“Then come.” Mr. Knight offered his arm and led Eleanor into the nave. “It’s time—past time—to get married.”
Eleanor blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. The church’s ceiling soared out of sight. A few people sat in the back pews, their faces hidden by shadows. Curiosity-seekers, probably, and perhaps a well-wisher or two who had heard Mr. Knight’s announcement of their wedding. Certainly no one stood and called her name, or Madeline’s, either. And thank God, for she wanted this wedding to happen. Sin or not, she wanted to marry Mr. Knight.
And there. Straight ahead. The altar. Candles burned in the great gold candelabras, the flames mere pinpricks of light. The clergyman waited in all his raiment, the parish clerk stood off to the side. The church was enormous and echoing, but the walk down the aisle seemed all too brief. Her last moments as a free woman were fleeting.
They stepped up to the altar. She smelled the beeswax on the wood, the faint odor of dust, age and holiness. Clark and Lady Gertrude standing beside them as their witnesses.
The clergyman was elderly, with glasses that rested on the tip of his nose and a worn, brown leather Bible that trembled in his veined and palsied hands. He smiled at her kindly, his face breaking up into a network of wrinkles. “I’m Mr. Gilbert, my dear, and I’m to have the privilege of performing your marriage.” He shot Mr. Knight a reproving glance. “I like to know the young people I marry, and I asked that you two come in for counseling, but your swain didn’t want to take the time. So busy, these young men—”
“Yes, exactly,” Lady Gertrude said. “One never knows what might happen if matters aren’t handled correctly.”
Gracelessly, Eleanor blurted, “Mr. Gilbert, could I see the information you’ve been given?”
Someone out in the pews coughed, as if in a great seizure.
“What?” Mr. Knight stared at her forbiddingly. “Do you think I would make a mistake? About this?”
Eleanor cleared her throat nervously. “I…um…would like to make sure that everything is correct before we proceed.”
“If you’re planning to make trouble—” Mr. Knight warned.
Mr. Gilbert’s white, bushy eyebrows shot up at Mr. Knight’s tone. Putting his arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, he said, “If you would come this way, my dear, we’ll talk in my office.”
“I’ll come, too,” Lady Gertrude announced, and reassured Mr. Knight, “we want this marriage to be completely legal.”
The skin between Eleanor’s shoulder blades twitched as they made their way into Mr. Gilbert’s office, and she knew Mr. Knight was glaring at her, trying to discern her purpose. The man was suspicious and distrustful, and she was a fool for doing this. But she had let fate make her decision. Unless something occurred to stop the ceremony—unless Madeline or Dickie or the duke arrived—Eleanor was going to marry Mr. Knight.
Pulling the door shut behind them, Eleanor tersely said, “Let me see the personal information.” Seeing Mr. Gilbert’s surprise, she added, “Please, sir, the personal information.” Vaguely surprised, she realized she sounded like Madeline when the ducal mood was upon her, but then, that voice always produced results.
As it did now. Mr. Gilbert opened his book of prayers and extracted a small sheet of paper with the names scribbled on it. “I’ve never seen anyone so anxious about so simple a matter.” Taking Eleanor’s hand, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t truly want to discuss something else? Advice on how to handle your husband? He appears to be very domineering, and sometimes that’s frightening to a new bride.”
“He is domineering.” Eleanor wasn’t really paying attention to what she said. “But I’m not frightened.” Realizing that Mr. Gilbert looked shocked, she added hastily, “Lady Gertrude has given me many lectures on how to be a good wife.”
Lady Gertrude folded her hands and nodded piously.
“Ah.” He peered over his glasses at Lady Gertrude. “Very well. It’s good to know you have a mother figure to guide you through these turbulent new waters.”
Eleanor looked at the paper, and with a tsk, she told Mr. Gilbert, “This is what I feared. This says Madeline Elizabeth Eleanor Jane de Lacy. I’m Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy. Madeline and Eleanor are both de Lacy family names, and my dear Mr. Knight confused mine with my cousin’s.”
“Oh, dear.” Mr. Gilbert almost wheezed with distress.
“It wouldn’t do to make my vows incorrectly, would it?” Eleanor inquired.
“No, indeed.” Mr. Gilbert went to his desk, uncorked his ink, and made the change, his fingers shaking. “That would be quite irregular.”
“We can’t have that.” Eleanor indicated the door. “Now that everything is in order, shall we proceed?”
“Yes, but—are you sure you don’t have another concern?” the elderly clergyman asked.
Can you go to hell for pretending to be someone you aren’t? But there was no way to phrase the question, and no good answer to be had, so Eleanor shook her head and sailed through the door. As she returned to her place beside Mr. Knight, he placed her hand back on his arm and covered it with his, holding onto her as if, even now, he feared she might flee.
She stole a sideways glance at him. He looked irate at the delay, and…she hadn’t seen him at all yesterday, and even in that brief time apart, she had forgotten how handsome he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders that filled out his black jacket, and long, muscular legs that made her think blasphemous thoughts right here in the church. His blond hair glinted like polished gold. His austere face made her want to trace his cheekbones and his strong jaw. His lips…all she wanted from his lips was to feel them on her somewhere, anywhere. His eyes were pale blue and distant—except when he looked at her. Then they held the heat and beauty of the hottest coals, and she knew they could burn her just as surely as warm her.
If he had set his mind to courtship, he could have had any woman in the ton. He might not have followed the prescribed methods, but Eleanor knew he could have cajoled his way into the marriage mart, and when he’d decided on a girl for his wife, she would have defied her parents and all of society to have him.
Look at Eleanor. She was taking him under false pretenses, and with the promise of anguish in the not-too-distant future. But she wanted him badly enough to betray her own ethics to have him, and she swore she would face the consequences, no matter what they were.
“Holy matrimony is an honorable estate…” The clergyman began the ceremony, his sonorous voice carrying across the pews.
Eleanor’s teeth clenched as she listened to him exhort them to enter into matrimony “reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God.” She wondered if lightning would strike her through the roof for bastardizing such a solemn occasion. She waited for the moment that she knew would come.
“Face each other,” Mr. Gilbert commanded.
Eleanor’s heart thumped against her breastbone as she turned to find Mr. Knight staring down at her, his eyes brooding as he observed her.
“Repeat after me,” the clergyman intoned. “I, Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy, do solemnly swear to obey and serve…”
Mr. Knight frowned, but Eleanor gave him no chance to think about the change.
In a clear voice, she said, “I, Eleanor Madeline Anne Elizabeth de Lacy, do solemnly swear to obey and serve…” Dimly, she was aware of a small commotion in the depths of the church, a burst of mad laughter that made Mr. Gilbert frown.
Eleanor paid no heed.
Nor did Mr. Knight. All of his attention was focused on her. She almost thought he was compelling her to give herself into his keeping, and she had committed herself beyond hope of redemption.
He repeated his vows in a deep tone, each word resounding through the church. No one could say they didn’t hear or didn’t understand.
Finally Mr. Gilbert proclaimed, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Eleanor was stunned.
She had done it. She had taken what she wanted—who she wanted—without regard to what was right, and she would have to face the consequences. But not now. Not yet. Tomorrow, perhaps, or next week. Some time when she’d tamed Mr. Knight, shown him her love and perhaps, just perhaps, taught him to love in return.
Right now, she faced a man with a predatory smile. He viewed her as a starving man would look at a hearty pub meal. Taking her hands in his, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss, but in that kiss was the promise of so much more.
Clark broke in. “Eh, eh, there’s time enough for that later. Congratulations to both of you!” To Eleanor, he said, “You’ve got a good man, there.”
“I know.” She did know. She was depending on his goodness.
Mr. Knight looked sharply at her.
Lady Gertrude dabbed at her eyes. “Weddings always make me cry. Mr. Knight, be good to my niece. She deserves better than she’s had.”
Now a cynical twist tugged at Mr. Knight’s mouth, but he nodded. “I intend to take care of her.”
Mr. Gilbert herded them into the vestry, where they signed the register, Eleanor carefully etching her name below her husband’s. Then with thanks to Mr. Gilbert, they descended the stairs and started down the aisle.
Mr. Gilbert followed them, his robes flapping. “Look out the door,” he said. “The sun has come out. What a good omen for your marriage! A very good omen indeed!”
“Clouds first, then sunshine,” Lady Gertrude added.
At the back of the church, in front of the door, they could see a woman silhouetted by the watery sunlight. A single glance told Eleanor it wasn’t Madeline, but she did appear to be waiting for them. Something about the way she stood looked familiar….
As her face became clear, Eleanor stopped breathing. Stumbled to a halt. Lady Shapster. Dear Lord. It was Lady Shapster. Eleanor knew that sneer, that satisfied, catlike slant of the eyes. Lady Shapster had come to make mischief.
All Eleanor’s bravado shriveled away. How could she ever have imagined she wouldn’t be found out?
“Mr. Knight,” Lady Shapster purred as she blocked their way out the doors. “You look so handsome in your finery.”
“Madam.” He bowed and tried to lead Eleanor outside.
Lady Shapster moved in front of them again. “I came especially to see you wed, and you should be glad. So few guests. No friends.” She gestured at an ill-dressed fellow who scribbled on a slate. “Just a few newspapermen…”
A newspaperman. This got more and more dreadful.
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Eleanor said.
But that was too much to ask. Lady Shapster smiled in purse-lipped amusement and slowly shook her head.
Mr. Knight looked from one to the other. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t like it, for he stepped in front of Eleanor as if to protect her from the malevolence of the cruelest woman in the world.
In a cold, clear voice that made Eleanor shiver, he said, “Lady Shapster, I didn’t invite you, and in case I haven’t made myself clear, I intend never to invite you to anything ever again. That you decided to attend my wedding is an act of unparalleled brazenness, and in the future, I demand that you leave my wife and me alone.” Placing a protective hand on Eleanor’s back, he pushed around Lady Shapster and onto the church porch.
“Mr. Knight! You’re so rude, and to one of the family. It’s a sign of ill-breeding, and you don’t want to suffer that reputation. After all”—Lady Shapster cast Eleanor a gloating smile—“I am now your step-mama-in-law.”
Mr. Knight observed Lady Shapster casually, as if her ravings only slightly interested him. Turning to Eleanor, he asked, “What does she mean?”
Eleanor wanted to run, but she knew it would do her no good. Lady Shapster would trip her. Shout the truth up and down the street. There was no escaping justice now. It had hunted her down, and she would pay the penalty. Her lungs wouldn’t expand, and she used the last of her breath to say, “She means…she means I’m not Madeline. I’m not the future duchess of Magnus. I’m Madeline’s cousin and companion.” Painstakingly, she told him the truth. “I’m Eleanor.”
He stared at her, and slow comprehension overtook him. It was as if he had been trying to solve a puzzle, and this was the piece that had been missing.
“I could have interrupted the ceremony, Mr. Knight,” Lady Shapster said. “I could have saved you from this dreadful blunder. But you thought you were better than me. You didn’t invite me to your party. You didn’t invite me to your wedding breakfast. And now you’re bound to stupid little Eleanor forever.”
“Shut up,” Lady Gertrude said.
“How dare you?” Lady Shapster drew herself up in outrage. “You knew. You can’t tell me you didn’t. You—”
“Shut up.” Like a small goat, Lady Gertrude lowered her head and ran at Lady Shapster, butting her off her feet.
Mr. Gilbert wrung his hands.
Clark exclaimed and reproved.
But although their mouths moved, Eleanor heard them only faintly. Although their arms waved, she saw them dimly. They were on the periphery of her attention. All of her being was concentrated on Mr. Knight.
His pale blue eyes grew bitterly cold. He looked at her as if she weren’t worth grinding beneath his heel. Slowly, his hand rose and touched her cheek. “I thought you were the one.” His whisper vibrated with feeling. “I thought you were real. I should have known.” His fingers slipped around her throat. “No one in your family can be trusted.”
She felt the faintest of pressure. A threat, not realized, but there nevertheless.
Leaning into her face, he said, for her ears only, “I won’t make the same mistake again.”