A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  “It is no more than you deserve,” Jack assured his fiancée to prevent her from saying anything more indiscreet in front of the mercer. Such people pretended to be mute and invisible when their customers conversed. Yet he sensed they took in every word and would not hesitate to repeat what they’d heard if it might be to their advantage.

  “We will take both, then,” Clarissa informed the cloth merchant with obvious satisfaction.

  While the proprietor tallied their bill, she grasped Jack’s hand and gave it a squeeze. The pad of her gloved thumb rubbed provocatively over his palm. “Wait until you see what a vision of a gown I shall have made up. I mean to make you proud of me no matter what small-minded gossips may say. I can hardly wait for our wedding, my darling!”

  Jack tried to appear as if he agreed, but in truth he dreaded that fast-approaching day. Only the thought of his precious little daughter kept him on course. To prevent her loss from his life and give her a stable home, he would do what he must and make the best of it.

  What did it matter who he wed, anyway? The only woman he could happily have made his wife no longer wanted anything to do with him... and he could not blame her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE SOUND OF loud pounding on her door jolted Annabelle awake.

  “Go away, Jack,” she murmured, her mind still half-caught in a dream about him. “I don’t want your charity.”

  “Lady Southam!” a voice that was not Jack’s replied as the knocking continued. “Please let me in. I have news and every moment counts.”

  “Rory?” Annabelle dragged herself up from the table and staggered toward the door in a daze. “What day is it?”

  As she fumbled with the bolts, she recalled the answer to her question. This was Jack’s wedding day.

  She had sat up late the previous night hoping to receive some last minute message from Gabriel. But she had fallen asleep at the table without the slightest crumb of news to revive her flagging optimism.

  When the door finally opened a crack, Rory pushed through, the very picture of disheveled impatience. “I’ve got her! It took me all day yesterday and last night, but I finally got to the bottom of it all.”

  The lower portion of his face bristled with unshaven whiskers and there was a glint of something perilously close to madness in the Irishman’s roving green eyes. His breath reeked of stale brandy. Every maternal instinct in Annabelle’s heart longed to put him to bed and let him sleep off his intemperance. But she dared not, if his wild ramble meant what she hoped it might.

  “Are you certain?” She rubbed her eyes, suddenly aware of her stiff neck and sore back. “You have proof that Clarissa Reynard is not Sarah’s mother? If we are to stop the wedding, Jack will require more than hearsay.”

  “I know.” Rory began to pace the floor like a caged beast. “I found a fellow who spent this past winter in the West Indies and —”

  Annabelle bit her tongue to contain a shriek of impatience. “What does that signify? Madame was back in England by then!”

  Rory shook his head so vigorously Annabelle feared he might make himself retch. “That’s just it—she wasn’t! She was on the Island of St. Jerome until at least March. The fellow said he has a copy of the island newspaper which mentions her presence at the governor’s masquerade on the fifth of that month. She could not have been in London two weeks earlier to leave the baby at our door!”

  Annabelle’s stifled cry of vexation erupted as a whoop of joy instead. “Do you have the newspaper with you? Let me see it! We must get to the church at once and confront her with it.”

  “I do not have the written proof... yet.” Rory backed out of her reach. “I could not conceal the intensity of my interest and the fellow realized he might turn the situation to his advantage. The sum he asked was more than I could afford just then.”

  Annabelle’s recently-elevated spirits plummeted. She had no money with which to purchase the proof that could save Jack from that conniving vixen. If only she had not been such a proud, stubborn fool to refuse the funds he’d offered her when she left Bruton Street. “Is there anyone who could lend us the money? Once Jack comes to his senses, I am certain he will be happy to repay it.”

  “That will not be necessary.” Rory fished in his coat pocket and whipped out a sheaf of banknotes. “I knew the only way to get the money was to win it and I did! I never had such a run of luck at the tables in my life. I vowed by all I hold dear that if I won what I needed, I would never touch a card again and I mean to keep that promise.”

  Under other circumstances, Annabelle would have been delighted to hear it. But at the moment she was swamped with urgency. “Then why did you not pay for the newspaper and bring it with you?”

  Rory Fitzwalter did not seem to realize he was in greater danger of being throttled now than earlier. “I am on my way there, but it may take me some time to track the man down and secure the proof. In the meantime, you must go to the church and stall the wedding until I get there.”

  “How am I to do that?” Annabelle demanded, overcome by exhaustion and anxiety. “I have tried every possible argument to talk him out of this. None has succeeded. Why should he heed me at the last minute?”

  Rory looked as much at a loss for an answer as she felt. “Perhaps rather than trying to reason him into agreement, you should appeal to his heart. I believe he loves you, whether he can admit it or not. And I know you love him in a way that makes me almost believe in such things. I am confident you can find a way to reach him, if anyone can.”

  She had tried appealing to Jack’s heart twice before. Both times she had failed. Did she have it in her to try again and risk further rejection for her pains? When it came to Jack, Annabelle realized with a wistful pang, she had nothing left to lose. It was a daunting notion, yet strangely liberating at the same time.

  “Very well.” She gave a grim nod. “Go get that newspaper, if you have to scour Mayfair from one end to the other. I will go to Hanover Square and do what I can to buy you the time you need.”

  Rory started for the door then turned back. “I nearly forgot. There is more to the story.”

  “Can it not wait?” Annabelle was tempted to push him out.

  Rory shook his head. “You need to know. It may help. As you might imagine, there was a considerable quantity of spirits consumed in the course of play last night. The subject of Lord Hawthorne came up and how Jack throttled him. One of the other players was deep in his cups. He muttered something about Hawthorne getting his revenge, which would be not only sweet but lucrative. I questioned the drunken sot further after our game ended. His answers were not terribly coherent but I heard enough to work out that Hawthorne and Madame Reynard are in this together to fleece Jack.”

  A surge of molten rage flared inside Annabelle, making her face blaze. If she could have laid hands on either of those miserable villains just then, she feared what violence she might be capable of.

  “Is that everything?” she demanded in a voice that sounded too menacing to be hers.

  Rory replied with an anxious nod.

  “Then go!” Annabelle stabbed her forefinger toward the door. “Meet me at St. George’s once you have the proof. I pray we will be in time.”

  She addressed those last words to the empty room for Rory had fled.

  Seizing her shawl and bonnet, she followed. When she reached the street, Rory was nowhere to be seen, but the chiming of church bells told Annabelle the time. How could she have slept so long in such an uncomfortable position? Unless she’d miscounted, the hour was now eleven. Jack might already be wed to that nefarious creature.

  If the wedding had not concluded, it would soon have to begin to finish before noon. Weddings were only permitted to take place in the morning, unless the couple procured an expensive special license. Hanover Square was not far from Annabelle’s lodgings but it would take at least ten minutes to reach at a dead run.

  She plucked up her skirts and sprinted off, all the while praying that Lord Rory’s abse
nce would delay Jack’s unfortunate nuptials.

  “Where in blazes can Rory be?” Jack’s voice echoed faintly in the large, empty sanctuary of St. George’s.. “I gave him all the particulars and he assured me he would be here.”

  If he did not go through with this wedding soon, Jack feared he would lose his nerve.

  Clarissa’s pretty face looked positively thunderous. “Did I not tell you to choose a more reliable witness than Rory Fitzwalter? He is probably still out gaming and too deep in his cups to know what day it is, much less what time!”

  His fiancée clearly did not heed the old superstition about it being bad luck for the groom to see his bride on their wedding day, prior to the ceremony. When eleven o’clock came, she had marched into the sanctuary demanding to know the cause of the delay.

  “I know Rory is not the most responsible fellow, but he always comes through when it matters.” In spite of his vexation with his friend Jack felt strangely compelled to defend him. “He will probably arrive at any moment.”

  “If we wait many more moments it will be too late.” Clarissa glanced toward the presiding clergyman, who was doing his best not to appear impatient to get started. “Can you not choose another witness?”

  A soft voice in the back of Jack’s mind whispered that one day’s postponement of the wedding should not matter, but he knew otherwise. He was nearly as anxious as Clarissa for their union to be made as irrevocable as possible. Then he would be little Sarah’s father in fact as well as in heart.

  “I would have asked Gabriel if he were here. Before he left town, he assured me he would return in time for the wedding.” A deep sense of anxiety gripped Jack. “I hope no harm has come to them.”

  “Do not waste your concern on those parasites!” Clarissa flicked open her fan and worked it feverishly to cool her face which grew redder by the minute. “You know very well the only harm that might have befallen them is drink and ill luck at the tables.”

  Jack knew it was likely true yet he struggled to keep from defending his friends. He had hoped that in spite of his recent actions they still cared for him and wished him well. Had he fooled himself? Did Gabriel and Rory only regard him as an easy mark from whom to leech what they needed? Were they not willing to reciprocate even in the small matter of witnessing his marriage?

  Clarissa swept a sharp glance around the sanctuary. Her gaze fixed on the only other persons present—her maid and his valet, Godfrey. “Get your man to witness the ceremony. After all, Lovell is my witness. It would only be fitting.”

  Jack nodded. “I will ask him.”

  Clarissa’s fan stopped its frantic flutter. She gave an approving smile.

  The two servants were having a whispered conversation when Jack approached them. “I say, Godfrey, it seems Mr. Fitzwalter has been delayed. Could I prevail upon you to step in as my witness?”

  Godfrey did not respond with his usual alacrity. Jack sensed his valet was flattered by the request to substitute for the son of a peer. Yet he seemed reluctant for some reason. In the end, duty to his master won out. “I should be honored, Mr. Warwick, if that is what you wish.”

  “Of course it is what I wish.” Jack forced a chuckle. “I would not have asked otherwise. Come then, let us get on with the ceremony before the morning runs out.”

  He motioned the servants to the chancel steps and joined Clarissa there. “A witness has been found, vicar. Pray proceed.”

  “As you wish, sir.” The vicar fumbled with his prayer book, seeking the proper page, then cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony...”

  Jack’s misgivings eased as he slipped into a comfortable sense of resignation. After so many years of living without thought to the consequences of his actions, at last he was prepared to embrace his responsibilities—none more happily than that of father to Sarah.

  The vicar concluded his reading on the causes for which matrimony was ordained. He had managed to make man’s carnal lusts and appetites sound more dull than salacious. Now he looked from Jack to Clarissa with a solemn frown. “I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it. For be ye well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God’s Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.”

  Not expecting an answer, the clergyman only paused long enough to inhale. But in that brief instant a breathless voice from the back of the church demanded, “Well...?”

  Annabelle? Jack’s heart leapt in a way he sensed it never would for his bride. In spite of that, he wished she had stayed away a few moments longer. No one else had the power to threaten the future and the family he envisioned for himself.

  Clarissa spun around. “Well... what? What are you doing here? You were not invited.”

  Jack could not bring himself to turn and look at Annabelle for fear he might react in a way he knew he should not. But he heard her approach with a brisk, purposeful stride. Every step made his pulse beat louder in his ears.

  “It does not look as if you invited anyone,” she replied in an impudent tone Jack found far too appealing. “Or could no one you invited bear to witness this travesty?”

  The vicar sputtered. “See here my good woman...”

  Clarissa was less polite. “How dare you interrupt my wedding, you meddlesome bitch?”

  The vicar’s mouth opened and closed without producing a sound, as if he were in the grip of an apoplectic fit.

  “Jack,” Clarissa wailed, “make that creature leave at once!”

  He had never felt like such a coward in all his life. He would rather have faced a French firing squad than the woman who continually turned his world upside down.

  Steeling himself to resist the sight of her, Jack turned around. “Please, Annabelle, do not do this now, I beg you. My mind is made up. There can be no turning back.”

  Her face looked pale and pinched. There were gray smudges, like ash, under her eyes. He could tell she had not had enough rest, nourishment or peace since she’d left his house. In spite of that, she had never looked more appealing—dangerously so. With every fiber of his being he wanted to protect and restore her.

  His words made her flinch but they did not deter her.

  “Your mind is made up.” She addressed him as if there was no one else present. “But is your heart, Jack?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” demanded Clarissa. Before Annabelle could reply she continued. “If this nuisance refuses to leave, you must cast her out by force, Jack.”

  “Could you do that?” Annabelle challenged him. Beneath her façade of brazen confidence, he glimpsed an anxious quiver of uncertainty. “Could you lay hands on me without wanting to take me in your arms?”

  “I... I...” Jack knew he must sound like a perfect idiot, but he could not bring himself to lie about such a thing, especially in a house of worship. Yet neither did he dare speak the truth.

  “I will spare you that ordeal.” Annabelle regarded him with something akin to pity. “I will leave this place at once, without a fuss, if you can swear you do not love me and do not wish you were marrying me, instead of her.”

  “Is that all?” Clarissa sounded relieved. “Then tell her at once Jack so she will leave us to get on with our wedding.”

  When he did not speak, because his vocal organs seemed to have turned to stone Clarissa prompted him sharply, “Now, Jack, please. We do not have all day.”

  “Do hold your tongue!” Annabelle snapped. “I shall deal with you in good time. This is between Jack and me.”

  Her gaze sought his again and refused to release it. “You cannot do it, can you? Even though it might cost you the child you adore and the opportunity to have a family at last?”

&nb
sp; “I love my daughter.” He offered every word fresh-cut from his heart. “And I see now how much I have craved a family to replace the one I lost. But if I gain it by denying my true feelings or if I marry for reasons other than love, I will risk repeating my parents’ mistakes. That would do Sarah a grave disservice.”

  Had he lost everything with his confession? Jack expelled a quivering breath. “I do love you Annabelle—I cannot deny it. What is more, I reckon I have felt that way for a very long time. After everything I have done, I cannot imagine you still have any such feeling for me.”

  She had cared about him enough to come here today. But he knew there could be many other motives for her intervention besides love.

  “No!” The word rang out, not from Annabelle’s lips as he had expected, but from Clarissa’s. “No, no, no! You proposed to me and you must marry me or you will never see our baby again. I gave her to you and I can take her back!”

  The threat seemed to hack a jagged hole in Jack’s chest. Why had he thrown away his chance of a family by declaring a love he had denied and betrayed many times over?

  Annabelle broke abruptly from their locked gaze without any sign of what his belated declaration meant to her... if anything.

  He watched as she strode toward his vindictive bride and addressed her in a firm, confident tone. “Oh no, you can’t.”

  “Indeed I can and I will,” Clarissa sputtered. “Just watch me. The two of you cannot trifle with me and get away with it. I will have my child back!”

  Jack wanted to plead with Annabelle not to aggravate Sarah’s mother. She might ruin any hope of Clarissa allowing him some limited contact with their daughter. But he sensed she would never listen. Was that why she had come here—to break his heart as he had broken hers more than once?

  No. He might deserve such treatment but he knew better than to fear it at Annabelle’s tender hands.

  “Perhaps you do have a child somewhere.” Annabelle sounded as if she were deliberately baiting Clarissa—a dangerous pastime. “But not the baby at Bruton Street. Sarah is more my daughter than yours and I will protect her and Jack from you by whatever means I must. You could not have placed her on his doorstep because you were dallying in the West Indies at the time and we both know it.”