Seen like that, Lucas felt the first twinge of uncertainty. ‘I’ll buy her another one, then.’
‘I think the ring’s the least of your worries, Luc. Your bride looks miserable.’
‘She thinks I deserted her intentionally.’
‘You didn’t tell her about the kidnapping? Why the hell wouldn’t you tell her that?’
When he remained quiet, Stephen swore.
‘God. You think she had something to do with it…’
‘No.’ The word was said loudly and had people turning. He remembered back to the lies Elizabeth had told. Little lies at first and then bigger ones as he had struggled to understand her anger and her moods. From Lillian he could not weather lies.
When Nathaniel broke into the conversation by slapping him on the back and indicating that the speeches were just about to start, he was relieved. Tempering worry, he walked to the head of the room to stand next to Lily.
Her newly acquired husband had been conversing happily with his friends whilst she was struggling to keep a thinly held composure. The absurdity of their marriage just kept on escalating. He was enjoying himself whilst she was so plainly not, her ugly dress hampering all sense of confidence and the horrible wedding ring lost into the hands of an ancient simpleton.
Stephen Hawkhurst’s uncle it was said when she had asked his identity, a man who had been a little simple for years. Her hand crept to a growing headache about her temple as the speeches she had been dreading were called for. What would Lucas Clairmont say? Or her father?
Was this the part when the whole affair erupted into the fiasco it truly was? Surreptitiously she looked around to see where her cousin Daniel stood and was glad to find him missing. At least that was one less thing to worry about! Patrick, however, seemed bent on shadowing her every move, whether from a stance of protection or a desire to flex his muscles again, she could not be sure. Outside the rain beat against the roof.
Today all she could think of were rhymes that scoffed at any inherent hope she might try to muster.
Her father began the toasts, raising up his glass and waiting for silence. ‘To the bride and groom,’ he said eventually when the room was quiet, his eyes settling on her. ‘May they enjoy a long and joyous life together!’
‘And fruitful,’ someone called out, a rumble of amusement rippling around the room.
Not from her, though! The crass reminder of what this night could bring was suddenly and terribly in Lillian’s mind. Would Lucas Clairmont expect fruitful, knowing what he did? Could he in all conscience demand what it was she had offered less than an hour ago before a man of God, knowing her feelings about this charade?
Such tiny words for all that they implied.
Goodness, she thought, fixedly staring at the floor as the lump of terror in her throat congealed…if he thought that I might…She chanced a quick glance at her husband and the brittle smile that he gave back did nothing to reassure her. No, the opposite, in fact, because in the amber light she caught a glimpse of the lust that
She shivered again and unexpectedly Lucas Clairmont moved closer, the light wool in his blue frockcoat resting against the thin layers of silk and organza across her arm. As a measure of comfort? She hoped that he had meant it such, but was doubtful. Anne Weatherby and Cassandra St Auburn standing together across the room both smiled at her, a tinge of anxiety in their looks, and Lillian wished Eleanor Wilcox-Rice might have come, too, but of course in the circumstances she could not, the stiff letter she had had in answer to her own note implying the desire for no further correspondence. She smoothed down the growing crinkles in her dress as attention swung back to her husband, alarm setting her heart to racing at a pace she felt worried about as she saw that it was now his turn to reply.
‘Please, Lord, let him speak with authority and honour.’ The whisper of prayer hung in the empty corners of her pride.
Lucas paused for a moment as though thinking of what it was he wished to impart; when he did begin speaking, he sounded neither breathless nor nervous.
‘Ernest Davenport has given me the pleasure of taking his only daughter’s hand in marriage and I would like to thank him for his generosity.’ Lillian wondered why her father looked away, a rising blush evident upon his cheeks. Had she missed something important? ‘I have known Lillian…’ He halted, as though he would have perhaps preferred to use Lilly, but had decided against it. ‘I have known Lillian for only a short while, but in that time have come to realise that she has all the attributes of an admirable wife. So it is with great pride that I stand before you all as her groom today and thank you for your presence here.’
Nothing of love or respect or even friendship! Lillian worried her bottom lip as he continued. ‘Please raise your glasses and drink to my wife.’
When her name echoed around the room she inclined her head in thanks, her eyes widening as Stephen Hawkhurst’s uncle stood from the chair in which he sat.
‘Your ring’s been blessed, did you know?’ he began. ‘The fairies came before and sanctified your union. It is not often that this happens, in fact, I have not seen the little folk in years, not since my brother’s wedding in the March of 1816 when they came…’
Lord Hawkhurst had reached his uncle by now and taken him by the arm, meaning to lead him away. Lillian noticed that he did so gently but the old man wasn’t finished.
‘Yours will be a happy and long marriage, I am certain of it…’ But now his voice was distant, the mere echo of it lying in the silence of the room. Lucas, however, did not seem content to leave it at that as the first awkward titters of embarrassment and fluster began to flow.
‘Lord Alfred Hawkhurst was a soldier who took a bullet in the head for his country in the second Peninsular campaign under Wellington. In doing so he saved twenty of his regiment from certain death and as a hero deserves at least compassion.’
The snickering stopped.
An old hero in the guise of a fool! Her wedding in the guise of a celebration! Her husband in the guise of a man who held honour above the easier pathway of saying nothing!
For the first time in weeks she liked Lucas Morgan Clairmont again and was heartened by it.
Chapter Fourteen
It was almost four o’clock and Lucas knew that the time had come to take his bride and go home to Woodruff Abbey, an hour and a half away on the Northern Road.
He had toyed with the idea of paying for a room at the Elk and Boar Inn, a point that broke the journey halfway, but with the indifference marking Lillian’s face had decided that being cramped together in a small space might not be the wisest thing to do.
Indeed, he even wondered about the carriage ride and wished that Hawk and his uncle had made plans to stay at Woodruff until the morrow. Such a desperate thought made him smile and as he did so he caught his wife looking at him.
‘If you are ready to leave, I thought we might go?’
‘Go where?’ Her astonishment gave him the impression that she had expected to stay at Fairley Manor.
‘My home is in Bedfordshire. A place called Woodruff Abbey.’
‘And it is yours?’
He could not help but hear the catch of surprise in her voice. ‘I only recently came into the inheritance.’
The interest that crossed into her eyes was tempered by disbelief, the whole charade of whom and of what he was here in England mirrored in pale blue uncertainty.
He hoped that Lillian would not hate the Abbey, would not demand the perfection of Fairley, would not turn up her nose at the shabby beauty of a house that was coming to mean a lot to him.
Lord, let her like it!
The emptiness of his last few years made him swallow and he knew that he could not survive should this marriage prove as disastrous as his first.
