Page 22 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

Chapter 6

“Wherein a hasty wedding.”

15thDecember 1817. Corry Brook Farm. Devon.

They set off after an early breakfast, ensuring to leave the farmhouse as they’d found it. Chance would let no one think Mrs Burrough had not left the place spick and span, and so they tidied and washed up, and he left some money with a note explaining it was for the broken window. He said nothing about who broke it or why. They could wonder about that.

It was an easy enough journey from the farm to Exeter in good weather and usually took no more than two and a half hours. With the roads full of slush and mud, and them both riding Ransom, it would be long and tedious, so when they got to Honiton, Chance bespoke a private room for them and left Odette whilst he hurried off and hired a carriage. Then he visited a dressmaker and paid a king’s ransom for the woman’s discretion and speed in going to the inn where Odette waited, to dress her for her wedding day. He spun some tale about a carriage accident, but doubted she believed him. She likely suspected they were eloping but, either way, it did not matter. The woman knew who he was and where her bread was buttered. A promise to be given the chance to outfit his future viscountess was not to be scoffed at, so she’d hold her tongue. Chance was further indebted to her when she suggested her youngest apprentice seamstress, Anne, go with them in the guise of Odette’s maid, thus lending a modicum of respectability to their journey.

Chance waited as Odette disappeared to one of the bedrooms with Anne to change.

With time to think, he fretted about meeting his Uncle Will. Last night, he’d felt certain Will would marry them, but now, in the cold light of day, he wondered if he’d been hasty. His father would not be pleased with Chance’s behaviour and it was unfair of him to drag Will into it but, he could not allow any stain to attach to Odette’s character. It would all need hushing up as it was, but at least if they were married then propriety had been served, albeit in a rather unconventional manner.

At the sound of the door opening Chance looked up, and all thoughts of his uncle or his father’s wrath were chased from his mind. To his chagrin, he just stood staring like a fool, all sensible comments dissolving like sugar into syrup as his blood surged hot and addled his brain.

“Oh,” he said helplessly. “Oh, my… you…. Lovely. You look quite astonishingly lovely.”

This garbled compliment was accepted for its heartfelt sincerity, if not for its eloquence, and Odette beamed at him.

“How clever of you to find something so beautiful for me,” Odette said, staring down at the gown and cloak with obvious pleasure.

It suited her perfectly, a soft dove grey velvet dress and matching cloak trimmed with swansdown. Chance could not take his eyes from her.

“Married,” he said, taking her hand and practically dragging her from the room while the little maid, Anne, giggled and blushed at his determination. He didn’t care. “We must get married today. Now. At once. Or I shall run mad.”

The journey was a frustrating one, and it was well into the afternoon before they arrived in Exeter. Chance handed Odette out of the carriage and heard her soft intake of breath as she saw the cathedral. He smiled, realising then that she’d not have seen anything like it if her uncle had kept her all but a prisoner at his home. Chance made a promise to himself that, as soon as their honeymoon was over, he would take Odette to every party and play and event on offer, if she so wished. She could dance and meet new people and never again be so very alone. Nor he, he realised. He need not be alone either. The thought made something warm and happy unravel in his chest.

“Come along,” he said with a grin and she laughed, almost running to keep up as he hurried inside.

“Oh, my,” she breathed, stopping in her tracks despite him tugging at her.

She stared up and up at the immense, ornate building that arched high above their heads.

Chance paused, though he was taut with impatience and wanted nothing more than to find his uncle and get the deed done. For all he knew, Uncle Will might not even be here, and then they’d be in the basket.

“Chauncey? Is that you?”

With a sigh of relief, Chance turned around, recognising the voice. His uncle was a large, bluff man with a jovial face which made one think more of monks of old, like Friar Tuck, than a bishop. Will was good-natured and enjoyed life, and did not always appear to take things as seriously as he ought, which was usually a source of contention between him and his older brother, the earl. Nonetheless, he was respected in his own right and it was not entirely his relationship to Blackdown that had seen him rise to the heights of Bishop of Exeter.

“It is you!” Will exclaimed, hurrying to meet his nephew. “Well met, my lad, well met. It’s been an age, but what brings you… Oh, ho!”

Will beamed at Odette, his sharp eyes quickly falling to their linked hands and the hectic flush of colour staining her cheeks.

“Uncle,” Chance said, deciding not to beat about the bush. “We need your help.”

Not very much later, they were sitting in Will’s office by a crackling fire and drinking tea. Personally, Chance would have given anything for a brandy, but he didn’t think it the time or place to ask for one. Will was unlikely to bat an eyelid, but it didn’t do to give one’s bride the impression one was in the least bit agitated. By the time they had explained themselves, Will was muttering and tsking.

“That idiot, Blackdown! Whatever possessed him to do such a thing?”

Chance wisely kept his mouth shut.

“My uncle can be very persuasive,” Odette offered.

Chance bit back a grin as her pretty French accent worked on his uncle.

“Delightful,” the fellow murmured to himself before shooting Chance a conspiratorial grin. “Lucky devil.”

“Chance by name,” he replied with a smile.