The light went out in her face. “What do you mean?”
“Ours would be a marriage of convenience only.” The words grated.
A spasm passed across her throat and the colour drained from her cheeks. But then she straightened her shoulders. “I understand,” she said softly. “I am most grateful for your sacrifice for me, Dommick.”
He did not want her gratitude. But what he wanted, he could never have.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mona, Wilfred’s wife, sat perched on the edge of Alethea’s bed, ostensibly “helping” Alethea to pack her trunks in preparation for her removal from Terralton Abbey, but in reality watching to ensure she did not pack a smaller valise she could run away with. Alethea’s task was to distract Mona and allay Wilfred’s fears of her fleeing another betrothal agreement—he had heard of Alethea’s last interaction with her brother, when she had escaped a locked room rather than falling into her brother’s plans.
“Really, Alethea,” Mona said in an affected simper, “I declare I did not see you all day yesterday.”
According to Clare, Dommick had reluctantly offered hospitality to Wilfred, Mona, and Mr. Kinnier. His mother had insisted that it would reflect poorly upon the Terralton family’s reputation if he forced them to go to the inn. At dinner last night, Lord Ravenhurst muttered about the wisdom of keeping the vipers where they could be closely watched.
“In fact, I have not seen you since we arrived two evenings ago,” Mona said. “One might almost think you had run away.”
Alethea tried to affect a dejected, capitulating attitude, but her hands trembled as she folded her petticoats. “And why should I do that, Mona?”
Mona’s mouth pinched. Alethea knew she would prefer Alethea call her Lady Trittonstone but couldn’t very well demand it. “That is what I told Trittonstone, and he was confident that if you should run away, he would spare no expense to find you.”
Anger flared, but Alethea doused it. She must not allow Mona to suspect the plan in place for today. Sir Hermes, always up for a lark and believing Dommick’s hasty, clandestine marriage to Alethea to be the greatest adventure, had driven off last night to visit the representative of the archbishop to acquire the special license. It was only as he left that he admitted that, in truth, he was friends with the man’s brother, and not the representative himself, but Sir Hermes did not believe it would cause any hindrance to his task.
Alethea had been alarmed, but Dommick had been sanguine. “Sir Hermes could convince bees to buy honey from him.”
Alethea dropped a shoe and rooted under the bed for it. “Mona, running away would be foolish. I have no wish to live in hiding like a French spy for two years.”
“That is exactly what I said to Trittonstone. And he said that he would tie up the legalities of everything to ensure that you would never get your inheritance, even should you appear on the lawyer’s doorstep the morning of your thirtieth birthday.” Mona gave a nasally titter.
Alethea’s hand clenched tightly over the shoe before she regained mastery of herself and rose to her feet.
When Sir Hermes returned today with the special license, they would gather at the rectory for the wedding. The rector, under the tender influence of his wife, had agreed to perform the service. It all now depended upon Sir Hermes.
“I wonder that I have not seen Lord Dommick today.” There was a thread of suspicion in Mona’s tone.
“I have not spoken to him since yesterday.” Alethea began sorting through her stockings. “No doubt he is unhappy that his house party is being disrupted.” Dommick had driven to his attorney early this morning to consult about her inheritance and her marriage. After the wedding, his attorney would contact the lawyer in charge of the Trittonstone estate. Dommick had said that even if Wilfred had the power to withhold her dowry, Dommick did not need her money. All that mattered would be that she would be safely married so that Wilfred could not sell her to Mr. Kinnier.
“I did invite him to the wedding,” Mona said. “He declined for himself but said his sister and mother would be glad to attend.”
Mona seemed convinced of Dommick’s indifference to Alethea. She doubted her cousin and his wife suspected their specific plans, but they certainly suspected something may be afoot.
“I expected you to have more fashionable gowns,” Mona said as Alethea shook out the green gown she had worn to the concert.
“I expect Kinnier will buy more for me in London.” Alethea slid a sidelong look at Mona, who predictably looked sour at Alethea’s change in fortunes. “Will you and Wilfred be in London this spring?”
“No,” Mona snapped.
“Ah, well. Unfortunately, Wilfred did not inherit the estate as enriched as it had been before my father’s time.”
“We have had a great many expenses associated with his new title,” Mona said irritably.
“It is perhaps just as well Mr. Kinnier has no title. Since I will be returning to town for the first time in years, no expense will be spared.”
“You certainly seem pleased now about the marriage. When Trittonstone told you, I thought you would vomit,” Mona said nastily.
“You yourself know that my cousin has no great skill in delivering momentous news.”
Mona nodded reluctantly.
“At the time, I was unaware of the pecuniary advantages of the match,” Alethea said. “However, Lady Morrish had more information as to Mr. Kinnier’s prospects.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed. “Did she?”
“Did Wilfred not inform you? It is close to ten thousand pounds a year.”
Mona’s watery blue eyes goggled at her. “Good gracious.”
Alethea knew that Wilfred’s income was no more than four thousand and possibly less since he had been forced to sell some land in order to honour her brother’s gambling debts. “When did Mr. Kinnier approach Wilfred about this marriage?” Alethea asked casually.
“How should I know? At least two weeks ago.”
After the concert and her remove from Bath? Did the timing indicate Mr. Kinnier might be the villain? Was this his next move when his hired men failed to kidnap Alethea? She supposed that kidnapping her was a great deal easier than marrying her. “Do you know much about Mr. Kinnier?”
Mona looked conscious for a fleeting moment.
So, her cousin had heard the rumour about Mrs. Kinnier’s death and yet moved forward to contract the marriage. Bile rose in her throat and her limbs felt stiff. She turned away from Mona.
“He is very gentlemanlike and amiable,” Mona said.
Alethea didn’t respond.
“Really, could you hope for better at your age?” Mona said.
“I suppose not,” Alethea replied mildly.
Mona rose. “Assisting you has made me excessively tired,” she said. “I need to lie down.”
It was late afternoon. Surely Sir Hermes had returned by now? Alethea wondered when Lord Ian would come to fetch her.
“Where is your violin?” Mona said.
“Why is it important?” Alethea asked slowly.
“Oh, Mr. Kinnier most specifically desired to make sure you brought the violin with you into the marriage. He had it mentioned in the marriage agreement.”
“My violin is not part of the Trittonstone estate,” Alethea said through clenched teeth. “It was personally bequeathed to me in a legal document by Lady Arkright upon her death.”
“All that can hardly matter since all your possessions become his,” Mona said. “Where is it?”
“In the music room.”
“Be sure to pack it.” Mona exited her bedchamber.
Alethea slumped upon her bed. Mona’s company was nearly as exhausting as the pretense of packing.
She glanced at the clock. She could no longer sit about and wait. Since Mona intended to nap, she would make her way to the rectory.
Because Mona had mentioned her violin, Alethea went first to the music room, ostensibly to fetch it. She could use a door that opened onto the terrac
e to make her way to the grounds and across the park to the rectory.
When she entered the music room, however, she saw a man standing before the fake violin on the table. He turned.
“Mr. Kinnier.” Alethea stood rooted to the floor.
His smile was smooth and pleasant as always, but there was a spark of exultation in his small dark eyes. “My dear. Have you come to practice?”
“I have come to pack my violin.”
“Do not let me hinder you.” However, he stood directly in front of the fake violin. Alethea was forced to walk close to him in order to reach behind him.
His hand whipped out and clenched hard on her wrist. He leaned close and said, still in that pleasant voice, “Do not offer me an insult by attempting to deceive me.”
His hand would leave a bruise, but she refused to wince. He wore some sort of perfume, but it did not quite mask the scent of tree rot about him.
She looked at him with cold eyes. “Pray, why does my violin interest you? Surely you have several of your own more valuable.”
He did not respond, but his gaze drifted down from her eyes to her lips.
Her stomach wrenched. She jerked at her wrist, but he held her fast. His head moved, and she twisted her body violently, planting one foot and kicking out with the other. His other hand grabbed hard around her waist and hauled her up against him.
She flailed at him, her captured arm moving stiffly but her other hand lashing at his shoulders, chest, and neck, with blows as hard as she could deliver. He responded by clenching his fingers into a crushing grip on her wrist, his other fingers digging into her spine.
And suddenly it was not Mr. Kinnier but Alethea’s brother, his grip painful on her left hand. The edges of her vision darkened, and she could smell the tallow smoke from the candles in her brother’s study as he savagely wrenched at her fingers, breaking first one, then the other.
She screamed.
Abruptly, she was released and she fell backward. She unconsciously braced herself with her injured hand and cried out again.
Lord Ian had filled his fists with the cloth of Mr. Kinnier’s coat. Mr. Kinnier grabbed Ian’s shoulders, and the two of them wrestled in small, jerking movements, circling about. They slammed against the edge of the desk near the window, dislodging pens and an ink stand, and pieces of music drifted to the floor.
Then Lord Ian shoved hard against Mr. Kinnier, and the man lurched backward several steps before regaining his footing. Both men glared daggers at each other, breathing heavily.
“You will leave her alone while she remains in this house,” Lord Ian said.
Mr. Kinnier straightened and yanked his coat into place. But then he looked at Alethea and his eyes narrowed, making them almost disappear in his face. “Very well,” he said through stiff lips. He turned and strode from the music room, closing the door behind him with a snap.
Lord Ian helped Alethea to her feet. “Are you injured?”
“No.” She rubbed her wrist, but no bones were broken.
“I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner. Ord was watching the violin and ran to fetch me as soon as he saw you enter the room.”
“I should not have antagonized him.”
“He will be a nuisance to you no longer. Sir Hermes is at the church.”
They gathered servants’ cloaks from just inside the small door that led from the house into the kitchen gardens and hurried across the park. Alethea’s heart pounded. “Mona is in her bedchamber. Where is Wilfred?”
“He was in the stables.”
The twenty minutes’ walk to the church seemed to take hours. The wind had risen, pressing the cloaks tightly against them and hampering her legs. The wind died as they entered the forest at the edge of the park, but the undergrowth tugged at Alethea’s hem and the wet leaves clung to her slippers, the damp chilling her toes.
They reached the church just as rain splattered the roof. After they rushed inside, Mrs. Coon helped them remove their cloaks. Her normally merry eyes were grave. “How I could wish this was a more festive wedding for you, my lady.”
Alethea touched her hand. “I am marrying a good man, surrounded by the people I care about. I need nothing else.”
Mrs. Coon squeezed her fingers, which made Alethea’s injured wrist twinge, and then they were in the sanctuary, with a small group of people gathered near the front.
Lucy and Mr. Collum were there, and her sister came up the aisle to hug her and kiss her cheek.
“We must hurry,” Lord Ian said. “We met Mr. Kinnier before leaving the house, and he may suspect something.”
“Then let us begin,” Lady Morrish said. Sir Hermes had a grin on his face, his cheeks cherry red with excitement.
Lord Ravenhurst offered her his arm. “If you will allow me to give you away?”
“Wait.” Clare handed her a bouquet of hothouse flowers from the Terralton Abbey greenhouses.
“Put this in your hair.” Margaret gave her a blue ribbon.
Lucy tied it into her coiled braids while Aunt Ebena fastened a pearl bracelet to her wrist. “Old and borrowed.”
“And this is new—my gift to my future daughter.” Lady Morrish fastened pearl eardrops to her ears.
“You needn’t do this,” Alethea said.
“It is a legal wedding, your family is here—almost all your family—and you are suitably decked out,” Aunt Ebena said. “We can say it was all that was proper.”
Alethea took Lord Ravenhurst’s arm and walked down the aisle to stand before Mr. Coon, who had dressed in his robes.
Dommick took her hand. He was pale, his face a mask.
Alethea turned away from him and faced Mr. Coon.
The ceremony was short and efficient, until the marriage vows. Dommick stumbled, not upon the words “to love and to cherish,” but upon “in sickness and in health.” As Mr. Coon pronounced them man and wife, she realized she had married a man who had spoken his wedding vows as a complete lie.
Empty. She felt so empty.
But she was not alone. There was a Presence, small and beautiful, in a space deep inside her. She knew it was there with a knowing deeper than knowledge.
Mr. Coon finished the ceremony, and the two of them had signed the registry when the door burst open. Wilfred rushed inside, his narrow face flushed, his pale grey eyes bloodshot, with Mr. Kinnier and Mona behind him. “What are you doing?”
Dommick faced him, placing his body between Wilfred and Alethea. “It is done.”
Wilfred stood stock-still in the aisle, rainwater dripping from the brim of his hat, his mouth contorting in a series of grimaces. “No. You had no license—”
“Didn’t you know, my lord, that I am friends with a man who represents the archbishop of Canterbury? We are quite close,” Sir Hermes said.
“I signed a betrothal agreement—”
“You did not sign one with me,” Dommick said. “It is now your own affair that you could not fulfill your side of the contract with Mr. Kinnier.”
Wilfred stood in furious disbelief, then wrenched off his hat. “Do you realize what you have done to me?” He began to roar his complaints, the sound reverberating from the church’s ceiling.
Mr. Kinnier stood slightly behind Wilfred. On the surface, his face was impassive, but an anger glittered in his eyes that made Alethea’s throat burn and a shiver course across her shoulders. Mr. Kinnier whirled around, his greatcoat capes flicking water in a graceful arc, and exited the church. Mona watched him leave with wide eyes.
When Wilfred’s language grew more colourful, Mr. Coon reacted with righteous censure. “You will not speak so in the house of God.”
Wilfred stormed out of the church, but Mona remained. Her skin seemed to tremble, and Alethea realized the woman was holding in a fury like nothing she had ever seen before.
When Mona opened her mouth, her voice was far different than Alethea had heard from her before, sibilant and awful. “You think you’ve won, but no one crosses us without repayment in kind.”
“You will leave my house within the half hour,” Dommick said.
As if he hadn’t spoken, Mona moved closer to Dommick. “I have been in the highest society in London for the past decade and have far more dangerous acquaintances than your idiot mother.”
“Get out!” Dommick shouted.
“I will ensure that your sister’s season is ruined.”
And with that terrible pronouncement, Mona stalked out of the church.
It was the most awkward, frightening, exciting night of Alethea’s life. But mostly it was simply awkward.
She sat before the mirror at her dressing table and brushed her long, dark hair. A maid had brushed it earlier, but it was something to occupy her hands.
She had been moved from the guest bedroom to the one connected to Dommick’s bedchamber via a small sitting room. The furnishings had been redone by Lady Morrish a few years ago, so they were not old or unfashionable, but the pinks and yellows of the wallpaper and upholstery were more feminine than Alethea was accustomed to.
The connecting door taunted her. Should she retire to the canopied bed or stay awake in case Dommick came through? Either option promised embarrassment and pain.
Her stomach growled. She had not eaten much of the wedding dinner prepared by Dommick’s surprised staff. There had been both an air of festivity and also a current of anxiety among the guests. Most had exulted in successfully routing Wilfred and Mr. Kinnier, but it was obvious that Clare and Lady Morrish, especially, were deeply affected by Mona’s threat and attempting not to show it.
At that moment, the connecting door opened.
Dommick wore a blue brocade dressing gown. The white of his nightshirt blazed at his throat, which made it more apparent when he blushed in embarrassment at the sight of her.
She looked away from him. “I had not expected you.”
He swallowed. “I do not wish to mortify you, but there are things . . . I do not wish the servants to gossip.” He flushed even darker than before and crossed to her bed. She saw the flash of a small knife, and he did something to the sheets and mussed her bedding.
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