Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (16 page)

Lord Brisbane looked away from her, gazing at the mansion before him. “You must truthfully answer whatever questions the magistrate asks you,” he said. “And then . . . and then, I believe we should be married.” He patted her hand, and his look was regretful. “I wish we could be married in happier circumstances, and . . . it is my hope that you will come someday to have some regard for me. But I do not know what else to do to keep the gossip and scandal at the lowest level possible.”

Diana stared at him, the panic boiling within her. “Will I be safe?”

He took her hands in both of his and looked her firmly in the eyes. “Yes,” he said. “To the best of my abilities, I will keep you safe, and let no one harm you, as long as I live.”

She closed her eyes, and let out a breath, and felt the panic recede. She remembered how he had risked being trampled as he led the curricle horses, and how he had taken her in his arms in the cottage kitchen, protecting her from seeing more than she already had. He had been kind to her mother as well. She raised her chin, and looked at him.

“Yes,” she said, and made her voice firm and clear. “Yes, I will marry you, Gavin.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, and held her hand as they walked to the door of the house.

Chapter 11

Theirs would not be a hurried wedding—Mrs. Carlyle had been determined that banns be read for Lord Brisbane and Diana’s marriage, and so they had been. But it would be small and private because they were still in a state of mourning; there was no way around it, and for that Diana was glad.

She sat in the drawing room, her hands on the keys of the pianoforte, but did not play. Instead, she looked out of the window at the blue summer sky. The panes formed small rectangles, the sun casting shadows on each edge—it looked like a cage. But then a quick movement caught her eye: swallows dove toward the house, outlined in each frame of window like quick sketches, then with a flick of their wings twisted away from the house and upward into the air. She envied them; she wished she could have wings so swift that a mere glance of a wingtip would send her away.

She had not wanted to wait to marry Lord Brisbane. The reading of the banns had given her time to think about it, and she would prefer to have it over with. Then life would go on. . . .

Not as usual, however. That could never be, no matter how she tried to make it so. She understood she could not, and understood that she
had
tried to pretend it could, ever since her uncle had died. The first part of her life had been filled with uncertainty and fear; the advent of her uncle had brought solidity and sureness, and when he was gone, she had fought to bring it back again. Or rather, pretended it had never left.

But finding McKinney in the cottage kitchen had shattered her illusions once and for all. She could pretend the first death was an accident, but when Lord Jardien had questioned her, and she had asked him a few tentative questions in return, it was clear that the second was no accident at all, for he said there had been a knife wound at the throat—

She shuddered, and it caused her fingers to press upon the keys of the pianoforte, making a discordant sound. An urge overcame her to drive her curricle, or ride her horse fast and furious across the fields, but she squashed it. This was her wedding day, and there was much to be done. Riding across the fields would be running away, and she had done enough of that.

The door opened, and her mother entered, looking distracted. She caught sight of Diana and shook her head. “What, are you still here? My dear, it wants but two hours before the wedding—you must dress, and hurry!”

“Yes, Mama,” Diana said, and rose from the chair.

Her mother gazed at her keenly, however, came to her, and took her hand. “However, I think we can spare a few minutes to talk to each other. You are pale, love”—she put a hand on Diana’s forehead—“but you are not feverish, so I can only assume you are anxious about the wedding.”

Diana shook her head. “The wedding will soon be over.”

“Is it Lord Brisbane?”

She stared at her mother and nodded slightly.

“He is a kind man, my dear, you need not worry about that. I have already told you what to expect tonight—”

Diana nodded.

“And do you have any more questions?”

A million questions ran through her mind, but Diana could not say even one of them, for none of them had anything to do with Lord Brisbane, and everything to do with herself. They were old questions she had put off asking for so long that she did not know how to put them into words. “No,” she said at last.

Mrs. Carlyle squeezed her hand. “It has been a terrible time for all of us, love, and more terrible for you, I know. And . . .” She hesitated. “Sometimes there are things you cannot tell a mother; I remember there were things I could not tell mine, though I loved her dearly. But I believe Lord Brisbane loves you, and if you cannot tell me, you may tell him.” Her brow creased as if in thought. “He is probably the most
listening
sort of man I have ever met.” She laughed slightly. “That sounds odd, does it not? But I think it is true. You may tell him anything, and he would consider it carefully, and not tell anyone else if you asked him not to.” Her mother smiled crookedly. “In that, you are most fortunate.”

Diana remembered how her father had raged when he had lost all his money, and how he had left them so poor. Mama was right, of course; she was marrying a better man. Diana made herself smile. “I shall try not to be afraid, Mama.”

“Good,” Mrs. Carlyle said, smiling and squeezing her hand once more. “And of course, there is nothing to keep you from confiding in me as well from time to time. I do love you, my dear daughter, and though you are all of twenty-five, I would not like to think you have grown up so much that we cannot share our hearts from time to time.”

Tears pricked at the edges of Diana’s eyes, and she hugged her mother fiercely to hide them. “I am fortunate indeed,” she said, “to have a friend and a mother in one person.”

They parted, and Mrs. Carlyle hastily took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “Oh, now look at what you have done! You have set me to weeping, and I have told myself I would not, not on your wedding day, for it should be a happy day, not one for tears.” She laughed softly and shook her head. “I am a silly woman, to be sure!”

Diana took her hand and squeezed it. “No, not silly, but the best and wisest of mothers,” she said, smiling.

“Oh, nonsense . . . and look at the time!” Mrs. Carlyle exclaimed. “Heavens, we shall never get to the church on time if we dawdle any longer. Come, my dear, hurry!”

She rose and stepped quickly out of the room, gesturing with her hand in a hurrying motion. Diana followed, and ascended the steps to her room.

The door opened to a flurry of maids and clothes, and Diana was swept up into it as if she had stepped into a snowstorm. She could hardly keep pace with all the petticoats, lace, necklaces, and anything else her mother and the maids had determined were essential. She felt tossed and shoved and moved this way and that until she was well nigh dizzy with it, and it was with complete bewilderment that she gazed at the lady in the mirror when the last maid stepped back with a confident nod.

There was no way she could look ethereal as she had always thought brides should appear. But the word “grand” came to her again as she gazed at the cream silk and lace that covered her.

Mostly covered her. Her eyes went to the lace that went from her chin to the crest of her bosom, and over her shoulders to the backs of her hands. Gossamerlike, transparent except for the sewn pearls that glimmered like bits of the moon in the curl of each lace pattern. It should have been modest, covering so much of her, if it had not shifted and shimmered with every breath, and brought attention to the very brief bodice.

The rest of the gown was very plain, a column of cream silk that hung from her bodice to the floor, with only small echoes of the bodice lace near the hem. But it served only to draw the eye upward, and Diana was not sure she wanted anyone’s eye to be drawn there.

She said nothing, however, and only smiled and once again hugged her mother, who wept a few more tears. Diana kept her mind trained on the fact that she should be thankful the wedding would be very small, and aside from Vicar Southworthy, with only her mother and Mr. Goldworthy in attendance. She would not think of the wedding dinner afterward, when there would be more people. No, she would not think of it.

She was very successful not thinking of it, so much so that Diana felt a little numb as she was bundled into the coach for the short ride to the church.
The coach needs new springs
, she thought automatically as it bounced over a rut in the road,
I need to see they are replaced.
She realized what she was thinking and laughed a little hysterically that she would think of such things on her wedding day.

The coach stopped—too quickly, not quickly enough, she was not sure. The door opened, and she stumbled out and would have fallen, if it had not been for the supporting hand of Mr. Goldworthy under her elbow.

“Thank you,” she said, and despised the way her voice shook. She lifted her chin and stared steadily at the doorway of the church, and the arching dimness within.

He patted her hand. “Aye, that’s the spirit. But never fear; Gavin’s a good lad, and steady. You’ve taken his heart, Miss Diana, I can see that clear enough, and he’s not willing for you to return it.” He nodded toward the church and chuckled. “Eh, I never thought I’d serve as best man to an earl, but here I am, and serving as father to the bride as well. Ned Goldworthy’s gone up in the world, he has!” He gave her a wink, and Diana could not help laughing. “Aye, good! A bride should have a bit of color in her cheeks.” He glanced at the church. “Well, into the parson’s purse-net you go.” Diana laughed at the thought of the church being stuffed with fish, put her hand on Mr. Goldworthy’s arm, and ascended the steps.

It was an old church, part of a Norman abbey, made of gray stone. It was dim compared to the summer light outside, but the sun filtered through the stained glass windows and brightly colored the interior, nevertheless. Diana’s eyes soon grew used to it, and she could see the people within at last.

Her mother was there, of course, and she was surprised to see Sir James Rackbury in one of the pews, for she thought he had decided to stay permanently in London. There was Vicar Southworthy ahead, looking less sour than he usually did, and in fact he gave her a short, grave smile as she came closer. And then there was Lord Brisbane . . . her bridegroom.

Diana took in a deep breath and let it out again. He wore black, and his neckcloth was snowy white, his embroidered waistcoat was the color of champagne, and he wore knee breeches of the palest fawn. With his hair in a windswept style, and not one strand out of place, he looked intimidatingly elegant. He was gazing at her, warmth and admiration in his eyes, and she felt a trembling go through her.

She was to marry him. Here. Now.

With a reassuring pat on her hand, Mr. Goldworthy bowed and moved away, and Diana stepped up next to the earl. She could not look at him, and looked down at her hands instead, as the vicar went through the ceremony. His voice came to her as if through a fog, and it took all her concentration to follow his words.

And then as if from a distance, she heard her mother’s voice rise in protest, making Diana raise her head with a jerk to find Sir James had come up to the altar. A shock went through her. Impediment—Vicar Southworthy had just asked if there was any impediment to the marriage.

“What is the meaning of this?” the vicar said angrily.

“I say this marriage is being performed under false pretenses,” Sir James replied. His slight smile was triumphant, and when he turned his gaze to Diana, sneering.

Diana glanced at Lord Brisbane, standing so very still. He said nothing, merely watched Sir James. For one moment, she thought there was a feral light in her bridegroom’s eyes, as if he were poised to attack . . . but that was nonsense, for his face was smoothly urbane, as if he had not one concern in the world.

“I think you should explain yourself,” the earl said, his voice calm, even pleasantly conversational. “You must have something very important to say; I see you are in such haste that you could not even dress for the occasion.” His eyes flickered over Sir James’s neckcloth and waistcoat. “A bit on the informal side, don’t you think?”

“Damned mushroom,” Sir James snarled. “You’re no better than—”

“A mushroom!” Lord Brisbane looked pained. “I took great care to select this particular waistcoat at Weston’s. He himself said I could carry off this sort of design. However, it is possible we were both mistaken.” He shook his head woefully, and turned to Diana. “That’s the impediment, my dear. Sir James must have seen that this waistcoat would never do for a wedding.”

A hysterical giggle came to her lips—and died, for she looked at Gavin and remembered why he sometimes became frivolous and made jokes. Did he already know what Sir James’s objection was? Understanding passed between them, and clear despair came into his eyes.

“This is no time for levity,” Vicar Southworthy said, gazing at Lord Brisbane in disapproval. He turned to Sir James. “What is your objection?”

Sir James’s smile returned. “This man who calls himself Gavin Sinclair is not the true Earl of Brisbane.” He shot a pleased glance at Diana. “He is probably not even Gavin Sinclair.”

“Nonsense!” Diana said firmly. “My uncle found him, he knew! He would not make a mistake like that.” She would not believe it. She would
not.
The despair she had seen in Gavin’s eyes had pierced her heart; surely he did not—he must be—She shook her head, then looked at Sir James’s sneering face. Anger and humiliation boiled in her. How dare Sir James announce this, now, just as she was about to be wed! If whatever he knew were truly an impediment, why did he not mention it during the calling of the banns? She could not think it anything but maliciousness, a need to bring attention to himself, unless it had to do with a wager. But surely he would not cause such a scandal for a mere wager! It had to be malice and conceit.

“Your uncle is not as infallible as you think,” Sir James said, and his self-satisfied voice grated on her ears. He jerked his chin at Gavin. “This man clawed his way up from the gutters—oh, he’s well off now, I’m sure, by whatever hook or crook he used. But he’s not a Sinclair, nor related—unless on the wrong side of the blanket—a nobody.”

“I don’t believe you!” Diana cried. “You are only throwing a stupid tantrum and causing trouble because you think you should have got the inheritance.” She swallowed a lump in her throat and gazed at Gavin. Why did he not say something, anything to defend himself? He only stood, looking coolly down his nose at Sir James as if the man were an actor in a poor farce.