Miss Marianne's Disgrace (22 page)

‘You'll leave me destitute,' Rupert wailed as though expecting sympathy after everything he'd done.

‘I'll leave you to your own devices, not here in London, but in Australia,' Warren spat out, wanting him gone from his life, his house and even the country for good. ‘You'll succeed or fail according to your own merits, which are badly lacking.'

‘I won't go.'

‘Then you force us to turn everything over to the magistrate.' Mr Steed returned the pen to its stand. ‘And you will be hanged for forgery.'

Rupert lunged at the pen, snatching it and the paper up. ‘All right, I'll do as you ask.'

Like one of Warren's father's reluctant students, Rupert wrote out the required information. Over the next half-hour, the solicitor and the barrister questioned him to make sure he'd told them everything. He crumpled under their scrutiny like a weathered fence, signing his name to every affidavit and legal document they placed in front of him.

At last, when the two men were satisfied, Mr Dyer approached Warren. ‘We'll handle any remaining matters from here, including making sure Mr Hirst has packed his things and is on the ship when it departs.'

‘Is this the end of it, then?' Warren asked in disbelief.

‘It should be. I'll let you know as soon as the investors are repaid.'

‘I'll cover any differences, no matter what the cost.' With his new novel in Mr Berkshire's hands, and the inspiration for the next story one of the few bright points to come from this experience, he didn't worry about affording the extra expense.

‘They shouldn't be much. He took sums from some well-known men, but it appears they didn't believe in him enough to give him large amounts.'

‘And the papers?'

‘I doubt anyone will say anything to them. No aristocrat wants to reveal having been duped by a man like Mr Hirst.'

Marianne slid her hand in Warren's and gave it a squeeze. ‘Come, there's nothing more for us to do here.'

She tugged him into the adjoining sitting room where Lancelot slept on the sofa, his head resting on one tufted arm. Warren stared at everything surrounding him, especially the painting of Priorton hanging on the wall above the dog. The last time he'd sat in here, he'd feared losing it all. Now it was safe and Marianne was at his side.

‘We won and you don't look happy.' Marianne wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Mr Berkshire gave me some advice yesterday. He said challenges never end, but how you deal with them matters.'

‘Lady Ellington said something similar to me. They're both right.'

‘I'm glad they are.' Contented happiness replaced his seriousness as he bent her into a kiss. They were together once more and nothing would ever come between them again.

Chapter Fourteen

‘C
ome, my dear, I have a surprise waiting for you in the church,' Lady Ellington announced as she hustled Marianne out of the carriage.

Above them the spiked spire of St Martin in the Fields rose against the bright blue London sky. True to his word, Warren had spoken to his royal connection and had asked him to approach the bishop about the special licence. Thankfully, the bishop was a great admirer of Warren's work and had been more than happy to grant the licence, especially when presented with autographed copies of Warren's novels. The clergyman had even arranged to perform the ceremony himself at St Martin in the Fields. The hurried affair meant no banns, and no spectacle for Warren's fans, much to Mr Berkshire's lament. Having been denied a more public wedding, the publisher had insisted on inviting his most trusted newspaperman to the ceremony to publish the story in the morning paper. Marianne was glad. She wanted all of London to hear of their marriage and her love for Warren.

‘But, Lady Ellington, you've done so much for me already.' Marianne followed Lady Ellington into the vestibule, holding up the hem of her blue dress to keep from tripping on it. There'd been no time for a new gown, so Marianne had chosen to wear the one from Lady Astley's. They'd added a chemisette to it to make it more appropriate for the church, otherwise nothing else about it had been altered for the solemn occasion. She hoped the sight of her in it struck Warren as powerfully as it had at the musical and made him look forward to their first night together as man and wife as much as she did.

Lady Ellington hustled Marianne to one side, out of sight of the altar and the gentlemen standing there. Then Theresa's voice rang out.

‘Marianne, you're gorgeous,' Theresa gushed as she hugged her friend. ‘I'm so happy the wedding is taking place before my confinement. I didn't want to miss your happy day.'

‘But how did you know?' It was then she noticed Lord and Lady Falconbridge standing behind Theresa and her husband, Mr Menton. ‘What are you all doing here?'

‘I summoned them,' Lady Ellington explained, quite pleased with herself. ‘I wanted those who care about you the most to be here on this important day.'

‘We're so happy for you.' Lady Falconbridge opened her arms to embrace Marianne, hugging her as well as a woman so heavy with child could.

She didn't pull away, but wrapped her arms around the graceful woman's shoulders and returned the tight embrace. It wasn't awkward or embarrassing, but the most natural thing she could do. This was the family she'd always wanted, the one she'd craved during the long nights at the Protestant School and in London with Madame de Badeau. She thought she'd found it once with the Smiths, but they'd never cherished her like the Falconbridges, Theresa or Lady Ellington. These people would never leave her or abandon her no matter what and she loved them.

Overhead the bells began to peal and the elderly sexton appeared to announce it was time for the guests to be seated for the ceremony.

Lady Ellington drew Marianne to one side while everyone, except Lord Falconbridge, left to take their places in the pew. Lady Ellington laid her hands on Marianne's shoulders, her eyes glistening like her diamonds. ‘It used to break my heart to see you try and look cheerful when news from Theresa about her husband used to arrive, or the melancholy way you watched Randall and Cecelia. Now look at you, glowing like an Advent candle.'

Lady Ellington wrapped her plump arms around Marianne and hugged her hard before stepping away to allow Lord Falconbridge to approach.

‘Miss Domville, may I escort you up the aisle?' Lord Falconbridge offered Marianne his arm.

‘Yes, you may.'

A few moments later, with everyone seated, Lord Falconbridge led Marianne to the top of the aisle. Mrs Stevens sat in the pew with Lady Ellington, the two of them beaming with pleasure at seeing their efforts to match the young people complete.

Warren stood at the altar with Mr Berkshire and the bishop. He wore a dark green coat which increased the intensity of his eyes as they focused on her. Beneath his chin, his cravat was better tied than usual, but still remained at a slightly haphazard angle. It matched the gaiety in his smile and the joy illuminating his face like the light coming in through the tall windows behind him. He shifted on his feet, revealing his anxiousness to take her hand. His exuberance almost made her let go of Lord Falconbridge and sprint up the aisle to meet him. Instead, she marched in a stately gait with Lord Falconbridge as the organ behind them played. Her heart raced beneath her gown. She'd thought everything lost only a short while ago, now they were together for what would soon be the rest of their lives. He loved her, despite all the stories and their mutual missteps. He was hers and she was his and neither of them would ever be alone again.

At last Lord Falconbridge handed her to Warren and took his place beside his wife in the pew. Marianne pressed her hand in Warren's and the ceremony began. She heard little of what the bishop said as he read the service. She'd watched Theresa walk down the aisle to Mr Menton, been there the morning Lord Falconbridge had married Lady Falconbridge. Each time she'd been happy for her friends while silently despairing of ever seeing her own wedding day. At last it was her turn before the altar and not with some leech like Lord Bolton, but with Warren, a man who'd always encouraged her to be more than even she'd imagined. Where might she go now with him as her husband? The idea of performing as Mr Berkshire had suggested didn't terrify her, not when she imagined Warren standing with her on the stage as he stood beside her now. She'd help him to reach even greater heights with his writing, all the while enjoying with him the love and security of a home and a true place in the world.

The promise of their life together was strong in his lips against hers as the bishop instructed them to kiss and seal the vows they'd made to one another.

* * *

After the ceremony, they returned to Lady Ellington's for the wedding breakfast. It was a rousing affair with a great deal of laughter and a few ribald remarks. For all the excited celebration, Marianne couldn't wait to be alone with Warren.

At last the time came. His carriage whisked them off to his town house, and soon they were alone in his room, indulging in the first private moment of their life together.

Warren made a show of locking the door and dropping the iron key on the table beside it. ‘I refuse to be disturbed.'

‘I'm surprised Mr Berkshire didn't insist on sending the newspaper man home with us after inviting him to the breakfast.' Marianne laughed as Warren stood over her and took her in his arms. He was solid and firm against her and it made her heartbeat quicken.

‘Speaking of Mr Berkshire, what were you and he discussing before we left?' he murmured as he nuzzled the skin of her neck, his fingers slipping beneath the chemisette to caress the tops of her breasts.

She could barely recall the publisher's words under the pressure of Warren's touch. ‘He was telling me about his plans for my compositions. He has quite a few of them.'

‘Such as?' He slid a small pearl button through a hole and slipped the fine silk from her chest.

‘Where I will perform my first concert.' She swept her tongue along the skin of his neck above his cravat, inhaling his strong male scent. ‘I was thinking at Madame de Badeau's old town house. I still own it as part of my inheritance. It will attract people's attention and increase sales.'

Warren straightened as he examined her with a curious tilt of his head. ‘Aren't you worried about society's reaction to such a questionable venue?'

‘Not at all. After all, there is some advantage to scandal.'

‘Indeed, there is.' He dipped her into a deep kiss and everything else faded away.

* * * * *

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