The Duke's Night of Sin (29 page)

“I don’t even know her name.” Grant studied her without reservation.

“I am Miss Felicity Lightfoot.”

“Or, rather you
were
until last night. Now, you are Lady Felicity Sinclair.” It was evident that Priscilla could barely contain her laughter. “I know, the marriage happened so suddenly that your elevation and new name will take time to become accustomed to.”

Lachlan grasped Grant’s shoulder and shook him. “What in blazes is going on here?”

“I honestly could not tell you, but I intend to find out.” Grant pushed away his brother’s arm and headed for Priscilla. He whisked her dish of tea from her hands and pulled her to her feet and marched her toward the passage.

“Lachlan, will you escort our sister to the dining room?”

“Absolutely, if you promise to explain—”

The moment Lachlan and Priscilla had passed through the parlor door, Grant closed and locked it behind them without a word of explanation.

“Miss Lightfoot, please be seated. By the sound of things, we have much to discuss.” He gestured to her chair, and she quickly sat down. “Let us begin our interview with a simple question
—why?”

Her lower lip trembled. “I had nowhere else to
go … and you were so very kind in marrying me.”

Grant raised his eyebrows at that. “We are
not
married.”

“Oh, but we are.” She sounded so sure of herself.

“Do you take me for a fool, Miss Lightfoot. There was no license. Ergo, we are not legally married.”

Suddenly, there was a persistent knocking at the parlor door. “Grant!”

He turned toward the door. “Lachlan, please leave.”

“Nay, Grant. There is something you must know,” he yelled from the other side of the door. “Something very important.”

“Excuse me, please, Miss Lightfoot. My brother has something in his head that cannot wait, it seems.” He rose, shaking his head as he stalked to the door. He turned the key and opened the door a hand’s width. Lachlan and Priscilla were standing just on the other side, each with a crystal glass in hand. They had obviously been listening at the door and using the glasses to amplify the sound. “What is it that could not wait”—he lowered his voice to a low whisper—“until I have finished my discussion with this … madwoman.”

Lachlan was shaking his head fiercely. “She isn’t mad, Grant, she is a Quaker.”

“What are you rambling on about?”

“The government does not require Quakers to possess a wedding license in order to wed legally.” Lachlan’s eyes were wild.

“But … banns were never read,” Grant protested.

“Nor do they need to be.”

Grant’s mouth flapped open and closed as he struggled to apply some logic to this. “Oh, blast it, get in here. I may need your help.”

He swung the door wide, and Lachlan followed him inside. Priscilla did not wait to be asked but practically skipped into the parlor uninvited.

Miss Lightfoot crossed her arms over her chest.

“Grant, dear, I believe she heard every word,” Priscilla quipped. “Did you, Miss Lightfoot?”

“Indeed I did.” She unfolded her arms and set her gloved hands atop her knees. “There was no officiant, no minister, or priest to join us.”

Grant clapped his hands together. “There you have it, Lachlan. You see, I am not married.”

Lachlan shook his head solemnly. “Quakers marry each other in the presence of God and the meeting of Friends.”

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Grant dropped back onto the settee. Slowly, he looked up at Miss Lightfoot. “So, this is true … we are married
—legally
married?”

“Yes.” She rose from her chair and walked into the passage. Grant and Lachlan exchanged confused glances. When she returned, she carried a leather valise, and from it she withdrew a scroll of parchment. She handed it to Grant. “Our marriage certificate.”

Grant opened the scroll to review an ornately illuminated document.

Priscilla moved beside him and peered over his shoulder at the parchment. “Look, there is your name, Grant Sinclair—oh, hardly legible at all, but there—and yours”—she looked up at their visitor—“Felicity Lightfoot.”

Beneath their names were others. The meeting of Friends. Their witnesses to the marriage. And there were dozens of them.

Grant began to feel nauseous. “If you knew this was legal, why in God’s green earth would you do this?”

Miss Lightfoot lowered her head. “A young man I met in a shop stole a kiss from me last week. His amorous display was witnessed by two of the
meeting’s elders. My guardian was informed, and I was to be read out of the meeting last night. My guardian’s wife was greatly distressed and convinced the clearance committee to allow me to marry this young man before being read out, so I would not be ruined.” She turned her bright eyes up to Grant. “I didn’t even know the man’s name, and so I could not give it. They thought I was merely protecting him from retribution by my guardian. I knew there would be no marriage—how could there be?—and yet I couldn’t tell her. She was so frightened for me.”

Grant sighed. “And so when I unexpectedly walked into the meeting, and everyone assumed I was the young man you were to marry—”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I went along with it.”

“You just went along with it?” Grant dropped the certificate to the table before him.

“Well, so did you. I don’t know why, though I expect it had something to do with that man who interrupted the meeting. I kept expecting you to walk out.
That
I could explain to my guardian and his wife. But you never did. You went through with everything. You even signed the certificate.”

“I was sotted!”

“You made your mark.”

“Because you told me I would be finished once I did!”

“Well,
my darling,
now we are married—and the fault of our union lies with the both of us.” She lifted an eyebrow.

Everyone remained silent for several moments, no one daring to speak.

Then Poplin entered the crypt-silent parlor. “Shall I refresh the tea, Lady Priscilla?”

Priscilla’s expression instantly shifted from stunned to absolute delight. “Not just yet, Poplin, but would you please take Lady Sinclair’s valise to Ivy’s former bedchamber?”

Grant’s mouth fell agape.

Priscilla grasped Miss Lightfoot’s hand and drew her from the chair. “Come with me, Felicity. I may call you that, mayn’t I? We are sisters now. Oh, how wonderful is this? I have so missed having a sister in the house. You cannot imagine what it is like to live with a houseful of men! But now I shall not have to, for I have a new sister, and my brother has a wife!”

Grant wilted.
Damn it all.
So he did.