Page 19 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Wrexham.” She sighed. “I… I wish to discuss our marriage. The terms of our marriage,” she added for clarity.

His eyebrows pulled tighter together. “Is there something you want? More money or—”

“Oh, go to the devil!” she exploded. “Is this what you think of me? That I should wait until the last moment to blackmail you into giving me more than you have already offered. You have been more than generous, too generous, bearing in mind I asked for nothing other than to keep my dowry. Really, Wrexham, you try my patience.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said slowly, clearly bewildered. “I meant no offence.”

“Well, you delivered it remarkably well all the same, but I was not considering the financial aspect of our marriage, more the… the….”

His face grew carefully blank, and when he spoke, his tone was neutral. “I already told you there was nothing to fear on that front, Miss Knight. I am aware of the bad bargain you have made, and that bedding a man who may fall into madness at any time is hardly a young girl’s dream. Keeping me alive, or from ending my days in an asylum, is all I have asked of you, which is already far more than I have any right to expect. I should be a blackguard to importune you further by demanding my conjugal rights. You may rest easy if this is what disturbs you.”

“It does disturb me,” she said, thoroughly vexed. Why the stupid man should think she would not want him was beyond her. “And I wish to make it clear that—”

The door to the carriage swung open and Mr Humboldt appeared. “Well, I have made myself popular by waking the dead and soothed everyone’s feelings by being very free with your purse, my lord. But if it pleases you, everything is ready. You may be married at once.”

“I would have a moment to speak to his lordship—” Emmeline began but Wrexham spoke over her.

“No. We had best get this done at once. Humboldt, attend me.”

Emmeline watched as Humboldt helped him from the carriage, seething that the wretched man would ignore her request to continue their conversation at such a moment. Mr Humboldt cast her an anxious glance which Emmeline was hard-pressed to meet with equanimity, but there was no point in worrying the poor fellow. Whichever way she looked at it, she must marry Wrexham now, like it or not, for in the eyes of society she was quite thoroughly ruined. The memory of Alana and Harry’s recent nuptials contrasted vividly in her mind against her own as she hurried through the rain to the blacksmith’s shop.

Well, she’d made her bed, now she must lie in it. Getting her husband to lie in it with her, however… that was the next hurdle.

Chapter 6

How disappointing that our mystery writer seems to have developed a character about which he or she knows nothing at all. Perhaps they come from an elevated position in life and have never experienced what it is to work for a living, for I found the blacksmith entirely unconvincing, and as for the housekeeper…

― A review of the recently published novel, “The Jewel and the Iron Key” by Anon. Review submitted to The Lady’s Gazette by Miss Selina Davenport.

A wedding ceremony. 15th February 1845, Gretna Green.

Wrexham got through the marriage service by sheer willpower. He was utterly exhausted, his head was pounding, and his limbs were stiff from so many hours crammed in that damnable carriage. The idea of lying down flat and going to sleep was so tempting he might have made use of the cold flagstones he could feel beneath his boots if the circumstances were otherwise. Marrying Miss Knight, however, was something that deserved his full and complete attention. So he recited the words dutifully, concentrating upon their meaning and the promises he made, whilst trying to keep his mind from the conversation Humboldt had mercifully interrupted.

He supposed he could not blame her for wanting further reassurance of his intentions, but it had been a blow to an ego that had taken rather too many knocks of late. It was strange, remembering the man he had once been, so full of life and confidence. He’d truly believed himself invincible. Damned fool. It was like remembering a character he’d read in a book, one who was far removed from the man he was now. These days he lived on his nerves, always listening out for soft footsteps coming up behind him, alert for danger on all sides. He never felt able to let down his guard. Sometimes the danger was as innocuous as a rucked-up corner on a carpet, or a piece of furniture that wasn’t quite where he expected it. Recently, the traps had been far more dangerous and intentional. Navigating stairs had become akin to running a gauntlet, and surfaces deliberately strewn with broken glass could appear in the most innocuous of places. It had made his existence feel like one lived upon a battlefield, where the slightest wrong turn could see him plunging headlong down a staircase or grasping the wrong end of a knife.

He’d broken a glass last week, alone in his bedroom in just his stockinged feet, and had dared not move in case he trod upon the shards. It had made him furious to have to shout for help, to wait for someone to come and clear up the broken pieces. It seemed frustration was his constant companion, forever simmering beneath his skin. Yet these past hours with Miss Knight, as wearying as they had been… he had felt more himself in her company than he had since he’d lost his sight. She had a way about her that both soothed him and gave him confidence.

His intended did not hesitate to speak her mind, nor did she flatter his ego or endeavour to treat him as an invalid or a child. He trusted her, he realised, managing creature that she was. With a sinking sensation in his gut he realised he more than trusted her: he liked her, very much, more than was good for him. So here was yet another thing he must guard himself against, for that could lead to nothing but hurt and humiliation. Their last, awful conversation had made that very clear.

Ah, well. Friends, then. It was more than he had hoped for until recently. Besides, if his libido had returned for good, there was nothing to stop him paying for a woman if he desired one. But the moment he considered the idea, he felt worse, not better, and he returned his attention to conversation around him.

“If you would sign here, my lord,” Humboldt said, placing a pen in Wrexham’s hand and guiding it to the page.

Wrexham signed the register and straightened, waiting as he heard Miss Knight… No, his marchioness, sign the register, the soft scratch of the pen upon paper tremendously loud in the quiet room. Suddenly Rex felt uncertain, not knowing what to do next. Ought he to take his wife’s hand, to kiss her cheek? Perhaps it was not a romantic arrangement, but the girl had just married him, and—

Humboldt spoke, breaking into his thoughts and making him jump. “I’ve arranged rooms at the inn next door, but I think we’d best hurry. The landlord was not in the best of spirits.”

Humboldt ushered everyone back out into the rain and along to the inn, guiding Wrexham with the same precision he gave to everything he did. All the same, Rex wished it was Emmeline upon his arm, rather than his hand upon Humboldt’s elbow. He suppressed a sigh and told himself not to be so damned ungrateful. They’d got this far, which was something of a miracle.

“Here we are, my lord,” Humboldt said. “This is your room. Not large, I’m afraid. The bed is in the centre, in the middle of the wall to your left is a chest of drawers. There is a pitcher of water and a bowl on top of it. I have set your toothpowder and brush to the side as usual. There are two small tables with lamps, one on either side of the bed. To the right is a window, the curtains are closed. There is a dressing table and mirror about a foot in front of the window. On either side of the bed is a small rug, thick but perfectly flat. There is a chest at the foot of the bed and your case is open upon it. I hope that will be all. Goodnight.”

Rex jolted as he heard Humboldt move to the door. “Goodnight? You might remember I am without my valet, and—”

“And Lady Wrexham is content to assist you. Goodnight, my lord.”

The door closed before Wrexham could say another word. He stood stiffly, listening, suddenly viscerally aware he was not alone in the room.

“Miss—Emmeline?” he corrected himself. They were married now. The idea sent a thrill of something he could not identity skittering down his spine.