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“What?”
“That’s it.” He smiled as if all had become clear to him. “We’ll go up to London, get a special license, and tie the knot.” He might have been talking of some simple outing—a picnic or a drive in the country perhaps. “Let those weasels see how they like facing the Viscountess Whitfield. What a marvelous one you’ll make!”
Penelope stared at him, stupefied. “Of course that’s impossible.” He couldn’t be offering the very fantasy she’d dreamed of.
“On the contrary, it’s the obvious solution.”
“Obvious!”
“Utterly.” His smile was tender, devastating.
“No. We can’t.” He didn’t understand.
“Do you tell me that you don’twishto marry me? Because that is the only factor that would weigh with me.”
Penelope tried, but she couldn’t lie to him. “No, but you’d be ruined.”
“So youdowish to marry me?”
She nearly laughed, but he was taking this too lightly. “Marriage to me would pull you into my ruin.”
Whitfield shook his head. “I have a certain amount of influence. And also, I don’t care a fig for society.”
His hands were warm on hers. The look in his dark eyes heated her blood, and his sturdy figure felt like a bulwark. Penelope knew that she ought to continue resisting. But her dearest desire was being offered up with such generous enthusiasm. She’d vowed to take what she wanted. She found herself nodding.
Whitfield laughed. He squeezed her fingers and bent to kiss her. “Splendid. We’ll leave tomorrow. In a few days we’ll be man and wife, and you will never have to leave me.”
If she had anything to say about it, she never would.
Sixteen
They’d actually done it, Daniel thought as he stood beside Miss Pendleton—Penelope—before the church altar to be married. After two days of scrambling and some minor difficulties, they were ready to speak the words that would make them man and wife.
He glanced at Macklin on his other side. The earl had been invaluable to their schemes. Naturally he was acquainted with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and he had helped get the special license in record time. Daniel had expected that the older man might argue against this marriage, but he hadn’t. Indeed, he’d offered them the hospitality of his town house, as well as a place to lock away the strongbox containing Daniel’s mother’s notebooks. Daniel patted his inner pocket. The key to the code rested there, and he would not be parted from it.
Macklin had even left his valet at Frithgerd to distract the government men until they were well away. The fellow had expressed no qualms about his ability to do so, and they’d given the Foreign Office agents the slip. They hadn’t told the servants at Frithgerd where they were staying either. Daniel didn’t think any of them were official informers, but gossip traveled just as fast. Macklin’s town staff had been instructed to deny all knowledge of their existence. Such ruses wouldn’t hold up indefinitely, but they’d last long enough.
The rector stepped forward to begin the marriage service. Miss Pendleton’s young maid and Tom sat in the pews, along with a scattering of strangers who’d wandered into the church. Daniel checked Penelope’s expression. Her face was hard to read just now. Happy but bewildered? Pleased but anxious? None of those?
The clergyman spoke. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God.”
Daniel had heard the words many times before, but today they were for him. A thrill crackled through him, tempered by a brush of apprehension. The responses he spoke—clearly, evenly—set a course for the rest of his life. He had no regrets, but the weight of the occasion affected him. “Till death do us part” was a portentous vow.
Half an hour later, the deed was done. They had signed the register and come out into the sultry London morning, where Macklin’s carriage waited to take them to his home in Berkeley Square.
“Did you see the dragon in the colored glass?” asked Kitty the maid. “St. George stuck him good.” She made a clawing motion.
“It was his horse drew my eye,” replied Tom. “It’s all very well for a knight to be brave, but a horse who don’t bolt when a giant serpent curls around his legs, that’s something.”
“War-horses are trained to endure the chaos of battle,” said Macklin, amusement in his tone.
“The sound of cannons and all,” Tom replied with a sage nod. “But not a great fire-breathing beast with teeth long as your arm. There’s no training forthat.”
“Very true,” said the earl, as Daniel contemplated the somewhat eccentric nature of his wedding party.
Macklin’s servants had prepared a wedding breakfast, even though no guests had been invited. Their excuse was that most of high society was out of town at this time of year, and indeed, Daniel’s particular friends were at house parties in the country. But they might have assembled a small group if they had not been more or less in hiding. They had sent an announcement of the marriage to the papers and left it at that. Neither of them had close family to include, after all.
His new wife—his wife!—looked dazed, Daniel thought. She had every right to be fatigued. They’d raced through the last two days like sprinters. They could rest now, however. They would stay in London a while before returning to Frithgerd. A few days, a week, he couldn’t think that far ahead. His mind was full of the fact that this was his wedding day, and he and Penelope would soon be alone.
