Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy (32 page)

"You'll need a fast horse, and we'll be off at first light."

"What if it keeps snowing? We might not be able to ride out of the valley."

"I can control many factors," John replied, "but I can't do a thing about the weather. We'll just have to cross our fingers."

"What if we don't make it by the fifteenth?"

"We have to," John said. "There's no other choice."

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Do you ever wonder about Caroline?" "What about her?"

Britannia stepped in behind Edward, whis
pering so that no one could hear. Not that anyone was listening.

The church was closed, the door locked tight so their exalted family could have a private ceremony. No guests had been invited, so the rows and rows of pews were empty.

Bernard was over by the altar railing, awaiting the vicar, and he was so disconnected from the marital events that he might have been a stranger who'd wandered in by accident.

Her surly, unpleasant son, Adam, was off in the vestibule, sulking over her command that he attend despite his protestation that he didn't care to participate.

Caroline was seated in the front row. She'd chosen a silvery blue gown as her wedding dress, and with her blond hair and fair complexion the color washed out her skin so that she looked pallid and frozen. She might have been a carved statue, except that she kept glancing around, hoping for a last-minute rescue by Ian Clayton.

Britannia smirked.

Wakefield could find a magic horse with wings to fly him to Scotland and back, but he and Clayton would never return in time, not with the blizzard on the border. The distance was simply too far, the roads too hazardous.

In a few minutes, Caroline would be married to Edward. Britannia would finally have the revenge she'd sought for so long. She'd never been so happy!

"Weren't you ever curious," she inquired, "about the date of her birth?"

"No. Why would I have been?"

"Don't you recollect our affair, Edward?"

"Vaguely."

He always pretended that their liaison hadn't impacted him, while on her end she'd suffered daily.

"How typical of you to deny me," she fumed.

"Good God, Britannia! It's been twenty-five years. Let it go."

"I don't wish to. At the moment, there's nothing I'd like to talk about more."

He whirled on her, his fury clear. "We will not discuss it! Be silent!"

"No, I shan't be. In fact, I believe I shall chatter about you—and my prior relationship with you—all day."

"Are you completely insane?" He glared at Bernard, who appeared to be in a trance. "Madam, as your husband is in no condition to advise you as to your comportment, I shall speak in his stead: Get a grip on yourself!"

Britannia chuckled, assessing woebegone, pathetic

Bernard, who was so weak of character that he'd been felled by the death of a mere strumpet.

He only thought he was miserable. Before the festivities were concluded, he'd likely be comatose with shock.

She grinned at Edward. "The last sexual encounter occurred in early May. I've never forgotten." "What encounter?" "Why, yours and mine."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Britannia! Why dredge up ancient history? What is the matter with you? Your sense of decorum has utterly fled."

"Caroline was born in January."

"Thank you for letting me know. I'll be sure to buy her an appropriate bauble when next the day rolls around."

She walked off, amused that he couldn't unravel the true message she was trying to send.

He was so thick. He wouldn't figure it out till it was too late. She'd tell him in the morning, after the consummation, after he was beyond the point where he could fix what he'd done. She'd tell Bernard, too. She'd provide every sordid detail, and she'd watch and laugh as her words pushed him into an even deeper stupor. If she was very lucky, she'd drive him to an apoplexy.

He'd be at her mercy, bedridden and unable to escape, but she wouldn't kill him right away. She'd slowly torment him until he expired from rage and fear.

She stopped directly in front of him and mused, "Ah, Bernard, look at your daughter. Isn't she lovely?"

"What... ?" He struggled to focus on her. "What is it? Why can't we start? What's the delay?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes. I want the blasted thing finished, and I have no idea why I'm here when I'm feeling so poorly."

"You wretched soul! Imagine! Having to attend your own daughter's wedding! Such a chore! Such a burden!"

"I didn't mean it like that," he grumbled.

"Didn't you? You've never felt much of a connection to Caroline, have you?"

"I felt as much as any father would."

Which wasn't much at all, Britannia had learned. What good was a daughter? What benefit was there to having one? A daughter was like a fattened hog, auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"Have you ever noticed how she doesn't resemble you?" Britannia taunted.

"No, I haven't."

"Well, she doesn't. She hasn't any of your features. When she was younger, people gossiped about it constantly."

He peered over to where Caroline was morosely balanced on the edge of the pew. She was like a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt.

"I assume you're trying to tell me something," Bernard huffed, "but I'm in no mood for riddles. What is it, Britannia?"

"It's nothing. I'll explain tomorrow."

"You do that."

He turned away, signaling their discussion to be over, and she moved on to Caroline, who had just cast another longing glance at the door.

"He's not coming," Britannia said, sitting next to her. "There's no need to torture yourself."

" Who is not coming?" Caroline asked, playing dumb.

"Your Mr. Clayton, of course. I'm aware that you contacted Wakefield. You were hoping he'd locate his brother and that the despicable pair would ride to your rescue."

The news stunned Caroline, and she abandoned any pretense. "How did you know?"

"Wakefield wrote to the Earl. He complained that you'd approached him like a madwoman and were spewing wild tales."

"I begged him to travel to Scotland for me, to find out if Ian is safe."

"When will you accept reality, Caroline? Clayton is hidden away—by me—and he shall remain so until after the vows are spoken and the union consummated. You can't evade your fate."

"The ceremony hasn't commenced yet, Mother. John may still arrive."

"John has gone to the country. His wife wanted to have her baby at Wakefield Manor, and he's taken her. He's a busy man, and he couldn't be bothered with your petty request. He never went to Scotland."

"That's a lie! He swore he'd help me."

"He may have promised you, but his only follow-up was to compose a scathing letter to your father. He suggested that Bernard consult with medical professionals about your mental condition."

"He did not!"

"Bernard had considered locking you away in an asylum, but I convinced him the better punishment was to proceed with the nuptials."

Caroline stared at Bernard, studying his diminished capacity, his lack of interest in the present affair. Her mind was awhirl with calculating the odds of how truthful Britannia was being, and ultimately, she shook her head.

"John did nothing of the sort. He'll come through for me. Just you wait and see."

"Believe what you will"—Britannia shrugged as if she couldn't care less—"but why you would suppose you could rely on a scoundrel like Wakefield is beyond me. He's failed you your entire life. At this late date, why would you expect him to act any differently?"

The vicar emerged from behind the altar, his vestments on, a prayer book in hand. He motioned for them to assemble.

Caroline didn't budge, and Britannia snapped, "Come. It's time."

"I can't. I can't do it."

She was so pale and trembling so ferociously that Britannia wondered if she might faint.

"Think of Ian Clayton," Britannia goaded. "Think of what will happen to him if you don't behave as I've commanded."

The grim reminder had its desired effect. Caroline rose and stumbled over to join Edward.

D
early beloved," the vicar intoned, "we are gathered here in the sight of God..." As he droned on, Caroline blocked out his words, gazing at a spot over his shoulder where a beautiful tapestry hung on the wall. She concentrated on the colors, trying to separate herself from what was transpiring.

She'd arrived at the church, certain that a miracle would occur, that John would walk in and halt the service, or that Ian would swoop in and carry her off.

Neither man had appeared, and she had to stop anticipating a happy ending.

Edward was clasping her arm very tightly, holding her in place, and her parents were positioned directly behind her to hinder any escape.

In a few seconds, she would have to speak her vows—or not. What was best? Should she save Ian? Should she save herself?

Caroline couldn't do both. If her mother had kidnapped Ian, Caroline couldn't cry off. If she refused Edward and rushed out of the church, she'd be leaving Ian to whatever hazard Britannia had devised.

If she disobeyed her parents and forsook Ian, she would be alone, without even the aid of an unreliable scapegrace like John Clayton. Who would take her in? Sadly, she couldn't conjure the name of a single person. She'd be on her own. How would she support herself?

She was nearly hysterical with despair, surrounded by people who hated her, and so lost in her rumination that she didn't notice the vicar had paused and was glaring at her.

Her father hissed, "Answer him!"

"What?" Caroline stammered.

"Answer the question with / do."

Britannia butted in. "Vicar, if you would read the line again, I'm sure she'll chime in as she ought."

"These promises are important, Lady Caroline," the vicar scolded. "Please pay attention."

"I'm sorry. What did you ask?"

The vicar repeated, "Do you, Caroline, take Edward to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

She gnawed on her lip, delaying a response, when suddenly noise erupted outside the church. Someone was shouting and pounding on the door.

"Keep going!" Britannia decreed.

The vicar began again, but the commotion grew, and he hesitated.

"Perhaps we should see what he wants."

"Don't be absurd," Britannia scoffed. "Do you recall how much money the Earl donates to this parish every year? You're trying his patience. Get on with it!"

The uproar became a frenzy, and Caroline struggled against Edward's firm grip.

"Caroline!" Edward reproached. "You're making a scene. Desist! At once!"

"I have to know who it is." She was prying at his fingers, but he wouldn't let go.

"Vicar!" the Earl barked. "Continue on, or explain to me why you can't, and I'll confer with the Archbishop tomorrow as to your lack of regard for my family's business."

The vicar was in a quandary, with the bride clearly wanting to run off and her rich, powerful parents and fiancé determined to proceed.

Caroline gave a vicious yank and pulled away from Edward, only to be grabbed by her mother.

"Ian!" Caroline wailed, but Britannia clapped her palm over Caroline's mouth.

Caroline fought and kicked-at her mother's shins, as Britannia whispered, "I will not be thwarted. If it is he, and he thinks to intervene, he will pay in the end. So will you."

"Lady Derby," the vicar admonished, "this is a house of worship. I can't have a... a... brawl in the middle of the ceremony. It's obvious that Lady Caroline doesn't wish to keep on, and if she—"

"Shut up!" Britannia growled, sounding like a rabid dog.

Caroline's brother was tired of the tumult, and he pushed open the barred door to reprimand whoever had interrupted.

Looking aggrieved and travel weary, their clothing damp and muddy, Ian and John Clayton hurried in, the two brothers side by side. They were tall and handsome and filled with a fury that was thrilling to witness.

Caroline had never seen a more magnificent sight.

She bit Britannia's hand as hard as she could, and she sprinted down the aisle and fell into Ian's arms.

"Are you all right?" He kissed her cheek, her hair.

"Yes, yes," she panted. "Now that you're here, I'm fine."

"In case you were wondering, you're not marrying Mr. Shelton." "I won't. I can't."

Ian linked their fingers and, with John bringing up the rear, they marched toward the altar.

"Who, sir, are you?" the vicar inquired of Ian.

"I'm the man Lady Derby claims to have kidnapped."

The vicar gasped. "Kidnapped?"

"Be gone, you bastard devil," Britannia seethed.