A Too Convenient Marriage

by Georgie Lee

  When at last Justin released her, she staggered back a touch, barely aware of Netley coughing his disapproval from his place by the door.

  ‘Until tomorrow.’ He raised his hat to her, the sun catching in the light strands of his hair before he settled it back down over his head.

  ‘Until then.’ She gripped the iron railing along the front walk to steady herself, admiring the tightening of his breeches over the roundness of his buttocks as he raised one leg to step up into the curricle before placing himself on the seat and setting the horse into motion. Susanna lingered on the pavement, hardly noticing the rough iron against her palm as she watched his curricle turn the corner to be obscured by the trees dominating the square.

  With heavy feet she trudged inside, ignoring Netley’s disapproving scowl as he swung closed the door behind her. He marched off to see to his duties, and no doubt to tell Lady Rockland of Susanna’s blatant indiscretion on their front doorstep. Let him chide and snitch, she didn’t care. Tomorrow, she’d be done with them all.

  * * *

  Justin arrived home to find an ordered confusion of men and trunks as they carried Susanna’s things into the house.

  ‘Upstairs, first door to the right, mind you don’t nick the plasterwork,’ the housekeeper, Mrs Robinson, instructed, with all the attendance of a general overseeing manoeuvres.

  She’d come to him with this house in Johnson’s Court, off Fleet Street, when the previous owner had sold it to Justin in a rush to raise money to keep himself out of prison. It’d been Justin’s sanctuary for the last six years, the place he’d retire to after a day of either dodging unhappy perfumers, or after yet another argument with his father. The furniture was left over from the previous owner, some of it fine, other pieces in need of freshening, but that wasn’t something he concerned himself with. Susanna could do the place up as she liked when she settled here. To him, it didn’t matter what his home looked like as long as it was comfortable.

  Leaving everything in the capable hands of Mrs Robinson, he retreated to his study. Its walls were decorated with paintings of spaniels and horses left by the former occupant along with the thick leather furniture. One low bookcase sat under the window with a tray of glasses and decanters on top. The rest of the shelves were empty. The books had been sold last year to fund his venture. He should have burned them for all the money it’d gained him.

  He poured himself a measure of the American whisky one of his less reputable suppliers had procured for him. He’d have to see what other gems the man could smuggle in for him for the shop. Justin held the drink under his nose, inhaling the stiff burned-oak scent before tossing it back. The smoky shot briefly eased the tension which had marked him before he’d kissed Susanna goodbye and ever since. Their awkward exchange at Gunter’s had been forgotten in her savoury response to his lips against hers, the promise of which he looked forward to fulfilling tomorrow night.

  ‘Quite the flurry of activity here.’ A familiar voice slid through the room from the entrance, the notes of it souring his drink.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Gammon,’ Mrs Robinson stiffly greeted her.

  Justin carried his glass with him as he came to the door to lean against the jamb, a fisted hand on one hip as he eyed the widow. ‘What are you doing here?’

  A man carrying a stack of round hat boxes and who knew what other frippery tried to shift around the widow before she stopped him. She lifted the lid on a box and peeked inside, frowning with more envy than disapproval. ‘Rather feminine attire for a man of your carriage.’

  She eyed him with the same suggestive craving which had invited him into her bed over a year ago. Now, not even years of celibacy could drive him back into her arms again.

  ‘Does your husband approve of you being here?’ he asked, taking a slow sip of his drink and wishing he’d brought the entire bottle with him.

  ‘We haven’t married yet. He insists on reading the banns.’ She dropped the lid and allowed the man to continue on his way.

  ‘Probably too cheap to pay for the common licence.’

  Her lips pursed and he knew he’d struck at the truth of the matter. So, her furrier wasn’t the pampering prince she’d thought him to be, but a businessman like every other penny-pincher in this part of London. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I seem to have misplaced a couple of items since the last time I was here. An expensive ivory fan and a tortoiseshell hair comb.’

  Justin had no idea if the items were here, or if this was simply her excuse to come back and dally before the banns were read. Either way, he was about to disappoint her. ‘I haven’t seen them. Mrs Robinson, have you found a hair comb and a fan left behind by Mrs Gammon?’

  ‘No, sir, I haven’t seen such things.’ The housekeeper held her hands tight in front of her, arms bent at the elbow like some Egyptian statue he’d seen at the British Museum. She’d never cared for the widow, or her late-night visits. On more than one occasion she’d referred to Helena as a wanton hussy. Justin had been more amused than irked by the housekeeper’s mutterings, until Helena had proven them to be true. ‘I can’t imagine how a lady’s items could have ended up in the house of a single gentleman.’

  Helena frowned at the subtle dig and Justin restrained a laugh. The widow had never once hesitated to enter his house late at night in her cloak, or to venture downstairs after sunrise for all of the servants to see. It seemed, with her pending nuptials, all sense of decency had suddenly returned, though not enough to stop her from visiting him.

  ‘Perhaps I’m mistaken and they were left at my sister’s.’ Helena pulled her bright red spencer closed over her ample and too-well-displayed-for-so-early-in-the-day breasts, trying to reclaim her dignity. Justin wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘If they’re here, we’ll be sure to find them.’ He exchanged a dubious look with Mrs Robinson before fixing his eyes on Helena. ‘I wouldn’t want my bride to be troubled by the sight of another woman’s things when she arrives here tomorrow night.’

  Helena’s petulant mouth fell open in shock. ‘You’re getting married?’

  This was fast becoming a very satisfying day, though tomorrow would be even more so. ‘In the morning.’

  ‘My, you move quickly.’

  ‘I’ve learned from the best.’ He finished his drink, ignoring her acid stare.

  ‘And who’s the lucky woman?’

  ‘Miss Susanna Lambert.’ He said no more as he set the empty glass down on a bust stand next to the study door. Helena read the scandal sheets and would recognise the name. He wasn’t disappointed.

  ‘The Duke of Rockland’s bastard daughter?’ She let out a low whistle, betraying her fishmonger roots. ‘I’m impressed, Justin. You’re marrying into the nobility.’

  ‘Yes, can’t you just see me in the House of Lords?’ he replied sarcastically, enjoying her jealous astonishment as much as he had his contraband whisky. It proved he wasn’t the loafer she’d taken him for in the carriage outside Vauxhall Gardens. Now all he needed to do was make a success of his wine business and prove to her and his father how much they’d underestimated him.

  ‘How did you of all people manage to capture such a prize?’ She said it as if no one but she would deign to have him.

  ‘The duke believes in me more than some people do.’ He strolled past her to the door and pulled it open before Walter, his valet and butler, could hurry to do it. After his failure last year, he couldn’t spare the extra expense for a footman. In time, when his wine business began bringing in money, he’d hire more staff, perhaps even a lady’s maid for Susanna. She’d need someone to help her undress at night, though in the meantime he’d be more than happy to assist her. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have a great deal to do before tomorrow.’

  Shoring up some of the dignity with which she’d entered the house, Helena approached him, pausing to lay one well-manicured hand on Justin’s chest.

  ‘If you find your little daughter of a nobleman lacking, my previous offer of the other night
still stands,’ she purred, her voice like screeching metal compared to Susanna’s tender tones.

  Justin removed her hand from his chest and allowed it to drop back down by her side. ‘That’s too kind of you, Mrs Gammon, but I assure you your services will not be necessary.’

  Helena whirled around in fury and made for the gig waiting at the end of the pathway. She climbed inside, smacking away the driver’s hand as he tried to help her before she settled beside him and they set off.

  Justin wandered back to the study, leaving Mrs Robinson and the others to their duties. Despite dispatching the widow, there was more to accomplish before he could claim victory over her and his father’s low expectations. He poured himself another drink, not touching the amber liquid this time as he sank into his favourite leather armchair by the fire. Susanna’s strained manner at Gunter’s made him wary and the unsettling feeling there was something he couldn’t anticipate waiting to rise up and crush him nagged. He wanted so much to be successful, but last time, despite all his careful plans, Mother Nature had knocked him down. He hadn’t seen the strike coming.

  He wondered if a nature more akin to lust was making him blind to a weakness in Susanna. He was normally adept at reading people. It was a skill he’d learned with Philip under the tutelage of the elder Mr Rathbone. If he’d better employed it with Helena, he might not have made a fool of himself outside Vauxhall Gardens. Was he ignoring his better sense with Susanna?

  He lifted the glass to the window, observing the labourers, shop assistants and apprentices passing back and forth in front of it through the hazy liquid. Perhaps his father was right about not reaching too far above his station. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be anything more than the employee of another. He lowered the glass and knocked back the rest of the liquor before setting it aside.

  His father wasn’t right. Justin might not have guessed Helena’s venality, but all men made mistakes at one time or another. It didn’t mean he was any less worthy to strive for something more. Even the nearly infallible Philip had experienced doubts, especially after his first wife had died giving birth to his son Thomas and he’d nearly lost his business. The measure of a man was how he dealt with upsets and setbacks. Justin would face each and every challenge, never allowing his reservations or anyone else’s to undermine him, and he would do it all with Susanna by his side. Everyone had their weaknesses and failings; at some point hers would reveal themselves, as would his. There was no reason to brood on them now and sour the honeymoon. Getting to know her and all her little quirks would be as pleasurable as exploring her body and letting her discover his. It was a much more appealing prospect to consider.

  Chapter Seven

  Susanna sat alone in the quiet of the carriage outside St Bride’s, waiting for the footman to return from inside and tell her it was time for the ceremony. She smoothed her hands over the waist of the silk wedding dress draping her body. The bodice had been altered by Mrs Fairley in time for this morning. While she waited, her father’s words as he’d escorted her to the carriage rang in her ears like the church bells in the tall spire overhead.

  ‘I might consent to the marriage, but I can’t insult Lady Rockland or my legal children by giving you away. I’m sure there’s a friend of Mr Connor’s who can stand in my place.’

  Susanna hadn’t argued or begged him to change his mind. As much as this final insult hurt, not having the Rocklands sitting like a bunch of sour-faced gargoyles in the pews during the service was a relief. In the end they hadn’t even bothered to rise and help her dress, leaving her to the lady’s maid and her own skills to prepare herself. Despite the cut, it’d saved them all from enduring an awkward goodbye.

  Taking in the greystone church entrance with its graceful metal arch over the top, she drew in a deep breath, ready once again to face a challenge alone. Hopefully, with Justin soon to be her husband, this would be the last one. They might not enjoy the grand love she’d read about in novels, but she respected him, though not enough, it seemed, to tell him the truth.

  She tugged at the lace along the neckline of her dress, wishing the footman would hurry. The carriage was growing hot in the morning sun and she was eager to leave this last trapping of her old life behind. If only her secret was so easily discarded. It was wrong to enter the church carrying this large a lie, but it would be even worse to bring a baby into the world and see it scorned due to no fault of its own. It would do no good to be tossed with it into the gutter where the baby would either die or endure a life of misery at the whims of the unkind streets. She’d endure anything to ensure an innocent child wasn’t subjected to a life of suffering.

  At this moment, Susanna felt very alone.

  ‘Miss Lambert, you look beautiful,’ a feminine voice exclaimed from the opposite side of the carriage. Mrs Rathbone stood in the open window, beaming at her. Mr Rathbone stepped behind her, his opinion of her dress better concealed, but his expression echoing something of his wife’s excitement. ‘Mr Connor said important business kept your father from attending the service. Philip has graciously volunteered to walk you down the aisle, if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘It is, thank you.’ Susanna breathed a sigh of relief as she slid across the squabs to where the driver had pulled open the door.

  ‘It’s the least I could do for my friend and his soon-to-be wife.’ Mr Rathbone offered her his elbow and she took it.

  Around her, Mrs Rathbone adjusted the dress, smoothing out the wrinkles and arranging the short veil cascading down the back of Susanna’s head. They were the small services a mother, or at the very least a friend, should do, yet they were left to a kind stranger. Smiling in gratitude at Mrs Rathbone, Susanna knew, in time, these people would mean more to her than anyone related to her by blood, except her mother and grandmother, ever could.

  ‘I’ll go inside and tell them you’re ready.’ Mrs Rathbone hurried off to the church with the good news, leaving her husband to escort Susanna.

  Mr Rathbone carried out his duty with all the solemnity of an older brother, setting Susanna at ease despite the formal way in which he stood beside her. Unlike her father might have done, he didn’t fulfil this position because it was expected of him, but because he wanted to, and for Susanna this distinction made a great deal of difference.

  The moment she stepped through the double doors and into the high space coloured by the large, stained-glass windows, the loneliness she’d known in the carriage disappeared. Mrs Rathbone had taken her place in the front pew beside Miss Rathbone and Mrs Townsend and other people Susanna assumed were Justin’s friends. They all turned to watch her as she walked on Mr Rathbone’s arm up the aisle to where Justin waited with Reverend Clare.

  A black coat covered the width of Justin’s chest, the lapels trimmed in dark velvet. The blue light of a stained-glass window overhead graced his shoulders and caught the faint blue in the darkness of his coat. His face was set off by the contrast between the jacket and the crisp white shirt and cravat, both of which fitted tightly beneath his chin. The severity of his dress was softened by the cut of his wide smile. It echoed in the brightness of his eyes as they took in the length of her before rising to catch her gaze. Under the spell of his charm, it was all she could do not to let go of Mr Rathbone and rush up the aisle. Instead, she moved steadily forward on her gracious escort’s arm, trying to maintain the calm reserve expected of a bride. The time to fling off all restraints would come tonight, when she would at last see what lay beneath Justin’s staid black and enjoy something of the teasing touch he’d left her with yesterday.

  She reined in her wicked thoughts. Now was no time to think of the marital bed, not with Mr Rathbone handing her over to Justin and Reverend Clare observing them from beneath his severe brow.

  It was difficult with Justin’s hand in hers to keep her thoughts anchored in the solemn surroundings. While Reverend Clare read the ceremony, every inch of her was aware of Justin standing beside her as solid as any of the pillars holding up the church. It was on
ly when the reverend said to the gathered guests, ‘If there is anyone here who has cause to believe that these two should not be joined in holy matrimony then let him speak now or for ever hold his peace’, that the present flooded over her like wine from a broken cask.

  Reverend Clare paused and waited. Susanna’s pulse pounded in her ears. She peered over her shoulder at the empty pews, half-expecting Lady Rockland to appear at the church door and announce to all Susanna’s condition, snatching away everything, but there was no one there. Any ideas of revenge the woman possessed had probably been overwhelmed by her inability to rise before noon. Late balls made for such a trying life.

  At last, Reverend Clare resumed the ceremony and Susanna shifted a touch closer to Justin, her arm brushing against his as she drew from his happiness and strength to bolster hers. Soon they would be bound together and the intimacy she’d craved with him since their time alone on the Rathbones’ portico would be theirs.

  All regrets from the past, and worries about the future, vanished the moment the reverend instructed them to face one another. With a steady hand, Justin followed the reverend’s words and slid the gold band studded with small diamonds around her finger and repeated the vows. She didn’t doubt his willingness to stand beside her through better or worse, just as she would stand beside him.

  When at last the vows were said, the rings exchanged and the blessing given, Reverend Clare pronounced them man and wife, linking their fates before instructing them to kiss.

  She tilted up her head, eager to enjoy the weight of his mouth upon hers, and she was not disappointed. Settling his hands on her upper arms, he pressed his lips to hers. This was not the passionate kiss from the portico or the stolen one from yesterday, but something deeper, meant to convey to her and everyone gathered the intensity of the promises they’d made.

  * * *

  Afterwards, it was a merry gathering in the Rathbones’ garden where the sun highlighted the green of the bushes and the blue sky hanging over a fine day. A hearty selection of food was laid out on a table on the portico for the guests to enjoy as they mingled. Young Thomas toddled between the ladies, cooed over by them as his nurse followed after him, and the Rathbones’ young infant slept upstairs. More than one ribald joke about the wedding night made the rounds, especially after yet another bottle of wine was opened by a footman. Miss Jane stood in the midst of it all, listening with interest despite Mrs Townsend’s half-hearted attempts to shield her young charge.