“Oh, my.” All the starch drained out of Abby. “We are not nearly ready.”
“You’ve a couple of hours to find a pretty gown,” Atherton said gallantly. “A lady as lovely as you needs no more than that. Why don’t Blake and I round up a few of those thieving servants and see if we can whip them into a frenzy as well as you do?”
“It would be a pleasure,” Montague agreed, narrowing his dark eyes.
Flustered, unaccustomed to gallantry from anyone but Fitz, but fearing his pride would be hurt if she allowed in an entire parade of guests before the house was even close to being ready, Abby dithered uncertainly.
“I do believe we’ve struck her speechless, Montague. Let us make good our threats before she takes that broom to our worthless hides.” Atherton removed his shoulder from the wall and seemed prepared to head for the door.
“No! Wait. . . .” Abby hastily untied her apron and brushed a cobweb on her cheek, seeking words that didn’t come to her easily when she was flustered. “Bibley has been robbing Peter to pay Paul for so long that he no longer knows what honesty is. Don’t go threatening anyone until we have the truth of it, please.”
The handsome gentlemen were looking at her with such interest that she forgot her embarrassment. “We will need some boys to help in the stables,” she continued. “Talk to Mr. Applebee for me, will you? I’ll tell Bibley that we have guests, and Mrs. Worth can bring some maids with her when she arrives.”
Even Montague managed a grin at her curt orders. “Aye, aye, Captain. Anything else?”
“Food. We need food.” Sighing, she rushed past them into the hall, wadding her apron into a ball. “Cook has kept up the kitchen garden, and we have hens, but we will need beef. Stop at the butcher, please. Invite him to the wedding, if you must.”
“Pity it’s not hunting season,” she heard Atherton drawl as they sauntered toward the front door while she hurried toward the kitchen. “A good venison steak with a strong pepper seasoning would set me right about now.”
“If we stay in the lady’s good graces, maybe she will allow us to come back in the fall,” Montague concluded as they departed on their errands.
She supposed she shouldn’t be ordering aristocrats about, but she didn’t have time to consider niceties. If tomorrow was to be her wedding day, she would have rhubarb tarts prepared for her new husband. The kitchen garden had a lovely neglected clump of rhubarb.
A childish war whoop rang out from the direction of the balcony over the portico. Remembering what she’d last seen the children doing, Abby threw up her hands, turned around, and raced back toward the front door. “Mr. Atherton, Mr. Montague, wait!”
Too late, she winced as a fall of dirty water sprayed from above onto the front steps that Fitz’s friends were just crossing.
“They’re helping the maids scrub the floors,” she murmured apologetically as they shook dirty water from their hats and glared at the sound of small voices crying, “Oops, sorry!” from above.
At least the bulk of the water had drenched only the stairs, which sorely needed cleaning anyway.
“Now I remember why we would not suit, Miss Merriweather,” Mr. Atherton said mournfully. “Fitz seems to have an affinity for small creatures, and I do not.”
She bit back a laugh. That they were not angry proved Fitz’s good judgment in choosing his friends. “But you are still welcome as guests whenever you wish to come this way,” she assured them. “I hope we will have a governess in place by then.”
“I know a general I could recommend,” Montague said, keeping a wary eye above. “I’ll send a few spare soldiers as well.”
“We will return shortly, Miss Merriweather.” Tipping his hat, Atherton took the stairs two at a time.
Oh dear, half London would be here shortly. How long would they need to be housed? Would it be possible to marry quickly?
Holding her blushing cheeks, Abby raced back inside to warn Cook that hungry hordes would be upon them shortly.
32
He should have given Abby more warning, Fitz knew. He had already ascertained that she didn’t like surprises. She liked to mull things over before she made decisions. And he’d pushed her. He knew he’d pushed her. And now he was springing a dozen guests on her.
He feared he would find her with bags packed, waiting on the doorstep, when he rode up.
Even he suffered some trepidation at hosting a wedding party on such short notice. He’d hared off to London like his usual footloose self without verifying all the guest chambers still had beds. And the village inn was very small.
“My sisters like Miss Merriweather, and they just want to help, Fitz,” Quent assured him, riding beside him as the carriages rolled slowly up the hill. “And maybe they’re a little curious about how an earl lives, but they won’t gossip.”
Remembering the long line of debt collectors and the mouse-eaten upholstery, Fitz shook his head. “They will be much disappointed.”
“They’re young and bored. Nothing disappoints them except their suitors. We grew up poor and know how to fend for ourselves. Set them to cleaning, and they will be quite entertained. It’s Lady Belden you should worry about. She is glaring daggers at us. I don’t think she intends to surrender without a fight.”
Lady Belden had brought her solicitor, not a good sign. Greyson, the children’s executor, had brought his partner, Sir Hunter, a barrister—an even worse sign. When they were combined with his own men—there were as many lawyers as guests.
Still, Fitz grinned. “Lady Bell isn’t a problem. I’ll tell the children she’s their new grandmother and will set them on her as soon as she walks through the door.”
Quent barked with laughter, startling all in the parade into staring. He was still chortling when they turned their mounts up the drive to the house.
To Fitz’s utter and absolute amazement, a row of orderly staff garbed in stiff black and white awaited him on the steps. At the top of the stairs, the children were clothed in . . . he narrowed his eyes and tried to figure out what they could possibly be wearing, since he’d not yet succeeded in retrieving their belongings from their irate guardians. Whatever they wore, they were neat as pins, and the nanny stood behind them, assuring that they stayed so, even though they bounced with excitement. He thought the nanny held Penelope back by the bow on her dress.
He was feeling more chipper by the minute. He scanned the small assemblage for his Abby.
And couldn’t find her.
She couldn’t have gone far, but irrational panic filled his chest. What if she’s changed her mind?
Abby paced the bedchamber Fitz had shown to her four mornings ago, the one meant for his countess that she’d slept in since his departure. He’d had her wardrobe sent down, so she had lots of lovely gowns from which to choose. She was wearing a pale green frock she didn’t think he’d seen yet. The crisp silk rustled around her feet as she paced.
She wasn’t his countess. She couldn’t go down and pretend to welcome a wedding party as if she were the hostess here. Neither could she go down and stand in line as if she were a housekeeper or a servant.
She was a guest. She’d sent the children down because they wouldn’t have stayed upstairs, but she simply could not go. It wasn’t right. She didn’t know if it would ever be right. She had no notion how to go on.
She opened the bedchamber door and tried to force her feet to march down the hall. She wanted to greet Fitz. She didn’t want to greet his guests. She’d rather hide in a wardrobe.
Heavy boots pounded up the stairs.
Was he angry? She wasn’t used to men being angry with her. She wasn’t used to men paying a whit of attention to her.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked as terrified as she felt. She’d never seen her dashing Fitz look so rattled. He was usually cheerful and smiling, even when he was preparing to beat someone to a pulp. She held her hand to the base of her throat and stared at him.
He didn’t pause. He raced down the hallway,
grabbed her by the waist, and swept her into her chamber, slamming the door behind him.
“Don’t change your mind now, Abby,” he said urgently. “Please don’t say you’ve changed your mind now. I know I’ve pushed you. I’ve been a despicable scoundrel. But I know this is best.”
She couldn’t reply for the kisses he was pelting across her face, leaving her as breathless as his words. She couldn’t think when he pressed her like this. Her mouth eagerly sought his, and everything she had ever thought she knew flew right out of her head.
She threw her hands around his neck, and he eagerly sought her mouth, and she remembered very distinctly why she had agreed to this insane marriage that would never ever work. It evidently had nothing to do with good sense and everything to do with lust and friendship and her utter adoration of this man who had come to her rescue. And a modicum of convenience.
“We have guests,” he finally gasped, coming up for air a few minutes later. “I’m crushing your gown. I’m sorry. Why weren’t you downstairs?”
He didn’t release her but let her feet touch the ground again. Abby leaned her head against his shoulder and listened to his heart beat as loudly as hers.
“Because I can’t do this. I don’t know how to be a countess,” she pleaded, hating herself even as she said it, but the words came straight from her heart. She had to make him fully understand how unsuitable marriage to her would be, before his reckless impulses drove him to something he might regret later. “Lady Anne or Lady Mary would shower you in riches, pave your way through the Lords, and their families will be more useful than my horde of hellions. I should never, ever have allowed you to take this step.”
He grasped her upper arms so tightly she feared he would leave bruises. His narrow-eyed glare was almost frightening, except that she knew it came from his own fear.
“For once in my life, I would like to have what I want. I don’t want Lady Mary or Anne. I don’t want their damned families. I don’t even want the Lords. I want you. I want Penny to have you. I want this house to have you. I want your common sense. And I want this.” He kissed her again.
How could she argue with a declaration like that? Her knees were already weak from the fierceness of his kiss. She couldn’t have said no even had she wanted. And she was too mindless to want anything except Fitz and his wild proclamations of desire.
The sound of voices carried up the stairs. The carriages were unloading.
He set her back half an inch but didn’t release his grip. “Marry me, Abby. I have the license and the vicar and I’ve even brought guests for our wedding dinner.”
“Wedding dinner?” she said faintly, overwhelmed now that the moment had arrived.
“A special license dispenses with the need to wait until morning for the service,” he said with a touch of wariness. “We can wait, if you wish, but I thought you might prefer that our guests take their leave as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, yes, of course. And they will wish to leave quickly,” she said with a little more certainty now that she faced practical matters and could think about breathing again. “Only a few rooms have been aired, there are mice in the walls, and although we’ve done the best we could, the larder is not stocked well enough for more than a meal or two.”
Fitz hugged her. “Does this mean you will marry me tonight?”
As if she could answer otherwise while he held her like this. Folding her fingers into his coat, Abby nodded. “I am terrified,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he murmured into her hair. “I fear I will be a terrible husband and an even worse earl. But if I have you by my side, I know I’ll be doing the best I can. Will you come downstairs now and pretend this is your pretty house and that we entertain only the village?”
She gulped and nodded. “Is Lady Belden very angry?”
“She would gladly lop off my head, but only because she is concerned about you. You must assure her that you have exactly what you want.” He tilted her head up so he could study her carefully. “Marrying me is what you want, isn’t it?”
She nodded and even managed a smile. “Yes, please.”
“Then you will explain to me how you found Mrs. Worth and all the maids and made them look as if they actually belong here,” he demanded, taking her hand and placing it on his arm to lead her downstairs to their guests.
“That’s a long story. I will explain later, although you will see once you have time to study the household ledgers.” Talking about things she understood and could control, Abby happily followed Fitz to the guests filling the rotunda below.
“I should spend a few days with my accounts instead of riding back to London, should I?” he asked with a suspicious eagerness.
She cast him a narrowed glance, but he was smiling seductively, and her insides quivered. He was actually thinking of beds, not accounts. And now she would not be able to stop thinking of beds either.
“Yes, perhaps you might,” she said faintly, before the children came galloping up the stairs to grab their hands and tug them down to see all the lovely gifts their guests had brought.
Abby blushed mightily as they descended the stairs and every head turned to stare, but Fitz gripped her hand so warmly that she could scarcely think of anything else. And the children were so happy that she let the moment carry her forward.
Tonight, she would be a married woman.
A countess. She tried not to faint at the thought.
33
Bless his bride’s defiant heart, Fitz thought. Instead of a formal salon, Abby had chosen the garden terrace off the glass-walled gallery for their nuptials. Flowers had apparently been dug up from all around town to adorn pots on the low stone walls outside. A few rusting lawn benches had been scrubbed and provided with cushions for the ladies in the audience. The men could pace and smoke and lean against the walls and murmur among themselves if they chose.
And the children could run rampant through the newly threshed weed field, darting in and out among the evening shadows of the hedges as they chased one another about.
Even the few straggling creditors determined to catch Fitz at home had a place to lurk near the distant corner of his office. And his servants lingered inside the gallery, hovering over the banquet table while remaining part of the audience.
Fitz had a hard time grasping that he actually had servants, much less a threshed field and a table with food on it. Abby had created miracles in his absence. He was eager to hear her version of how this had all come about, but he was more eager to see her walk through the French doors and into his arms.
He should have warned her that all was not well with the children’s executor. And that Lady Bell was having second thoughts about handing over the inheritance. And that Montague had not found the stone-throwing scoundrel at Tattersall’s. They were building a future on quicksand.
After all they’d done, he could see no other choice but to go forward with the wedding and gamble on his abilities to tilt the odds in their favor. He didn’t wish to ruin Abby’s pleasure in this moment with worries. She was frightened enough as it was.
Waiting for his bride, Fitz nervously smoothed his neckcloth, then forced his idle hands behind his back while his once numb heart raced in anticipation. This would work. It had to. He was gambling his life on it.
Lady Belden and Quent’s youngest sisters had arranged a gown for Abby, Fitz knew. He’d even gone into personal debt to have one of his old coats refurbished for the event. He’d chosen a black frock coat to match his pantaloons, à la the Beau’s recommendation, but his waistcoat was silver, with pearl buttons he hoped Abby would unfasten shortly.
He hoped she would appreciate the meager wedding gift he’d left in the chamber they would share in a few hours. He’d not had a lot of time to learn his bride’s preferences, and he didn’t have a great deal of money for jewelry, so he’d done what he could to please her. He wanted his beautiful Abby happy on their wedding night.
He had only to think of the night ahead for his
unruly cock to grow thick and press against the tight placket of his pantaloons. His guests might as well not exist. A blithe June breeze ruffled the ladies’ hats and scarves, and the men were jostling one another and joking, but his shoulders tight with tension, Fitz couldn’t drag his gaze from the doors.
Even the children grew quiet when Quent escorted Abby onto the terrace. The skirt of her gown was a lovely sky blue silk to match her eyes. She wore matching ribbons instead of a cap to set off her sunset hair. A narrow azure bodice concealed the pearly flesh of her bosom. Fitz had to clench his molars to keep his tongue from hanging out at the voluptuous vision drifting across the terrace, her worried gaze fixed only on him. She was his now¸ and he almost popped his buttons in pride.
Abby drew closer, and all sensible thought departed his head. He could see straight through the translucent material barely concealing the upper curve of her breasts. Lady Belden was probably laughing up her sleeve as she watched him slaver lasciviously over his own damned bride.
The gown had almost no sleeves, and Abby wore only short gloves, leaving her firm, rounded arms and much of her shoulders bare. She might as well be wearing her shift. He wasn’t going to survive through dinner without making an embarrassment of himself.
She hesitated, and Fitz banished his unruly parts to hell while he bent over her hand and planted a reassuring kiss on her fingers, dissolving her uncertainty. Curling his gloved palm proudly around hers, and holding tight, he drew her forward to face the waiting vicar.
She gripped his hand as the vicar began the ceremony. She had every right to be terrified. She was giving up everything for him. That she trusted a scoundrel like him humbled him to his very toes. He meant to take very, very good care of her.
That’s what he promised to himself as he repeated the vows that would bind them as a couple into eternity.
In a daze, Abby watched Fitz unfasten the buttons of her glove so he could peel it off to place his ring on her finger. His head bent close, and his broad hand held hers gently. His caress and his proximity reminded her of the night to come . . . tingling all her nerves.
The Wicked Wyckerly Page 27