Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  “Now then, it’s a glorious day—how about we stop off at Gunters for an ice? It’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to treat a pretty girl. I hope you’re as fond of ices as I am.”

  An ice, Lily agreed, would be perfect. On impulse she slipped her arm through Lord Galbraith’s. “I’m so glad we’ve been able to talk like this before the wedding, Lord Galbraith.”

  “So am I, my dear, so am I. And perhaps one day you could call me Grandpapa.”

  After a delicious brown-bread ice followed by a cup of tea, Lord Galbraith took her home. The next time she saw him would be at her wedding.

  Lily found Aunt Dottie waiting for her when she got in. “Did you have a nice outing, my dear?”

  “Yes, lovely. Lord Galbraith was very kind. Did you want something, Aunt Dottie?”

  “Just a quick word with you about tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course, Aunt Dottie. Shall we go into the sitting room?” Lily resigned herself to yet another long list of advice-for-a-new-bride. It was ironic, as Aunt Dottie had never been married.

  “Oh, heavens no, it won’t take that long. Weddings get so busy, I was worried I wouldn’t have time to talk to you in private, and what I have to say is so important, I wanted to have your full attention.”

  Lily smiled. Aunt Dottie was such a sweetheart. “You have it now.”

  The plump little snowy-haired woman took Lily’s hands in hers. “It’s just this: I know everyone’s been telling you what to think and what to do. All I want you to do is to trust your own instincts, my love. Don’t let anyone tell you what you feel. Listen only to your heart.” She gazed earnestly up at Lily. “And remember this—love is never wrong. Never. Will you promise to remember?”

  “I will, dearest Aunt Dottie.” Lily hugged her aunt and kissed her on the cheek. “My very favorite aunt.” Aunt Dottie had taken the place of a mother after Mama had died and Rose and Lily had been sent away to school.

  Aunt Dottie chuckled. “Not a great deal of competition, is there? Aggie’s got bossier and more critical than ever. But I don’t let her worry me, and you shouldn’t, either. She means well, I’m sure.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Know your own happiness. Want for nothing but patience—or give it a more fascinating name: Call it hope.

  —JANE AUSTEN, SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

  The night before her wedding, Lily slept barely a wink. The echoes of all the advice she’d been given circled in her mind: It may be a little uncomfortable at first . . . never contradict your husband . . . a feeling of bliss . . . skip breakfast entirely . . . take your happiness where you find it . . . with practice it would get better . . . nothing bores a husband quicker than an overly dependent wife . . . bliss . . .

  It seemed as though she’d only just fallen asleep when George was there, pulling back the curtains, saying, “Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to be up.”

  “Go away, George. It’s my wedding day. I’m sleeping in.”

  “No, you’re not,” George said briskly. “If you lie here thinking about what is to come, you’ll just wait and worry—I know you! So get up. We’re going to the park.”

  “I don’t want to ride out. Besides, it looks wet.” The sky outside was leaden with the promise of rain.

  “A tiny hint of drizzle won’t hurt you. Now, come on, you need to get your blood moving so you’ll be a fresh and glowing bride.” George reached for the bedcovers and ruthlessly pulled them back.

  There was no resisting George in this mood, and besides she was right. There really wasn’t a lot for Lily to do to get ready for her wedding. A bath, do her hair, and get dressed. Everything else was in other hands.

  Lily rose, put on her habit, and hurried downstairs to where Kirk, their Scottish groom, was waiting with the horses. He tossed each of them into their saddles, and they rode off.

  It was cold and the rain came down in fitful spatters, but Lily was glad in the end that she’d come riding. It would be the last morning the three of them would ride out together as unmarried girls. They reached Hyde Park and found it virtually deserted because of the miserable weather, so George immediately took advantage of the lack of witnesses to urge them into a race.

  She won it, of course, by a half length, but by the time they’d circled the park and reached the designated end-of-race tree they were breathless and laughing. “Aren’t you glad you came now?” George said.

  Lily’s blood was singing in her veins. She felt marvelous.

  “Oh, no! We’ve got to get out of here.” Rose was looking over Lily’s shoulder. “No, don’t look,” she exclaimed as Lily started to turn. “It’s Galbraith and his grandfather—I said don’t look! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

  Without hesitation George pulled off her coat and slung it over Lily’s head.

  “Ow, George, what are you—”

  “He can’t see you now. Give me your reins.” George took the reins from Lily’s hands and, laughing, they rode quickly home, making a large detour around the park to avoid her husband-to-be, while Lily tried to explain between giggles and through the muffling layers of coat that it was the dress he wasn’t supposed to see, not the bride.

  Once home, Lily found her bridal gown laid out ready on her bed, a hot bath steaming gently, and Emm and Aunt Dottie waiting anxiously. “Hurry along, girls,” Emm said. “Only two hours before the wedding.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “He’s inside, waiting at the altar.” George had peeped into the church when they’d arrived. Rose and Emm gave the last tweaks to Lily’s dress, an exquisite confection of lace over cream satin—Miss Chance had outdone herself—and a coronet of silk flowers, which anchored a lace veil. One last adjustment of the veil, and Emm went inside.

  Lily was trembling like a leaf.

  Aunt Dottie took Lily’s white-gloved hands in hers and squeezed them affectionately. “Stop worrying, darling girl—I have one of my feelings about this marriage; it’s all going to work out beautifully. Now, go in there, marry that handsome man and remember what I told you.” Then she too went inside the church.

  “What did she tell you?” Rose asked.

  “I can’t remember,” Lily lied. Love is never wrong. How did Aunt Dottie know she loved Edward?

  “You can still escape,” Rose told her. “You don’t have to do this, Lily.”

  Yes, she did.

  Lily took a deep breath and stepped inside the church. It smelled of wood polish, brass cleaner and flowers. There was a dramatic musical chord from the organ and a rustling in the congregation as people stood and heads turned; a sea of faces, a mixed blur of goodwill and curiosity.

  All Lily saw was Edward, waiting at the end of the aisle, tall and solemn and so darkly handsome it made her want to weep.

  “Go on then if you must,” Rose murmured from behind her. And Lily began the walk down the aisle.

  “Dearly beloved . . .”

  She’d taken off her gloves for the ceremony. His hand was warm. Hers felt frozen. She was shaking worse than ever. He kept hold of her hand and rubbed his thumb over it in a soothing rhythm, back and forth. Slow, steady, reassuring. She glanced up at him, saw him watching her and managed a small smile.

  “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  Cal stepped forward. Her big brother. “I do.”

  “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband . . .”

  Her throat felt dry, but she managed to say, “I will.”

  Her hand was shaking so badly he found it difficult to slip the ring onto her finger—for a moment there she’d thought he might drop it, but he gripped it firmly, and then it slipped on, still warm from his body, and fitting perfectly.

  And then he spoke in that deep voice of his that somehow shivered through to her bones. “With this ring I thee wed, wi
th my body I thee worship and with all my worldly goods I thee endow . . .”

  With my body . . . She swallowed, and thought of what Emm had told her: bliss. Or what Aunt Agatha had said: an unpleasantness we must all endure.

  Tonight she would find out for herself.

  “. . . I pronounce that they be man and wife . . .”

  There, it was done. She was a married woman. The rest of the service that followed—the prayers, a short sermon and communion—passed over Lily in somewhat of a haze. But the shock of having to sign the register jerked her out of it.

  “Sign your name, my dear,” the vicar told her, indicating a heavy, bound book.

  Lily stared blankly at the page, the words doing their usual slippery thing, resisting her comprehension. She stood staring down at it in silent panic. Where to write her name? Was she going to have to confess here and, now, on her wedding day, in front of her new groom and in the sight of God and His minister that she was a defective creature who could not read?

  “Just here,” the vicar said kindly, and placed his finger on the place where she was to sign. She seized the pen, dipped it into the ink, and quickly wrote her name. Or should she have signed it as Lily Galbraith?

  She stared down at her signature, frozen with dread. Would she have to sign again? How did you spell Galbraith? Why hadn’t she thought of that? She knew girls did that, wrote out their married name—or the name of the man they hoped to marry—over and over. But she hadn’t.

  “That’s right, my dear.” The minister reached across her to blot the ink and Lily jumped. He smiled. “Wedding nerves. Most ladies suffer from them. Never mind, Mrs. Galbraith, it’s all over now.”

  Mrs. Galbraith. She was married.

  * * *

  • • •

  Lily ate very little at her wedding breakfast. She was too tense. But because others kept urging her to eat, she nibbled on an almond biscuit, had a spoonful of some creamy chicken dish, and ate the corner of a small pastry and a few early-season strawberries, soaked in sugar syrup, because they were still a little tart.

  It wasn’t a particularly large gathering, but it seemed every single person there wanted to speak to her, to give her advice or make jests about marriage—some rather too warm to spare Lily’s blushes—and what with all the merriment and the champagne for the toasts, her head was soon spinning. They cut the cake and drank the final toast. Then it was time for Lily to go upstairs and change into a traveling costume.

  Edward had arranged for them to stay at a country house belonging to a friend of his, a short distance from Brighton, which meant a journey of five or six hours. Lily had never seen the sea and was excited by the prospect.

  It was raining outside, so most people crowded into the entry hall to bid the bride and groom farewell and good luck, and only Cal, Emm, Rose, George and Lord Galbraith ventured outside to make the final farewell. A last round of hugs, kisses, good wishes and a few tears, and Lily turned to climb into the traveling chaise.

  Aunt Dottie suddenly rushed out, oblivious of the damp, and hugged Lily convulsively. “It’s all going to be splendid, darling girl, trust me.” She glanced at Edward, standing tall and solemn, holding up an umbrella to protect his bride, and added, “And remember what I said.”

  Edward handed Lily into the carriage, signaled his driver and they pulled away, to a chorus of shouts and well-wishes. Lily leaned out the window, waving, until the carriage had turned a corner and they were all out of sight.

  “Well, that’s done,” he said when she resumed her seat. “Went off rather well, I thought.”

  “Yes.” Lily smiled. Ridiculously, she could think of nothing to say. She felt suddenly shy, couldn’t even meet his eyes.

  Edward tucked a fur rug around her. He pulled out a book. “Shall I read to you?”

  “Not just now, thank you. I’m a little tired.”

  “I’m not surprised. Being abducted and married, all in one morning.”

  “Abducted?”

  He put the book away, and pulled out a different one. “Wasn’t that you I saw in the park this morning, with your sister and niece, being abducted with a bag over your head?”

  She laughed. “It was a coat, not a bag—but you’re quite, quite mistaken, sir. According to my sister, it’s very bad luck for a groom to see his bride before a wedding—she’s wrong, of course—but in case she’s not, whoever they were abducting, it couldn’t possibly have been me.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed instantly. “I didn’t see a thing. Peculiar habits your relatives have. I think my grandfather might have seen something, but grandfathers don’t count, do they?”

  “Not a bit. He’s very nice, your grandfather. We had a lovely talk yesterday, and he took me for an ice at Gunters.”

  “Yes, he’s a good old stick. He’s very pleased about this wedding. He’s been trying to marry me off for ages. Even tried to hoax me with a deathbed wish, once, but fortunately it didn’t come off.” He glanced at her and added, “He seems very taken with you; was singing your praises to me, even over and above his natural predisposition to like any respectable lady who could get me to the altar.”

  Lily wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or not. She didn’t much like being referred to as a “respectable lady”—even if she was. As for getting him to the altar, a little reminder was required there. “Yes, Aunt Agatha feels much the same about you—delighted with anyone who’d be willing to marry me. Silly, really, when we’ve both been trapped into this.”

  Edward frowned, seemed about to say something, then picked up his book, opened it to a page he’d marked with a bit of paper and started to read.

  Lily would have liked to hear more about his grandfather’s earlier attempt to get Edward married, but he’d signaled the end of that conversation by becoming absorbed in his book, and she didn’t like to interrupt.

  The carriage threaded its way through the London traffic. Lily watched the passing scenery—she hadn’t lived in London very long, and there was always something to see—but in no time at all they were out in the countryside.

  She kicked off her shoes, tucked her feet up under her, pulled the fur rug around her and curled up in the corner and tried to sleep.

  Pretended to sleep, really. It should have been easier to make conversation with Edward, now that they were husband and wife, but somehow, it wasn’t. All those lessons at school on the art of conversation—what use were they now?

  As he read, she watched him from beneath her lashes. His eyes scanned each line, each page so swiftly, his long fingers turning the pages with calm deliberation. Such elegant masculine fingers.

  His mouth was beautiful too; firm, cleanly cut lips. She recalled the taste of those lips. She would taste them again tonight.

  She snuggled deeper into the furs.

  He glanced up at her, turned a page and crossed his legs. For the journey he’d changed into buckskin breeches and boots. The soft chamois leather of his breeches clung to his thighs—horseman’s thighs, long, lean and hard. She shivered, but not from cold.

  She wasn’t sure which she preferred him in—breeches and boots, or the severe black-and-white formal attire he’d worn for their wedding. Any way you dressed him, he was magnificent. And he was her husband.

  A little thrill of excitement passed through her.

  * * *

  • • •

  Ned stared at the print and turned the pages blindly, taking in almost nothing of what he was reading. Pretending to read. He’d tried very hard to concentrate on his book, but it just wasn’t possible, not with Lily curled up on the seat opposite, swathed in that fur rug, watching him surreptitiously.

  He’d become aware of her subtle surveillance shortly after they’d passed out of London and were bowling smoothly along the Brighton road, her gaze like a light breath of warm air, almost a touch. It was damnably distracting.
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br />   She was so unselfconsciously sensual in everything she did, whether it was eating—he’d never forget the way she’d relished that pudding at the inn that time, licking every last morsel of sweetness off her spoon—or simply kicking off her shoes, tucking her small white-stockinged feet beneath her and curling up on the seat. Almost an invitation in itself. And all with the most innocent air.

  Genuine innocence too. Though not for long. He forced his mind away from the night to come.

  She sighed and shifted her position, a rustle of silk sliding over flesh. The way she snuggled into that wretched fur rug, evoking memories of her almost naked beneath that same rug—how could any man concentrate on a dry old book?

  He should have given her a nice thick woolen blanket. There was nothing evocative or sensual about wool, especially next to the skin.

  Though he supposed it depended on the skin. Hers was satin smooth and silky to the touch. Cool on the surface, and warm beneath.

  Her eyes appeared closed, her lashes a delicate sweep of darkness fluttering against creamy skin. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes briefly as a blush rose softly on her cheeks. She wasn’t asleep.

  Arousal swirled through him and he stared out the window, willing himself savagely under control. This was neither the time nor the place. When he took her he intended to be restrained, disciplined, fully in control of himself, his appetites firmly leashed.

  Not only because she was a virgin and deserved his consideration, but also because he didn’t want to raise expectations in her breast. There was a light in her eyes when she looked at him sometimes that made him . . . wary. Unsettled.

  She needed to learn that despite their first encounter—the real one, not her brother’s wedding—he was nobody’s hero. It was dangerous—worse, foolhardy—for anyone to place their happiness in his hands. He always let people down, those who loved him most of all.