Stroke of Midnight (25 page)

“Your father would have wanted you to be happy,” Violet declared. “And the earl
will
make you happy. I know he will.”

Laura felt a curl of longing in the midst of her doubts. But what would happen if—
when
—she proved that Lord Haversham was the true culprit? Would Alex be willing to dredge up the old scandal and send a fellow nobleman to prison? “I wish I could be certain of that.”

“He spared no expense in buying you a trousseau. He could scarcely wait a moment to be married to you. And look, there’s also his wedding gift.” Violet held forth a small box in her hand. “He asked me to give this to you. That’s why I was waiting downstairs here for your arrival.”

Laura took the oblong container. It was a jeweler’s case made of rich brown leather with silver trim.

She bit her lip. The last time Alex had given her such a box, it had contained a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. But today it surely would be jewels, something magnificent and costly as befitting the bride of an earl.

A lump formed in her throat. Didn’t he
know
? All she really wanted from him was love—along with his trust that she was a better judge of her own father’s character.

“Do open it,” Violet urged. “I’ve been dying to see what’s inside. Do you suppose it’s the Copley diamonds? Mama told me just yesterday that the earl’s mother used to wear them everywhere, even when she went out for a drive on Rotten Row.”

Intrigued by the prospect of viewing a Copley family heirloom, Laura slowly lifted the lid. But it wasn’t the cold sparkle of diamonds that met her eye. Inside, a simple string of pearls glowed against a nest of crimson velvet.

Her breath caught. In the throes of astonishment, she stared down at the pearls. “It can’t be,” she murmured.

“Can’t be what?” Violet asked, peering over her shoulder.

Laura didn’t answer. In haste, she plucked out the necklace, abandoned the box on the table, and hurried to the window to examine the clasp in the sunlight. Her heart throbbed in heavy strokes. There, engraved in tiny letters, were the initials
AF
.

Aileen Falkner, who had died shortly after Laura’s birth.

She blinked to clear the happy tears that misted her eyes. As she cradled the string in her hands, the pearls felt warm and alive. Seeing Violet staring at her strangely, she laughed in delight. “These are my mother’s pearls. They were a gift to her from my father on their wedding day. I wore them at my come-out ball. How did Alex remember? How did he
find
them—?”

“Why, he must have bought them at the auction all those years ago,” Violet said in wonderment. “Oh, my stars! I’ve never heard of
anything
so romantic. That
proves
he was pining for you back then. He was hoping he’d see you again so that he could return the necklace into your keeping.”

Was that true? Laura found it difficult to imagine Alex
pining
. He had a sophisticated wit that belied any hidden, mawkish emotions. Yet she could think of no other explanation for his actions. And she felt suddenly keen to see him.

She placed the strand around her neck. “Please, will you fasten the clasp for me?”

Violet obliged, then steered her to a mirror on the wall. “How absolutely perfect! I daresay, the earl will be bowled over to see what a beautiful bride you are.”

Laura had to agree that the necklace enhanced the delicate dove gray of her gown. But more than that, she loved the way the pearls lay heavy and warm against her skin, providing a connection to the mother she had never known. Had Mama felt this surfeit of emotions on her wedding day, too? This aching desire for happiness?

Laura drew a deep breath. “I’m ready now. Shall we go?”

Together she and Violet mounted the marble staircase to the first floor, where a forest-green carpet cushioned their footsteps. This reception hall was even grander than the entry, with an enormous crystal chandelier suspended from a domed ceiling painted with mythological scenes. As they neared an arched doorway, Violet stopped at a gilt table against the wall and handed Laura a nosegay of pink roses.

She kissed Laura’s cheek, then whispered, “When you hear the music, come inside. And never fear, the earl is madly in love with you. I
know
he is.”

If only Laura could believe that. But she
wanted
to think so. She wanted it with a desperation that overcame her uncertainties.

With a twitch of her pale green skirts, Violet disappeared through the doorway. Laura waited on pins and needles for what seemed like an hour, though by the ticking casement clock, only a minute or two had passed. Then, hearing the harmony of harp and violin, she walked to the doorway of a magnificent drawing room.

The decor had a tasteful simplicity with gold and blue appointments, Laura noted in somewhat of a daze. A quartet of musicians occupied the far corner. In the center of the long room, the wedding guests filled three rows of chairs in front of a mantelpiece of cream marble.

As one, the company turned to look at her. An excited buzz of whispers ensued, and she spied Violet’s husband Frederick, Lady Josephine, Lady Milford, and several other people she didn’t recognize.

The Duchess of Knowles had refused an invitation. In a clipped tone, Alex had said that his godmother had washed her hands of them. Laura couldn’t be sorry. At least she wouldn’t have to suffer glares on her wedding day.

Then she forgot all else as her gaze settled on the tall man standing by the fireplace, his head cocked to listen as the black-robed minister spoke a few words to him.

Alexander Ross, the Earl of Copley, looked positively alluring in a charcoal-gray formal coat with long tails, a pewter waistcoat, and black trousers. The perfect white cravat complemented his dark handsomeness. He was the epitome of the proud nobleman, and the scar on his cheek added the merest hint of a dangerous rogue.

Straightening, he looked across the room at her. His stern gaze caressed her from head to toe. As his eyes met hers, a faint smile crooked his lips. Warmth lurked there in place of his customary sardonic disdain. A warmth that stirred a tremor of hope in her heart.

From the back row, a stoop-shouldered gentleman with thinning brown hair came scurrying to her side. He must be Alex’s cousin and heir, Mr. Lewis Ross, who was to escort her in lieu of her father. With a solemn nod, Mr. Ross offered his arm, and they proceeded up the aisle between the chairs.

At last she reached Alex. They stood side by side facing the minister, who opened his prayer book and began, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here…”

The ceremony passed in a blur for Laura. She tried to heed the words, yet all the while she was conscious of Alex’s tall, masculine form beside her. In a fog of wonderment, she reflected that only a few weeks ago, she had come to London in disguise for fear of encountering him. And now here they stood in his house, each in turn speaking “I will” in response to the cleric.

They turned to face each other. Alex took her right hand in his, his grip firm. Watching her with an unwavering stare, he solemnly recited his vow: “I, Alexander, take thee, Laura, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

His face was grave, though his eyes conveyed the heat of passion. Was it only bodily desire he felt for her—or did his emotions run deeper?

Laura repeated her own pledge to him, feeling every word resonate in her heart. She wanted to believe that he meant his, too. If he did not, then by the heavens, she would
make
him love and cherish her.

Somehow.

At last she removed her glove, and he slid a gold ring onto her finger. Then he bent to brush a lingering kiss across her lips. Her hands rested lightly on his lapels, and her heart felt in danger of beating out of her breast. They drew apart, and the final blessings were pronounced by the cleric before he presented them to the gathering as Lord and Lady Copley.

Alex glanced down at her, and their gazes held for a brief eloquent moment before he turned away to greet their guests. His expression held warmth as well as something oddly like … satisfaction. But Laura had no time to ponder. The string quartet resumed playing, and everyone crowded forward to express their congratulations. She found herself enveloped in hugs by the ladies and pecked on the cheek by the gentlemen. Alex kept his hand at the small of her back, his face relaxed and smiling.

After a time, they signed the register that the cleric had brought; then Alex directed the milling throng to proceed into the dining chamber for the wedding luncheon—without the bride and groom. “It’s customary to introduce the new countess to the household staff directly after the ceremony,” he said. “My wife and I will join all of you shortly.”

My wife.

A shiver of bliss coursed through Laura. She slipped her hand into his, and as they walked out the door and left the guests behind, he looked down at her with a hint of dry humor. “You were late, Countess. I was beginning to wonder if you’d absconded with the pearls.”

“The pearls!” Her fingers flew to them, caressing their smooth roundness. “Oh, Alex. I can’t begin to tell you how much they mean to me. Did you buy them at the auction when my father’s possessions were sold?”

“Yes. I have a fond memory of you wearing that necklace on one occasion in particular. It was at a party and we’d gone into an antechamber for a bit of privacy from the crowds. But there were voices approaching, so—”

“So you dragged me into a linen closet to escape them. And we were trapped there in the dark for half an hour while people talked right outside the door.”

“We passed the time rather agreeably, wouldn’t you say? I’ve never enjoyed kissing a girl quite so much. Though we didn’t do a fraction of what I was craving to do.” He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “But now, my lady, proprieties need no longer constrain us. We may indulge ourselves as we wish.”

His words ignited a burn deep inside Laura. By the faintly smug quality to his smile, she knew the reaction was exactly what he’d intended her to have. So she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, “What a pity we have guests, then. Else we might have indulged ourselves right now.”

His eyes darkened, and his expression took on a look of intense frustration. “I’ll send them all home.”

“Absolutely not,” she scolded with a smile. “I won’t start our marriage with such scandalous behavior. We will have our wedding celebration first.”

As they walked downstairs, Laura reflected that he had not acquired the pearls out of love for her. The necklace had reminded him of a passionate encounter, that was all. But she wouldn’t let herself dwell on that disappointment. From the start, Alex had been frank about his desire for her. He had not misled her. She had only her own foolish heart to blame. Nevertheless, she intended to garner as much happiness as possible from this marriage.

Some twenty servants lined up in the entrance hall, from the lowliest scullery maid to the upper staff. Alex introduced them one by one, and Laura concentrated on committing the names to memory. The butler was a distinguished man named Hodge, while the housekeeper was Mrs. Mayhew, a plump, smiling, grandmotherly type who was quite the opposite of the spiteful Mrs. Samson. A sober, middle-aged woman named Winifred had been hired to act as Laura’s personal maid.

Having grown up without a mother, Laura had learned from a young age the responsibilities of running a household. She found herself slipping easily into the role as if the intervening ten years had never happened, and she made arrangements to meet with Mrs. Mayhew in the morning to discuss the menus and other pertinent issues, including the procuring of a new companion for Lady Josephine.

“I intend to conduct the interviews myself,” Laura told Alex as they went back upstairs to rejoin their guests. “In the rush of making our own plans, I fear that I’ve left your aunt in the lurch.”

“Aunt Josie will be fine. She has a staff to watch over her until other arrangements can be made.”

“Perhaps we should have moved her here to live with us.”

“She wouldn’t be happy without all her clutter. You know that.” Reaching the top of the stairs, he drew her close and kissed her brow. “Now, I forbid any more fretting. You’re to enjoy our wedding day—and look forward to the night to come.”

His smile held a banked desire that filled her with a buoyant sense of expectation. Going into the dining chamber, they took their places at opposite ends of a long table. Laughter and chatter filled the bright sunny room. The champagne flowed freely, while a team of footmen delivered an endless array of superb dishes, and Laura made a valiant effort to sample every one of them.

Violet sat to her right, with her husband beside her, and Laura was pleased to see that the dull and proper Frederick Blankenship adored his wife. It was evident in the way he smiled at her, the attentiveness with which he watched over Violet, worrying that she might overtire herself. They shared a cozy familiarity that Laura envied. Oh, that her own marriage might hold such mutual affection in the years to come …

At Laura’s other hand sat Lady Milford, resplendent in a soft plum silk that intensified the amethyst hue of her eyes. “Well, Laura,” she murmured in a moment of relative privacy, “things have turned out rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Something tells me you planned it that way,” Laura said, laughing as she took a sip of champagne.

Lady Milford smiled rather cryptically. “It wasn’t entirely me, I’m sure. By the by, I’m pleased to see that today you’re wearing the slippers I gave to you.”

“Yes, I also wore them on the night Alex asked me to marry him.”

“Then one might say they have brought you good fortune.”

Gazing into the woman’s serenely ageless face, Laura felt the inexplicable compulsion to reply, “Perhaps I should return them to you. I’ve so many new shoes that I won’t need yours anymore.”