He climbed to his feet and pulled her up. Lord Pomeroy raised his glass. “As sad as I am at losing my treasured youngest daughter, I wish you happy.”
The others stood and raised their glasses and offered their best wishes. As if on cue—maybe it actually was—Macon entered the library to announce dinner. They all trooped into the dining room, ignoring precedence, and seated themselves at the table.
Once the soup course had been served, Marigold leaned toward Jonathan. “I am sorry you had to stumble into my family’s unusual tradition of family proposals.”
He covered her hand with his. “Not as long as it came to a successful end.”
“It would be hard to say no with everyone watching.”
Jonathan viewed her with narrowed eyes. “You weren’t about to say ‘no’ were you?”
She took a sip of wine and grinned. Let him worry about that.
Three days later, Marigold managed to escape the house and Lady Crampton’s chasing her with lists for the wedding things that needed to be done. She and Jonathan were taking a ride to Hyde Park. They hadn’t attended any events since their betrothal, although an announcement had been sent to the newspaper.
He helped her into his phaeton and then circled the vehicle to climb up and take up the ribbons. “I think the weather should hold out until we finish at least one circle around the park.” He glanced up at the cloudy sky.
“I am just grateful to be out of the house. Lady Crampton has so many lists, she has a list to keep track of her lists.” She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful for her arranging the wedding, since I have no idea what to do.”
“Well, just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Have you heard anything from Mr. Townsend?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to insert myself too much because he does have a job to do. I’m sure if something important happened in the case, he would notify me.”
It was apparent from the moment they entered the park that their betrothal was the current on dit for the ton. Gentlemen who had always flocked to her side cast unfriendly glances at Jonathan, and the young girls and their mothers who had hoped to catch a wealthy and handsome titled gentleman offered best wishes to them, the sweetness dripping from their lips, and the snarls and scowls back in place once they passed by.
It was all rather comical, actually.
“Oh, dear. I believe it’s beginning to rain.” Marigold raised her hand, palm up, as two drops of water splashed on her hand.
Jonathan glanced up. “Yes. You are right. I am afraid our ride has ended. I will head toward your house.”
Marigold touched his hand with hers. “No. Please. Can we not proceed to your house, instead? I’m afraid Lady Crampton will have another task for me, or another list to go over.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Since we are betrothed, I am sure it is no problem for you to visit my house for a short while.”
“Thank you.” Marigold leaned back and took a deep breath, happy to have escaped being picked and prodded by the dressmaker who had moved into their servants’ wing, or made to check off items on one of Lady Crampton’s many lists.
They managed to get to Jonathan’s house before the deluge began and were in his drawing room with tea and biscuits for about ten minutes when his butler Coombs appeared at the drawing room door. He was pale, and sweating. “My lord, you have a guest.”
Jonathan stood as the butler came farther into the room. A man walked behind him, two pistols pushed against the servant’s back.
“Lord Stanley, I presume?” the man said.
When Jonathan nodded, the man immediately turned and conked Coombs on the head. Coombs fell like a rock. The interloper grinned, his white teeth like a wolf waiting to attack its prey. Although he held two menacingly looking pistols, he bowed as if they were meeting in a ballroom. “I am Mr. Giovanni Paglia.”
Chapter Seventeen
Jonathan’s first thought was getting Marigold out of the room, and out of the house. A man with a pistol was a dangerous matter, with two pistols and Marigold’s tendency to jump into things, disaster loomed. He was terrified she would attempt to disarm the man and end up dead.
That scared him more than the pistol pointed at his heart. “Unfortunately, given the circumstances, I cannot truthfully say it is a pleasure to meet you. I would send for tea, but I have the feeling you are not expecting the usual comforts when calling on a gentleman.” He glanced at Coombs lying on the floor. “And my butler is currently not available to summon tea.”
“While I appreciate you sense of humor, Lord Stanley, I am not here for tea, or even conversation.”
Jonathan waved to a chair. “Why don’t you sit, and we will discuss your visit. I just ask that Lady Marigold be allowed to leave the room.” He ignored the gasp from her at his side. Blasted woman was probably busy planning her attack on the gunman.
“I think not, Lord Stanley. In fact, you and I and the young lady are all going to take a walk upstairs to the top floor of this house.”
“And what interest have you in my nursery? It is not yet filled, you know.” Perhaps light banter would give him time to think of a way to disarm the man without anyone being hurt.
“Move,” Paglia growled.
No light banter, then. Jonathan would rush the man, but Marigold was a definite unknown. While she remained with them, he could do nothing reckless.
The three of them trotted up the stairs to the nursery. Thank goodness Marigold seemed to be in a somnolent state and just obeyed what the man demanded. Maybe he should employ this man’s tactics when dealing with his betrothed in the future.
Once they entered the room that would one day be a nursery if he and Marigold were lucky enough to get out of this situation, Jonathan moved away from Marigold, keeping Paglia’s attention on him. The two of them side-by-side was too much of an easy target. “You have apparently brought us up here with the idea of doing us harm. May I have the privilege of knowing why?”
“You read his journal.”
“I assume you mean Dr. Vincenzio Paglia’s journal?”
“That’s right. I had to get it back before anyone read it.” He grinned that feral grin again, while Jonathan’s mind worked furiously to figure out how to get the two of them out of the mess they were in. “The old man wrote in it every day. I ransacked his house after he died, but it was nowhere to be found. How St. Clair ended up with it is a mystery I have no time to concern myself with. All I want is to keep everything about Paglia nice and quiet.”
“Is that why you killed St. Clair and Dr. Stevenson?”
Paglia waved one of the pistols causing Jonathan’s heart to almost stop. “St. Clair was an idiot. If he had given me a straight answer at the start, I wouldn’t have had to get into a tussle with him. A weak man. One good shove and he collapsed against the brick fireplace.”
“Dr. Stevenson?”
“He was my uncle’s partner. There was every reason to believe he would interfere with my plans, so he had to die.”
“What is in the journal that you are so protective of?”
“You know. You read it.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No. I never got the chance to read it. You stole it.”
Marigold glanced at Jonathan, her brows raised.
It had come to him as they all stood there that he’d been right, and it was near impossible for Dr. Stevenson to have crawled through Jonathan’s library window and stolen the journal. The poor man never had possession of the book. This man, Dr. Paglia’s nephew, had stolen the journal from Jonathan.
“I don’t believe you didn’t read it.” Paglia stared at them both. Jonathan was afraid this was it. If Paglia only had one pistol, he might take a chance, but if he rushed him with two pistols in his hands, Marigold might be shot.
“I have a rather generous contract with a publisher to publish my uncle’s memoirs.” Paglia shook his head and scowled at Jonathan’s raised brows. “Not that blasted journal.”
&nb
sp; “Language, Mr. Paglia,” Marigold offered.
“My apologies, my lady.” He bowed, and Jonathan began to think this entire scene was a dream. If it were, he would love to wake up and find he and Marigold were safe.
“There are secrets in that journal that once revealed, would keep my publisher from following through on the contract. I need the money, you see.”
So, there were records in the journal that probably involved ideas Paglia may have stolen from Dr. Stevenson. More than ever, Jonathan wanted his hands on the journal.
After he saved himself and Marigold from death.
Moving from foot to foot, and sweating profusely, it appeared Paglia was done with conversation.
Jonathan had to act now. “Marigold, do what you never do,” he shouted.
Marigold dropped to the ground in a faint, and the quick movement startled Paglia, who looked in Marigold’s direction. The second Marigold began to slump, Jonathan lunged forward, knocking one of the pistols out of Paglia’s hand.
Paglia drew back his other hand, waving the gun. Jonathan lunged for the man’s middle and took him to the floor where they rolled, both fighting for the gun.
“Jonathan, move away, I’ll shoot him.” Marigold held the pistol Jonathan had kicked away, waving it around. Bloody hell, the woman would probably shoot him, or herself in the foot.
“Leave the room, Marigold. Go for help.”
Paglia was not the best pugilist, but he was small and wiry, and difficult to hang onto. The gun in his hand was a problem, also. Jonathan drew his arm back and plowed his fist into Paglia’s face. Blood spurted from his nose, splattering over Jonathan’s face.
The gun went off and Marigold screamed.
Chapter Eighteen
Two weeks later
Marigold examined herself in the mirror, taking one last look before she left her bedchamber for the last time and became Jonathan’s wife. Her cream-colored gown was the loveliest piece she’d ever owned. Small pale pink roses had been embroidered on the capped sleeves, the hem of the gown, and brim of her bonnet, to match the roses she would carry with her.
Her wedding day. There was a time when she thought this day would never arrive because she would be buried six feet under the ground.
Mr. Giovanni Paglia had been dragged moaning and cursing from Jonathan’s house by members of the Metropolitan Police. He was now spending his time in Newgate while the investigation into the two murders proceeded. Mr. Townsend had assured Jonathan that their journal would be returned to them, hopefully within a few days.
But more importantly, by the end of this day, she would be a married woman. Her hand rested on her middle where she suspected Jonathan’s heir resided. She was still amazed that his seed was so strong she still ended up pregnant even though he had withdrawn the first time they lay together.
There had been a few more times they’d been able to sneak in some intimate time together, since betrothed couples were allowed a lot more leniency, but it had to have been the first time he’d bedded her for her courses to be missing.
Her thoughts returned to the day Mr. Paglia had held them both at gunpoint. She’d been scared to death that Jonathan had been shot when the gun went off and screamed enough to wake the dead. He, on the other hand, thought she had been shot and after knocking Mr. Paglia out cold with one good punch to the face, he’d jumped up and grabbed her.
They clung to each other until their breathing returned to normal. By then, several of the servants had arrived at the nursery door and soon Scotland Yard had been summoned and Paglia taken away.
The woman in her couldn’t wait for the coming evening to be able to enjoy spending the entire night in Jonathan’s arms. The curious scientist in her longed to be settled in bed with Jonathan at her side as they read the journal and discovered what was so important that Mr. Paglia murdered two people for it and was prepared to murder two more.
She and Jonathan had discussed the journal many times and had concluded that Dr. Paglia must have stolen some of Dr. Stevenson’s ideas as his own work and had taken the credit for it.
“Marigold, come, we are all waiting for you.” Elise slipped into the room with Juliet on her heels. Both sisters glowed as they regarded her. Most likely from their pregnancies. Did she look the same?
“You look absolutely stunning, Mari.” Elise dabbed at her eyes.
“Thank you.” She hugged them both. “And I am ready.” With one last look around her bedchamber, she left for her new life.
Jonathan waited for her at the front of the small chapel where they were to be wed. He followed her every move down the aisle, his face so full of love, she almost wept. But she did not weep. Nor did she swoon. Although that fake swoon certainly helped save their lives.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers together as they turned to face the vicar who offered them a warm smile.
The vicar led them through the ceremony, saying all the official prayers, reciting the vows they needed to take. Marigold was not too happy about the ‘love, honor and obey’ part of the vows, but she wisely said nothing, although Jonathan did grin at her.
Blasted man.
Finally, they reached the end. The vicar blessed the ring she’d worn since her betrothal and handed it to Jonathan. He placed it onto her finger and declared, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Of course, she wasn’t weeping at those lovely words, but nevertheless she took the handkerchief he handed her and dabbed her eyes, tearful from the dust in the church.
The wedding breakfast that followed was quite a celebration. Champagne flowed, Papa gave several speeches, both her brothers-in-law teased Jonathan, and made comments she only heard part of, but knew they were the sort of remarks ladies tried very hard not to hear.
Soon her sisters accompanied her to Jonathan’s house—which was her house now, also—where the new bride and groom would spend the night. They rushed her upstairs and stripped her, gave her another bath, and dressed her in the fine silk nightgown she’d had made especially for this night.
After more than an hour of lady-talk, Elise sat her on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “As I have been your mother since you were a young girl, I believe it is my duty to speak to you about what will happen tonight.”
“Elise, I’m sure Lady Crampton already did that.” Juliet turned to Marigold. “Did she not?”
Not wishing to let her sisters know she was already well prepared for the night’s activities, having already practiced, and was anxious for them to leave so they could get started, she lied. “Of course. She spoke with me just this morning.”
Elise sighed, most likely sad at having lost that part of her duties. Well, she had a daughter she could subject that lecture to. Instead, she held Marigold by her shoulders. “I can’t believe my baby sister is married.”
“Now don’t you do this, Elise, or we will all be bawling like babes.” Juliet grabbed a handkerchief from her reticule which she passed to her sisters. “This is a happy occasion and we should not be weeping.”
“I don’t weep.” Marigold said as she blew her nose.
A light knock drew their attention. Jonathan opened the door, his hair damp from his bath. He held a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The sight of him in his red and blue striped banyan over his black trousers had Marigold licking her dry lips.
“It’s time to leave ladies, I require time with my wife.” He stared at Marigold the entire time he spoke. He seemed to have eyes for nothing and no one, but her.
She blushed under his perusal and wished her sisters far, far away.
He cast a glance at Elise and Juliet. “I have notified your driver that you will be leaving soon.”
With a look passed between them and a slight smirk, Juliet and Elise hugged her one more time and departed. Jonathan closed the door and lean
ed against it. “You are the most beautiful bride who ever lived, Lady Stanley.”
Marigold gave a slight dip. “Thank you, Lord Stanley. I believe you would hold the record for the handsomest bridegroom, as well.”
***
An hour later, Jonathan climbed onto the bed, the journal in hand. They’d just finished a rousing bout of bedsport, and were now ready to read the journal that, for the most part, brought them together.
Mr. Townsend had arrived during the wedding breakfast and presented the book to Jonathan. Once invited to join the festivities, Townsend kept them laughing at the stories he told of various cases he had worked on. Jonathan was quite sure not all his cases were funny, but he wanted to entertain the ladies, not send them running to the chamber pot.
He poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to Marigold. Since the room was warm enough from the low fire that burned, neither had bothered to dress. They sat side by side, their warm flesh touching.
“Are you ready?” Jonathan asked.
Marigold’s eyes burned with enthusiasm. “Yes. I can hardly wait.”
They sipped their champagne, then Jonathan took the glasses and placed them on the table next to the bed. “We don’t want to damage the book.”
Snuggled together, he opened the first page. They leaned over to look at the writing in the illumination from the candelabra.
They read. Then read again. Jonathan frowned and glanced at his wife.
Marigold frowned.
He turned to another page and they read.
He flipped more pages.
They read more pages.
Finally, Jonathan slammed the book shut, and looked at Marigold. “Huh.”
“Yes.”
They sat for a moment, taking in what they’d just read.
“Correct me if I am wrong, my lord, but there was nothing on those pages except love letters.”
“You are correct, my dear. Letters to his lover.”
They looked at each other and both spoke at the same time. “His male lover.”
For the Love of the Baron (The Noble Hearts Series Book 3) Page 11