Only Marriage Will Do

by Jenna Jaxon

  Amiable closed his eyes. He’d known this confession would need to be forthcoming. He opened his eyes and stared into Dalbury’s. “My full name is Amiable Dawson Morley. Since I joined the army I have been known only as Amiable Dawson.”

  Dalbury’s gaze flicked over him, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “Why are you not known by your real name?”

  Amiable took another gulp of brandy and launched into the tale he had neglected to tell even Juliet. “At sixteen, I wanted nothing but to join the army. My mother, a Quaker by upbringing, of course opposed it. My father supported anything my mother decreed. After a huge row, I went to Vee, Verity, my oldest sister. She and her husband, Major Lord Ayrdmore, agreed to help me buy a commission in the Army, the 44th Infantry. I was so angry at my parents that I refused to use the family name. I used Dawson, my mother’s maiden name, instead. It tickled my sense of irony to have my mother not only send her son to war—unheard of in the Friends’ Societies—but with the name of a prominent Quaker family. My parents admonished me but it did no good. I took the commission and have been Amiable Dawson ever since.”

  “I trust the marriage certificate is properly signed?” Dalbury glared at him. “God knows we need no further confusion.”

  “It bears my official name, although Juliet did not see that. She still thinks my name is Dawson.”

  “You are now Morley’s heir, I understand?”

  “Yes. My brother died in January. That is the reason I am no longer in Virginia.”

  “I am sorry, Dawson…Morley.” Dalbury frowned. “I knew your brother slightly. Good man. Excellent horseman.”

  “Thank you. All my family seems to have inherited that trait from my father.” Amiable paused a moment. “I suppose I shall have to revert back to Morley now. That will take some getting used to, I fear.” He stared at Dalbury for some moments, considering. “There’s something else, though, isn’t there? What else bothers you about our marriage? I love your sister. You can be assured of that. I will always take care of her and protect her to the best of my abilities.”

  Dalbury lowered his gaze to his glass, swirled the contents, then drained it. He placed it on the sideboard and sighed. “I only hope you are allowed to.”

  Chapter 19

  Amiable froze, his nerves singing with tension. “What do you mean? Who would stop me?” Known the man for half an hour and already spoiling for a fight with him. No one would take Juliet away from him.

  “Oh, not I,” Dalbury held up his hands to him. “I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I believe you and my sister have a true, deep fondness for each other, but that isn’t the issue. Did she tell you about St. Cyr?”

  Amiable chuckled. “That is how I became acquainted with your charming sister.” He then related the events of their meeting to Dalbury, whose brooding manner increased as the tale unfolded. By the end of the story, the thunderclouds had returned to his brother-in-law’s face.

  “Despite this knowledge you still married Juliet?” Incredulity rang sharp in Dalbury’s voice.

  “I did not think one minor indiscretion at a Christmas ball spelled her ruination.” He frowned at the marquess’ vehemence. “I can assure you now whatever she and St. Cyr did, she was untouched when we married. Well,” he added sheepishly, “until just before.”

  “God, man, I’m not talking about her virtue. I am talking about the proxy marriage.”

  Amiable shrugged. “Juliet assured me it’s an invalid contract. She said you had revoked it.”

  “I did so. However, until that letter arrived it was valid. St. Cyr claims he went through with the marriage without his father’s knowledge after the count had broken the betrothal but before my letter arrived nullifying the proxy.”

  “Juliet swore he would never oppose his father.” A dawning unease swept through Amiable.

  “He gave me signed documents saying otherwise. They are with the lawyers in London now, who are trying to authenticate them.”

  Stricken, Amiable clung to one last hope. “I am not schooled in the law, but Juliet assured me proxy marriages are not legal under English law since the Hardwicke Act. She said she had this information from you.”

  Dalbury stared at him then drew his hands behind his back. “That is correct as far as it goes. Such marriages are invalid if performed in England. If performed in France, however, they are legally binding in that country. So St. Cyr is attempting to have it ruled valid here as well, since the Hardwicke Act says nothing specific about proxy marriage.”

  Good Christ, this could not be happening. “So the papers St. Cyr gave you?”

  Dalbury squared his shoulders. “If they prove to be genuine, and the court rules in his favor…”

  “Then my marriage to Juliet is invalid and…” A cold wave of dread wash over him. “She is his wife and our child…” His heart lurched. God, it did not bear thinking.

  “Would be considered his legitimate issue. Not to mention,” Dalbury continued grimly, “she could face charges of bigamy.”

  “Bigamy.” His head reeled. With sick foreboding, he recalled the punishment dealt out to the wife of one of his sergeants when the magistrates discovered she had also married a man in a northern regiment. True, the woman had believed her first husband dead at Ft. William Henry two years before, but the courts had not taken that into consideration. Her pleadings and screams during her punishment echoed in his memory still. He shuddered and looked at Dalbury, appalled. “It won’t come to that. If necessary I’ll tear up that certificate and burn it myself.”

  “And turn her over to St. Cyr four or five months pregnant? What do you think he will do with her then?” Dalbury’s questions cut like the sharpest blade.

  Amiable swung around to Juliet, deep in conversation with Katarina. Beautiful, loving, stubborn Juliet. How could he give her up to that fiend?

  He turned back to Dalbury. “I could challenge him to a duel. He did not seem particularly skilled with a sword. If I kill him…”

  “Your marriage is still invalid, but then you would be free to marry…” Dalbury stopped dead. “Christ.” He strode across the room and towered over Juliet, who looked up at him in some alarm. Amiable followed, dazed by what had just transpired and worried there might yet be more to come.

  “Juliet,”—Dalbury clutched the back of her chair until his fingers sank into the blue woven fabric—“please tell me you have written to Randolph Sutton.”

  Her eyes widened, her face drained of color, and she slumped back in the chair. As if in a trance, she shook her head. “I have written to no one since I left London, Duncan. I did not want anyone to know where we were, lest Philippe find me.”

  “Who is Randolph Sutton?” From Dalbury’s reaction, Amiable doubted the answer would be to his liking.

  Juliet looked from him to her brother. The fear in her eyes now rivaled that on the morning he had met her. She opened her mouth, shut it, then hung her head.

  Dalbury stared at his sister, then slapped the back of the chair sharply.

  Juliet cringed and shrank back into the cushion.

  He turned to Amiable, hands clenched at his sides. “Mr. Sutton is Juliet’s betrothed, Captain Dawson. The settlements were signed before I left for Italy.”

  The floor rushed from underneath him and he wanted to grab the back of a chair. He shook his head and peered first at Dalbury, then at Juliet in an effort to make sense of the words. Juliet’s betrothed. Nothing came to mind.

  “Juliet,” her brother continued in the coldest tones, “never in my life did I think to see the day my sister would be married to two men and betrothed to a third.”

  At this bald statement, Juliet sank her head into her lap, hiding her face.

  “Duncan.” Katarina scowled at her husband and put her arms around her sister-in-law, who began to weep loudly.

  Try as he might, Amiable could not take it in. To deliberately withhold the information that she was already affianced cut his
honor to the quick. If indeed true, he had stolen another man’s betrothed. There were few more dishonorable things a man could do.

  “I will write to Sutton today,” Dalbury said, shaking his head. “That much can at least be remedied with speed. Although I had thought to give Katarina a chance to rest after the long journey here, I fear we must leave in the morning. We need to be back in London as quickly as possible to get to the bottom of this proxy marriage. Juliet, tell Glynis to pack your trunk.”

  Juliet lifted her head to stare at her brother, stricken. A sharp glance at Amiable and she burst into renewed sobs.

  “Glynis is not here, Lord Dalbury,” he spoke mechanically, his mind still fixed on the revelation of Juliet’s treachery. “She contracted smallpox on the journey here. We left her in hospital in Brackley and the doctor promised to send word of her recovery. Did he do so, Juliet?”

  Before she could answer, Dalbury broke in. “Glynis contracted smallpox? What nonsense is this, Juliet?”

  “I assure you, Dalbury, it is not nonsense.” Amiable forced himself back to the most recent problem at hand. Focus on something else. Anything else. “The girl was taken ill during the second night of our journey. By morning, she had been placed in hospital. Did the doctor not send word, Juliet? You have not mentioned it to me.” She had scarcely spoken of Glynis since the poor girl had left them.

  Dalbury stared at him. “Dawson…Morley,” he growled in exasperation. “How the devil to you want me to address you, man?”

  Amiable sighed. “Morley, I suppose.”

  Juliet stared at him. “Morley?”

  “It is a long story, Juliet. You were saying, Dalbury?”

  “I was saying that whatever struck Glynis down, it certainly could not be smallpox.”

  “Juliet said she recognized the symptoms.” He glanced from his supposed brother-in-law to Juliet. “She said her maid three years ago had succumbed to it.” Amiable wondered if the two months spent in bucolic bliss had turned his mind. Was nothing truly as it seemed?

  “In that she told the truth. Janet had herself inoculated against smallpox, but as it sometimes happens, instead of protecting against the disease it gave it to her and she died.” He turned a dire eye on Juliet, who hid her face in Katarina’s shoulder. “Which is why when we hired her next maid we made sure she had already had the variolation and survived. Glynis had the procedure done two years before she became Juliet’s maid.” His eyes bored into his sister, who refused to look at him. “Juliet.”

  She shook her head.

  “Juliet. What happened to Glynis? Where is she?”

  Amiable stood horrified. Why had he not suspected? She’d made sure he had seen neither the sick girl nor her departure. Now apparently, she had not been sick at all. Juliet had woven enough of the true story with the false one to make the whole convincing. His brows furrowed as he contemplated the woman he thought he knew. The woman he thought he loved. The woman who had told him nothing but lies.

  “Answer him, Juliet.” The authority in his voice broke her, and with a final sob, she glanced from one man to the other.

  “I sent her home. To her home in Chipping Norton. I realized we were not far from her parents and I gave her money and sent her there.” Juliet sagged against Katarina.

  “Why, Juliet?” The bewilderment on Dalbury’s face approached comic.

  “The better to seduce me, Lord Dalbury.” He should have known. Should have suspected it. Especially after their heated encounter on the sofa in his room. She had figured out a way to keep them alone and together for the rest of the journey. Perhaps he should feel flattered she had cared for him enough to concoct such an elaborate scheme in order to secure him.

  He did not.

  He valued honesty above all else. Now he had married a woman who had done nothing but lie to him from the very outset of their acquaintance. How could he ever trust her again?

  “She made it obvious from the beginning she wanted me.” Cold anger filled him. “Made sure to get me by any means possible. How better to arrange for me to compromise her than by dismissing her maid, thus throwing us constantly together? Alone.” He stared emotionless into Juliet’s stricken face. “How Machiavellian of you, my dear.”

  Dalbury’s expression offered both outrage and sympathy. “I have often thought our family motto should be Habeo quod volo—‘That which I desire, I obtain.’” He shifted his gaze to Katarina. “Would you not agree, my love?”

  She flashed him a smile then returned to comforting her sister-in-law.

  Dalbury turned his attention back to Amiable. “I feel I should apologize for my sister’s behavior, Morley, although you yourself probably bear some of the blame.” He raised a hand when Amiable opened his mouth to argue the point. “What we must do, however, is determine how to bring the matter right. As soon as we get to London, I can contact my solicitor and see what he has discovered about that damned contract. If he can find any possible evidence the certificate is null, your marriage can be declared valid and we can all breathe easier.”

  His face became grave again. “If not, the best I can hope to do is to annul the first marriage, after which you and Juliet can have a quiet wedding, much as Kat and I did.”

  “If indeed I still wish to wed her.”

  Three heads slowly turned, their gaze riveted on him.

  “Lord Dalbury, if you will give me the name of your solicitor, I will leave for London at first light. Alone I can make better time than the carriage and be there in under five days to see about this business.” He stared at Juliet, that lovely face covering a deceitful soul. “I find there is nothing here to make me wish to linger.”

  With that, he spun on his heel and left the room. The shocked silence of his announcement followed him as he closed the door. He strode upstairs, rancor pounding through him with every step. Best steel himself against the coming hysterics, weeping, and pain of removing Juliet from his life.

  Chapter 20

  The increase in houses, people, and filth announced their imminent arrival in London. After more than two weeks on the road, Juliet tried to convince herself to be glad to have the journey at an end. Instead, she found little strength to rouse herself and no will to do so. Day after day of self-recriminations had taken a toll. Her heart lay battered, as though the carriage horses had trampled it. She had lost all she had ever wanted in life by her own conceit and folly. Amiable could not be blamed, even a little, for his response to her lies.

  Her husband’s bleak countenance on their last day together at Guinevere’s Keep still tore at her heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she plied her sodden handkerchief to mop her face. ’Struth, but she should have no tears left by now.

  He had given her no chance to explain or apologize before he left for London. By the time she had pursued him into their bedroom he had almost completed his packing. He neither looked at her nor spoke, and something in his manner had made Juliet not dare open her mouth. Hurt and anger pulsed in every taut movement, although his face betrayed only grim determination. His task completed, he took his valise and strode from the room without a backward glance. Her tears had flowed as soon as he crossed the threshold.

  He had not appeared at dinner. No one had much appetite. Juliet had eaten nothing, afraid she would choke to death. Where he slept, if he slept at all, she never discovered. By morning he had gone. No farewell. No acknowledgment of her at all.

  Long days in the carriage had proved an unbearable strain. Too much time for introspection. She had relived every falsehood she had told Amiable, trying to determine what would have happened had she not acted as she had. In the end, after much soul searching, she concluded she would never have seen him after taking him to his London house. Had she not persuaded him of her fear regarding Philippe finding her while on her way to Honoria’s, he most likely would not have believed she needed protection. Not a lie, per se, but an exaggeration of her feelings certainly.

  The question of gr
eatest import, however, kept buzzing around her mind like a hive of angry bees. If she had left town, with him as escort, would he have declared himself without her other subterfuges?

  Not if she had informed him of the existence of Mr. Sutton.

  Of all her sins, that had to be the most egregious, at least in Amiable’s eyes. He had known of the problem with Philippe and had deemed it of little concern. Even the dismissing of Glynis he could have forgiven, knowing how wild she had been for him. He must have known, or else been blind and deaf. So, yes, they might have put that right.

  Neglecting to reveal her betrothal, however, had been inexcusable. It had made him, in effect, the thief of someone else’s bride-to-be. For a man as steeped in honor as Amiable Dawson Morley, this was an unforgivable sin.

  Katarina had promised to speak with him when they arrived in London, and Duncan vowed to confront him as well. Her brother remained coldly furious with him for abandoning her, even to attend to the business of the proxy. He’d been just as furious with her, but after several days of suffering through her constant crying and refusal to eat, he’d relented and tried his best to cheer her.

  The only ray of sunlight he could offer, however, was if the marriage to Philippe proved invalid, then her marriage to Amiable remained legally binding. He could not divorce her unless he proved adultery, which he could not. And perhaps, if given enough time, Amiable would forgive her.

  If they could remain together. Duncan did not voice it, but Juliet feared even if their marriage proved valid, Amiable would refuse to live with her. He could send her to his father’s estate or set her up in a separate establishment and never see her. He’d already sent word he’d moved into his father’s town house but thought it best Juliet reside at Dunham House until the legalities of their marriage became clear. If he kept this up, she might never see him again. That thought usually broke her and tears ensued.