Margaret’s smile faded at Lucinda’s use of the word gentleman. Tom Poole was so different from the kind of man she had expected to marry. Was she really making the right decision?
“Don’t tell me it’s Mr. Plimpton,” Lucinda said, misinterpreting Margaret’s uneasiness. “He’s far too old, even if he is rich.”
“No, it’s not Mr. Plimpton,” Margaret said, unable to repress a shiver at the thought. A widower twice over, despite his riches, Mr. Plimpton was considered one of London’s most ineligible bachelors—by the ladies, at least. Even if their grasping mothers did not agree.
“Thank heaven. Well, then, who is it?” Lucinda prompted.
Margaret hesitated, taking a deep breath and another sip of ale. This was the first time she would be telling this to anyone, apart from her solicitors. “I’m going to marry Mr. Tom Poole.”
“Truly?” Lucinda’s eyes danced with happy astonishment. “How brilliant!”
“Do you really think so?” Margaret said in surprise. “So you know him?”
“Of course. His brother-in-law is Lord Somerville—such an excellent man.” She sighed, and her face reddened.
“I’m sorry—is this a painful subject?” Margaret said apologetically. She had heard that at one time many people thought Lord Somerville was going to marry Lucinda.
“No, no.” Lucinda waved away Margaret’s worry. “There was never any actual understanding between Lord Somerville and me. He would have been too honorable to break off an official engagement.”
“What sort of man is he, really?” Margaret asked. “Mr. Poole, I mean.”
“He’s handsome and rich. What more do you need?” Lucinda giggled, an uncharacteristic sound for her. “Oh dear, I sound like Emily now, don’t I?” She gave Margaret a reassuring smile. “I have had occasion to speak with Mr. Poole several times. Our family even dined at their home, although my mother—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
“Go on,” Margaret said. “What about your mother?” Most probably the lofty Lady Cardington did not approve of this nouveau riche man among the more rarefied folk.
“Well, never mind about that,” Lucinda said. “The point is that Mr. Poole seems a most honest and kind gentleman. I think at times he feels awkward at society events, but I do not consider that a fatal flaw.”
“Some say he lacks manners because of his humble origins,” Margaret pointed out. “They say he will never fit in.”
“Are you really so concerned about fitting in?” Lucinda asked with a chiding grin. “I think you’re too intelligent for that. And besides, I’ve been born and bred in society, and I don’t feel comfortable at formal gatherings, either. I’m always making some faux pas or other and driving my mother to her wits’ end.”
“What a diplomat you would make,” Margaret said, amused by Lucinda’s unique way of looking at problems. “If only women were allowed to hold such positions.”
Lucinda smiled at this remark, but merely said, “I think Mr. Poole is a man of principle. Surely that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”
Again, with the soul of a diplomat, Lucinda had discerned the heart of the matter. Lucinda had blamed Paul’s lack of scruples for the broken engagement, even though Margaret had never been able to tell her the whole story. Margaret was painfully aware of her own role in the near disaster, but she was grateful for Lucinda’s fierce loyalty.
“I suppose you will want me to act as your bridesmaid,” Lucinda said with resignation. “Even though I am terrified about standing up in front of all those people. Who will be standing up with Mr. Poole?”
“I believe he is going to ask Mr. James Simpson to be the best man.”
“Mr. Simpson!”
Another flush turned Lucinda’s face to a fiery red. Margaret thought she couldn’t look any more dismayed. “Are you embarrassed to stand up in church with him? I know he has a reputation for being somewhat of a rogue—”
“It’s fine,” Lucinda broke in. “It just seems odd to picture him as a groomsman. Especially since he is always saying he will never get married himself.” She hastily finished the last of her ale. “Shall we settle the bill? It’s getting late and Mama really will suspect something if I don’t return soon.”
As they walked out into the street a few minutes later, Lucinda said, “I confess I will miss having another single lady to commiserate with. I’ve enjoyed our brief time together. On the other hand, perhaps I might now accompany you when you are out and about. Married ladies have so much more freedom.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Margaret cautioned. Although she had a legal document giving her joint power over her estate, Margaret still had concerns. Was a person really free when they were yoked to another? What if her heart truly became entwined with this man? If her heart gave up its independence, surely the rest would follow all too easily.
*
“You’re doing what?” Lizzie exclaimed.
Tom stood in the parlor, patiently awash in the astounded exclamations of his sister and brother-in-law. He had expected this, of course. It was one of the reasons he’d put off telling them. That, plus he wanted to make sure the marriage was actually going to happen.
“I’m going to marry Miss Vaughn,” he repeated. The papers had been signed, and he and Margaret had come to an agreement on how the land should be settled. The lawyers had been amazed, of course. That Mr. Hawthorne, especially. But he’d nearly managed to hide it under the usual sanguine expression that was the stock in trade for solicitors.
Lizzie’s reaction was much more vibrant. “Oh, my dear brother!” She held out her arms and he obligingly knelt down by the chair so she could hug him. “I thought some plan was on your mind when you brought her to dinner.” She grinned and pinched his cheek. “I saw the way you looked at her. I had no doubt you were smitten.”
“Was it really that evident?” Tom said, smiling.
“Oh, I shall be so happy to have a sister-in-law!” Lizzie continued brightly. “And I’m ecstatic because it means you’ll be staying in England. Just think—you’ll be a proper member of the gentry! When is the wedding? Next spring?”
“In fact, we have planned it for three weeks from tomorrow.”
“Oh! So soon!” Lizzie’s face fell. “That means I won’t be able to attend, I’m afraid.”
Tom hated to see regret dampening her excitement. He adjusted one of the cushions in her chair. “I know how badly you wanted to see me get married. You’ve been telling me so for years,” he teased. “I’m sorry you won’t be there, but I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
“Marriage is an awfully big step,” Geoffrey said. “Why the rush?”
“Well, there is a need for haste.”
Geoffrey’s eyebrows rose. Lizzie fanned herself. “Merciful heavens,” she giggled.
“I don’t mean it in that way,” Tom amended quickly. “Everything between us has been perfectly proper. But she has some legal and financial affairs that need attending to right away. As her husband I will be in a better position to help her.”
Geoffrey shook his head, still unconvinced. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through completely?”
“He’s right,” Lizzie said reluctantly. “You do have a tendency to leap rather swiftly into action.”
Tom paced to the fireplace, then paused when he realized he was illustrating what Lizzie had just said. It was true; he preferred action. But he wanted to assure them he was no longer as reckless as he had once been. “Trust me, we’ve been over everything carefully. The lawyers have drawn up all the papers—”
“I’m speaking of more than legalities,” Geoffrey said. “What I mean is, how well do you really know her?”
“Know her?” At times Tom felt he knew her like his own soul. At other times, she was a complete mystery. In Tom’s mind, the real question was whether he wanted to know more, and the answer to that was unequivocally yes. But he did not think that answer would alleviate Geoffrey’s concerns, so he said ins
tead, “You know her story. She comes from an old and well-respected family. Her father’s death two years ago left her with no immediate relatives.” He saw no need to mention Margaret’s cousins, since they had been cut out of her life.
“Perhaps the more important question is what does she know of our family?” Geoffrey said. “How much have you told her about your past? Or about Lizzie? About why the two of you went to Australia?”
It was an issue that could not be ignored. Years before, Lizzie had fallen in love with a wealthy young man named Freddie Hightower. Seducing her with promises of marriage, Hightower had taken her to Europe only to abandon her there. Tom had shot him in a duel and then fled to Australia, taking Lizzie with him. No one outside their immediate family knew this part of her past. They knew only that Lizzie had been living in Australia when she’d learned of her connection to the Thornboroughs and decided to return to England.
Lizzie grasped a cushion and held it tightly, her forehead creased with worry. “I hadn’t thought of that! Tom, will she keep our secret? If anyone else should discover my scandal… that would be disastrous…”
Tom swiftly returned to her side. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. You and I made a pact long ago never to speak of those events. There will be no need for Margaret to keep that secret, because she will never know it.”
“It is not a good start to a marriage to be keeping things from your wife,” Geoffrey said with concern. “Marriage ought to be based on full openness and trust.”
“But doesn’t it say in Psalms that God forgives our sins and remembers them no more?” Tom asked earnestly. “Shouldn’t we also live that way, and not bring up past mistakes that the Lord has already forgiven us for?”
“You are turning into quite the Bible scholar, Tom,” Lizzie said, but her voice held gentle reproof. “Don’t forget Geoffrey is an ordained clergyman. He has great knowledge in these matters.”
“I beg your pardon, Geoffrey,” Tom said. “I meant no disrespect. However, I believe we must keep this matter private.”
A long silence followed this pronouncement, while Geoffrey considered Tom’s words and Lizzie looked at them both anxiously. At last Geoffrey sighed and said, “As you wish. I have had my say, but you must do as you see fit.”
Tom knew it was the right answer. Lizzie let out a great sigh, her eyes misting with tears as she told Geoffrey, “I must confess I am relieved.”
Geoffrey still looked troubled but he simply said, “We will take things one day at a time.”
Lizzie gave him a grateful smile, then turned back to Tom. “And now, dear brother, I have one more thing to ask you.”
“Anything,” Tom said.
“Well… to be honest… when you returned to London I had worried that you would be beset by fortune hunters. But instead, you are engaged to someone who is rich already!” She beamed. “Does this mean Margaret understands what a treasure you are? I can see how much you love her, but tell me—does she return your love?”
This was a question with no simple answer. Margaret did need his money. But never, ever would he think of her as a fortune hunter. After all, he had pursued her, hadn’t he? Not the other way around. All he knew for sure as he looked into his sister’s clear, wide eyes, so full of love and completely without guile, was that he could not lie to her. So he simply said with a hint of self-deprecation, “Margaret is willing to marry me. Does not love make fools of us all?”
Chapter 17
The morning fog was dense, slowing the pace of Margaret’s carriage as it brought her to the ceremony that would change her life forever. So many details of this day were exactly as she had laid them out weeks before. She was dressed in a fine white dress and lace veil, and would be married in a large church in front of hundreds of well-wishers. She and the groom would host a wedding breakfast so grand that they had to hire a banquet hall, as there was not enough room in her hired house to hold all the guests. Then they would return to Lincolnshire and begin the task of revitalizing Moreton Hall.
There was just one, vitally significant difference: the groom.
Margaret twisted her hands in her lap, toying with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. Was today proof that she could meet disaster and still come out victorious, or was she the butt of a very elaborate joke planned by the Fates? She had done all she could to be sure it was the former. The lawyers had drawn up everything to her satisfaction, amazed at the concessions Tom had willingly made.
Yet still she felt uneasy. Once they were married, any number of things might turn out to be beyond her control. Her lawyers had confirmed Tom’s financial status through a variety of reliable sources, and yet Tom’s choice of a business partner worried her. Sullivan was an ex-convict. He’d been sent down to Australia for murder and theft. Although the murder charge had been commuted, could a man such as that really be trusted?
And what about Tom himself? Everyone was of the opinion that Tom was an honorable man, but many had been fooled by Paul, too. She could not be totally sure the legal agreements were safe from challenge. Tom might well be able to get them overturned in a court of law if he put his mind and resources to it. Lord Somerville had vouched for him—surely she should trust the word of a clergyman? She gave a small, hollow laugh. She’d never known a man of the cloth to be reliable simply because of a title the church chose to give him.
“I’m glad to hear you laugh, miss,” Bessie said. “ ’Tis your wedding day, after all, and you seem far too sad about it.” She gave Margaret a sunny smile. “This is the beginning of brighter days, is it not? The mourning has turned to singing.”
Margaret sighed, twisting the handkerchief tighter, wishing she had Bessie’s simple optimism.
The carriage came to a stop. Dozens of carriages lined the street, evidence of the number of people who had come to the ceremony. Lord Somerville stood waiting at the church door. He helped Margaret descend from the carriage. Behind her, Bessie took hold of the back of her gown to enable it to flow unhindered behind her as she stepped down.
“Everyone is ready,” Lord Somerville said with a smile. “All that is needed is the bride.”
Suddenly, Margaret had a wild urge to flee, to climb back into the carriage and ride off as swiftly as she could. Why could she not settle in her heart that she was doing the right thing?
Lord Somerville patted her hand, which she realized was gripping his arm tightly. “Don’t worry, Miss Vaughn; it’s natural to get jitters on your wedding day. I will tell you quite confidentially that Tom has been unable to speak a coherent word all morning.”
He was trying to set her at ease, but his words only added to Margaret’s qualms. Was Tom having regrets? It still seemed unreal to Margaret that they were all here, that this wedding was going forward. But as Lord Somerville began to lead her toward the church door, she had to face the fact that this was indeed very real. Taking a deep breath, Margaret tried to relax the worry wrinkles in her forehead, but that did nothing to ease her inner trepidation.
Lord Somerville’s keen dark eyes were watching her with compassion. “Believe that the Lord has brought you to this day, Margaret. Put your trust in Him.”
Believe. Trust.
It was a large thing to ask of a God she knew little about.
*
Tom stood at the altar, listening as the church bells struck the hour. He was astounded at the number of people here. The law required that all weddings be open for anyone who wished to attend, and clearly there were plenty who wanted to see this one. Ushers had carefully weeded out the crowd, allowing invited guests to sit in the front pews while the mere onlookers sat or stood in the back.
Tom was too nervous to look at the congregation directly. He kept his eyes fixed on the altar, with occasional glances at the clergyman standing placidly in front of him. Once or twice Tom had looked toward the wide church door at the opposite end of the church, searching for Margaret. This had been a useless endeavor, as his vision was blocked by a sea of bonnets and top hats. On the clergym
an’s right side stood Margaret’s bridesmaid, Miss Lucinda Cardington. She tried to bolster Tom with an encouraging smile, but her cheeks were awash with red and the bouquet she held was trembling.
Only James looked perfectly at ease, not at all concerned that hundreds of eyes were fastened on them. “Let’s hope the bride arrives on time,” he said as the final stroke of the bell vibrated through the church. “I’m famished, and I want to get to that wedding breakfast.”
“Is that all you can think about?” Tom asked. “The food?”
“Well, the champagne is on my mind, too, of course,” he said with a wink. “But that goes without saying.”
Lucinda gave a small gasp at this remark, but Tom wasn’t surprised. He knew James would always find something humorous to say, no matter what the situation.
The soft murmurs of the crowd began to fade, replaced by a rustling as everyone stood up. Margaret and Geoffrey must be making their entrance. Tom held his breath, waiting for the first glimpse of his bride.
And there she was. The worries that had besieged Tom all morning fell away as he stared at her in wonder. Her silvery dress was decorated at the throat and waist with orange blossoms, as was the wreath of flowers in her hair.
His heart stuttered as he watched her walk up the aisle on Geoffrey’s arm, moving in solemn, measured strides with that elegant grace of hers. A veil of sheer lace cascaded down the length of her back, fluttering as she walked. She looked straight ahead, as though unaware of the hundreds of people crowding both sides of the aisle. Her face was unmoving, like a fine marble statue. She was regal, unearthly. A vision of beauty. And very soon, she would be his. It was a sacred trust that he would honor with all that was in him.
The knot in his throat made him wish his valet had not tied his cravat so tightly. Dear Lord, he thought, overcome with the magnitude of his joy. Dear Lord.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?” James whispered. “Congratulations, old man.”
At last, Margaret and Geoffrey reached the altar. Tom fancied that he could smell the tart scent of the orange blossoms decorating her hair and dress. She stood, perfectly poised, not quite meeting his gaze.
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