The Earl's Secret Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  “It isn’t all that late yet.” She straightened her shoulders, her eyes widening. “Oh, except you said you slept very little last night. If you’re tired, then please don’t allow me to hold you back from resting. I won’t mind in the least.”

  “I am tired, but I’m also too enthused to sleep right now.”

  “So am I.” She glanced toward the window, where Peterson had pulled the burgundy curtains shut in order to keep the warmth in and to provide them with privacy. She stared at the folds of swaying velvet before slowly returning her gaze to his, the twinkle in her eyes even more prominent as she smiled. “Richard, you are watching me rather intently.”

  “My apologies if I am.” He wouldn’t be able to watch her at all once he’d ridden for London in the morning, which caused his gut to tighten with immense frustration. “I’m already missing you, that’s all.”

  “I’m right here with you.”

  “I’m projecting forward to tomorrow.”

  “Well, we must live in the moment, not in the future when we’ll be parted.” Daintily she crossed her slippered feet at her ankles, her red shoes matching her gown.

  “That all sounds reasonable, except I’m suffering from the most uncomfortable feelings right now, of needing to keep you close since I won’t be able to soon.”

  “That is a good need to have with your future wife.”

  “You don’t mind that the vows we’ll speak this night must be kept in secret?”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Her eyebrows pinched together, a frown marring her forehead. “What if you and Avery can’t secure the funds?”

  “We will.” He rose and sat beside her, took her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. “I can be rather determined when my mind is set.”

  “Avery is much the same.”

  “Yes, and between him and I, we’ll ensure your father’s debt to Roth is repaid.” It was from sheer willpower alone that he withheld from lifting her from the squabs and settling her in his lap. His need to comfort her was an overwhelming emotion that tore at him deep inside.

  With a soft sigh, she wriggled about to face him, her hands slipping free of his as she cupped his cheeks. Gently she smoothed along the skin underneath his eyes. “There are still dark circles here. Are you certain you don’t wish to have a nap?”

  “How about we compromise?”

  “On napping?”

  “Yes, let’s lie down and if we fall asleep, then we fall asleep.”

  “All right.” She nodded her agreement.

  He turned the lamp inside the coach down, leaving it burning low before he returned to her and laid down on the bench. As she snuggled in front of him, he wrapped one arm around her waist, tucked his knees in behind her knees and released a long and contented sigh which fluttered her hair across her cheek. Naught had ever felt so wonderful, to have her ensconced so safely in his arms, her back to his chest and their bodies touching from their heads to their toes. His heart picked up in speed and thumped erratically fast. “Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m delightfully warm, thank you.” She wriggled around until she faced him and with a stunning, heart-melting smile, lifted her luscious lips. “Are you warm enough?”

  “I am getting hotter by the second.”

  “We are well-suited, aren’t we?”

  “In every sense of the word.” He trailed one hand up and down her arm, kissed the tip of her nose and drew her even closer. “Rosamonde,” he whispered as he kissed her neck, so much need vibrating in his voice. “Within the course of a few days, you have turned my life upside down.”

  “You’ve done the same with me, but in the most wondrous way.” She tucked her cheek against his chest. “It is lovely to cuddle like this, as if we truly are already husband and wife.”

  “It certainly is.” He continued to hold her, until she succumbed to the blissful moment, her breathing slowly evening out. He relaxed fully too, the gentle rocking of the carriage and the warmth of the brazier so comforting, holding her in his arms even more so. He closed his eyes and slipped away into the restful dark.

  Chapter 9

  Their coach bumped over a hole in the road and Rosamonde knocked her head against Winterly’s chin. She stretched on the coach’s padded bench, absurdly happy as Winterly opened his eyes with a grunt. As he rubbed his eyes, she couldn’t help but smile and kiss his chin where she’d bumped it. “Richard, this night, thus far, has been a divine adventure.”

  “It would be more divine if I were lying beside you in my bed, both of us as naked as the day we were born.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed his pocket watch. In the dim light of the lamp, he stared at the piece then repocketed it. “It’s been three hours, so we can’t be far from our destination. I’ll take a look out the window. Up you get, my love.”

  She wrestled into a seated position, which allowed him room to sit as well.

  Once he’d adjusted his tailed jacket, he swept the window curtain aside and peered out. A trace of moonlight flickered over the rippling waters of the River Esk which bordered the village of Gretna Green. She had traveled this road often over the years and knew it well. In the distance, lights shone from the stone cottages within the village, like a beacon of welcoming light guiding them through the dark of the night.

  “We’ve made good time,” he murmured.

  “Yes, we certainly have.”

  “There’s the blacksmith’s shop.” He motioned to the fork in the road where smoke curled into the air from the chimney and candles burned in the front latticed windows either side of the door, the shop surrounded by trees. “Except there is another coach outside the front door and a driver atop it. We’ll need to wait our turn, but at least that means we won’t have to awaken one of the anvil priests.”

  “Who does that coach belong to?” They pulled up alongside it in the wide circular driveway, the carriage holding beautiful scrollwork on each side but other than that no insignia graced the fine lines of the carriage.

  “They seem to desire anonymity as we do.” Winterly tapped the roof and called out, “Peterson, we’ll wait until all is clear.”

  “Yes, my lord.” An answer in the affirmative resounded from his valet.

  “We’ll ready ourselves though.” In his tailed black jacket and fine black breeches, his white cravat knotted at his neck, he donned his cloak and eased the hood over his head.

  She tidied her hair, slotted her bonnet in place and tied a bow underneath her chin with the silk ribbons. Gloves and cloak donned, her hood in place, she waited as Winterly kept an eye on what happened out the window. A cloaked couple emerged from the front door and hurried down the steps. After they alighted into their carriage, Winterly allowed the curtain to sway back over the windowpane.

  The clatter of wheels reverberated then tapered away.

  Winterly opened the door and stepped down. He reached back, his gaze locked on hers as he extended his hand. She accepted his offer and he tightened his fingers around hers before drawing her down beside him and pressing a fleeting kiss across the top of her hooded head.

  Sending a quick prayer skyward that all would go well, her vows with Winterly now mere minutes away from being spoken, she straightened her red woolen skirts underneath her cloak. She’d chosen this gown for a reason, not only for its warmth, but for the sweet memories attached to it. She touched the remnant stain of the wine drops she’d spilt on it a couple of years ago, which had never quite washed out.

  “I remember,” he whispered as he leaned into her ear. “I still have the handkerchief I loaned you to dab the wine drops away with. You look beautiful, and that small stain is the perfect accessory to your gown.”

  “Are we doing the right thing? If you wish to change your mind—”

  “I’ll never change my mind.” He motioned to his men to await them both on the front step of the shop, then once they were completely alone, he cleared his throat, his expression turning rather serious. “What is your favorite color?”

&n
bsp; “Oh goodness.” She clasped a hand to her mouth. “Blue, the same color as your eyes.”

  “I know you adore apple pie, but what’s your favorite food?”

  “It’s actually raspberry tarts. What’s your favorite color and food?” There were a hundred little important details she wished to know about him, which obviously he did too with her.

  “It’s now red, the same as your gown, and I enjoy anything savory or sweet. Apple pie is a particular favorite.” He tucked her hand through his bent arm and guided her toward the shop, the light of the lamp near the door casting a soft, golden-yellow glow over the steps. “We will learn everything else there is to learn about each other in the weeks and months ahead.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  Winterly knocked on the door and it swung open.

  A Scotsman dressed in tan buckskin breeches and a dark tunic, a dusty leather apron tied around his waist, filled the doorway. He took one look at their cloaked forms and beamed a toothy grin. “Welcome to ye. Ye two be the second couple who’ve arrived since nightfall. Come inside.”

  They followed the anvil priest into his workshop, the warmth from the fire burning from the hearth sweeping over her. Winterly halted before the blacksmith’s anvil, which sat atop a central wide workbench. Various tools hung on the walls and hooks all around them.

  She faced Winterly, with barely an inch between them, her slippered toes touching his booted feet as she looked into his beautiful eyes, which now shimmered with brilliant shades of pale blue and dark blue.

  He cupped one of her cheeks before turning to the Scotsman who would soon marry them. “I’m Richard John Trentbury, the Earl of Winterly, and I wish to marry Lady Rosamonde Raven.”

  “Verra good, and what are the names of yer two witnesses, my lord?” The blacksmith placed a bible beside his anvil and metal hammer, set a piece of parchment next to it and wrote their names upon it. That document would be kept by Winterly should he ever need proof that their marriage had taken place on this day, at this time, and in this place.

  “Mr. Henry Peterson and Mr. Horace Hocks, my valet and coachman, respectively.”

  “I’ll record their names as well.” The Scotsman dipped his quill into the ink bottle and scribbled their names down. Done, he lifted his bible and with it opened across his palms, eyed them both. “Do ye two come here of yer own free will?”

  “I do.” Winterly’s answer came swift and firm.

  “And ye, my lady?” the Scotsman asked her with one raised brow.

  “I do.” The man she was about to marry had saved her life six years ago and he was saving it again this night. Her hands shook, her heartbeat pounding. “I would never marry any other.”

  “I’ll take that as your acceptance then.” A beaming smile from the anvil priest as he clapped Winterly on the shoulder. “My lord, do ye take this fine young lass to be yer lawfully wedded wife?”

  “Yes, I will.” Winterly squeezed her hand encouragingly.

  “Do ye,” the blacksmith asked her, “take this man to be yer lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I will.”

  “Aye, a fine marriage ye two will make. I’m certain of it.” The blacksmith picked up his hammer and with a hearty voice, declared, “I hereby announce that Lady Rosamonde Raven and Richard John Trentbury, the Earl of Winterly, are hereby man and wife. In the name o’ the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, it shall be. I wish ye both a wonderful life together.” He thumped his hammer down on the anvil, his tool of trade, the loud clanging of metal on metal ringing sharply about the room.

  “We’re married?” she asked the Scotsman to be absolutely sure.

  “Aye, ye are.” He chuckled as he laid his bible back down. “We Scotsmen dinnae believe in blathering on and on, although our women do have a penchant for doin’ so, not that ye heard me say so.” He wandered to his workbench and scooped a whisky bottle from the bench. Slugging a mouthful down, he gestured with one hand in a rolling motion to Winterly. “Ye may kiss yer bride, my lord.”

  “No.” She stepped back from Winterly, her cheeks heating rapidly. She couldn’t kiss him in front of all these men, not their first kiss as a married couple. Turning on her heel, she wished only to make her escape now that she’d spoken her vows and the deed was done.

  Happiness should be the only emotion flaring through her in this moment, for she truly had wed her hero, but instead guilt had somehow weaved its way into her heart. She’d wed a man without her family present, for a very good reason of course, but still, she’d now spoken vows without them here to witness such a wondrous, life-changing moment, one in which they should all be celebrating together.

  Instead, theirs would be a secret marriage, one she could never speak of to another.

  Her guilt grew into a mountain of guilt as she hurried out the door. She swept down the steps and alighted into the coach with Peterson’s aid. Inside, she trembled from head to toe as she sat, then she waited for several long minutes until Winterly finally joined her with the parchment declaring them a married couple in his hand.

  He removed his cloak, tucked the parchment roll safely away under his seat before tapping the roof and calling to his driver to make the return journey to Hillhurst Hall. Seated across from her, he crossed his arms as they bumped along the road. “Are you angry at me?”

  “No. I’m angry at myself.” She pushed her hood back, untied her bonnet and set it aside.

  “Could you be more precise with your answer?”

  She took several deep, calming breaths in an effort to maintain her emotions at a steady level. “I’ve acted rashly tonight, yet I’m glad I did. I’m also upset at this moment because I’ve denied my family the chance to wish me merry on my marriage, a marriage I can’t even tell them about.”

  “You have always thought of your family first, and yourself second. It simply goes against your better judgement to do something that they might disagree with, although your father has already agreed we can marry.”

  “Yes, but with the proviso that the funds be found to repay Roth first.”

  “I’ll find them.”

  “How exactly?” She swept across to him, lowered to her knees at his feet and grasped his hands. “Please, tell me. I will fret otherwise.”

  “There are a few options. I’ve invested heavily in several marine trade ventures which have been rather profitable. I can pull some of those investment funds out, and what I’m short of, I’ll ask a few of my friends to loan me. Does that help ease your mind a little?”

  “Yes, although there is one other issue.” Lowering her gaze, she bit on her lower lip, not sure how he would take her next words.

  “Speak your mind, Rosamonde.” He slid a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze back to his.

  “Richard, I understand you don’t wish to consummate our wedding vows, but I believe we should. Consummating them will ensure this marriage is as real as it could possibly be.” She removed her gloves, plucking one gloved finger loose at a time, then she set her gloves aside and worked the top button of her woolen gown free.

  “What are you doing?” He stiffened, his shoulders going rigidly tight.

  “I’m feeling rather hot all of a sudden.” She loosened the second and third button.

  “You are not permitted to undress before me.”

  “I don’t believe I asked your permission.” She couldn’t keep the teasing tone from her words.

  “I am your husband and you must obey my orders.”

  “Which reminds me, aren’t there certain duties that you, as my husband, must now honor? Particularly in regard to your performance of course.” She kept going, working another button loose, then another until she reached her waist. She rose to her feet and shimmied her skirts down over her hips until they fell in a red pool at her feet. With her chemise still covering her adequately, she arched a brow. “Do you find me desirable?”

  “That is a trick question. Of course I find you desirable, but there is a reason I don’t wish to consu
mmate our vows. It could be months until we actually wed. What if I got you with child?”

  “Sometimes a married lady’s first child comes early, but her second child is always on time. Have you heard that saying?” She settled herself on the squabs beside him, her knees touching his legs as she faced him, her hands clasped over his crossed arms.

  “No.”

  “That saying was within a book I read recently to my mother, words which drew forth a giggle from her, although with no explanation for why. I pondered what those words might mean for two days before the truth behind them finally came to me. Avery arrived happy and healthy, seven months after my parents had wed—a first child coming early. The rest of us arrived on time.”

  “You wish to take that risk, of getting with child?” He uncrossed his arms then re-crossed them, his gaze dipping to the low neckline of her undergarment where the pretty trim of white lace sat flush against the upper swells of her breasts. Jerking his gaze back up, he muttered, “I, ah, you deserve to have a Season and I would be a lout if I didn’t allow it. I want to court you properly, to visit the playhouses, to take rides in the park, walks along the Serpentine.”

  “I’m not asking you to take away such delightful options, of allowing me to enjoy a Season, but I have attended various events here and there in the country, gatherings and country balls, soirees and dinner parties. I’m not one to engage in flirtation with gentlemen, nor do I understand the true art of seduction, but here I am, alone with you in your carriage, newly married but still untouched, dressed only in my chemise and…” She sighed as she played with the silk ribbons crisscrossing the front of her chemise, her movement attracting his narrowed gaze and a gulp which had his throat working. “Well, I feel as if there must be a way for you to ensure the chance I have of conceiving a child becomes limited. That would allow us to consummate our marriage and for any chance of falling pregnant to be lessened.”