“This was an accident, Ian. You didn’t mean to kill him.”
“Oh, but I did. And in my church.” His voice was dull. Dazed.
“You know you didn’t,” Gareth snapped. “Never mind martyring yourself. You simply stopped a criminal from fleeing. You’ll have to fetch help. Go to the Silver Pony. It seems everyone is there. Someone can ride to Hay to get Dr. Cole.” He wouldn’t be much use, though.
“I’m sorry, Gareth. For doubting you. For everything.”
“Tell Annie what happened. Tell her I was wrong. And an idiot.”
Ian’s lips twisted. “She told me when she came to me to delay the wedding that you were in rare form last night.”
“Apparently so.” He couldn’t remember it all, but what he did recollect was bad enough. Gareth tugged off his cravat and wedged it into the deep wound in the back of Martin’s head. White turned crimson in seconds. “Go on, Ian.”
His cousin left, closing the church door behind him. Gareth sat back on his haunches, wondering how this day could get any worse. If Annie wouldn’t see him when this vigil was over, he didn’t think he could bear it. He needed to talk to her, needed to explain. She’d been uncomfortable with Martin from the first day, and he’d simply dismissed her feelings. Gareth might be older, but it was she who was the wise one.
Ian had said “delay,” not cancel. Surely that was a good sign? If anything could be considered good on this day.
He watched as Martin’s breaths became shallower, the space between each ticking into eternity. He held the old man’s hand in his own, and gave it a squeeze.
“Better to go now, I think,” he said quietly. Even hushed, his voice echoed in the empty church.
Gareth knew at once when his words were obeyed. He rose unsteadily and covered Martin’s body with his coat. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the soft leather bag under the Miller family bench and reached under to get it. He drew the string on the bag and peered inside at the jumble of metal and gems. Most were unfamiliar to him—Bronwen’s jewels, meant for her daughters. He fished out the emerald and pearl ring that had belonged to his mother and her mother before her.
For a bit of trumpery, it had caused enough trouble, though it never had been on Bronwen’s hand. She’d worn the Lewys sapphires even after they became engaged. Would Annie want it, after last night? He rested his head on the back of a bench and closed his eyes.
The door burst open a few moments later. Several dozen people spilled into the church, their cheeks rosy from drink. Full of life. Curiosity. To a man and woman, they stared at the crumpled figure at the base of the lectern.
Mrs. Chapman was the first to speak. “He’s dead?”
“Aye.”
“Good riddance.” There was a general murmuring of approval, but Gareth would have none of it.
“Be quiet!” He couldn’t in all charity defend the man, but it was unseemly they should be so bloodthirsty in church.
“Gareth?”
He searched the little crowd for her, failing to see her until she pushed her way to the front. She wore her best bronze dress—her wedding dress—under her cloak, but looked less than a radiant bride. There were smudges under her eyes, and the rouge she’d applied was too bright for her pale face.
“Is the party a success, Annie?”
She nodded.
“Good. You deserve a bit of fun.”
“I’m not having fun, Gareth.” Her eyes darted to the body.
Jim, the ostler at the Silver Pony, stepped forward. “Come on, lads, let’s get old Martin to the Widow Benedict’s. She can lay him out proper-like.” A few men joined him to carry the body away.
But the blood was left, a massive puddle of it. Annie looked as though she might faint. Gareth gathered her up and set her down on the bench. The rest of the spontaneous congregation began to leave, but Gareth raised his hand.
“Wait. Please.” He had everyone’s attention, though he just wanted Annie’s. But an audience might go a little way to persuading her to listen, convince her that he was sincere.
“This morning I was supposed to marry the woman that I love beyond all measure. But I let her down. She offered so much, and asked only one thing of me when we decided to marry—that I stop drinking.” He caught a few frowns on the men’s faces, and a few smug nods on the ladies’. “But I never stopped, not really. Since my accident—no, before—I had fallen into the bad habit of drinking my troubles away. Or trying to. Nothing ever worked, though. Since August I’ve had what I thought was even more reason to pickle myself. Most of you wouldn’t speak to me.” There was a murmur of guilty denial, but he went on.
“You were right to suspect me, for who knows what I might have done? I didn’t know myself when I came out of the blackness every morning.” He took a ragged breath. Public speaking had never been his forte. He was, as he dimly remembered saying last night, a man of action. “Annie.”
Her rust-colored lashes fanned her cheeks and flickered at her name. She held her hands tight in her lap, head bowed, not looking up. As though, he thought, she was praying. What would she ask for?
“I don’t know exactly what I did last night, or exactly what I said, but I know I was wrong. I hurt you, dismissed you. I wish I could say I was not myself, but I’m afraid I was. I’ve turned into someone quite unworthy of marrying you.”
Ah, that lifted her gaze to his. He saw a tiny V of puzzlement between her bronze brows.
“I want to be someone you can place your faith in. Rely on. But I need help. And it won’t take anything but your heart to give me the strength I need. Please tell me I have it, my Lady Anne, even after everything. I swear to you in front of all these witnesses I will never touch another drop of liquor again. Not at Christmas. Not at the christenings of our children. You can pour me a cup of your wretched coffee instead and it shall taste like the elixir of the gods to me. Forgive me, Annie. Marry me.” He dropped to his knee and held out the ring.
He heard a sniffle behind him. Someone had been moved to tears by his speech. Was Annie?
C
HAPTER
29
O
h, Lord in Heaven. She must not laugh.
She must not
.
But her nerves were overset, and she longed for one of her evil governesses to pinch her quiet in church.
Gareth was the picture of penitence. Everything he said rang true. Anne had never seen a more magnificent public grovel, and no doubt some in the crowd would think it was the most romantic thing they’d ever seen.
And it was romantic, save for the fact his knee was very close to a hideous botch of blood that was congealing on the floor. If he shifted over an inch or two—
What on earth was wrong with her? She had wanted to talk to him about their future, and he was talking. There was a rather pretty ring in his outstretched hand, too. She didn’t want to think how he’d come by it.
To be proved right about Martin did not bring her any satisfaction. And Gareth was really only half-right when he identified the difficulty between them. Anne couldn’t possibly continue this conversation with every available eye upon them.
She’d risen in the dark to get Llanwyr to stop the wedding and get the word out that the party would go on all the same. It would have been a wicked waste of food and effort if it had not. Mrs. Chapman and her girls had worked so hard on such short notice.
And, as Gareth said, he’d made paper garlands.
The wedding breakfast had been relatively merry, although the guests were confused by the lack of an actual bride and groom. Anne had said vaguely that “something had come up” to prevent their immediate marriage, and had taken a big bite of cake to stop the questions.
Well, the villagers knew now that Gareth had been drunk and disorderly. They probably thought she was a little termagant for restricting his fun on his last night of bachelorhood. Despite the area’s Methodism, she had been surprised to see so many of the men partake of spirits this morning. The women, too. It was a good thing Ian wasn’t there to see them.
“Annie,” Gareth whispered. “Say something. I’m dying here.”
“Oh! Do get up, or your pants will be ruined,” she whispered back. “All right, everyone,” she said brightly. “Please go back to the inn and continue with the festivities. We’ll join you later.”
Gareth frowned but stood. He staggered when a few men clapped him on the back and told him what a fool he was making of himself.
“You need to get the upper hand, Major, do just as you please, drink or no drink, or she’ll run you right into the ground. Mark my words, you’ve got to begin as you mean to go on. Put the girl in her place.”
“Under you!” one of the men guffawed.
“Frank Bryson, you are in chapel!” His wife clouted him on the back of his head.
Finally,
finally
they were alone. Anne didn’t want to spend one more minute in this building until it was properly cleaned. Exorcised of what had happened.
“Take me home, please.”
“Have you nothing to say?” Gareth asked quietly.
“I have a great deal to say, but not here.” She stared pointedly at the spot where Martin had lain.
“Of course, you’re right. I really am remarkably dense, aren’t I? A regular cloth-head. I believed everything Martin said.”
“You’d known him all your life. Trusted him. Why wouldn’t you?”
“But I love
you,
Annie.”
“Love isn’t some magical state that makes one see clearly. In fact, I think it does the opposite more often than not.”
She
did
love Gareth. He’d pierced her defenses, made her feel whole again. She’d never expected to lead an ordinary life, but these weeks with him had been a miraculous mix of comfort and affection, apart from the drudge work and wretched weather.
He’d had a very hard year, a year that would have flattened most any man. Now he’d taken his battered pride and laid it at her feet in front of half of Llanwyr. Men were such silly creatures, always seeking to be in control, even if they had to trick themselves with drink or whatever was handy to think they were.
This morning Gareth was stone sober. He’d witnessed a death. She hoped he was ready to plan their life together. Anne wanted her marriage to be a true partnership. No one needed to be in charge, did they? He was not still in the army, and she was not his foot soldier. By the same token, she would not be forever tugging at his leash. She would no more give him orders than she would follow his.
They were silent on the way back, keeping a space between their bodies. Anne hoped they could eventually bridge the distance between them.
She had forgotten the dismal condition of the house. The smell of smoke was still heavy in the air despite all the windows being open. Anne led Gareth to the double drawing room, where at least everything still was in order, if freezing. She didn’t remove her cloak.
“Please sit.”
“I take it you don’t want me on my knees again. Don’t you want me to make a fire? I can see my breath.” He leaned up against the marble mantle, looking exhausted.
“No. We shouldn’t be too long. Your gesture was lovely, truly it was. But I don’t want you making promises you can’t keep.” She sat on the edge of the old sofa and wrapped herself up more deeply in her cloak.
Gareth’s face darkened. “Do you think I’d go back on my word?”
She didn’t want to remind him that he already had. Yes, she’d been annoyed last night, but ultimately it wasn’t really the drunkenness that had bothered her. It was what he’d said in that state. “Gareth, I’m not really worried about your drinking. I expect we’ll both be too busy with the house and the horses. And when we have our successes, we can toast each other. In moderation.”
“Then you’ll marry me after all?”
“I think so.”
“Then what in God’s name is this all about?”
“You resent me because I am Lady Imaculata Anne Egremont. And a woman.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I hold the purse strings, or will. And you’re afraid that somehow makes you less of a man.”
His mouth dropped open. “I
said
that?”
“Not in so many words. There was a lot of talk about canines and leashes.”
“Oh, God.”
“And I think,” she said with a tremble in her voice, “that the loss of your arm is still troubling you. There are things you need help with, and you don’t like to be dependent on anyone. On me.”
She watched his ashen face as her soft words hung between them.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked at last.
“That you will let me help you. Without resentment. I am really helping myself, Gareth. Doing this for both of us. And legally, all the money will be yours once we marry anyway, no matter what arrangements we make between us. You could turn me out of your house.”
“Who would be here to lecture me?” He almost smiled.
“I know how frustrated you are. You—you don’t have to be perfect. I love you as you are.”
“What’s left of me. I’m sorry—I’m still full of self-pity, aren’t I? I’m a whole lot luckier than a lot of men I once knew.” He ran his hand through his hair. She had trimmed it again for the wedding, and now she thought she preferred it the old way.
To her dismay, he did not join her on the couch, but sat down in a chair in the corner. “I think you’re right, Annie. Smarter than I am in a thousand ways for such a young girl. Why would you want to tie yourself to me for life?”
“One can’t help whom one falls in love with.”
He sighed. “I’m not sure I deserve your love.”
“Then we’re even.”
He lifted a brow. “Come now. You’re beautiful, rich—not a great cook, true, but you could have any man.”
“You’ve read
The London List,
” Anne said dryly. “I think we’re pretty evenly matched in our assets and debits. We both have our faults and shortcomings. I want a marriage of equals, Gareth. I want to be your partner. In all ways.”
“You have been reading Miss Wollstonecraft.”
“Who?” She had read nothing lately but those amusing
Courtesan Court
books.
“Never mind.” He got up from the chair and poked a toe into some ashes in the empty hearth. “I feel like a failure, Annie. Ever since I left the army, everything I’ve touched turns to dross. I even made a cock-up of our wedding day.”
“Stop, just stop. You can’t keep dwelling on the past and blaming yourself for everything. It’s—it’s
tedious
.”
She did not expect the laughter and didn’t quite know what to make of it. When he was done, Gareth wiped what appeared to be a tear from his cheek. “You are the most extraordinary girl I have ever met.
I
have been put in
my
place. All right, my love. I will not bore you. I will not resent you. I will not curse my recent history. Or at least I will try. I have a feeling if I stumble, you’ll help me get up. And I will thank you.
Now
can we get married?”
“Someone will have to clean the church first. And give Ian some brandy when he comes back. He’s had a terrible shock.”
“Let’s go to the Silver Pony and set your plans in motion.” He reached out his hand. “Meet you halfway.” He took a step.
Anne got off the couch. She took a step, then two. She was in Gareth’s embrace before she knew it.
The party had carried on without them, and managed to last after Gareth had a few quiet words with some of the men there. They disappeared for a time, after visiting the inn’s broom closet for rags and buckets first, and Gareth actually ate a ham sandwich and a piece of his wedding cake. He did not touch the cider, ale, or the champagne that Parry Lewys had donated. He had meant what he said to Annie, no matter what she thought of it.
When the men returned, they had a chastened Ian Morgan with them. Dr. Cole had come and gone, and no one mentioned the reason he had been summoned. Ian’s eyebrows raised right to his hairline when Gareth explained what he wanted him to do, but he nodded in agreement. No one noticed when he, Annie, Mrs. Chapman, Sally, and Ian slipped away from the assembly room, one by one.
A large rug lay in front of the lectern in the chapel, taken from the inn’s second-best bedroom. Ian’s voice was barely audible as he read from a worn Book of Common Prayer, but Gareth and Annie repeated their vows with conviction. He slid his mother’s ring on her finger, and was reminded that the bag of jewelry still sat on the pew behind them. Some of his mother’s lesser pieces might help finance their trip to London. He’d take what was his and give the rest to Parry Lewys for Mared and Gwyn.
He gave Annie a conspiratorial wink when she stumbled over the word
obey
.
And then it was done. Annie signed the register, using her real name. He signed his with a flourish. Their adventures as Mr. and Mrs. Ripton-Jones had begun with two witnesses, a near-mute preacher, an empty chapel, and a bloodstained floor.