The Legendary Lord

by Valerie Bowman

  “Don’t I dare what?” Lucy asked, her voice all innocence this time.

  “Don’t you dare pity me,” Christian ground out.

  “I can’t help it if I think this wedding is wrong and you need to stop it,” was Lucy’s reply.

  Christian glanced around to make certain her outlandish words hadn’t been heard by any of the nearby guests. A few older people gave them condemning glares for their whispering.

  “Lower your voice,” he exhorted her.

  “You are making the biggest mistake of your life,” Lucy hissed under her breath.

  Christian opened his mouth to reply, but the music began to play from the organ in the balcony in the back of the church and the entire congregation stood. First, the Marquess of Branford and the Prince Regent himself came out to stand at the altar. Then Sarah’s mother and Hart and an elderly lady whom Christian presumed to be Branford’s mother, the soon-to-be dowager marchioness, came down the aisle and were seated. He noted Meg Timmons seated near the front of the church, her blond curls laced with daisies and a resigned look on her face. Then the music rose to a crescendo, and moments later, Sarah herself came walking slowly down the aisle on her father’s arm.

  Christian swallowed. She looked so beautiful. Beautiful and perfect. Her hair was gleaming, her gown breathtaking. She was lovelier than he’d ever seen her. But her face was pale and drawn, her cheeks without a hint of pink. Her father, however, had a huge smile on his face. They proceeded down the aisle together for what felt like an eternity to Christian. Sarah kept her eyes trained straight ahead. If she saw him, she did not indicate it in any way. When she passed their pew, Lucy elbowed Christian in the side and he elbowed her back. The duchess uttered an “Oomph” and fell lightly against her husband, who righted her and gave her a warning glance.

  Sarah’s father escorted her up to the altar, where she took her place next to Branford. The marquess also looked quite pleased with himself. A smug smile hovered over his face. Christian squeezed his fists against the back of the pew in front of him. His grip was so hard, the knuckles on his uninjured hand turned white while a spot of blood bloomed across the bandage wrapped around the other hand.

  The bishop began the ceremony, and Christian watched Sarah’s ramrod-straight back as the words rang throughout the church. The memory of how she’d attempted to brandish the broadsword at him in Scotland flashed through his mind.

  “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.”

  How she’d deftly made biscuits and played with a servant’s dog.

  “Which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the tome of man’s innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his church.”

  How she’d soundly beaten him at chess and helpfully carved out a spot in the snow for Fergus II to go outside.

  “And therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained.”

  How she’d been so worried for poor Mrs. Goatsocks despite her own troubles, and how she’d thoroughly charmed Mrs. Hamilton.

  “First, it was ordained for the procreation of children.”

  The rest of the bishop’s words blurred for Christian. They were just a mass of nonsensical sounds that blended together in his mind. Children. Children. Sarah would be having children. Branford’s children.

  The words that Monroe had said to Christian yesterday slashed through his mind. And he realized, he finally realized. Monroe had been right. If Christian had ever really loved one of the other women, he would have fought for her. He would have imagined one of them being the mother of his future children, as he was imagining Sarah right now. He would have fought for true love.

  Because, by God, true love was worth fighting for.

  The bishop turned toward the congregation. “If any man can show any just cause why these two may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Lucy’s elbow headed toward him. “No need,” he whispered, leaning down to her ear.

  Then he stood up and in a voice that was full of confidence and loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, he declared, “I can!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  A collective gasp sounded through the church. The bishop’s mouth fell open. Lord Branford’s face was quickly turning purple. Hart seemed to be trying to squelch a smile. Meg didn’t even attempt to squelch hers. Sarah’s father swung around, looking as if he wanted to punch first and ask questions later.

  But Christian was looking only at Sarah. She turned slowly, no doubt recognizing his voice, and when she saw him standing there, she closed her eyes. But not before he saw pain in them. Pain and … regret?

  “What is your reason, sir?” the bishop asked, clearing his throat.

  Christian stepped out of the pew into the aisle. “I have something to say that may greatly affect the continuation of this wedding.”

  Sarah opened her eyes again. Yes. There they were. Pain and regret. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop.

  But he couldn’t stop. Even though he knew in that moment that she might never forgive him, he couldn’t stop.

  “Out with it, then,” the bishop said.

  Sarah’s father stepped out of the first pew, where he’d been sitting. He turned to the side so that he was halfway facing the bishop and halfway facing Christian. “This is preposterous,” the earl said in a booming, angry voice. “This man must leave the church immediately. I don’t think—”

  “I want to hear what he has to say.” Branford stepped forward, his face turning more purple by the moment.

  “As do I,” the Prince Regent agreed, pulling his embroidered morning coat over his wide belly.

  Sarah’s father clearly couldn’t argue with the two most esteemed gentlemen in the church. The earl stepped back, but his eyes burned like hot coals into Christian’s shirtfront.

  “The truth is,” Christian intoned, “you all may have heard some rumors several months ago. Rumors about Lady Sarah running away.”

  Sarah mouthed the word No.

  His gaze fell from hers. Instead, he turned his attention to Lord Branford. For Branford was the one who would have every right to call him out after he finished listening to what Christian was about to say.

  “The rumors are true,” Christian continued in a voice loud enough for those in the farthest pew to hear. “Lady Sarah did, in fact, run away. She came to Scotland, where I live part of the winter, and she and I were alone together for several days in my hunting lodge there.”

  An even louder collective gasp reverberated throughout the church. Before Christian had a chance to take a breath and say another word, Sarah ran. She raised her delicate white skirts and flew down the steps from the altar, past her father, past Christian, down the aisle, and out the back doors of the church. Meg Timmons and Hart quickly ran after her. Sarah’s mother, pressing a handkerchief to her mouth, promptly fainted.

  A few of the women sitting near the front eased the countess off the floor and helped her into the first pew, fanning her repeatedly.

  “This is indecent! Stop this immediately!” Sarah’s father thundered.

  Christian glanced over to Lucy, who gave him an encouraging nod as if to say, Go on. Finish what you started.

  Christian grasped the lapels of his coat and straightened his shoulders. He met the bishop’s gaze. “It’s true. All of it.”

  Branford spoke in a strangled, incensed, voice. “May I have a word with you, Berkeley?”

  Lucy nodded to Christian. Christian leaned over to Claringdon. “If I don’t return in ten minutes, please come retrieve my dead body,” he whispered.

  “I surely will,” Claringdon whispered back, still facing forwa
rd.

  Christian proceeded to walk down the aisle and up to the altar, where he followed the bishop, Sarah’s father, Branford, and the Prince into the room off the back of the altar.

  As soon as the door closed behind the men, Sarah’s furious father turned to Christian with a savage look in his eye. “What in the devil’s name is the meaning of this, Berkeley?”

  The bishop held up his hands in a calming manner. “Kindly allow the man to speak, Lord Highfield.”

  Branford stepped forward, a sneer on his face. He stood toe-to-toe with Christian. It was the first time Christian truly respected the marquess. “I have only one question for you, Berkeley.”

  Christian nodded. “Yes?”

  “Is it true?” Branford spit the words between clenched teeth.

  Christian nodded again. “Yes. It’s true. She ran away. She ran away because she didn’t want this marriage. She became lost in Scotland and came upon my hunting lodge.” He turned to stare at her father. “Absolutely nothing untoward happened, but it’s true that she was with me, alone, for several days.”

  Branford’s entire face was a mottled shade of purple now. “Didn’t want the marriage?”

  “Egad,” the Prince Regent said, pulling a bit of snuff from his lacy cuff and snorting it with great fervor.

  “That’s preposterous,” Sarah’s father said. “Sarah wants the marriage. He’s obviously lying. He—”

  “What reason would I have to lie?” Christian said calmly. “I wish only happiness for Lady Sarah.”

  “Didn’t want the marriage?” Branford echoed, his voice a positive gurgle in this throat. “Didn’t want the marriage to me? Are you serious?”

  “I am. You can ask Lady Sarah herself if you like,” Christian said.

  “That will not be necessary,” Branford intoned. His nostrils flared with indignation. “Why, if that silly chit doesn’t want to be married to me, I certainly can find someone who does.” He turned away in a huff. “I’m leaving, Highfield. My solicitor will contact you immediately to have the marriage contracts destroyed. I rescind my offer. I’m not about to marry your ungrateful little daughter now.”

  Christian watched the marquess leave, trying to squelch the smile that desperately wanted to pop to his lips.

  As soon as the marquess was gone, Sarah’s father turned on Christian, pointing a finger in his face, spittle flying from his lips when he spoke. “I have two choices at the moment, Berkeley. I can either call you out, thereby exposing my family to even more shame and scandal, or I can demand that you marry Sarah immediately, thereby mitigating as much of this debacle as possible. That option will not erase the damage done, but it seems to me at the moment that it is the best of two impossible choices.”

  “I firmly agree,” the bishop said, nodding his regal headdress.

  “By all means,” Christian replied. This time he did allow the smile to appear.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Sarah was sitting in her father’s coach when Hart and Meg found her. The two had apparently run after her. With the help of the footman who’d remained with the conveyance, she’d managed to climb into the luxurious sapphire velvet squabbed seats and pull her long train in behind her.

  Hart helped Meg up first and then climbed up to sit next to Sarah’s friend in the seat opposite his sister.

  Sarah had both hands braced against the seat next to her and was gasping. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  Meg was the first to speak. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

  “No. I can’t breathe.” She tried to do as Christian had taught her and lean over, but her stays wouldn’t allow it. “I can’t believe he did that,” she gasped. “I’m ruined.”

  “It’s not so bad as all that,” Meg said loyally, leaning forward to pat her knee.

  Sarah gave her friend a look that clearly indicated she believed she’d lost her mind. “Are you mad? Mother and Father will never forgive me.”

  “Who cares if they forgive you?” Hart asked.

  Sarah blinked at him, surprised at her brother’s words. “What happened after I left?” she asked.

  “I didn’t see much, but I believe Mother fainted,” Hart said.

  “And you didn’t stay with her?” Sarah asked, aghast.

  “Mother has made her own bed and must lie in it. I was more concerned for you.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Hart. You may want to give me one last hug. After this scandal, I’m sure I won’t be allowed out in polite Society ever again.”

  “I’m glad he did it,” Meg announced.

  Sarah’s mouth fell open. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m glad Lord Berkeley stopped the wedding. I’m only being honest. I saw the look on your face. You looked as if you’d been sent to the guillotine. I was about to say something myself, only I couldn’t think of anything properly scandalous to say.”

  “I have to agree,” Hart chimed in.

  Even in her state of abject misery, Sarah noticed that Hart and Meg were studiously avoiding looking at each other. Normally, they ignored each other—well, at least Hart seemed to barely notice Meg—but today he was actively not looking at her. Curious.

  “You agree,” Sarah said. “Have you no loyalty?”

  “I have nothing but loyalty,” Hart retorted. “And yes, I agree. It’s no secret that you’ve been avoiding Branford for months. I happen to have it on good authority that you have feelings for Berkeley. Furthermore, I have it on even better authority that he has feelings for you.”

  “What?” Sarah felt dizzy, as if the world were tilting on its axis. She braced her hand against the side of the coach to steady herself.

  “I saw him at the club yesterday, and let’s just say he wasn’t happy about this wedding.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Sarah cried.

  “He stopped it, didn’t he?” Meg pointed out. “That must mean he has feelings for you.”

  “It means he’s lost his mind,” Sarah replied. “And ruined my life.”

  “I think he saved your life,” Meg replied.

  “I agree,” Hart said.

  Meg blushed, but they still didn’t look at each other. Sarah narrowed her eyes on the two of them. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “Absolutely nothing!” they burst out in unison.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  True to his word, before ten minutes had passed, Claringdon came looking for Christian’s dead body. When the duke was told what had transpired, he immediately offered to procure a special license from the archbishop of Canterbury.

  “It won’t be the first one I’ve got and I doubt it will be the last,” Claringdon said with a wry smile.

  He left immediately to arrange the matter while Christian and Sarah’s father left for Highfield’s town house to see to the new marriage contract.

  * * *

  “May I come in?” Lucy Hunt’s voice filtered through Sarah’s bedchamber door. The words had been preceded by a soft knock.

  “Come in,” Sarah called blankly. She’d been doing nothing more than staring unseeing out the window.

  The door creaked open slowly and Lucy walked in. She was dressed in the formal clothing she’d worn to the wedding earlier.

  “Are you all right?” Lucy asked, coming to stand behind Sarah at the dressing table, a sympathetic look on her face.

  Sarah patted her coiffure. She’d long ago removed her veil, but she remained dressed in her exquisite gown. “Expected me to be crying, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest,” Lucy replied with a sigh.

  “Well, I’m not crying. I refuse to cry. I’m not sad, I’m … angry.” She lifted her chin and faced Lucy.

  Lucy nodded slowly. “Angry at Christian?”

  Sarah raised her gaze to the ceiling briefly. “Yes, and at myself.… This whole thing … it’s turned into a complete mess.” She flicked a hairpin across the top of the dressing table.

  Lucy stopped it
with the palm of her hand before it flew off the end of the table. “If it helps at all, I do think Christian loves you madly.”

  “That’s what Hart and Meg tried to tell me, but I still have my doubts.”

  “I don’t. Not one.”

  Sarah braced her elbow on the table and let her forehead fall onto her palm. “Why in God’s name did that man wait till the very last minute?”

  Lucy squeezed Sarah’s shoulder. “I agree. He hasn’t handled it well, any of it.”

  Sarah groaned. “And why did he do it in such an ignominious fashion? My parents will never live down the shame. Father will never speak to me again.”

  “Your father just needs time.”

  “You don’t know my father.”

  The anger that had been bubbling in her since she’d run out of the church finally spilled over. Sarah slapped a palm against the top of the table. “Christian had no right to do what he did. Absolutely no right.”

  Her mother had come to visit her when they’d first returned home. Sarah had tried to calm her down at first, but her mother had continued to hurl accusations at her and even accused her of planning Christian’s announcement with him. In the end, Sarah had asked her to leave her room. She didn’t know where her father was or Christian, either, for that matter. She’d asked Hart and Meg to give her time alone to think. Apparently Mother wasn’t about to keep a duchess from calling. And at the moment, Sarah was thankful to have Lucy to talk to. Sweet, kind, unconventional Lucy.

  Lucy squeezed her shoulder again. “I agree that his timing was hideous, but aren’t you the least bit glad not to be married to Lord Branford?”

  Sarah groaned and rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Ah, yes, a reprieve from one man’s whimsy only to end up at the mercy of another’s. I’m sick of being treated like a valuable doll.”

  “Good,” Lucy replied. “You should be. It’s high time.”

  Sarah’s head snapped to the side to face the duchess. “You agree with me?”

  Lucy pushed a curl aside. “Of course I do. I’m a lady, too, aren’t I? We should be treated with nothing but decency and respect and allowed to make all our own choices as far as I’m concerned. I’m only sorry that you didn’t see fit to tell your father to go to hell before the wedding.”