Lady Victoria descended Lord Nightham's carriage, not able to dismiss the dull ache of foreboding that crept along her spine. The sky was overcast, and a cool breeze swept through the village. Spirals of mahogany hair whipped against her face, and she shakily pushed them away.
The entire escapade had been a secret from the very start. Not even her family knew what she was doing. But there was no time to feel sorry for herself. Nothing would change the fact that she was about to enter into a marriage of convenience.
She managed a tremulous smile as Charles Millington, the second Earl of Nightham, took her gloved hand in a possessive grip and led her toward the Boxing Boar Inn at the edge of the village.
"No need to worry, Victoria. This marriage will suit us both."
Lord Nightham was a handsome man with a hard-muscled frame, golden blond hair, and devilish blue eyes that seemed to hold a host of secrets. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he had known all about her dire circumstances before she had told him the truth.
Though he had acted the very epitome of the gentleman since she had met him at the Dowager Duchess of Glenshire's ball last month, she still felt uneasy about her decision. She knew he held the particulars about her family in strictest confidence, and she should have been happy that he had chosen her for a wife.
But the fact was, she did not love the man. She had been honest with him about that, but it didn’t matter to him. He said love would grow in time.
However, this marriage had to be done, for her family's sake, and done quickly, so her family would not interfere. They would never approve of her marrying Nightham for the sole purpose of providing for them a secure future.
But Nightham wanted to be married without the pomp and circumstance of a large wedding, and that suited her just fine. He explained that his mother was a delicate woman and would not be able to bear the stress of the invitations and parties. Victoria understood perfectly, feeling somewhat relieved. A swift, private wedding seemed the logical step for both of them.
She had been barely out in Society since Uncle Henry's death, and Nightham had been an answer to her prayers. Yes, indeed. A swift marriage of convenience would give her beloved family security. In return, Nightham would have a wife and mother for his future heir.
At first, Victoria had thought they were to be married in a church, but as soon as they arrived in the village, the earl calmly explained the church pews were being varnished, and the ceremony was to take place by special license at a nearby inn. She was certain he knew the legalities, yet something still worried the back of her brain.
As her booted feet crunched over the gravel pathway toward their destination, she lifted her head and caught sight of Mrs. Hinckleberry, the hired escort from London, scurrying ahead of them, her plump feet stumbling precariously toward the tap. Alarm sent Victoria's heart racing. It was obvious that would be the last they would see of her. The lady had been paid for her journey and was to immediately return to Town in a hack after taking some refreshments.
Realizing she was alone with the earl, Victoria wondered for the hundredth time why he had chosen her among all the beautiful ladies of the ton. She had no dowry, nothing but herself. But he needed her for a wife, and she needed him for the money. At this point, that was enough. She could not afford to linger on her decision.
A few minutes later, in a secluded dining room inside the inn, she braced herself against a nearby chair. Swallowing hard, she took in the cracked yellow walls and the mildewy odor leaking in from the drainage ditch outside. Sweat beaded along her forehead, and she blinked to keep herself from fainting. Recovering from a bad cold and worrying over her plans, she had barely slept a wink the past few days.
As for her gown, a plain blue muslin, it was nothing a bride would want to remember for this momentous occasion. But Lord Nightham had told her there would be plenty of time to shop in London for gowns after they were married.
When the vicar, a slight man with rounded shoulders, suddenly appeared with the witnesses - a plump servant lady and an older man with barely any teeth - Lord Nightham pulled out the special license.
Victoria didn't like the mischievous smile on the vicar's face, but she ignored it. She focused her attention on her fiancé. He was dressed in a cream-colored waistcoat and navy jacket. Tall and handsome, he was every schoolgirl's dream. But he did not love her.
The vicar cleared his throat, glancing at Victoria, then back to Lord Nightham. "You are a lucky devil, my lord."
"A devil maybe," Lord Nightham said, smiling, "yet I find myself in a rather favorable position at the moment."
Nightham gave Victoria a wink, appraising her with a possessive caress that sent a chill along her spine. Had she somehow misjudged him? No, certainly not. He was merely a man who was about to be wed, a man about to claim his husbandly rights. But could she trust him? Her fingers gripped her gown. Could she trust any man with her life ever again?
Minutes later, the sentences, the vows, the one-word answers, all seemed to tumble forth like a horrible dream, seeping past Victoria's senses in a giant blur. When Lord Nightham placed his ruby ring on her finger, it was all she could do not to run away. Sweat had soaked through her chemise onto her gown, dampening her chest.
As the earl's—no, her husband's—lips claimed hers, panic finally began to penetrate the shield she had put up for so many days. Blood rushed from her head as he whispered her name.
She had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. The words rang over and over in her mind until her knees wobbled, and she felt a strange roaring in her ears. There was something wrong here. Something terribly wrong…
"Lord Nightham," she said softly, feeling the room closing in on her. "I—"
But before she could finish, her knees finally gave way and the room went black.
"The lady is ill," Nightham said with a frown, catching Victoria in his arms. "Dash it all! Go fetch a doctor."
The vicar's eyes went wide. "There's no doctor here, my lord. He was taking his breakfast early this morning at the inn when he was called to a birthing in the neighboring village. Ain't been back since."
Nightham scowled. "You there." He looked to the servant. "Is there no one who can help us?"
The servant frowned. "There be a woman down the road, m'lord. Begging your pardon, but she ain't be catering to the likes of you. Won't step outside her cottage. Daughter ran off with a military man and ain't seen hide no hair of her since."
"If you ask me," the older man, serving as witness, interrupted, raising a bushy white brow as he stared at Victoria, "lady swooned like one of those fancy birds in Town. That's all gov'nor."
A muscle ticked in Nightham's cheek. Uttering an oath, he shifted Victoria in his arms, angling his head toward the plump servant, telling her to follow him as he brought Victoria up the stairs of the inn and into one of the bedchambers.
He pushed some coins into the woman's hands and frowned at Victoria's pallor.
"It's more than just a swoon. The lady has not looked well the entire ride. Stay with her and give me directions to that woman down the road. I won't be long."
After receiving directions, Nightham hurried down the stairs the way he came, only to find the vicar and the old man long gone. He spent a few agitated minutes looking for them while a niggling suspicion began to gnaw at his brain.
He had no marriage certificate and no vicar. He needed that piece of paper. Dash it all. It was his future.
The sound of clamoring feet snapped his gaze toward the stairs. The servant who was to stay with Victoria had bolted through the private dining room and out the back of the inn. An ugly thought suddenly occurred to him. Mayhap the vicar was not a man of the cloth at all, but a swindler pocketing his money. Nightham knew he was not the smartest of men, but by Jove, he thought he knew a vicar when he saw one.
Clenching his fists against his sides, he hastened outside to go after the woman. "You there! Stop, I say!" But the earl never saw the man coming up behind him. Pain seare
d Nightham's back, sending him falling against the inn with a thud.
"Take that, your lordship. It won't be a wedding night for you, but a funeral march."
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The Convenient Bride (The Clearbrooks) Page 25