Oblivious to the look that had passed between them, Lady Langley was full of chirpy good humor. “Just think, Ayersley, the next time you come to church, it will be for your own wedding.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the earl said, his eyes still on Roxana’s face.
His mother gave Roxana an encouraging smile. “Take heart, my dear. In just three more days, you’ll be able to put all this bother and confusion behind you.”
“Yes, just three more days.” Roxana could hardly draw breath for apprehension. Fate was rushing at her like a team of runaway horses. Only three more days, and she would be a bride. Only three more nights, and she would be sharing Ayersley’s bed.
She had to find some way to avert this catastrophe.
“Ayersley, would you drive me home?” The words forced their way up and out of her. “Mama, you’ll give Lady Ayersley a ride back to Broadslieve, won’t you?”
“I don’t think—” her mother began in surprise, while Ayersley’s brows drew together in a frown.
But the dowager countess came to her rescue. “Oh, let’s give the two of them a little time alone together. They’ve barely had a minute to themselves.”
Looking more resigned than pleased, the earl offered Roxana his arm.
* * *
Alex helped Roxana up into the carriage. She must not have realized he’d brought his mother to church in the barouche. As she settled herself on the squabs, she cast a frustrated glance at the liveried driver perched atop the box.
He took the rear-facing seat opposite her and signaled the coachman to set out. With the flick of the driver’s whip, the bays broke into a smooth trot.
Neither of them said a word. Alex was afraid to break the silence, knowing Roxana was gathering her courage, shoring up her nerve to say something he didn’t want to hear. He scarcely recognized her as the same girl he’d driven to the vicarage only the month before. That Roxana had chatted, smiled, giggled. This Roxana stared out of the carriage at the green countryside, tense with unspoken objections, her gloved hands twisting in her lap.
Alex looked away, wishing the ride over, mentally urging the horses on. In another few minutes they would reach Riddlefield, safe from protests and second thoughts. Just a little further…
“Ayersley, would you mind stopping the carriage, please?”
Too late. Reluctantly, he called over his shoulder to the coachman. “Stop here please, Brown.”
The barouche rolled smoothly to a halt on the wooded stretch of road.
With a trembling hand, Roxana reached for the door handle. “I—I need to stretch my legs. Would you walk with me a little way?”
Alex got out and helped her down from the carriage. She started toward the woods without waiting for his arm. He followed a step behind, neither of them saying a word.
Looking determined and nervous, holding her skirts clear of the ground, Roxana picked her way quickly over roots and uneven turf. The woods smelled of fertile earth and damp leaves. At last they reached a point where the sun barely shone through the trees, far enough from the road that the coachman could not hear them.
She spun to face him. “I can’t marry you.”
Alex had schooled himself not to react, but his head jerked back even so. He took care to keep his voice level. “I see. And why is that?”
“I’m so sorry—I know how much trouble everyone has gone to—but I’m afraid I can’t go through with it.” Anxiously, she wiped her hands on her skirts—which only showed her state of agitation, for even if her palms were damp, she was wearing gloves. “What if we’re making a terrible mistake?”
“What if we’re not? Have you considered how much additional damage it could do to your reputation to end two engagements in one month?”
“Of course I’ve considered it!”
Emotion roiled inside Alex, a mix of frustration and near-panic. He’d known this was too good to be true. Struggling to remain calm, he turned and walked a few paces to lean with his back against a tree, his features set. “Have I done something to change your mind since you accepted me?”
Her mouth dropped open. “No, of course not. I’ve barely even seen you. This isn’t some ill-considered reaction to a slight.”
He turned his face away. “What, then?”
“You offered in the heat of the moment, when you’d just learned of the gossip about us. I accepted in the heat of the moment too. Since then I’ve thought about the kind of person you are and the kind of person I am, and I don’t believe we’d suit.”
He was silent a moment, digesting this. “And what kind of person am I?”
At his tone, her face assumed an anguished look. “Oh, I didn’t mean it as an insult, Ayersley! If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” She pressed a hand weakly to her forehead. “I’m sorry. That sounded appallingly like what George said when he jilted me.”
Alex pushed away from the tree. “You still haven’t explained why you think we wouldn’t suit.”
Her hands clenched nervously at her sides. “Well, for one thing, you’re so—so correct all the time. We’re all wrong for each other.”
“I see.”
“No, that came out wrong. I’m making it sound as if you’re responsible, when I’m to blame.” She took a deep breath. “The truth is I’m afraid if we go through with this, a certain aspect of our marriage is bound to disappoint.”
She looked almost relieved to have the words out, but Alex had no notion what she was getting at. “A certain aspect?”
She tossed up her hands. “Oh, this is so hard to talk about, especially when I’ve left it so late. I realize now I should have told you on the day you proposed, the instant you said you wanted children. It’s just—how do I say this?” She went crimson with embarrassment. “I don’t think that particular part of marriage could possibly work out between us. The children-making part. Do you take my meaning?”
He stared back at her, jolted. “Yes.”
She plunged on, talking far too fast. “I know I shouldn’t speak or even think of such things, but I can’t just go on as if nothing is wrong. You should marry a girl who can come to you on her wedding night without reservations, a girl who can be the kind of wife to you that you deserve. And in my case, I—”
“Are you trying to tell me you and Major Wyatt anticipated your wedding vows?” Alex said, holding himself very still.
“Anticipated our…?” She gasped, and her hand went to her mouth. “Oh! Oh, no, I didn’t mean that.”
He sighed and did his best to relax. “I beg your pardon. I only thought… Do go on with what you were saying.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said again, her cheeks still red. “Good heavens, do you think I would have accepted you if I were—If I’d—”
He looked down at the ground and nudged a stick with the toe of his boot. “Forget I said anything. Please.”
She looked horrified that he should think so little of her. “George and I never did that. But he did kiss me—you know that much. I worshipped George. And…”
She stumbled to a halt.
Still looking at the ground, Alex said, “And…?”
“And after everything I felt with him, I can’t imagine how I could possibly do—certain things, married to you. I mean, I would make myself go through with it, because I know it’s a wife’s duty, but how fair would that be to you? You deserve better. If you only knew what it was like with George, you’d—”
Alex looked up, alarmed. “Don’t.”
“But when I think of kissing George, I—”
“Don’t,” he said with startling force. The last thing he wanted to hear was how transcendent she found Wyatt’s lovemaking. “I assure you, I’m under no illusions. I realize you don’t love me. You needn’t worry you’re doing something dishonest, accepting me.”
“But we don’t have to go through with this. Suppose we do, and I can’t face that part of marriage with you?”
“If you’d only give me a chance—” he began, screwin
g his eyes shut. He stopped, took a deep breath, and said in a voice of more composure, “Let’s concentrate on first things first, Roxana. We’ll find some way to deal with the matter once we’re married.”
“But don’t you see? Once we’re married, it will be too late. There won’t be any getting out of it.”
Too late. No getting out of it. He’d known she had doubts about marrying him, but he hadn’t realized she viewed the prospect quite that grimly. “I can’t see that there’s any getting out of it now. The rumors are still fresh in everyone’s mind. We’ve already published the banns. Calling off two engagements in one month would expose you to public ridicule, while marriage would give you the protection of my name. It would be dishonorable of me to pretend otherwise.”
She hugged herself. “But I’m afraid once we’re married, we’ll both realize we’ve made a terrible mistake.”
She looked so small and miserable. The flush had left her cheeks, leaving her pale and drawn. Was he doing the right thing, urging her to go through with the wedding? Was this all pure selfishness on his part?
“I know this marriage isn’t what you hoped for,” he said gently. “It’s been written plainly on your face for the past two Sundays. You’re practically wasting away in front of me. But we’ll find a way to make this work. I truly believe that, Roxana. If I didn’t, I would never ask you to go through with it.”
“But you shouldn’t have to, Ayersley. You deserve better.”
“I wish you would stop saying that.” He looked away and hunched his shoulders. “You needn’t worry about me. As I said, I’m under no illusions.”
She gripped her hands together. “Are you sure this is for the best?”
“Very sure. If we were to call off the wedding now, you’d be in even worse straits than before. How could I let that happen? How could I be the cause of that?”
She was silent, considering. At last she gave a grudging nod. “I see what you mean. I’d shame and disappoint everyone who cares about me. And you’d look…well, you’d look the way I felt when George jilted me.”
Alex closed his eyes. Wyatt again. “Don’t think about that. Just think of your own future.”
She gnawed her bottom lip. “There’s no good way out of this, is there? And at least I’ve warned you about my misgivings.” She straightened, her chin lifting. “Very well, then. If you’ve really thought this out, and you’re convinced it’s the right thing for us both…”
She was going to go through with the wedding after all. Such a wave of relief washed over Alex, he bowed his head and breathed a long, ragged sigh.
“Poor Ayersley.” She regarded him with a look of raw sympathy, as if he were the one being forced to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea. “I’ve only added to the worries weighing on you, haven’t I? If you’re determined to rescue me, the least I can do is make it easier on you. None of this has sounded very flattering, has it? You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
He produced a wan smile. “I know.”
“If you’re truly sure about the wedding, could we chalk this conversation up to bridal jitters? I won’t bring it up again, I promise you.”
“No, I’m—glad you were honest with me.”
By some unspoken accord, they started back toward the carriage. “I was wrong to lose my head. We’re both well-intentioned people, and we’ll make the best of this somehow. What can’t be cured must be endured, as Mama always says.”
If he’d still had any doubt left about her feelings, that last remark had settled it. He helped her over a fallen tree branch, a hand at her elbow. “‘And if thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small,’” he quoted softly.
She looked a question at him.
“Proverbs.”
“Oh, dear. I should have known that one.”
They emerged from the woods to find the barouche waiting for them exactly as they’d left it, the matched bays standing patiently in the dappled shade. As Alex handed her in, she glanced at his face, unguarded for the brief moment he’d thought himself unobserved.
He prayed he hadn’t looked as troubled as he felt.
Chapter Nine
They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.
—Alexander Pope
During the years Roxana had waited for George, she’d pictured her wedding countless times. The church was always filled to bursting with her friends and George’s comrades, soldiers resplendent in scarlet and gold. The dashing bridegroom waited in full dress uniform at the altar. She floated up the aisle to join him, and as they exchanged their vows, they shared a smile of love and understanding.
Those were foolish schoolgirl imaginings, she learned on her wedding day. In real life one barely noticed the onlookers in the pews—though she was to realize later that not only had many of their neighbors come, but several of Ayersley’s Whig friends had made the journey from their country houses as well. They weren’t showy or resplendent. They didn’t decorate the church like peacocks. Though two or three had brought their fashionable wives, they were sober, serious-looking gentlemen.
She didn’t float blissfully up the aisle. Instead she stood at the back of the church and clutched her brother Tom’s arm so tightly he grimaced and reached across to loosen her fingers. When they started toward the altar she swallowed nervously past the knot in her throat. She was afraid to look to the left or right. If she had not had Tom to lean on, she might have turned tail and fled.
How different it all was from her imaginings. How strange and disconcertingly real.
No shining aura enveloped her at the altar. Instead the proceedings sped by in a frightening series of disjointed impressions. Far from sharing a private smile with Ayersley during their vows, she could not even remember saying hers. She had a vague notion she might have stammered, while Ayersley, surprisingly, did not. She heard only scraps of the ceremony—the words familiar, but invested now with disturbing meaning.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation,” Mr. Spotterswood said, “to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate…”
Roxana wondered how honorable it was to be marrying merely to salvage one’s tarnished reputation. Although in Ayersley’s case, the word honorable certainly applied. She could think of nothing more honorable than wedding the quaking sister of a childhood friend merely because one felt duty-bound to do so.
At least she could follow his example. She had a sense of him, straight and solemn, standing dependably at her right. If the earl could carry the wedding off with such uncommon self-possession, surely she could too.
Despite her best intentions, however, her thoughts wandered to the night before. At eleven o’clock she’d been in bed, waiting for sleep that wouldn’t come, when the clatter of stones against her windowpane had startled her out of her abstraction. She’d flung back the bedcovers and darted to the window, tugging at the stubborn sash for several long seconds before she’d finally succeeded in sliding it open.
But before she could stick her head out and determine who was trying to attract her attention, she heard her brother Tom’s voice from the garden below. “Looking for someone, Major?”
Roxana’s heart broke into a gallop. Peering down, she spied George standing beneath her window, turning to face her brother. It was the first time she’d laid eyes on him since the night he’d thrown her over, and she was speechless with a combination of old hurt and new longing.
“Sir Thomas,” George said, guilty confrontation in his voice. “I was hoping to speak with your sister.”
“My house does have a front door, you know.”
“I wanted a private word.”
“Leaving aside the question of propriety, Major, I don’t think she wants to see you.”
Roxana almost leaned out the window and called down to Tom to let George have his say. In fact, she came within a heartbeat of crying out something shameful like But I�
��ve been praying George would take me back or Thank God you came in time, George!
Almost. Only the memory of the earnest look on Ayersley’s face when he’d said We’ll find a way to make this work held her back.
“You have to let me see her,” George said, his urgency apparent even from her bird’s-eye view. “I’ve been away most of the last month, and I only heard the news an hour ago. She can’t marry that dullard Ayersley!”
“On the contrary,” Tom said. “She seems to be under the impression she can.”
George sliced the air with his hand in a gesture of frustration. “Damn it, you know what I mean. That prosy, self-righteous prig is all wrong for her. She only accepted him because I left things in such a muddle. But I’ve come back now, and I mean to—”
Roxana leaned forward, straining to catch his next words. What did he mean to do—apologize and take her back? Carry her off to Gretna Green? Challenge Ayersley to a duel?
But she never found out, for Tom, standing sentry in the garden and clearly taking his role as head of the family with unwonted gravity, cut George off. “You should go, Major.”
Why didn’t she cry out, then and there? Why didn’t she stick her head out the window and beg George to stay? Every part of her longed to escape the predicament that now had her quaking beside Ayersley.
Yet something had kept her from calling out. Perhaps it was some vestige of the pain George had caused when he’d jilted her, or the sight of her newly completed wedding dress, pressed and ready, draped over a chair in her dressing room. Or perhaps it was only that Tom and her mother would disapprove, and she would never forgive herself if she left Ayersley standing at the altar.
Whatever the reason, she’d returned to bed certain she was letting her last chance for escape walk away. When only minutes later her resolve failed her and she rushed back to the window to call out to George, he was gone and the garden was empty.
Now she started at the sound of her name. Mr. Spotterswood was addressing her. With an effort, she gave him her attention.
“Roxana, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
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