Her Secondhand Groom Page 4

  Crossing her arms, she blinked up at him.

  “I need a wee bit more excitement, Kate,” he teased even though it was obvious she was trying her hardest not to crack even the smallest hint of a smile. “You must really be angry with me.”

  She nodded and glanced at her squealing sister.

  He gave the most exaggerated sigh he could muster. “Well, I’m torn. On one hand, I could just keep my secret to myself until you’re no longer angry with me; or I could try to charm my way back into your good graces by letting it slip. Helena,” he called out, grabbing the attention of his other daughter. “What do you think I should do?”

  Helena glanced at her younger sister. “Keep the secret.”

  Patrick shook his head. “And here I thought I was raising loving little girls,” he muttered. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, since I cannot teach sisterly love, perhaps one Miss Juliet Hughes, soon-to-be Lady Drakely, can.”

  Kate and Helena blinked at him, both silent.

  Right. Yet again he was speaking with words beyond their understanding. “I’m marrying Miss Juliet Hughes on Saturday.”

  Immediately, the squealing, shrieking, screaming, and giggling commenced again, this time Kate joining in the celebration. Patrick spotted Celia on the old brown nag she was riding. He’d tell her his news when they were alone. Being the oldest, at nearly ten, she was the only one who actually remembered her mother, which meant she would probably be the only one not happy about the new arrangement. He swallowed. If only things had been different.

  “Papa,” Helena called, bringing him to present.

  “Yes?”

  “Will she like us?”

  Patrick blinked at his little girls. Not five seconds ago they were jumping up and down with excitement, and now Helena looked like she was about to swoon. “Of course she’ll like you,” he assured her uneasily. At least he hoped she would. He shook his head. She’d like them. She had her own brood of younger siblings whom she seemed to like, poor manners and all. His girls were no different.

  Helena nodded, her eyes still uncertain. “What will we call her?”

  “What do you want to call her?”

  Both Kate and Helena stared blankly at him.

  “What would you be comfortable calling her?” he rephrased.

  Before they could answer, Celia rode up and cleared her throat.

  Patrick looked at her, and she gave a pointed look to the mounting block he was sitting on. Tentatively, he stood up, casting her a questioning look as he did so. “Uh…you do realize even with me not sitting on that, you’re still not going to be able to get down without some help?"

  “I know,” she said airily. “But even if you have to help me down, Harry says it’s good practice to use the mounting box.”

  Patrick stared at her, dumbfounded, then chastised himself for even thinking of rolling his eyes at Harry who was reaching up to take Celia by the waist. He lifted her off, then set her on the mounting box.

  “That was absolutely ridiculous,” Patrick mumbled under his breath.

  “I heard that,” Celia said while her sisters giggled. Shaking out her skirt in the most unladylike manner possible, Celia looked over at her sisters. “Was there a snake?”

  “A snake?” Helena asked.

  Celia shrugged. “I heard the two of you screaming like banshees, as Lord Sinclair would say, and I thought there was a critter of some sort.”

  “No critter,” Helena chirped.

  Patrick opened his mouth to tell Celia he’d like to speak to her in private, but before even his first word came out, Kate started jumping around exclaiming, “He’s going to marry Miss Juliet! He’s going to marry Miss Juliet!”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, he firmly placed his hand on Kate’s shoulder to signal for her to calm down while he simultaneously scrutinized Celia’s face, looking for some sort of sign. This was not how he wanted her to find out. But he had no one to blame for it except himself. He should have told Celia first. Everyone―except him, apparently―knew a five and eight year-old couldn’t keep a secret if their lives depended on it.

  “Is it true?” Celia asked, her voice cracking.

  Patrick gave a simple nod and swallowed hard. Celia was five when Abigail died. Following her death, Celia had spent several months quiet and distant. Of the three, she might be the most resistant to having a new “mother”. Sinking to his haunches in front of her, his eyes met hers and his fingers came up to cup her chin. “Celia―”

  Before he could say another word, her arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. It took but a moment to realize her body was trembling.

  He brought his hand up to rub her back. “It’ll be all right, Celia,” he crooned. “I know you miss your mother, but Miss Hughes isn’t going to replace her. She’s just going to…um…stand in for her,” he finished dully.

  Celia’s body slightly jerked and she pulled her head back. “I don’t think there’s a difference,” she said in a tone that was far more even than he expected.

  “No, I suppose not,” he agreed. “What I meant was―”

  “It’s all right, Papa. I’m not upset.”

  “You’re not?” he asked, staring dubiously at the tears that streaked her face, and the memory of the tight embrace she’d just been holding him in flashed in his mind.

  She shook her head carelessly, making her long black braids swing around. “No. I want you to marry Juliet.”

  “Then why are you crying?” he asked. He wiped a tear off her cheek with one long finger, then turned it around to show her the evidence.

  “Because I’m happy,” she said with a giant grin.

  Patrick started. He hadn’t been expecting that response. “Those were happy tears?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed, nodding wildly.

  Patrick blinked. Celia was so much like Abigail it was almost frightening. Abigail was the biggest watering pot he’d ever met. She cried when she was happy, she cried when she was sad, she cried when she was tired or overwhelmed. There was rarely a circumstance that didn’t result in tears from her. He shook his head. At least these were happy tears. He could handle happy tears. “So you’re happy?” he asked like a simpleton.

  All three of his daughters stared strangely at him. “Yes,” Celia said loudly.

  Patrick winced. “You don’t have to talk so loud. I’m right here.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought you were getting to be like Lord Rutherford, you know the one who holds the horn up to his ear.”

  “I know who he is,” Patrick remarked testily, standing.

  Celia shrugged and fingered the end of one of her long braids. “I’m very happy for you,” she said at last. “And I think you’ll really like Juliet.”

  A slow smile spread across Patrick’s lips as a picture of that beautiful creature he’d seen reclining on that sofa flashed in his mind. He may not wish for another woman to love, but this woman had all the necessary qualifications for what he was certain would make him a good wife, and the girls a good mother. Besides her abundant beauty, she was educated at one of the finest schools in England. The fact that her father didn’t seem to turn a hair at Patrick’s arrangement for the marriage, was all the assurance he needed she was biddable―and beddable, too. A sobering chill ran down his spine at the mere thought of the repercussions of sharing her bed. Perhaps she wasn’t beddable, after all.

  “Papa!” Kate yelled, catching his attention.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  “Can we go visit Juliet today?”

  “Not today. Miss Hughes will be very busy the rest of the week.”

  “Oh,” Kate said glumly.

  “Not to worry,” Patrick said, scooping her up and holding her against his chest. “Once we marry you’ll get to spend all the time you want with her.”

  “I will?” she squealed.

  Chuckling, Patrick ruffled her hair. “Of course you will. You’ll probably spend so
much time with her you’ll sneak out and try to avoid her.”

  “No, I won’t,” Kate declared, shaking her head for emphasis. “I could spend all day with her.”

  “That’s very good to know since you will be spending all day with her,” Patrick said easily. “See, in addition to being my new wife, she’s also going to be your new governess.”

  Chapter 5

  Juliet chastised herself for the fiftieth time as she admired her side profile in the mirror. She really shouldn’t take such great joy in not having told Lord Drakely the truth. He might have acted like a highhanded jackanapes and deserved a little shock to make him come to his senses, but he was still the lord of the land and this could potentially end very badly.

  In the past few days she’d gone back and forth on her decision at least a dozen times. At times she was convinced he deserved to be stunned by his mistake, but then she’d dissuade herself from following through with her plan because he would likely be angered by this new development and she didn’t wish to risk his wrath on her family. He honestly thought he’d be marrying Henrietta today, not her. There was no doubt in her mind when he lifted her veil this morning he would certainly be surprised.

  “Come along, darling,” her mother’s sing-song voice chorused through the door.

  Juliet adjusted her heavy spectacles, then took a deep, calming breath and opened the door.

  “You look beautiful,” Mother gushed, clapping her hands in front of her with excitement. “All right, Lord Drakley’s carriage is waiting. Let’s be off.”

  The Drakely carriage was one of the nicest monstrosities she’d ever seen. It was taller than any man she’d ever met, lacquered in black and polished so well she could see her reflection. Right in the middle of the door, not far from the handle, was the Drakely coat of arms.

  The coachman who’d driven the carriage to their cottage walked over and opened the door for them. He glanced curiously at Juliet then turned his head as quickly as he could. Juliet grinned at him even though he wasn’t looking at her. He knew. She was certain he realized his employer’s mistake. “A half-penny for your silence,” Juliet whispered as her younger brothers and sisters pushed and shoved each other to get into the carriage.

  “Nay,” he said, shaking his head, a telling grin covered at least half his face. “Jus’ git in.”

  Juliet shrugged and allowed her father to help her ascend into the carriage. At the top step, she stopped. “And just where am I to sit?” she asked in mock agitation, eyeing her younger siblings who had taken up almost all of the seating.

  “Right here,” Dara said, patting a little sliver of seat cushion barely an inch wider than her hand.

  “Out,” Father commanded with a snap of his fingers. “The carriage is for Juliet, Mother and Henrietta. The rest of us will ride in our carriage.”

  Juliet walked back down the steps and smiled at the brood as they filed out of the carriage. After the last one exited, Juliet ascended and took a seat next to her mother.

  “Are you nervous?” Mother said calmly.

  “Not especially,” she said. Should she actually be marrying Lord Drakely today, she’d be nervous; but since she wasn’t, she wasn’t nervous in the least. She might change that opinion as his fingers reached for the edge of her heavy veil, but for now she wasn’t nervous.

  “You make a beautiful bride,” Henrietta murmured, drawing Juliet’s attention to her.

  Juliet shot her a bright smile. “You’ll be one, too,” she said cryptically.

  Thirty minutes and one terrible case of whiplash later the carriage jolted to a stop.

  “Thank heavens that’s over,” Henrietta said, holding her hat on her head with one hand, and clutching the edge of her seat cushion like a lifeline with the other.

  “I daresay his children probably enjoy such wild rides,” Juliet said lightly, garnering a slim smile from her mother.

  “You’re likely right,” Mother agreed, both of her hands resting on the small bump on her abdomen. “As for me, I did not enjoy that, and tonight I’ll be sure to send up an extra thank you on your behalf that the cushions in here are so plush. I shudder to imagine just how sore we’d all be otherwise.”

  The door to the carriage suddenly swung open to reveal a wide-grinned coachman.

  “Did you hit every crater in sight?” Henrietta asked.

  “Nay. Only the shallow ones. Wouldn’t want to get stuck again.”

  Juliet cracked a smile. This coachman sure was a cheeky fellow. “All right, help us down, will you?”

  “Aye.” The coachman glanced over his shoulder. “Ye may wan’ to put yer veil down,” he whispered.

  With a slight nod of agreement, Juliet adjusted her spectacles one final time then pulled her heavy, veil she’d fashioned from an old curtain panel down. Her eyes searched the inside of the thick fabric for one of the tiny decorative holes she’d strategically placed that not only made a pattern to give off the impression of a real wardrobe piece, but also served as a way to let her be able to see but not be seen. Finding one, she blinked her eyes to get accustomed to such a small viewing space. She swallowed, her nervous excitement growing rapidly as each passing second brought her only that much closer to her plan.

  Lord Drakely had sent word his friend Lord Sinclair wouldn’t be in attendance today, and since he’d have no one standing up with him, Juliet didn’t require anyone, either. Upon first reading the missive she’d felt a flood of relief course through her at not having to think up a reason why she didn’t have a female attendant. But relief quickly faded into annoyance when she thought about his missive a touch more and realized he’d all but told her what to do. Good thing Henrietta was far more biddable. She wouldn’t care what the man told her to do, she’d do it. Juliet shook her head and steeled her spine. All the more reason for her to see this through. Henrietta would never stand up to him. But, someone had to, even if it was only once.

  With a bit of help from the coachman for appearances’ sake, Juliet descended the stairs and stood off to the side to wait while he went to help Mother and Henrietta down.

  “Shall I attend you?” Henrietta asked lightly.

  Juliet looped her arm through her sister’s. “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll join you,” Mother added as she adjusted her hat.

  The trio slipped into the side of the small village church and walked down the hall to the little room where Juliet would wait for the wedding to start.

  Of course it wasn’t the usual custom for a viscount to marry in an ordinary village church. And, it certainly wasn’t customary to marry so soon. But as Juliet was quickly learning, Patrick Ramsey, Viscount Drakely, was not a customary or ordinary man. She sighed, and folded her hands in front of herself. If he’d insisted on a sizable wedding in London on a Saturday after posting the banns, and inviting everyone from the younger sons of the youngest sons of the lowest baronet to some of the most powerful dukes in the land, she would have found a way to tell him the truth.

  But since he wasn’t so concerned with appearances, she’d just go along with his scheme and let destiny run its course. And if it wasn’t in his favor, like he was thinking it would be, then so be it.

  A quiet tapping on the door startled Juliet. “That didn’t take long.”

  “Indeed,” Mother agreed, reaching forward to straighten her dress just once more as Henrietta went to the door to open it for Father.

  “They’re ready for you,” Father said, walking across the threshold.

  “But Mother?”

  “She’ll be seated; then it will be your turn,” Father said. He came to stand between Juliet and his wife. “Come, Henrietta.”

  Dutifully, Henrietta followed them out the door and down the narrow passage. “I’ll just slip in the back,” Henrietta murmured when they reached the broad double doors.

  Juliet froze and sent up a silent prayer that Lord Drakely didn’t see Henrietta. If he did, her plan wouldn’t work. Her hands grew clammy. She squeezed them tightl
y together. She’d come this far, she’d see it through to the end. Not only did he deserve to be put in his place, but Juliet Hughes had never been one to give up easily, and she wasn’t going to let this pompous man cow her.

  With a swallow, she turned her face just enough to bring that little hole in her veil that was situated just in front of her left eye closer to her face so she could watch her mother walk into the sanctuary and find her seat. Releasing one of her tight fists, she wiped one of her sweaty palms on her skirt, then chanced a glance at her father. He looked happy. Proud even. Would he still look that way if he knew what she was thinking? She quickly dismissed the thought. This was all Lord Drakely’s folly, and he deserved what was coming. He’d asked to marry Juliet, he was getting Juliet. He might call off the wedding, but her father didn’t need to know that she’d known all along about the misunderstanding.

  “Ready, my girl?” Father asked.

  She squeezed his arm affectionately. “I’m ready when you are, Father.”

  A moment later, she was walking down the short, stony aisle that was covered in the best red velvet carpet runner that could be found on such short notice. When she and Papa reached Lord Drakely, Father gently removed his arm from her hold and gave her fingers one final squeeze before placing her now trembling hand into Lord Drakely’s larger one.

  Not counting the time his strong hands kept her from connecting with the floor, this was the first time they’d actually touched and through two sets of gloves, she could feel his warm skin scorching hers. She licked her lips and tried in vain to steady her nerves as she stared at him through the small pinhole in her thick wedding veil. She bit the inside of her cheek so hard that the inside of her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

  Despite her vision being greatly restricted by the heavy veil, Juliet still caught brief snatches of what her “groom” looked like. She stared at him shamelessly. He was at least six feet tall, a good eight inches above her. His skin was smooth and tanned with a hint of stubble already coming in on his chin. His hair was black as coal, his slightly curving eyebrows matched perfectly, offsetting the pair of dark brown eyes resting beneath them. He had high cheekbones, a slim nose, a pronounced, square jaw that only served as further proof of his noble bloodlines. Although his lips were closed, she doubted nothing less than two beautiful rows of flawless teeth would be found if he were to smile. She twisted her lips. It was sickening how handsome he was!