The Wild Lord (London Scandals Book 1)

by Carrie Lomax

  “I am certain the earl will not bother you often with bedroom matters. I advise against trying to tempt him to your bed more often than necessary to provide him with a son. Of course, we can only pray that the babe you carry will be a girl. Otherwise there will be a very awkward conversation not far in the future.”

  Mary felt the child moving in her belly and smiled a secret smile. She chose not to respond to her mother’s anxious harangue.

  “I do hope yours is a happy marriage, my dear. Despite the circumstances under which it is taking place.”

  At last, Mary favored her mother with speech. “I daresay it will be a very happy marriage, with time.”

  Her mother looked relieved. A quarter hour later Mary was laced into her wedding gown and tottering on heeled slippers to the gilded carriage that would convey her to the church. As Mary had requested, she would ride alone, last in the procession, in a carriage worthy of a princess. A ride in the sumptuous carriage alone was worth the farce of this wedding. Its white lacquer gleamed in the morning sunlight, while the gold paint trim and the scarlet-blue-and-gold Whitney emblem made it glitter like some enchanted conveyance out of a fairy tale.

  The wedding procession began slowly, with her brother and sisters riding in the first carriage, followed by her grandparents and then her parents. The procession was excessive, ridiculous as it threaded through London's streets toward the leafy enclave where the church lay. The point had been to create such a spectacle that all of London would be forced to turn out to see the reluctant bride wed the wild lord.

  It was also intended to cow the unwilling couple into obedience. That was not going to happen.

  The instant the carriage jolted into motion, Mary calmly began removing the pins holding her veil in place. A few moments later, she placed the thickly embroidered lace on the seat beside her and contorted herself until she could reach the side gussets forcing her waist into a narrow confine. She released them with a sigh of relief and began working on the seed pearl buttons lining her lower back.

  Before she had gotten very far, the carriage jolted to a halt. The driver shouted angrily, and then fell silent.

  Mary smiled. The time had come.

  * * *

  Harper yanked open the door. "I thought you'd be further along," she said crossly.

  “I can't bend very well. This gown is a prison,” Mary replied petulantly.

  Harper stepped in and slammed the door shut behind her. “Let me.”

  Her fingers yanked and flew over the tiny buttons. “Rupert is in the curricle with the red-rimmed wheels just around the corner. It's on loan from Richard. You can make a fast getaway.”

  The last buttons fell open and the gown slid from Mary's body. She kicked off the heavy petticoat. Yards of fabric consumed every bit of space in the vehicle. Harper shoved them aside and opened the door. “Godspeed, Mary.”

  Clad only in her wedding shift and undergarments, Mary stepped out into the waiting arms of Viola. Sara, the little maid that Harper had befriended weeks before at Briarcliff, stepped into the carriage. Harper slammed the door closed.

  “Good luck!” shouted her sister.

  Harper wiggled into the petticoat and gown. On her head, she sported a dark wig adorned with paste jewels, an approximation of the style Mary had described that she would wear. Sara moved quickly to button the gown over Harper’s slimmer, taller frame. They finished with only moments to spare before the carriage pulled up in front of the church. The maid adjusted the veil over her face and stuck pins into the wig with such strength that Harper nearly winced.

  “The veil is a stroke of genius,” Sara said around a mouthful of pins. “It’s made of good Honiton lace. It’s so thick I can barely see you through it.”

  “Excellent. Mary’s selection ought to let me get through the next half hour undetected,” Harper replied wryly. There was no more time for conversation. A liveried footman opened the door to hand her out of the carriage. No one thought to look beyond the bride to the little maid sitting perfectly still behind the mountain of silk satin. Once they were all inside the church, she would slip out and lose herself in the throngs.

  Harper’s palms were damp inside the satin gloves she wore. Her knees wobbled a bit as a blurry image of Mary’s father appeared at her side. This was the moment. If she passed this test, no one would challenge her between here and the altar. She only had to make it a few hundred feet.

  “You look beautiful, darling.” He made to kiss her forehead.

  “Papa,” Harper whispered, hoping her voice sounded choked with tears rather than paralyzed with nervousness.

  “It’s all right, dear. Remember to smile when Lord Edward turns back the veil.”

  “I will,” Harper whispered, as a weight of guilt settled uneasily in her stomach.

  They ascended to the stairs to the vestibule. She was grateful for Lord Whitney’s guiding arm, for she could hardly see through the thickly detailed lace with its curling leaf and flower motif. Though the veil had the advantage of obscuring her un-Mary-Whitney-like features from scrutiny, the disadvantage was that she could hardly see where she was going.

  Organ music pounded. Mary’s two younger sisters, bedecked in pink-frilled tulle gowns, stood like ballerinas peering into the church. Richard stood sentinel, along with a man Harper didn’t recognize—presumably Mary’s brother. Richard took a bouquet of roses and orange blossoms from the other groomsman and handed it to her. Harper put one hand out from beneath the waist-length front of the veil and took it with shaking fingers.

  “I never thought I would say this to you, but good luck.” Richard’s blurred form receded.

  Lord Fairwyck patted Harper’s hand as the organ music boomed through the church.

  “Don’t fret. Tis only a short distance now.” Slowly, she placed one foot after another, waiting for someone to stop and call her out as an imposter. Yet no one did.

  This is a mistake. Too late, after all their excessive planning was in place, Harper saw the flaw. She and Edward should have eloped. This elaborate substitution would only convince the world that they were both mad as hatters. Dishonesty was no way to begin a future together.

  Before she could catch her scrambled thoughts, Edward’s broad back swam into view and the ceremony began. With shaking fingers, Harper reached for his offered arm.

  The music crescendoed and abruptly stopped. Lord Fairwyck clasped what he still believed to be Mary’s hand and whispered, “I am so proud of you, my girl. Be happy. He is a good man.”

  Harper swallowed, dismayed at the thought of the harm she was about to cause this man and his family. Whitney was stout. The shock he would face momentarily might harm him. Why hadn’t she considered that? He was only a father who had tried to do the best thing for his daughter. He did not deserve humiliation. This was wrong, so wrong.

  The earl’s rushed wedding announcement had sent everyone into a panic. No one had stepped back and think—they’d all been running on pure reaction. What if she had tried talking to the earl instead of scheming behind his back? He loved Edward. She loved Edward. They should have been able to find a solution. Harper closed her eyes tightly and dug her fingers into Edward’s arm as she willed herself not to be sick.

  Mary, she and Edward did not deserve lifetimes of misery because of an old man’s notions of propriety and honor, either, she rationalized as the priest droned on. Mary was not a broodmare to be matched against her will with a prize stallion, and Edward was not a thoroughbred to be put to stud. If their fathers, accustomed to bending the world to their will, must be disappointed, so be it.

  “Did she and Rupert escape?” Edward whispered low without glancing at her. The priest narrowed his eyes at them without breaking his rhythmic chant about their obligations and duties.

  “Yes. Richard’s red-wheeled curricle should have them halfway to Dover by now,” she whispered, earning another reproving glare from their officiant.

  Mary and Rupert were sailing to France, where they would be
married and honeymoon in Paris for a few weeks. From there they would move to Nice, where Lord Dalton’s agent had secured a small house and a staff of three servants—a cook, a maid and a groundsman. The arrangement had been enough to convince Mary to elope. The rest was contingent upon Edward and Harper’s success in remaining wedded. This wedding was about to become a travesty. Dread pooled in her limbs until Harper was crushed with it, hardly able to breathe.

  Edward stood before her, his fingertips on the edge of the veil. The magnificent lace fell to Harper’s elbows, blending neatly with the cut of the gown to obscure Mary’s pregnant form as much as possible and concealing Harper’s very different physique from scrutiny. Harper carried an enormous bouquet of orange blossoms and roses further helped to conceal the poor fit of the wedding gown on the imposter bride.

  “Are you ready for this?” asked Edward.

  “No. But I won’t back down, either,” she said with as much resolve as she could muster.

  With a smooth motion, Edward flipped back the veil to reveal Harper’s face. A gasp from the audience made Harper’s heart pound. She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from crying. Edward leaned forward to whisper to the priest, thrusting a paper into his hand. The priest looked confused.

  “Just get on with it,” Edward commanded. The priest hesitated, and then began timorously.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

  A murmur buzzed through the crowd as the priest spoke the welcome. Halfway through the preface, a screech rang out through the church.

  “That is not my daughter!”

  Harper winced. The screecher, Mary’s mother, promptly fainted. Everyone within three pews on either side scrambled to assist her.

  “Erm, yes. Before the bride and groom begin the declarations, I must clarify that his lordship informs me that there has been a revision to the marriage license.” The priest unfolded the paper clumsily, balancing his heavy bible in the crook of one elbow. “A substitution, rather. Are you certain this is correct?”

  “Yes. Begin,” Edward growled.

  “This cannot be properly legal—”

  “Begin!”

  “Presently. First, I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now-”

  “Nefarious, scheming…Get that woman away from my son!” shouted Edward’s father.

  Harper clung to Edward’s hand as they turned to face a furious Lord Briarcliff.

  “This is an outrage!”

  “I cannot simply substitute another woman’s name,” the priest said primly. “There is the matter of the original lady’s claims to the marriage.”

  Harper turned back to the hapless priest, unable to bear the sight of Lord Briarcliff’s rage.

  “There is no obstacle. Mary eloped this morning. She thoughtfully provided this letter by way of explanation.” She produced the small sheet of parchment from where it had been discreetly tucked inside the bouquet.

  She turned nervously to find Edward staring down his father. The earl was ashen with fury. Edward remained cold and unyielding.

  “Mary didn’t want me, Father. Harper does. I will have no other woman,” he said firmly. Lord Briarcliff turned on Harper. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise with alarm.

  “You. You infernal, false, betraying…fraud.” The earl threw every vile name he could think of at her, as though he could bury her in invective. Harper bore it impassively for as long as she could, though every insult stung deeply.

  “Lord Briarcliff,” she finally interrupted forcefully. “I am marrying your son. If not today, then tomorrow, and again the next day if necessary. I will marry Edward daily, if need be, until it sticks. I love everything about him. His past. His present, as tangled as that may be. His future, whatever that may bring.” Harper reached up and removed the itchy dark wig with the heavy veil and dropped them in a heap before one of the speechless bridesmaids. Her own honey-brown hair tumbled down her back. “You may continue your objections after we finish the ceremony.”

  Edward, still holding her hand, turned back to the priest. “Continue.”

  The priest glared stubbornly. “I will not.”

  “We’ll proceed without you, then,” Edward responded evenly. “Harper Forsythe, I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, until death do us part. I could not live without you. You are the one who sees that I am both the boy lost in the woods and the man come home again and accepts all facets of me. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever met—on any continent.”

  Harper swallowed and grasped Edward’s hand tightly in her own. His gentle smile gave Harper the courage to go on as though they were alone.

  “Edward Northcote, I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, on any continent in the world, so long as we both shall live. I have been so fortunate to meet you and to fall in love with your extraordinary strength. I admire your courage and love you above all others. When I am with you, I am at peace, because you are my heart.”

  Edward leaned in and kissed her fiercely. In every way possible, he publicly claimed her for his own. A few sighs rose from the crowd behind them.

  “How romantic,” someone sighed loudly.

  Mary’s mother chose this moment to revive from her faint. Gasping and sputtering, she sat up and stared, aghast, at the sight of a stranger wearing her daughter’s wedding gown and kissing the man she had been expecting to welcome as her son-in-law. The beleaguered woman promptly fainted again.

  “Stop!” The earl of Briarcliff’s fury had become molten, mottling his face with splotchy red. He propelled himself toward his son and his unwanted daughter-in-law.

  “You will cease this spectacle immediately. No one has been married here today.” He advanced on Harper with rage shaking his limbs. She shrank against Edward.

  “You scheming, lying whore. Worming your way into my good graces. You always had your eye on becoming a countess, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Well, you won’t have it. Neither of you will.”

  No matter how much Harper had expected this scene, every word made her feel lower than a worm in the dirt.

  “I am sorry you feel that way. I am marrying your son. Not an earldom. I have never cared about that. I certainly see how very much you care for Edward. You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you? Is it so inconceivable to you that someone might love him almost as well as you do? Does he deserve anything less?”

  It was the best defense she could muster.

  The earl looked as though her words had struck him like a blow. He looked pale, exhausted and sick. Harper gently, awkwardly, laid one white-gloved hand over the earl’s forearm. With one hand on the father and the other on the son, she willed herself to make a bridge between the impassive son and the angry father.

  “See your son,” Harper said, her voice low and urgent. “Not the heir you wished for, but the man he has become. Truly look at Edward and see him for everything he is.”

  The earl slapped away Harper’s hand, reared back and decked his son full in the face. Harper yelped in shock.

  Edward stumbled back a step and stared at his father. He did not retaliate. His eyes radiated resentment and pity in equal measure. Focused as she was on the blood welling at the corner of Edward’s mouth, Harper saw the disbelief and fear bloom in his eyes before swiveling her attention to the earl’s falling form.

  The earl’s knees smacked against the thinly carpeted floor. His expression was terrifyingly vacant. She and Edward both lurched forward to catch the falling earl, smacking their heads together as he fell awkwardly into their arms.

  “A doctor,” Harper called out as Edward felt for his father’s pulse. “A physician. Somebody fetch one now!” Her voice rang out commandingly as pandemonium erupted throughout the church.

  Chapter 27

  The priest pushed forward. “If he is dying, I must give the earl
his last rites.”

  Edward shoved the man back. “He is not dying. Give him room to breathe.”

  The priest backed away. Harper felt paralyzed by the change in the earl. His skin had turned waxy, and he labored to breathe. They loosened his cravat and shirt, while Richard stepped forward to kneel at his father’s feet.

  “Make way. I am physician to Lord and Lady Whitney. Step aside if you please.”

  A mustachioed man elbowed his way to through the crowd. He knelt before Lord Briarcliff’s side and made a cursory examination.

  “We must move him to someplace warm.” The doctor sat back on his heels. “It is not fatal, not yet. The next several hours will be telling. He is in delicate condition. Your father has suffered an apoplexy. He needs perfect quiet and rest.”

  Harper stood back, an imposter, the furthest thing from a true doctor. She had let her ambition blind her.

  “I shall have the carriage brought round,” Richard said as he rose to his feet, his mouth in a grim line.

  Edward supported his father’s head in one strong arm. His blue eyes were grave and haunted. Harper felt as though a great chasm had opened between them in the space of a few moments. She reached for Edward’s shoulder and knelt beside him.

  “I never meant this to happen,” she whispered, stricken.

  His eyes met hers, full of emotion. Helpless in the face of his grief, Harper touched his face.

  “It’s not your fault.” He was so cold, so indifferent. Perhaps it was the shock. Or maybe he was starting to understand how selfish they had been. This was her fault. She could have let Edward go. She had taken something magnificent and tried to make it her own. Her heart struggled to beat.

  Would Edward spurn her now? There were so many problems with their wedding ceremony that any competent barrister could successfully challenge it in court. Surely, she had not done the boldest, most terrifying thing of her entire life only to lose Edward after all. Even though she deserved to.