A Bachelor Still

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  “Do you?” Alex asked. “Because I don’t believe we’ve resolved it at all and that was only the first of several reasons for my objection to this wedding.” He glared at Rothermere. “I have more.”

  Rothermere glared back, unmasked hatred glittering in his dark eyes. “Shall we continue? Or must we endure more of Courtland’s ravings?” he demanded of the minister.

  “I’m afraid we must,” the minister replied. “Ravings or not, the law dictates that all objections be heard.”

  A muscle ticked in Rothermere’s jaw. “I knew I should have taken the girl with me and eloped to Scotland. I have business in Edinburgh anyway.”

  “Lord Rothermere!” the minister rebuked, shocked by the mention of a Scottish elopement. “Have care for your young lady’s reputation!”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Alex told him. “And the reason for my next objection. It seems to me that Lord Rothermere shows very little regard for a lady’s reputation and none for her physical well-being…”

  The stone walls of the chapel vibrated with the sound of a single sharp intake of breath from the wedding guests—a breath so loud the doves and pigeons roosting in the rafters took flight en masse. And then there was complete silence, the air in the chapel fairly crackling with electricity at the enmity between the two men.

  Rothermere broke the strained silence. “How dare you, sir!” he roared, glaring at Alex with a show of indignation generally reserved for innocent men unjustly accused.

  “How dare I?” Alex shot back. “How dare you? Every man and most every woman in this chapel is aware of your questionable history with wives. You’ve already buried three. And I, for one, have no wish to attend the funeral of a fourth Lady Rothermere.”

  “Come now, Lord Courtland,” Rothermere said, false charm oozing from every pore as he tried to make light of Alex’s objection. “You know better than to speak of funerals and weddings in the same breath. It’s bad luck.”

  “From what I know of your history, I’d say the bad luck comes with marrying you.”

  Rothermere narrowed his gaze at Alex and dropped the pretense of charm. “Women die,” he retorted. “It’s natural for a man in my position to want heirs and it is also quite natural for members of the weaker sex to succumb to illness, accidents, and childbirth while attempting to provide them.”

  “There’s nothing natural about the way your wives have died,” Alex said. “Childbirth, illness, and accidents didn’t kill them. You did.”

  Chapter Six

  “The deed is everything, the glory nothing.”

  ―Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749-1832

  “That is a dastardly lie!” Leaving his bride at the altar, Lord Rothermere stalked up the chapel aisle, stripped the white glove off his left hand, and slapped Alex across the face with it. “I demand satisfaction!”

  “Demand satisfaction all you like,” Alex replied in a low voice, reaching up to snatch the glove from Rothermere’s grasp as the man drew back to slap him across the face with it once again. “But know that I will not allow you to marry another innocent young lady or stand by while you lead her like a lamb to slaughter as you did with your previous wives.”

  “Name your seconds!” Rothermere ordered, glaring at Alex, but making no attempt to reclaim his glove.

  “Name yours,” Alex countered, watching as Rothermere’s boon companion and best man, Bartholomew Ellsworth, fourth Viscount Ellsworth, slipped away from his place beside Felix at the altar and moved toward the pews. Without Ellsworth to back him, Alex wondered who Rather Mean would call upon.

  “My lords!” the clergyman exclaimed. “Remember where you are! This is consecrated ground.”

  “Barely,” Alex muttered, sparing a glance at the minister before turning his attention back to Rothermere. It was called a chapel and had been consecrated at some point in its distant past, but if the whispers around town and what he and Sussex had seen last night, were true, Viscount Ellsworth and his jaded friends, including the groom and a couple of others seated on the pews, had done their damnedest to unconsecrate it.

  “He cannot ignore a challenge!” Rothermere protested, waving his arms, appealing to Ellsworth and the other male wedding guests for confirmation of his interpretation of the rules of dueling.

  “You challenged me,” Alex pointed out. “You cannot dictate the terms. It’s up to me to choose the time and place. Or not. Fortunately, for you, the Crown frowns upon dueling. And while I’ve nothing against going against the Crown and skewering you, I’ve no wish to spend time in jail or exiled to Australia or the Americas for doing so. Your satisfaction is of no consequence to me.”

  “Coward!” Rothermere spat the insult.

  “You know better.” Alex returned Rothermere’s glare. Most of London knew better. The last time he and Felix Rothermere had exchanged insults they had been facing one another at Jean-Michel Freneau’s Académie d’Escrime. The half-moon shaped scar at the corner of Rothermere’s left eye was testament to the encounter and Alex’s skill with an epée. And the jagged slash on Alex’s upper right arm was testament to Rothermere’s treachery.

  The minister shrugged, then carefully straightened his vestments. “My lords, this is neither the time nor the place. It is a wedding, not a field of honor.”

  However the parson meant them, Alex thought that truer words were never spoken. There was no honor in the wedding taking place in St. Bartholomew’s Chapel today—in the wedding he’d come to stop. “Legally, it’s neither,” he said.

  “What do you mean, legally, it’s neither?” Rothermere sneered. “This wedding is quite legal. While the Crown may frown upon its subjects meeting on a field of honor, it does not object to its subjects contracting for or entering into a state of matrimony.” He gave Alex a nasty smile. “As far as I am aware, there is no law against marrying.”

  “More’s the pity,” Alex retorted. “For I feel certain there should be one against marrying you.”

  “Fortunately, Lord Courtland, my matrimonial plans are none of your affair,” Rothermere snapped.

  “I beg to differ,” Alex replied. “Your matrimonial plans are very much my affair.”

  Rothermere smiled a thin tight smile that bespoke warning to those who knew him well. “I fail to discern why. The lady’s father has no objection to his daughter becoming my marchioness and neither should you.”

  Alex shot a glance at the Earl of McElreath before addressing his words to Rothermere. “Perhaps, I know you better than he does. Or perhaps, as unlikely as it seems, I care more about the lady’s future welfare than he does. Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t any unpaid gambling debts you can use to threaten and blackmail me into agreeing to something to which I would never otherwise agree. Or perhaps, it’s because I suspect the lady’s father was too embarrassed to ask for my help and—knowing your reputation—too desperate to tell you that his daughter is already betrothed.”

  “What?!” Lord Rothermere and Lord McElreath demanded simultaneously. “To whom?”

  “To me.”

  “That’s preposterous!” Rothermere spat.

  “No, it’s true.”

  Alex turned at the sound of another female voice and saw Lady McElreath standing on the threshold of the chapel, holding up a thick sheaf of vellum documents. Lady Caroline stood to her right, slightly behind her. Alex’s footman, Stallings, gave a nod from his position on Lady McElreath’s left.

  “It’s true,” Lady McElreath repeated, moving farther into the chapel, waving the packet of papers in the air for emphasis. “This is my husband’s copy of the marriage contract he signed betrothing our daughter, Lady Liana Claire Jeanette Marie McElreath, to Lord Alexander Michael David James Courtland.”

  “Impossible!” Rothermere declared. “I have a marriage contract signed and dated by Lord McElreath a sennight ago! There has been some mistake.”

  “Indeed there has,” Alex said. “And you made it.” Reaching into the interior pocket of his coat, Alex produced a sheaf o
f vellum documents identical to the ones Lady McElreath was holding aloft. “I asked Lord McElreath for his eldest daughter’s hand nearly two months past. As Lady McElreath can attest, we negotiated and signed the marriage contracts two days later. I brought my copy. And my solicitor and Lord McElreath’s solicitor have copies of the document on file in their places of business.” Alex gave the stunned bride a reassuring smile.

  “There has been no announcement in the newspapers of your impending nuptials.” Rothermere snorted. “If such nuptials are to take place, why haven’t we heard of them?”

  “My intended and I were unable to make our marriage plans known before her brother and his wife set sail for Europe, so her father and I chose to await their safe return from Vienna before announcing our betrothal. He is, as you know, part of our British contingent attending the Congress there.” Alex faced Rothermere. “We wanted to share the happy news with family and close friends before making it public.”

  Rothermere whirled on the Earl of McElreath, the sum of his displeasure focused on the older man. “Is this true?”

  “I…I…” Lord McElreath blustered, looking from Rothermere to Courtland to Lady McElreath standing in the back of the chapel with their younger daughter and glaring at him. He frowned, then pressed his fingers to his forehead as if to ward off the headache pounding there. “I don’t… I can’t…” He sighed.

  “I was afraid of that.” Alex’s tone was sympathetic and understanding. He glanced at McElreath before turning his attention back to Rothermere. “Our private celebration did get a bit out of hand as any number of club members can attest.”

  Rothermere was skeptical. “Yet it’s not in the betting books and no one at White’s breathed a word of the nature of the celebration to me or to anyone else.”

  “There was no reason for anyone to wager on my matrimonial state or for it to appear in the betting books,” Alex said smoothly. “Lord McElreath and I celebrated the conclusion of our happy business at the club, but the celebration was private. No one knew the cause for it because we negotiated and signed the contracts at my townhouse.”

  “A bit unusual, isn’t it?” Rothermere gave Alex a cynical smile. “In my experience the deed is usually done at the home of the lady’s father or guardian and announced and celebrated by all and sundry.”

  “Not the least bit unusual when privacy is required,” Alex countered. “As Lady McElreath was hosting a ladies’ gathering at their residence, I invited Lord McElreath to mine. After we negotiated and signed the contracts, we toasted the agreement with fine brandy, then had dinner and further libations at the club. And when Lord McElreath imbibed a bit too heavily, I took him home to his family.” He matched Rothermere’s cynical smile with one of his own. “Nothing unusual in that.”

  Rothermere turned on Lord McElreath once again. “You never breathed a word of this to me or any of your boon companions—not even while deep in your cups, or when I—”

  “Blackmailed him?” Alex suggested.

  Ignoring Alex, Rothermere focused on the earl. “You signed a marriage contract betrothing Lady Liana to me.”

  “Under duress,” McElreath responded at last. “Because you gave me no choice. I offered to redeem my gambling chits…”

  “With what?” Rothermere demanded. “You have no money of your own.” He managed a laugh. “Your daughter doesn’t even have a respectable dowry.” Glancing at Liana, he added, “but I was willing to take her anyway. The only flush member of your family is your heir and he’s in Europe. You owe everyone in town. Who was going to stand good for you?”

  “I was.” Alex said, stepping between the earl and Rothermere, using the information Lady McElreath had given him. “As the man betrothed to his oldest daughter, I was willing to pay Lord McElreath’s gaming debts. But you refused cash and insisted on one of Lord McElreath’s daughters instead. The elder or the younger. It mattered not a whit to you as long as she was young and innocent.” He smiled at Rothermere. “And I found Lady Liana’s dowry to be quite sufficient, even generous.”

  Rothermere stiffened in anger and drew himself up to his full height. “I don’t believe a word of this Banbury tale!”

  “My memory may fail me on occasion,” Lord McElreath announced, fixing his gaze on his wife as she stood in the back of the chapel like an avenging angel, “but my wife’s memory is infallible and the lady does not lie.”

  Rothermere snorted. “And yet, this—this—” He waved his arm, narrowly missing striking Lord McElreath across the brow. “Timely interruption reeks of deceit.”

  “Unlike your furtive rush to the altar with my betrothed,” Alex commented wryly.

  “I can have you sent to Old Bailey for this!” Rothermere told McElreath.

  Alex shook his head. “Not bloody likely. If a man offers to pay his gaming debts, no gentleman can refuse to accept payment in cash simply because he’d rather have the man’s daughter to wife.”

  A titter of excitement rippled through the chapel. This wedding was getting better by the minute. Having one marquess publicly objecting to the marriage of another marquess was titillating enough, but having sworn enemies do so was without precedence in recent memory! Then to have the bridegroom challenge the intruder to a duel in the midst of the ceremony. Only to discover the bride has been betrothed to both peers.

  At the same time.

  The ceremony had yet to conclude and it was, without a doubt, already the wedding of the season!

  “And you…” Rothermere stepped closer to Alex and stabbed a finger at the center of Alex’s chest. “Do you truly expect to get away with interrupting my wedding, stealing my bride, maligning me in public, and making me a laughingstock amongst my peers?”

  He would have to watch his back for the foreseeable future, but Alex didn’t flinch at the threat. “I did publicly what I was unable to do privately,” he replied, staring down at Rothermere. “I paid a call at your residence last night in a vain attempt to speak privately with you before the ceremony. While I don’t give a ha’penny about protecting your name or your reputation, the same cannot be said about my intended and her family. I would have spared her this embarrassment if I could have, but I would do whatever necessary to prevent you from coercing her father into forcing her into a marriage she does not want. After all, she is wearing my ring…” Alex smiled at Liana, then held his breath as she unbuttoned her left glove, hoping against hope that she was, indeed, wearing his ring, for if not, the jig might be up.

  Liana did not disappoint him. After tugging off her glove, she held her left hand out for Lord Rothermere and her father to see.

  The emerald and diamond ring the first marquess and the previous six earls of Courtland had presented to their brides for over a hundred years sparkled on Liana’s ring finger.

  Alex silently exhaled a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  “By Gad, it’s true.” Lord McElreath breathed, his jaw dropping at the sight of his daughter wearing the fortune in diamonds and emeralds that made up the Courtland betrothal ring. He couldn’t recall any of the particulars of the negotiations with Alexander Courtland, couldn’t remember the negotiations at all, or the celebration following them, but they had to have taken place. No peer worth his salt would send a family heirloom meant for the future marchioness to a girl he didn’t intend to marry. The ring was proof everything Courtland said was true.

  Lord Rothermere was seething with rage. Reaching out, he grabbed Liana by the wrist and jerked her forward before Alex could stop him. “You dared wear another man’s ring to your wedding to me?!”

  Liana winced as the pain of his bruising grip shot from wrist to elbow and back again, but she refused to cry out. “I dared to wear my betrothal ring.” She met Rothermere’s dark gaze. “On my wedding day.”

  Alex felt an unexpected surge of pride as he watched Liana stand up to Rothermere. By Jupiter, but she was beautiful! And fearless! Her mother’s daughter. And Colin McElreath’s sister. The same fierce Scots blood that made Colin one
of the bravest and proudest men Alex had ever known flowed through Liana’s veins. Unlike her father, she possessed all the McElreath strength and none of its weakness. If he’d harbored any doubts about the consequences of his actions, Alex would have laid them to rest then and there. But he had no doubts. He knew Rothermere and knew of what he was capable. He was right to thwart Rothermere by interrupting this travesty of a wedding. Liana was exactly the type of girl Rothermere desired in a wife. No shy, weak-willed miss, she was strong and brave and true and as irresistible to Felix Rothermere as cream to a cat. Like her ancestors before her, Liana McElreath was a warrior woman. And Alex knew Felix Rothermere would derive perverse pleasure from crushing her.

  As if to underscore Alex’s grim musings, Rothermere tightened his grip on her wrist. “That’s Courtland’s ring! Not mine!”

  “He cared enough to present one,” Liana pointed out in a clear, strong voice, lifting her chin a notch higher, daring him to do his worst. “You did not.”

  Rothermere raised his free hand to strike her.

  Alex caught it in his grasp. “Release her. Immediately. And beg her pardon or I’ll kill you where you stand.” Alex kept his voice low, but his words were loud enough for the minister, Lord McElreath, Rothermere, and Liana to hear.

  “With what?” Rothermere sneered.

  “With this.” Easing his grip on Rothermere’s forearm, Alex shifted his weight and slid his hand down to grasp Rothermere’s pinky finger, then tightened his hold, bending Rothermere’s finger into an unnatural angle.

  Rothermere bit his lower lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  “My father believed a well-educated gentleman should always be able to defend himself—no matter the circumstances,” Alex said in a deceptively conversational tone.

  “Good for you,” Rothermere said with a sneer. “If your father had practiced what he preached, he would still be alive and you would be an earl instead of a marquess.”

  Alex ignored Rothermere’s jib and continued in the same conversational tone of voice. “In addition to fencing, I’ve studied the Eastern and Asian methods of fighting. I can cause discomfort or kill you in a dozen different ways before you can draw your next breath.”