Cocky Baron: Regency Cocky Gents (Book 2) Page 7

  He was under no delusions as to what she was capable of.

  She couldn’t very well continue living in her own little world if she dared venture outside of it. Chase squashed his resentment immediately. It wasn’t her fault that she was like this.

  “I’ll bring Lady Bethany to meet you tonight. She’ll live here, of course.” This marriage was happening, regardless of how anyone felt about it.

  “She can have one of the guest suites, then.”

  Chase returned his mother’s smile but squeezed her hand. “She’ll have the chamber adjacent to mine, Mother. The servants will move your belongings into the Gold Room before I return. It’s larger, and you can decorate it as you please.” He ought to have insisted she vacate the mistress’s suite years ago, but she’d resisted, and allowing her to remain had simply been easier. Even so, this was all rather sudden. He held his breath, waiting for some sort of outburst.

  “What if she doesn’t like the room? She might not. Wouldn’t it be easier to put her in the Gold Room? It is larger, as you know—”

  “As my wife, as my baroness, she’ll have the room that adjoins mine.”

  “What if I don’t like her?”

  “She’s a delightful young woman,” Chase ventured carefully. Most days his mother walked a fine line between sanity and madness. It was his duty to ensure she not lose her balance.

  “Tell me about her then. Are you certain she didn’t trap you? Is she pretty?”

  “I’m certain, Mother. She’s not the sort of lady who would sink to anything so unscrupulous as that …” And was she pretty? “She is. She’s the Earl of Westerley’s sister—Lady Westerley’s eldest daughter.” Her relationship to Jules was likely why he’d never considered her as a potential… well—mate—before…

  “What does she look like?”

  “You likely met her a few years ago. She has brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and a kind smile.” Lush lips came to mind. What else could he tell his mother about his future bride? That she had a delicious bottom and generous breasts?

  He stared across the table to where his mother’s place setting was in disarray. Bethany was orderly, almost ridiculously so, and his mother dwelled in her own personal chaos.

  “What if she doesn’t like me?”

  “She will like you, Mother. In fact, she’ll come to love you.” He hoped.

  The thought of moving Bethany Fitzwilliam into his home, of her living in the same house as his mother and sleeping in the suite that adjoined his, made this marriage business begin to feel all too real.

  Doubt swooped in and for the umpteenth time he reminded himself that he had no choice. Would she expect him to bed her tonight? Oddly enough, the thought excited him. He would have to curtail his baser instincts, however. She was a lady. If she was willing, he’d be quick and tidy about it.

  A glance at his timepiece revealed it was already past one. “I’ve details to attend to but I’ll return to change before going over to the church.” Chase met his mother’s eyes. “She will like you mother, and you will like her. The two of us will come here from the ceremony, and we’ll all take supper together.

  “It will be a celebration. My son gets married only once so I’ll tell Mrs. Maples to order Cook’s best. We’ll have a meal fit for a king.”

  He released a slow exhale at the same time Mrs. Finch peeked inside and then met Chase’s gaze sympathetically. “Mr. Ingles has instructed Collins and Bradford to move Lady Chaswick’s belongings out of the mistress’s chamber. Into the Gold Room, I presume?”

  “Very good of them. Thank you, Finch. Did you hear that, Mother? All of your trinkets and jewels are going to have a new home.“ He smiled gratefully at his mother’s nurse. “I’ll return in a few hours.” Mr. Smythe would no doubt insist Chase arrive at St. George’s in some sort of wedding finery. Valets could be difficult that way.

  Wedding. The thought sent an unexpected surge of ice through his veins.

  And after that, he would bring home his wife.

  My wife!

  He inhaled, dismissing the queasy feeling in his gut. There wasn’t time for cold feet or whatever it was this might be.

  Chase scraped his chair away from the table and went to rise, but before he could move to leave, his mother caught his hand. “You will make a wonderful husband, just like your father was. Tell me her name again?”

  “Bethany.” His voice caught.

  There was always the possibility for his bride to change her mind, deciding she’d prefer a lifetime banished to the country rather than marriage to him. Which, he admitted to himself, might prove to be the better decision.

  For both of them.

  But she would not. He knew it deep down as he stepped outside. The Westerleys had always been deeply enmeshed in society. Being thrust out of the ton was too high a price to pay. And since she wouldn’t be the only one to pay it, her mother would never allow her to change her mind and Bethany wouldn’t defy her mother’s wishes.

  Anxious to get the damn thing over with, he strode out of the house. Time was passing quickly and already he barely had enough time to stop off at the Farm Street house. He only hoped that Collette, Diana, and Sara took the news as well as his mother had.

  Where females were concerned, one could never be certain.

  After that, he supposed he ought to purchase flowers or some sort of gift to give Bethany at the church. He wasn’t a complete blockhead when it came to women.

  But he best make haste. Time was running out.

  Chapter 9

  Breathe

  Bethany glanced toward the door at the back of the church, but Chase hadn’t arrived in the thirty seconds since she’d checked before. As she turned back to face the altar, the rector sent her a reassuring smile.

  This was all wrong

  Weddings never took place in the late afternoon. They were supposed to take place in the morning. Would it bring them bad luck?

  A bride. B-r-i-d-e. Without a groom. Five letters in both.

  “Where is he?” Tabetha whispered beside her.

  Bethany had dreamed of marrying, albeit as a distant possibility. But she’d always thought that if such a day came, she would wed in the small chapel at Westerley Crossings with her father at her side. After he’d passed, she’d pictured her brother giving her away.

  Instead, she was huddled in a massive pew with her sister, her mother, her Aunt Catherine, and her mother’s companion but no one to give her away. The impressive church was nearly empty, and a fog of guilt and shame hung heavily in the air.

  And pity. Ah, yes, she felt that too.

  A handful of her brother’s friends were seated in the pew box across the aisle—on the groom’s side. Familiar faces that had existed in her realm for years.

  Three of them, arguably the most important, were noticeably absent—her prospective groom, her brother, and Blackheart—who apparently had made all of this possible—by affectively pulling some dukish strings.

  Logically, she knew it was for the best that Westerley wasn’t here, but where was Chase?

  “He’ll be here,” Lord Greystone mouthed into the silence with a confident nod.

  “He damn well better.” Stone Spencer growled not so silently, his voice carrying across the aisle. His younger brother, Peter, elbowed him.

  “This is a church, for Christ’s sake,” Lord Manningham-Tissinton grumbled.

  Upon which Stone cocked an eyebrow.

  Scuttling sounds at the back had Bethany twisting around only for her heart to plummet when it wasn’t him.

  “Mother?” Bethany hissed, scowling past Tabetha at the woman who’d brought her into this world, and then back to the newly arrived guests.

  Dressed in Sunday finery with colorful plumes and elegant gowns, Lady Ravensdale, along with a few of her mother’s acquaintances had arrived, apparently to witness even more of her humiliation.

  This was supposed to be a private ceremony!

  Her mother shrugged. “She insisted. I cou
ldn’t very well tell her not to come after all that she’s done.” Her mother rose and greeted Lady Ravensdale and then turned to the older woman, Lady Sheffield. “Josephine. Eleanor.” Those two were accompanied by Lady Hawthorne and Lady Darlington and then a few others Bethany had known for as long as she could remember.

  Bethany rose and quietly greeted each of them as they filed into the pew box and arranged themselves comfortably behind her. It was a wonder that her smile didn’t shatter into a thousand pieces.

  “We’re waiting on the groom,” her mother explained in a loud whisper.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mary. How are you, dear Bethany? Tabetha?” Lady Chamberlayne reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Not to worry, dear. Chaswick is a good many things, but he isn’t a jilt,” Lady Sheffield added optimistically.

  Bethany resisted the urge to groan and bury her face in her hands. How had her life come to consist of this series of humiliations? Was this the third in twenty-four hours, or the second? She was beginning to lose count.

  The proposal she’d suffered through that morning ought to at least count for half of one.

  “What time is it now?” Lady Chamberlayne asked.

  “Three minutes to four,” Lady Darlington, the girl who had once been a maid, whispered hastily. She sent Bethany an apologetic smile.

  Bethany winced and turned to face the aisle.

  “Oh, my!” Concerned whispers from behind echoed her own anxious thoughts

  “Would it have killed him to arrive early?” Tabetha squeezed her arm. “What if he doesn’t come? All your planning will have been for naught… with all you suffered through since… the incident.”

  “I didn’t plan any of this, you goose.” Bethany straightened her back, preparing herself for the worst. “If he… If he jilts me, we will simply return to Westerley Crossings and make the best of our futures.” It was one thing for her to suffer these consequences alone, but it wasn’t at all fair that her sister would have to as well—and her mother.

  And possibly Jules and Charley and any children they might have.

  Tabetha winced but squeezed her wrist again. “We’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

  “But your come-out.”

  “I won’t say that I wouldn’t be disappointed—devastated even—but there’s no way you could have foreseen that he’d toss you across his lap like that…” Tabetha’s lips twitched as though she was smothering a giggle but then she collected herself enough to frown.

  “I’m so sorry.” Bethany could hardly be angry at such irreverence when she herself had likely ruined Tabetha’s life.

  “Pshaw.” Tabetha waved a hand through the air. “You can’t be responsible if he doesn’t show. We’ll muddle through whatever happens. Now stop worrying about me.”

  Her sister’s forgiveness nearly brought her to tears, and this wasn’t like her at all. She’d cried more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in the past three years.

  Bethany shook her head, gritting her teeth and trying to ignore the anxiety building up inside.

  Disgrace. D-i-s-g-r-a-c-e. Eight letters.

  J-i-l-t.

  B-r-e-a-k.

  M-e.

  She counted the letters of every word that popped into her mind until a loud banging sound cut into her thoughts followed by a cool rush of air. Every set of eyes swept toward the entrance.

  In that instant, the sight of him nearly sent her swooning. Her groom was here. Triston Arthur Corbet, the Baron of Chaswick. Chase.

  Not only was he here, but he was running up the aisle toward her, dressed in elegant finery and carrying…

  A bouquet made up of daffodils, bluebells, and anemones. It was the prettiest bouquet she’d ever seen.

  His hair was slightly disheveled, but his face had been freshly shaven and his right eye, the one that hadn’t been pounded, burned bright and sober as he pinned his stare on her.

  Unnerved by his attention, she shifted her focus to his other eye. It didn’t look any better than it had earlier that day. In fact, the purplish bruising had darkened. Which of her brother’s friends had done that? It was difficult to imagine Lord Greystone punching anyone; in addition to his fastidious dress, he always seemed so perfectly in control. Nor could she imagine Peter, who seemed to only have passion for his music. The culprit had to have been either Manningham-Tissinton or Mr. Stone Spencer.

  But none of that mattered now that Chase was here. Relieved whispers replaced frowns of concern and the church was all the brighter with him in it.

  Chase halted where she sat, dropped to one knee, and then flicked a glance at his timepiece. “I have exactly one minute to spare.” He extended the flowers with an easy smile. “A bride should have flowers, no?”

  Her heart raced and all the reasons she’d ever longed for him calmed her fears. His charm, humor, sincerity—his dazzling good looks. She inhaled a shivery breath.

  And oh, yes, his scent—woodsy and clean.

  She’d never actually expected that all his charismatic weapons would ever be directed at her.

  “Are you ready to go ahead with this?” The concern in his voice enfolded her even as she wrapped her fingers around the stems of the flowers, covered with a silk ribbon.

  She could barely bring herself to nod, her throat thick with emotion.

  Relief. Disbelief. Joy. Sadness.

  Confusion.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers and half-walked, half-dragged her to where the rector stood patiently at the altar.

  “Rector Hodgson. Perfect weather for a wedding, wouldn’t you agree? Many thanks for accommodating us today.” Chase spoke as though a handsome baron marrying a mouse of a woman with less than twenty-four hours’ notice was a perfectly normal course of events.

  “Indeed, My Lord. His Grace has explained everything.” The rector smiled amicably.

  Chase then turned and bestowed a welcoming smile on those who’d come to witness their hastily arranged nuptials. “Lady Westerley.” He made a short bow toward her mother. “Lady Tabetha. Ah, hello, Lady Ravensdale. Lady Sheffield… Lady Chamberlayne, Lady Hawthorne, Lady Darlington. And Lady Tempest. My thanks to all of you for coming.”

  This was something else she’d always admired about him—his ability to appear completely at ease in all situations. She wished she could do the same.

  Bethany wriggled her shoulders, hoping to loosen the bands that had tightened around them.

  She had not been jilted. And she’d somehow managed to face all these people without dissolving into a puddle of shame.

  Don’t think about what they witnessed in the garden. Don’t dwell on what you must have looked like. Don’t consider what they saw.

  Don’t imagine what his hand had felt like on her skin.

  “Shall we begin, My Lady?” Chase cocked one brow, a corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.

  But Bethany didn’t answer right away. She was distracted by his cravat, which was slightly askew. Seeing the odd angle of the garment—along with his blackened eye and bruised face—warred with her relief of a moment before. It reminded her that all was not as it should be, despite his jovial mood.

  “Bethany?”

  “I—yes. Please.” She turned to face the altar and stared up at the large painting behind it: The Lord’s Supper. And just above where she stood, silver lamps hung from the distant ceiling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. They had been placed symmetrically, spanning the width of the altar.

  Seven lamps.

  She exhaled a trembling breath. The fact that there were seven lamps was a good sign.

  “Dearly beloved. We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony…”

  Bethany glanced sideways. This ceremony was proceeding. It wasn’t a dream but somehow it wasn’t the nightmare she’d expected either.

  She clasped her bouquet tightly.

  No matter ho
w many times she reminded herself that this wasn’t real, a part of her couldn’t help but feel thrilled to be standing beside him.

  Chase caught her staring and winked with his good eye, sending tiny bursts of pleasure swirling through her.

  Good heavens, but she was going to have to be careful to keep her true feelings from him. If you were in love with me, I’d have reason for concern.

  Not that she was actually, in fact, in love with him. She’d considered herself in love with him for a long time but perhaps love was too strong of a word to describe the emotions she’d repressed over the years.

  She liked him, very much, and had for a very long time. She’d pined for him. She’d been infatuated. He gave her butterflies and had her imagining all sorts of ridiculous scenarios.

  If you were in love with me, I’d have reason for concern.

  There was no reason for him to be concerned. None at all. Bethany exhaled a deep breath as the Rector’s voice droned on.

  She most definitely did not want Chase guessing as to the nature of her feelings.

  F-e-e-l-i-n-g-s. Eight letters for multiple feelings—seven for a singular emotion.

  “The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind…” An entire slew of five and six letter words. “…for the procreation of children and their nurture in knowledge and love…”

  Did he intend to bed her tonight? How many times had she imagined being in his arms?

  Surely, they couldn’t have a marriage in name only? He’d not given her an answer when she’d asked what came after the wedding. Had he avoided the question intentionally? He’d never even kissed her.

  Now was not the time to contemplate the night ahead. They were in a church and this was a wedding ceremony.

  Her wedding ceremony! A pivotal moment in her life. W-e-d-d-i-n-g. Seven.

  The rector directed them to sit together on two wooden chairs set off to the side of the altar and, taking her hand, Chase led her there. He didn’t release her hand even after they were seated, and the rector preceded with the religious parts of the ceremony.