Kiss the Earl (23 page)

Especially when such a marriage could only be a temporary affair. She wanted to return to her home, and he could not blame her. But nor could he follow. His place was here, in this world. His duties to his name and estate could not be shoved onto another without his permanent guilt. He was the Earl of Fairhaven, and his father's memory still loomed large in his brain. The old man would roll over in his grave if Patrick abandoned his responsibilities to follow a woman.

Theirs was a love doomed from the start, but Patrick nodded anyway.

“Yes. For the moment, at least, it is the only way. Marry me, Ella.”

She bit her lip, her heart clear in her eyes. Her answer both thrilled him and slayed him.

“Okay. If it's what you really want, I'll marry you.”

As the baron escorted Ella from the door of the small stone church in Cromer to her place in front of the bishop, beside Patrick, her groom-to-be, her subconscious was screaming bloody murder at her.

What
the
hell
do
you
think
you're doing? You can't marry this guy! You've only known him a few weeks! You only just realized you loved him…

Ella's slippers stuck to the floor only a few feet away from her goal. The baron looked over at her.

“Are you all right, my dear?”

She loved him. She really loved Patrick. She wanted to knock him upside the head sometimes, but somehow in the mishmash of the last few weeks—running across the countryside with him, snuggling in his bed, hell, even making a mess of his desk—she'd fallen in love with the man. The future was all blurry, muddied up with questions about how she'd get home,
if
she'd get home, what they'd do then, but those questions didn't really matter, not here and now. What mattered was that she loved Patrick Meadowfair, and that she was about to marry the guy of her dreams.

She'd wake up later.

“I'm fine.” She smiled over at the baron. “Sorry.”

With way more confident steps than she'd had before, she walked the rest of the way to Patrick's side. She hoped she wasn't imagining the tender light in his eyes when he looked over at her.

And then, the bishop began.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…” Ella glanced over her shoulder. Congregation? It was herself and Patrick, the baron, and Mrs. Templeton. Hardly what she'd call a congregation.

Meanwhile, the bishop was continuing. “…in holy matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”

She glanced over at Patrick, trying hard not to bounce with excitement. She was really getting married! It was almost impossible to believe. But Patrick didn't seem all that excited at the moment. In fact, his face was pretty serious.

Right. This was a big deal. Ella schooled her features into a more solemn mask and turned her attention back to the bishop, who hadn't paused in his droning. He really did have an unfortunately boring voice for a preacher.

“…but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained. First, it was ordained for the procreation of children, to be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Lord, and to the praise of His holy name.”

Ella bit her lip. Children? Yes, it was something she eventually wanted to do, but she'd never thought of it in the context of her and Patrick. God, what if she was stuck here forever? Having to give birth in the 1800s was a much different idea than a modern, nice, safe hospital room with tons of monitors and the epidural only a nurse call away. Ella felt all the blood draining from her face. She'd be good for another couple of months, but when her birth control shot wore off, what could they do to prevent pregnancy? The pill wouldn't be invented for another hundred years or so. She'd just have to pray they found a way back to her time. With Patrick by her side and easy access to hospital narcotics, she was sure that childbirth would be much less scary.

“Into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace.”

The bishop went quiet, and Ella held her breath. She was half-tempted to speak up herself when she thought about the whole children thing again, but at that moment she glanced over at Patrick.

His green eyes were trained directly on her, and his heart was plain in them. She let herself drown there, basking in the deep emotion.

This was right. It felt perfect. No matter what hardships came along, they could deal with them as a team. As long as they were together, everything would be fine. Ella smiled then, hoping he could see how happy she truly was. And when he smiled back, her heart did a funny little flip.

God, he was hot.

When no one spoke up, the bishop continued. And continued. And went on and on and on. Ella probably would have fallen asleep if it weren't for the vows, and then the way the bishop kept insisting Patrick hold her hand, and the way the bishop held both their hands, and then the ring, and then more hand-holding. The golden band with its small cluster of emeralds was prettier than any piece of jewelry she'd ever seen in person. Patrick had said it was part of the Meadowfair family jewels. It had been his mother's wedding ring.

Eventually though, she and Patrick both knelt down in front of the bishop, and he prayed. When they were allowed to stand again, the bishop proclaimed, “Forasmuch as Patrick Christopher Edmond Meadowfair, Third Earl of Fairhaven, and Ella Madeleine Briley have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands, I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Oh wow, was this it? Ella turned toward Patrick, her heart thundering against her ribs.
That
was
it—man and wife. And now we kiss, right?

But her groom didn't sweep her into his arms and plant a romantic kiss on her. Instead, he stared at the bishop as the man continued. “God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favor look upon you; and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life…”

Oh, this was so not how she'd expected her wedding to go. Eventually Ella gave up on the idea of her perfect wedding-ending kiss. She didn't really have a choice, because for the next twenty minutes, the bishop continued with prayers and blessings and psalms of procreation—those made Ella wince—so that at the end, when she and Patrick finally got to sign the register, she was just relieved not to have to stand there any longer.

After the ceremony, Ella gratefully accepted a hug from Mrs. Templeton, and a kiss on the cheek from a pleased-but-subdued Lord Brownstone. They left the church together, and the quick carriage ride back to Meadowfair Manor barely gave Ella a chance to realize what had happened. They were married? Seriously? But the jeweled ring on her finger didn't disappear, no matter how many times she closed and opened her eyes.

Back in the sitting room, the baron poured glasses of champagne to toast the couple. “I am glad that you did the right thing, m'lad. Always knew you were a good sort.”

“Thank you, Brownstone,” Patrick said dryly as he accepted the sparkling glass of champagne. Ella laughed inwardly, knowing what Patrick was thinking.

“And you made a beautiful bride, Miss Briley. Oh, I should say Lady Fairhaven now.”

Ella's glass trembled as she accepted it from the baron. “Right. Lady Fairhaven. Thank you.”

“To a long and fruitful marriage,” the baron said, raising his glass to theirs. Ella was just taking a tickling sip as the baron continued. “And in the morning, we shall all go together and look for that headstrong daughter of mine.”

Ella nearly choked. Patrick thwacked her on the back helpfully.

“What?”

The baron nodded, then drained his glass of champagne. “Patrick is her oldest friend, and if anyone can find the chit, it's him. Have to admit, I had hoped that she would be here with you. Always thought the two of you would make a match of it. But no matter now. You're married, and your lovely bride could do with some country air, I believe. So the both of you will accompany me to find Amelia. I'd not drag a new groom away from his bride, but I must have your help.”

Ella's gaze flew to Patrick's face, but the resigned acceptance there wasn't exactly comforting.

“Yes, of course. We shall leave at first light to find Amelia.”

Well, so much for her crazy wedding-night plans. Ella drained her champagne. It looked like she wasn't quite done chasing Patrick's phantom girlfriend all over the countryside.

Even though they were married now, it didn't stop Ella from being a little bit jealous of how important Amelia was to him. She wasn't even going to be able to enjoy her wedding night the way she wanted thanks to Amelia.

Oh well. At least now she didn't have to worry about Patrick marrying Amelia anymore. Ella smiled at the emeralds winking on her finger.

For better or worse, she and Patrick were married. Wherever they ended up, they'd do it together. And that was good enough for Ella.

* * *

The rest of Patrick's wedding day didn't progress as he'd imagined it would. Although why he thought such a normal day should follow such a strangely unexpected wedding, he had no idea. In any case, spending the whole of the afternoon closeted in his study with the baron, discussing possible motives and destinations for Amelia, wasn't exactly the best use of his time.

But he could not blame the baron for his worry. Indeed, Patrick was concerned for his harebrained friend himself. The single note she'd sent was hardly comforting, and no word had come since.

“I cannot think why the chit would do such a thing.” The baron was pacing in front of the fireplace, a cheroot in his hand. He paused to take a deep draw on it. “She was spoiled, petted, had everything a girl could want. Perhaps I gave her too much. I do not know.”

“The reasons for her flight matter less than her current whereabouts,” Patrick said gently, trying to guide the man into a more helpful frame of mind. “Was there no note, no message left?”

Tossing the stub of the cheroot into the fireplace, the baron looked at Patrick. “Her maid spoke up but six days ago, when I threatened to dismiss her with no reference. Amelia told her maid that she planned to leave Town with you.”

“Ah.” Patrick stood and turned to the sideboard, pouring himself a decent-sized snifter of brandy. After a glance at the baron, he poured a second and offered it to the older man. “I see.”

“Patrick, I have known you for most of your life. I have looked at you as I would a son.” The baron took the snifter from Patrick but didn't take a sip. “I must ask you now for your complete honesty. Did my daughter tell you anything of her plans before she left?”

Quaffing his drink, Patrick then turned and poured himself another. With his back to the baron, he considered.

Amelia was his friend. She'd always been good to him, despite her schemes. Could he abandon her now? But what was the right course? She may be in danger, after all. But would she forgive him for ruining her plans?

A little longer. He'd continue the ruse for just a bit longer. Surely Iain had heard something by now. If there was no word of Amelia's whereabouts when he next spoke to his cousin, Patrick would then confess Amelia's aborted plan to the baron.

“I am afraid she did not. She is impetuous, you know that as well as I. It is likely that she decided to take a jaunt on her own. She has always craved adventure.”

“Damnation,” the baron groaned. “I had hoped she might have left word with you.”

Patrick turned, tamping down his guilt. “You have my apologies, my lord. I wish I knew where she's flown. But Amelia, for all her notions, is a smart girl. She'll be safe somewhere.”

The baron drained his drink, then passed his empty glass over to Patrick for him to refill. “The only clue I can recall is that vicar she asked me about. Can you imagine, the daughter of a baron settling for a penniless clergyman?”

“I did have the same thought,” Patrick said carefully. He'd not mentioned George Harrods—the baron had come to that conclusion on his own. “Unfortunately, I have been unable to locate Mr. Harrods.”

The baron frowned. “So this vicar is missing now, as well?

Patrick nodded.

“Then we must expand our search to include him. If you do not know where the girl has gone, then he is the only other man who may.” The baron sank back into his chair, a dejected breath escaping him. “That girl is going to be the death of me, mark my words.”

“You must forgive my impertinence in asking this, my lord, but if they are found together, what will you do?”

A bitter laugh escaped the older man. “What can I do? She'll have to marry him, penniless and unsuitable as he is. Oh, she's a clever girl—always been too clever by half. She'll get what she's after in the end. I only hope that she is safe.”

Patrick nodded just as the gong sounded.

“Forgive me, lad. You do not want a guest for your wedding supper. I shall leave you to it.”

But as the baron swayed upright, Patrick held up a hand. “No, sir, please stay. Ella and I would welcome your company.”

Even though part of that statement was an outright lie, Patrick could not help but be glad for it as the old man's eyes lit up. The baron was so strained, so obviously worried for his daughter, that the levity of a meal with friends could not help but improve him.

And, Patrick admitted to himself as he followed the baron from the room, he would be glad for the buffer between him and his young bride. She was not going to be happy with the plans Patrick had laid out for them, and getting her to understand his reasoning would take some very fast talking. And he was more than happy to put that discussion off for a few hours to entertain the baron.

He was a right coward and quick to admit it.

Cook had outdone herself. Since she'd been unprepared for a proper wedding breakfast, considering none of them had had above a half hour's notice that there was to be any sort of ceremony, she'd turned her attentions to the evening meal. There was a large portion of hashed mutton, a ragout of vegetables, sweetbreads in buttery sauce, a huge roasted cod, even jellies and tarts and sweetmeats to tempt the palate.