, the more risk involved, the better. The thought of settling down in one place filled him with repugnance. Since spying for the Home Office was no longer possible, he’d pursue other options. Such as seeking his fortune in
India.
But he had to admit that he was finding his ‘honeymoon’ exceedingly pleasant. Following their ‘wedding night,’ Cornelia had taken on a happy, carefree mood that made their journey an adventure in itself. Having agreed to avoid mention of their honeymoon status to anyone they met during the remainder of their trip, they felt free to enjoy each other’s company.
She surprised him with her knowledge of politics, and charmed him with her understanding of literature. She read to him from Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, which invariably ended with the two of them laughing uncontrollably. To his surprise, she seemed genuinely interested in his travels on the Continent. He was careful to omit the more risqué parts—as well as his duties as a spy.
“Rest assured I shall coax those stories out of you before the journey’s end,” she said with a laugh.
He couldn’t help but laugh with her.
She gave him an odd look and his body tightened. What was she thinking?
“I have a confession to make,” she said.
“Confession?”
Her eyes twinkled. “My father told me about your service to the Crown. He heard it from Sir Stirling.”
Preston checked his surprised. “Ah yes. Sir Stirling James, the Marquess of Roxburgh.”
She nodded. “The matchmaker himself. No need for you to worry. I won’t tell anyone.” She leaned toward him. “I promise.”
He gave her a serious look. “I expect you to keep that promise, Cornelia. There are those who would—” He broke off at the widening of her eyes.
“Those who would harm you?” she asked.
And you, he thought, but said, “Yes.”
Her expression turned serious. “You have my word. Only…”
He waited.
“I beg you, please share at least one of your adventures.”
He started to deny the request, but her earnest expression stopped him. He smiled gently. “There was this one time a Frenchwoman attacked me with an umbrella for looking too long at her daughter.”
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 51