Too Hot For A Rake

by Pearl Wolf

  “They can be wed right here. Charles can perform the ceremony in our chapel and…”

  “No!” Waverley shouted the word, startling the others.

  “No? What on earth do you mean, my love?” Helena stepped away from him, restraining the impulse to keep her arms wrapped around his neck. “Why not here, now that my father no longer objects to our marriage?”

  Waverley smiled at her. “We’ll be wed as soon as may be, but the wedding must take place at Waverley Castle.”

  “You are wrong, sir! The wedding must take place here at Bodmin Castle. It’s a tradition in our family!” thundered the exasperated duke.

  Waverley folded his arms and glared. “No. We shall wed at Waverley Castle or not at all!”

  “Bodmin, I say!”

  “Waverley it must be!”

  In the midst of this shouting match, the duchess took her daughter’s hand and led her out of the library, shutting the door behind them. To Helena’s bewilderment, her ordinarily dignified mother leaned against the wall and laughed so hard, she cried.

  “I fail to see any humor in this situation, Mother,” Helena said unhappily.

  “Wait till you have your own children, dear,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “It may not matter to you who wins this battle, but it matters to the Marquis of Waverley. If he wins, his future father-in-law will respect him for it and that’s what he’s after, don’t you see?”

  “Yes, I think so, but I wanted to marry here, where you and Livy were wed.”

  “What difference does it make where you tie the knot, you goose? You’ll both win. You’ll get the husband you desire and the marquis will get the respect he needs from your father if the wedding takes place at Waverley Castle.”

  The library door opened just then, and Waverley beckoned to them. His lips mouthed the words I’ve won! to the amusement of the duchess and to the relief of Helena.

  The duke sat at the head of the long library table, his hands planted firmly like a schoolmaster about to begin a lesson. “Take a seat, please. Waverley has persuaded me that the wedding must take place at his castle, for the sake of strengthening his position in Land’s End, you see. That’s crucial if the marquis is ever to take a seat in Parliament, which I hope he will consider.”

  The marquis choked on his brandy at this bald lie, for he had no thought of parliament.

  The duke ignored him. “It remains for us to decide how best to redeem his reputation. I won’t have my daughter suffer any more scandal. She’s been punished enough.”

  “I’ll do anything you say to protect Helena from being shunned by Polite Society. We’ll do whatever you suggest, your grace,” said Waverley earnestly.

  “Good! For a start, we’ll announce your betrothal at Georgiana’s ball,” said the duchess.

  “No, Mother,” said Helena with firmness. “I won’t agree to a betrothal for a second time. I would prefer it if you would announce our marriage at my sister’s ball.”

  “Be reasonable, Helena. There’s not enough time to arrange a proper wedding before Georgie’s debut ball.”

  “We can be married right away, Mother,” Helena replied. “Waverley Park is only a day’s journey from here.”

  “Impossible.”

  “No it isn’t, Ellen,” interjected the duke. “With a special license, Charles can marry them whatever day they choose.”

  “Please say yes, Mother. Waverley Castle has a lovely chapel. Besides, I couldn’t agree to marry without the dowager’s presence. That dear lady means too much to both of us.” She paused and searched Waverley’s eyes for confirmation. When he gave her a slight nod, she became emboldened. “Waverley isn’t a poet like Byron and I’m not a lady of fashion like Lady Lamb. In fact, neither of us cares if we never see London again.”

  Her mother smiled at this impassioned speech. “Except for Georgie’s debut, of course. You wouldn’t want to hurt your sister and miss that occasion, would you?”

  Helena saw approval in her mother’s eyes. Precisely what she needed. “Except for Georgie’s debut,” she agreed. “At her ball, Father will announce us to the ton as the Marquis and Marchioness of Waverley.”

  “No bride visits, your grace. My wife and I shall sail for the continent immediately following Georgiana’s ball. She’s always yearned to travel and I want that to be my wedding gift to her.”

  Helena’s eyes flew open. “Oh yes! That would be wonderful.”

  “Good notion, Waverley. By the time you return from your honeymoon, you will be well established and the gossip will have disappeared,” said the duchess.

  The duke exchanged a knowing look with his wife, one of those secret glances between spouses that spoke volumes. “My wife and I are not without influence, you know.”

  “Thank you both. When we return to England, Bannington House will be ready to receive us. We shall reside there long enough to entertain visitors. Is that to your liking, your grace?”

  The duke turned to his wife and took her hand. “Well, ma’am? Have you any objections?”

  “A fine time to ask me, after you and Waverley have already agreed.” She giggled like a young girl and added, “I dare the doyennes of Almack’s or anyone else to snub the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Heatham and the grandson of the Dowager Marchioness of Waverley.”

  “It only remains to decide on what day the wedding will take place,” said the duke. “What say you?”

  “Lady Helena and I shall decide that. But for now, let us all join the family and share the happy news,” said Waverley.

  “Jane shall have an extra scone for her work as…er…courier this afternoon,” remarked the duke as he offered an arm to his wife.

  Waverley attended to his beloved. “I’ve won, haven’t I? It was a hard battle, but you’re about to become mine at last.”

  Before the betrothed couple received the good wishes of the family, word spread among the servants. Under maids and footmen managed to find an excuse to linger in the hallway polishing the already shined brass or dusting spotless tables to wish the couple happy, while the upper servants, many of whom had known Lady Helena since infancy, entered the drawing room to wish her ladyship and the marquis happy.

  Jane was not overlooked for her role in the day’s affairs, for when tea was served, her sisters urged her to eat as many sweets as she liked. Oddly, this appeared to produce the opposite result. The youngest Fairchild managed to limit her choices to two scones slathered with clotted cream.

  Not surprisingly, it was the marquis who received the most praise for the day’s events. His eyes glowed at the unaccustomed attention.

  “How on earth did you win my father’s approval?” asked Olivia.

  The marquis laughed. “No use trying to worm my secret out, milady. I promised your father that my lips would remain sealed.”

  “When will you two tie the knot?” asked Georgiana, hoping it would not overshadow her debut ball.

  “Who’s getting married?” interrupted Edward when he and his uncle entered the drawing room. His gaze fell on his father for an answer.

  “Your sister Helena is going to marry Lord Waverley.” The duke added, “She has my blessing,” a challenge in his voice.

  “Bravo, Father,” said Edward.

  “Well done, duke! I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, big brother.”

  “How is it everyone claims to have known my mind before I did,” grumbled the duke.

  “There, there, your grace,” his wife soothed after the laughter died down. “It isn’t that we knew what was in your mind, so much as the fact that your family counted on you to do the right thing.”

  When the family dispersed to change for dinner, Waverley held Helena back. “I want a word, my love,” he said quietly. “Fancy a stroll in the garden?”

  She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to a secluded bench. He held her to him in a tender embrace. “My good fortune overwhelms me, love. I never thought it possible. Shall you really be my wife?”


  “Yes. Unless, of course, you decide to cry off,” she teased.

  “Never.”

  Helena searched his eyes. “What’s troubling you?”

  “Too much has been left unsaid. I can’t erase them, but I regret my past mistakes bitterly. And I cannot like the fact that your reputation may suffer when you marry me. Perhaps we ought to wait to marry after all. Give people time to forget my past.”

  “No, darling. We won’t postpone our life together a moment longer than necessary. Leave it to my parents and your grandmother to mend both our reputations.”

  He grinned. “They’ll do it, too.”

  “Your reputation as a rake is as good as forgotten. Although…”

  “Have you some objection to the loss of my loathsome past?”

  She sighed and leaned her head on his comfortable shoulder. “Only one. Must I forgo the opportunity to experience an orgy?”

  “Do you wish to join me in an orgy, dearest?”

  “Would it be fun?”

  “Oh yes. I’ll arrange one for us, but the only two people to take part in it will be the wicked marquis and his disreputable marchioness. Will that do?”

  “I suppose I shall have to be content with that.” She sighed in mock despair. “On the other hand, I look forward to our wonderful honeymoon on the continent. How clever of you to think of it.”

  He raised her head and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “What day would you like to wed your rake, my love?”

  “Tomorrow?” she asked hopefully.

  He barked a laugh of joy. “Too soon, my love. I’ll return home tomorrow morning. Give me a week to arrange things. You and your family may join me whenever it suits. We’ll marry next Saturday morning, on the thirtieth of May. I’ll invite as many of the townspeople as I can fit into the chapel. But the wedding breakfast must include everyone: the townsfolk, our servants and all our tenants. We cannot deprive our own people of that pleasure, can we?”

  “No, of course not. We’ll celebrate with a grand feast. Tell Cook to begin preparing our wedding breakfast.”

  Chapter 31

  Saturday, the Thirtieth of May, 1818

  Weddings celebrate tradition. For Lady Helena Fairchild, dreams of a happy marriage began in her twelfth year of life when she set her sights on the boy next door and wove daydreams of having his children, of presiding over his household, of celebrating his joys and sharing his sorrows. Like so many females, she had no doubt she would be the perfect wife to Ambassador Christopher Darlington. But she chose the wrong man to lavish her love upon. What had she learned from that grievous error? She was sure she’d learned enough to know her mind this time around.

  Tradition. Last night she and her sisters sat in a circle and listened to their mother tell the story of the day Lady Helena was born. Her father had been disappointed, for he had hoped for an heir, but his dismay didn’t last long, for he fell in love with this new miracle at once. “Livy needs a sister for a playmate. You’ll do, funny face,” he’d said as he’d danced around the room holding his second child and crooning nursery rhymes to her.

  Tradition. The bride’s uncle Charles would perform the ceremony. Her sister Mary would play the wedding march. Her sisters Olivia and Georgiana would be her attendants. Her brother Edward and her brother-in-law Sebastian would escort the attendants to their seats. Her sister Jane would walk down the aisle strewing rose petals before the bride. The Duke of Heatham would escort his daughter to the altar, where the Marquis of Waverley would be waiting for her.

  Tradition. The bride would wear her mother’s wedding gown, as her sister Olivia had done before her. The bride’s abigail, Amy, had spent hours lengthening the gown, for the bride was taller than both her mother and her sister.

  Tradition was altered slightly when the groom insisted upon the marriage taking place at Waverley rather than Bodmin, but in the excitement surrounding the nuptials no one seemed to mind the change.

  Amy spread the ivory Belgian lace gown studded with crystals on top of the clean linen on the floor. Two under maids had been summoned to help the bride step into the fragile gown. Helena’s heart warmed at the thought that Georgiana, Mary and Jane would also wear her mother’s wedding gown one day. She prayed it could be made large enough for her chubby little sister Jane. When Helena was fully dressed, the result was nothing short of astounding. Not surprising, for that is the way it is with brides. She peered in the mirror in wonder at her transformation while Amy and the under maids expressed appreciation for their part in dressing the bride with audible sighs.

  Who is this beauty in the mirror? Is this really me? Yes! Who would have thought it? Is this the timid lass, that naïve ninny who once yearned to know the secret of what to do with her arms and her legs during life’s intimate moments? The thought tickled her and she laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it.

  A knock on the door was followed by a riot of sisters tumbling into her bedchamber.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Don’t ask, Livy,” Helena answered, blushing.

  “Beware impure thoughts on your wedding day, love,” her sister said with a sly grin.

  “How do you like my gown?” Jane interrupted, whirling around.

  “Lovely, poppet. Pink is your color. The truth is, if we were alone, I’d be bound to confess that you were the prettiest of all my sisters, but I can’t say it because they’re all here and I don’t want to hurt their feelings. Now don’t you go falling over potted palms and dirtying yourself on my wedding day.” Jane beamed as the bride bent to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

  “I’m ready, dear sisters. Shall we go?”

  At once, Olivia gathered up her sister’s bridal train and Georgiana opened the door only to find the duke waiting in the hallway.

  “Go on ahead, girls, if you please. It is a father’s right to escort his daughter on the occasion of her marriage.” The duke was resplendent in a gray striped silk coat and black morning trousers, accompanied by a meticulous white shirt and neck cloth.

  One by one, she kissed each of her sisters. When they were out of earshot, she said, “Thank you, Father, for giving me your blessing.”

  “I wish you happy, Helena.”

  The bride could not answer, for fear she would not be able to hold back her tears at her father’s unaccustomed tender words.

  In spite of such short notice—the marquis sent personal invitations to guests hastily written by his secretary, Rupert, and hand delivered by his own footmen only days before—Waverley Chapel was filled to overflowing. Indeed, the doors had been thrown open to the garden terrace to accommodate additional guests. Land’s End folk thought themselves privileged to witness the wedding of the Fourth Marquis of Waverley, a hero in their eyes since the capture of the rogue smugglers. The grand wedding would be talked about for years to come.

  When the Duke of Heatham gave his daughter’s hand to the Marquis of Waverley at the altar, he hoped to God he had not been mistaken as to his son-in-law’s reformed character. Even so, he was relieved when the ceremony was at an end.

  A few clouds did nothing to mar the festivities. Wedding guests met the fine weather with a sigh of relief, for it meant their finery—for many wore their nicest clothing—would not suffer.

  The lavish wedding breakfast was served on the terrace, with round tables and chairs arranged on the vast lawn around a platform erected for dancing.

  While the musicians were tuning up, his grace begged a few words with his new son-in-law. “I mean to hold you to your promise, Waverley. It is up to you to make sure no hint of scandal ever appears to embarrass my daughter or her family. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You have every right, your grace, to doubt my reformation, considering my scandalous past, but it is for love of your daughter that I myself have no qualms. I mean to do everything in my power to make the woman I love happy.”

  “Prove my fears wrong, Waverley, and you will find in me a staunch ally.”

  “I we
lcome such an alliance, sir. My hope is that Polite Society agrees with you, for my wife’s sake.”

  The duke chuckled. “They most certainly will, if your grandmother and I have anything to say to the matter. Polite Society tends to ignore our peculiarities because the Fairchild family has already earned the reputation of eccentricity, but they dare not ignore your formidable grandmother.”

  “In that case, I’ll fit right in, won’t I?” He turned at a tap on his shoulder from his bride. She had changed into one of her own gowns, so Mother’s wedding gown could to be returned without damage to Bodmin Castle for storage. Helena beamed at the two most important men in her life. “Excuse me, but I want to dance with my father. Do you mind, husband?”

  Waverley grinned. “Not at all, wife. I shall find my grandmother and see if I can persuade her to dance with me.”

  The duke offered his daughter his arm and led her onto the hastily built wooden dance floor for the waltz. “In the loss of you, I feel somewhat deprived. My family appears to be diminishing, Helena.”

  “You haven’t lost a daughter, Father. You’ve gained another son and I mean to see to it he makes us both proud.”

  He smiled, but the worry in his eyes would not go away. “We need more men in the family, I suppose.”

  Helena and the duke turned their heads to the terrace, startled by the sound of applause. They saw Waverley resting one foot on the top terrace step and the other on the step below. He held his grandmother’s hand, his face registering pride as she smiled and nodded serenely to everyone. A diamond tiara on her head enhanced her queenly stature. She wore a pale lilac gown trimmed with ermine at the wrists and at the hem. The adulation erased the lines of age from her face, which seemed surrounded by a glow very like a halo as her grandson led her to the floor.

  Dancers stepped off the platform to give them the stage all to themselves. Heads craned one behind the other to witness the event. The musicians began a slow waltz, her grandson put one hand on her waist, the dowager gathered her train with one hand and gave the other hand to him. They floated across the floor effortlessly, and the eighty-year-old marchioness appeared to become young once more.