The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (12 page)

"We simply will have the wedding breakfast first and explain to the guests that the bridegroom has been unavoidably detained by the weather. Keene is a gentleman. He will be here as soon as he's able," Mrs. Farthing said with an air of confidence Sophie didn't trust.

She wasn't sure if she should inform her mother that she had bitten Keene, and that might very well have changed his attitude about whether or not she deserved to be treated as a lady.

"You don't understand," Mr. Farthing spoke in a low undertone. "I have it on good authority that Sir Gresham is now in London. Keene might have encountered him."

"Oh, pish," said Mrs. Farthing. "There is no shame in that he made Sophie an offer and was turned down. What of it?"

"Ma'am, he might have spoken of other carryings on."

Her parents were having the sort of conversation where she as their child was not privy to all the underlying meanings. Except her father watched her as if he expected her to understand. She felt obligated to comment. There was nothing that the baronet from Cornwall could say that would be a surprise to her bridegroom, who had, after all, seen her at her worst. "I daresay Keene knows me as well or better than Sir Gresham."

Her father blanched, and her mother grabbed his arm and hauled him out of the room.

She presumed her mother had saved her from a lecture or worse. Perhaps a bride deserved better than to be put on bread and water on her wedding day—perhaps her wedding day, if the groom showed up.

Sophie paced back to the window feeling every bit like a caged animal. She longed for a ride or a long walk.

* * *

Jane tugged her husband into their suite. "Please, do contrive to avoid upsetting Sophie." She turned her head and lowered her voice. "I hadn't wished to speak of it, but in her delicate condition she shouldn't be made anxious. She is worried enough that her groom is late."

"Oh, no." Daniel sat down with a hard thump. "You are sure of it?"

"Well, yes, she told me, but I beg you, don't speak of it to her. She would not have said anything, but she was afraid she needed a doctor. I assured her she is just going through the normal symptoms of her condition. Remember how I, too, would fall asleep in the evening."

Daniel wouldn't have felt more unsettled if a hole to China opened below his feet. "No."

"I told her she should wait and then speak to Keene about a doctor after she is settled with him. Although it is early yet. She will have plenty of time."

"I feared this," Daniel said with finality.

"Well, yes, but nothing can be done, and she is to be married, so I cannot see any need to speak of it. She is an impulsive, impatient creature, and I suppose Keene is the same."

Desperation clawed at Daniel's innards. What would Keene do if he knew his future wife was not only impure, but carrying another man's child? Cry off? Expect a larger dowry? It was bad enough to know that Sophie was not as she should be, but this was worse. He hadn't wanted to know. "In all honor, I should speak with him about this."

"We could warn him to have a care of her condition. But it can wait until tomorrow."

"I should speak with him before the ceremony."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr. Farthing, adding any further delays should be silly. I know it is a shock that we shall become grandparents so soon, but it is a good sign. As Keene is his father's only heir they will wish to know that the line will continue unbroken. Obviously Sophie will not have the difficulty conceiving that I had."

"Madam, a man should know his future wife is breeding."

"If you insist, but do wait until after the ceremony. We should have no further delays to the service."

Daniel supposed after the ceremony an annulment was possible, although he could offer Keene more money to keep Sophie as his wife. Other than that, he should insist his daughter marry the squire—if he would still have her. The whole affair made him sick, and he dreaded his talk with his future son-in-law. He wondered if he should make some reference to Joseph's trials with Mary, but since Sophie was in no wise carrying the savior, that idea seemed rather blasphemous.

* * *

Keene checked his watch as they turned into the Farthings' drive. He would have to remember to give John Coachman a hearty vail for his diligent work in driving the coach through the sheets of rain. Although time was short, he wanted to make sure his servant was treated to a warm mug of ale and a dry spot in front of the fire, before he proceeded to marry Sophie.

His friends were a different story. He was half tempted to toss them out of the carriage and leave them to flounder in the mud and muck. "Do endeavor to make sure you shall not pass out at my wedding, George."

At the inn where they had all changed and Keene had donned the clothes he had set aside for his wedding, George had given up on the flask and purchased three bottles of good French brandy. He and Victor were drinking as if they had a bet to see who could swallow an ocean first.

"Right-o. Are you sure you wish to do this? Nothing short of misery, marriage is." Well, the drink had improved George's mood. The tone was at least jovial if the message was not.

"You wouldn't have said that six months ago."

"I should have, if I had known then what I know now." George's words were slightly slurred. He looked puzzled, as if he wasn't quite sure what he had just said made complete sense.

Since he was coherent, whether or not he was conscious of it, Keene supposed he was presentable enough.

There was no hope for Victor's shiner. He had retreated to a corner and said little since the scuffle in the mud.

The Farthings' butler greeted the carriage with an umbrella. George slipped as he stepped off the carriage steps. Keene caught his arm to keep him from falling. It was only then that he realized the rain had turned to ice on the cobblestones of the drive. Lord, what a day for a wedding. An occasional sting told him the rain had begun to mix with sleet.

Huddling together under the umbrella, he steered George to the front door.

Victor trailed along behind them, his head turned down against the biting barrage of precipitation. He hugged his shoulders as if the cold were too much.

"The family and guests are assembled in the drawing room, sir. If you would follow me."

"My good man, please be sure my coachman is treated to a warm drink and a place in front of a fire."

He'd left two footmen at the inn with the instruction that he would pick them up the following day, weather permitting.

The butler paused outside the drawing room door, patiently looking at Keene. Belatedly Keene gave his friends' names and titles so they could be properly announced.

His father and an elderly aunt were there. A dozen people he did not know milled around the room with another dozen that looked vaguely familiar, people he had undoubtedly met in his myriad childhood stays at this house. Sophie's father frowned in his direction, while Cousin Jane gave a welcoming smile. His glance around the room did not turn up Sophie. Disappointment curled through him. Until he failed to find her, he wasn't aware he was looking for her. Of course she wouldn't be here.

Victor collapsed onto the nearest chair. Keene gave him a preoccupied glance. Victor looked pale, which made his shiner stand out all the more. George wobbled beside him.

"Where have you been, boy?" asked his father.

"On my way here." Keene thought of the broken axle, the rain and ice, his friends' fight. He turned from his father and headed toward Sophie's parents.

"My apologies for my late arrival."

"It's quite all right, Keene." Jane patted his sleeve. "We assumed the weather had delayed you. We've decided to serve the breakfast before we leave for the church."

"Perhaps we should postpone the service." The sheer terror on his future father-in-law's face distracted him. He'd meant to speak of the weather conditions. Instead, he said, "We should have waited until summer."

"Well, everyone is here now, so we shall proceed, shan't we?" said Cousin Jane.

Keene shook off his reaction to Daniel Farthing's expression. "The weather is turning ugly. The drive is icy. George nearly took a nasty spill. I am not sure we should risk the horses, let alone the company."

If anything, his father-in-law looked even more upset. "You cannot delay."

"Why don't we send for the vicar?" suggested Jane. "Surely we can use the chapel here in the house. I know that it hasn't been used it in many years and is tiny, but we are a small gathering and Keene has not brought so many friends that it will create a problem. We will just invite the vicar to spend the night."

"Some of our neighbors might be waiting at the church."

"The vicar could announce the change in plans and post a notice on the door." Jane patted her husband's arm.

"I would send my coach to pick him up, but I fear I have already exposed my coachman to too much of the weather." Not to mention there were muddy spots on the seats. To be sure, they had acquired sheets at the inn in order to protect their clean clothes, but Keene would rather not explain. Not to mention that George's spilled flask and discarded brandy bottle had left the interior smelling like a den of iniquity.

In less than an hour the vicar arrived at the house and opened the chapel. The paneled walls gleamed with the dark patina of age. The three short pews were crowded with the guests. There was only a narrow side aisle, which would make the bride's march a difficult proposition. The room was much taller than wide or long, giving Keene an odd feeling of foreboding. The family chapel had been designed in a time when religion was often a life or death matter, and it showed.

Victor slid into a seat. George tottered up the to the front with Keene, hitting the edge of the last pew as he rounded the corner toward the altar.

The finality made Keene feel like weaving, too. Instead, he held himself still. A sense of being watched made him look up at the rear section of the chapel. He couldn't see her, but she was there. Heat rivaled the pall of the chapel. George bumped his shoulder and when Keene turned back, he knew she was gone. He only hoped she had not had to scale a wall in order to see down into the chapel.

The ceremony went smoothly, until it was time to kiss his bride. Out of the corner of his eye, Keene caught sight of Victor slumped over, his right shoulder clutched in his hand. Keene brushed a kiss across Sophie's cheek and turned back to George and in a quiet whisper said, "See to him."

"I shink not," answered George rather loudly, in an attempt at precision that fell short of the mark.

Sophie chewed her lip and cast Keene a sidelong look. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

His father-in-law frowned at him. He moved her toward the narrow aisle. George stumbled and fell into him.

Keene reluctantly let go of Sophie. He needed to take care of his friends. He didn't want to call anymore attention to them than he already had. The only good thing about bringing the both of them was that they now seemed to be on speaking terms, even if it was only to hurtle insults at each other.

Sophie turned away to receive the hug of her mother. With only the narrow aisle, Keene didn't want to get trapped. He scooted around his bride and her mother. His wife and his mother-in-law. Somehow, it didn't seem real yet. He supposed later tonight the reality would set in.

He managed to get Victor to his feet and lead him out of the chapel. He walked him down the hallway away from the spill of guests from the open chapel doors. "My God, man, what is wrong?"

"I think I reopened the wound." Victor pushed him away. "It's your wedding. I shall be fine."

Keene cast around for an upper servant. Hearing rapid footfalls behind him, he turned just before Sophie drew to an abrupt stop. She dropped fistfuls of her skirt. "Keene, the vicar says we must sign the certificate."

He swallowed hard, thinking of the delicate turn of her ankles, now hidden below her dress. "I'll be there in a moment. I need to see that Victor is settled."

Sophie thrust out her hand. "I am Sophie."

Victor gave a small bow. "Charmed." He didn't reach for her hand, though.

Sophie cast a puzzled look in Keene's direction. She should have waited for him to introduce them, but since he had delayed, his mind on her legs, he supposed he couldn't fault her.

"Sophie, could you find a footman or a maid to take Lord Wedmont to his room?"

"Go on. Don't neglect your bride. I shall find my own way."

Keene was torn. Sophie frowned and then darted down the hall. She opened a door and called to a servant.

She returned in a trot. "Someone will be with you directly." She grabbed Keene's arm and tugged him back toward the chapel.

Victor watched with interest. Keene's new wife was a pretty thing, but vastly different from the sophisticated women who usually drew his attention. There was more here than Keene's sudden need for an heir.

As Keene pulled his wife back to lead her, Victor's knees buckled. He reached for the nearest door and found an office. Leaning all his weight on the doorknob he stumbled into the room, swinging with the opening door. When it hit the wall, he let go, only to watch the door slowly shut. He sank down against the wall, pressing hard against his shoulder. As he stared at the back of a chair he thought, it should be just his luck that a wound not initially fatal would prove so after a fistfight.