Her Secondhand Groom (7 page)

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 tightly 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!

The minutes ticked by quickly as the minister spoke then turned to Lord Drakely to wait for him to repeat his vows. Juliet’s blood froze in her veins. Wasn’t he supposed to lift her veil
before
reciting his vows? Nervously, she licked her lips, and racked her brain. She’d only been to one other wedding and that bride hadn’t even worn a veil. Her heart started pounding. Fast. What did she do now? Should she—

An indelicate cough abruptly jarred her from her panicked thoughts and she snapped her head to the left so hard to look at the minister that her heavy spectacles nearly fell off of her face.

The minister let out another prompting cough, this one a touch more delicate.

“
I―I―”

Taking mercy on her, the minister repeated the vows. “I, Juliet Anne Hughes;”

“
I—I J-juliet Anne Hughes,” she stammered as panic settled into her chest. Her already mildly clammy palms were suddenly saturating her gloves.

“
Take this, K Patrick Ludwig Ramsey, Viscount Drakely, to be thy wedded husband.”

Juliet fought for air. “T-take this, K Patrick Ludwig Ramsey, Viscount Drakely, to be my wedded husband.”

“
To live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?”

She would have blushed at the implication of those words if not for the current lack of blood in her upper body. Lord Drakely gave her hand a quick squeeze, and she whispered. “To live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony.”

“
Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?”

Juliet’s throat went dry. She forced herself to swallow. Her throat was still too dry to speak. Lord Drakely squeezed her hand again. Not hard, just enough to bring her back to the present. His thumb ran a line across the points of her knuckles, sending a chill up her spine. With yet another swallow, she licked her lips and in the hoarsest whisper she'd ever heard escape her lips, she repeated the vicar’s words. With each syllable uttered, her entire world spiraled further and further away from her grasp. Then, with the last word spoken, it crashed about her ears. She had truly married herself to Lord Drakely, and it was too late now to do a single thing about it.

In fact, all she
could
do was stand in nervous unease as the minister concluded the ceremony.

And then suddenly it was the moment she’d been waiting for all week. Lord Drakley was about to lift her veil. The only difference was, when she’d imagined it, she’d imagined she’d greet him with a smug smile. But now she couldn’t muster even the slightest hint of a smile as his large, gloved hands reached forward to unmask her.

***

Patrick fought to keep his face neutral when his eyes first connected with the face he’d just uncovered. He blinked twice in hopes his eyes were playing tricks on him. No such luck. He forced himself to unclamp his stiff jaw and swallow. Unsure of what else to do at the moment except to lean forward and chastely kiss his new “bride”, he did just that.

Steeling himself back up to full height, he grabbed her hand a little harder than he’d intended, and stretched his lips into the biggest smile he could force. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he’d find out soon enough.

“
Smile,
wife
,” he prompted, making sure to add extra emphasis on the word wife to let her know he was not going to be played a fool.

As instructed, his new bride forced a brittle smile to her lips and stiffly nodded to all the villagers who had come out to witness their wedding.

“
Let’s go,” he said tightly, giving her a slight nudge.

The two of them walked down the aisle past all the well-wishers and exited the back of the church.

“
Pray explain yourself,” he spat as soon as they were out of earshot of the guests.

“
I―I―”

“
Am a fraud,” he supplied for her.

Grey eyes flashing fire bore into his. “I am no such thing, my lord.” Her voice was hard as steel, just like her eyes.

“
Then how would you classify yourself?” he asked emotionlessly as the two of them continued to make their way to the Drakely carriage.

“
Duped. Just like you.”

“
Duped?” he repeated in disbelief. “I hardly believe that. But that’s of no account now. Your father has much to answer for.”

“
And so do you,” she said cryptically before displaying her unladylike manners by wrenching open the door of the carriage then climbing in lacking a hint of grace. Without so much as a glance in his direction, she plopped down on the velvet squabs and crossed her arms with a huff.

“
My lord,” called Mr. Hughes, walking up to him.

Patrick didn’t bother to respond verbally, he just stared at the man, daring him to try to make nice now that his secret had been uncovered.

“
My lord, your man said you needed a word with me,” Mr. Hughes said uneasily.

Patrick scowled in Cruxley’s direction. That was just like the man to get himself involved where he had no business. No doubt that impertinent man found this whole thing humorous. “As a matter of fact, I do need a word with you.” He took a deep breath to help keep himself calm. “Please come to Briar Creek in an hour. I’ll be ready to receive you in my study by then.”

“
An hour?” Hughes echoed, his uncommonly bushy eyebrows that resembled twin caterpillars knitting together between his eyes. “But I thought we were to go straight there for the wedding breakfast.”

Damn and blast! He’d completely forgotten about the numerous guests who were to report to his estate for the confounded wedding breakfast. He may have been able to get away with a quiet wedding in the country without having to invite guests of every station, but his daughters had most vehemently insisted he keep to tradition and at least host a wedding breakfast. Seeing no harm in it, he had agreed. Now he wished he hadn’t. He balled his hands into two tight fists, squeezing so hard his fingernails bit into his palms.

“
Fine,” he ground out. “But following the breakfast, we have an important matter to discuss.”

Hughes blinked. “We do?”

“
Yes. We do,” Patrick confirmed in what he knew to be his most superior-sounding voice. The churchyard was not the place to confront the man. His private study was. The only problem was keeping himself calm in the interim.

“
Papa! Papa!” chorused one of his girls.

A sharp pain in the region of Patrick’s heart suddenly developed. How disappointed the girls were going to be when they found out the woman they thought was to be their new motherness―a term he’d coined to explain Miss Hughes’ new role as their mother and governess―was not the one in the carriage.

“
Are you girls ready to go home?” he asked quietly.

Three heads adorned with beautiful raven curls bobbed up and down excitedly. “Can we ride with you?” Celia asked.

“
I don’t see why not,” Patrick lied. He could see plenty of reasons why they shouldn’t. The biggest being they were about to have their little hearts crushed once they climbed up into the carriage and saw who was waiting inside. Of course he could always ride with the girls in his second carriage, the one he’d lent the Hughes this morning. But for the sake of appearances, it wouldn’t do for him and his new “wife” to be seen leaving their wedding separately.

With a sigh, he helped the three girls up and whispered to each of them that they needed to be quiet in the carriage. He hoped that would both stem their questions and keep them from vocalizing their disappointment about this unfortunate situation.

He twisted his lips in disgust as he climbed the stairs. Mr. Hughes may have thought to trick him, but Mr. Hughes and his daughters were in for quite a surprise. He may be a lord, but he didn’t give a pence about his reputation among society. He might have at one time, but having a family had taught him there were far more important things than gossip to worry about. One of those more important things was that his girls had a mother. Another was that they had a suitable governess. That, however, did not mean he’d turn a blind eye to this deception. No, not at all. He’d get this marriage annulled on the basis of fraud, then pay a Bow Street Runner to scout out the best governess in England and offer to double her wages.

Silence filled the carriage as it bumped down the road. Glancing over at his three girls, Patrick’s chest puffed with pride at the way his daughters had obeyed his command for silence and hadn’t humiliated Miss Hughes…er…the current Lady Drakely, soon-to-be Miss Hughes again, by making an unflattering comment about her being the wrong motherness. At the same time, his heart constricted with the slightest hints of sympathy and guilt.

He turned his eyes back to his wife, and stared at her. Most considered it rude to stare. He didn’t care. Some even tried to hide their staring by lowering their lashes. He didn’t bother. There was no need to mask his curiosity. Whether she thought him rude or not, he didn’t give a fig. Besides, staring was the least rude behavior he could be expressing at present.