The Golden Leopard (28 page)

He was waiting for her beside a round table, his collar limp, his hair disordered, his black coat askew over a white brocade waistcoat. He looked, inexplicably, as if he’d been running.

“You are late,” she said, trying not to sound shrewish.

“And you probably thought I never meant to come,” he replied, raising somber eyes to her face. “Little ever goes right for us, does it?”

“Not easily, at any rate. What has gone wrong this time?”

“For you, nothing. You may even find it excellent news.” He took the top sheet from a small stack on the table and held it out. “This will explain nearly everything, and I shall tell you the rest. The part, at least, that I am permitted to divulge.”

The distance from where she stood to his hand seemed a long way. Before she got there, she could tell by the quality of the paper and the meticulous handwriting that he was giving her a legal document. A glance verified that it was a will, and she recognized the first several lines. She’d heard them eight years earlier, shortly after her mother’s death.

The section that related to the second daughter, consisting of two clauses, had been transcribed at the top. She was to receive a few pieces of jewelry—the ones she’d recently pawned—that her grandmother had wished her to have, and fifty pounds to purchase a black gown and gloves in the event she felt inclined to mourn her mother’s passing. Everyone had recognized that for the slap in the face it was. There was nothing else for Jessica. The considerable legacy that Lady Sothingdon had inherited from her own mother was distributed among her two obedient children, her demonic companion, and the artisans who had produced the garish monument she’d designed for her tomb.

“Well?” said Duran.

“I’m still reading.” The next section, set apart, introduced a codicil that was not to be disclosed, save to Lord Sothingdon, until the occasion of Jessica Carville’s marriage or her thirtieth birthday, whichever occurred beforehand.

And then the provision itself, a bequest to Jessica on the condition she was married before her thirtieth year to a man who met with the approval of the deceased’s spouse, should he still survive, and his heir, the present Aubrey, Lord Buckfast. Should those requirements go unmet, the bequest would revert to her son, Aubrey. The amount, to be held in trust and invested, was twenty thousand pounds.

Stunned, Jessica continued to stare at the paper, a rush of pleasure sweeping through her. Although she had always pretended otherwise, she’d been heartsick when Lady Sothingdon made a public display of disinheriting her. But at the end, her mother had changed her mind. Or had a change of heart.

Or remained intent on controlling her, even from beyond the grave. Yes, that was more likely. The pleasure swept out again, leaving her empty.

She turned back to Duran. “I didn’t know of this. But I can’t see that it creates a problem. And there’s another wedding to take place at eleven o’clock, so the vicar is somewhat anxious that we get on with ours.”

“No, Jessica. We cannot marry. I should never have suggested it in the first place. But I was concerned for my own interests and persuaded myself that you had a little to gain, perhaps, from the marriage, and nothing whatever to lose. This changes everything.”

He meant it. She had never seen such a look of conviction in his eyes. “But how? Papa was annoyed that you failed to take proper leave of the shooting party, and Aubrey will not be impressed by your background and lack of fortune. Nonetheless, they both wish above all things for me to take a husband. They can be brought around.”

“Your father, perhaps. Not your brother.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know him.”

“I’m afraid I do. The day I left High Tor, we quarreled. I lost my temper and struck him. He elected not to tell anyone?”

“As a matter of fact, or so I heard from Mariah, he accused you of striking him. But there was some confusion about what actually occurred, and everyone but Aubrey seemed to think you’d departed for London well before the accident.” She studied his face. “
Why
did you quarrel?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, he will never give his approval to this marriage, which means it cannot take place. It was bad enough I hadn’t a groat to settle on you. Then I couldn’t pay for a Special License, so the duke gave me the money. I had to convince Shivaji to provide a wedding ring. It’s as well you won’t be wearing it, for the one he produced is no more worthy of you than I am. Under no circumstances, Jessie, will I come between you and financial security for the rest of your life.”

“Except that you’re not. It has never been my intention to marry, and if we had not entered into this arrangement, I’d have assuredly got to my thirtieth birthday without satisfying the conditions of the will. The money changes nothing.”

“It might. It ought to. You are how old, princess? Four-and-twenty. Five?”

“Seven.” Said aloud, it made her feel ancient. “What of it?”

“Then you have three years to find a husband who will meet with your family’s approval. And if you don’t wish to go looking for one, you can’t rule out the possibility that you’ll one day encounter someone that you’ll fancy, or develop a
tendre
for an old acquaintance. You could . . . you
should . . .
fall in love.”

“How uncommonly sentimental of you, Duran.”

“A misstep. I meant to be entirely practical.”

“In that case, allow me to remind you that we have an arrangement. A verbal contract, if you will. I expect you to honor it.”

“Then you will be disappointed. The marriage was undertaken to preserve your reputation while we traveled together, but I’m calling that off as well. And as for making yourself a wife, or better, a widow, to more easily carry on your antiquities business, that could easily backfire. Marrying the likes of me won’t enhance your reputation, Jessica.”

“It’s odd, but I recall you arguing the opposite viewpoint just before you proposed. Society would forgive my small lapse of taste, you said.”

“I was wrong. I was being selfish. I told you I was concerned about myself. That alone should send you running for cover. And you can do far better than me. With a trifling effort, you could have potential husbands queuing up to pay court to you.”

“But how could I be sure that any one of them would be so obliging as to disappear within a few weeks of the wedding and never return to plague me? And what about the plot to send Gerald into exile or prison? You underestimate the appeal of your offer.”

“Now you’re just being obstinate. I won’t renege on the plot against your brother-in-law, so you lose nothing there. As for the plaguey husband, there isn’t a man alive you couldn’t twist around your finger if you put your mind to it. And once you claim your mother’s legacy, you’ll have no need to earn your own living. You can collect antiquities for yourself, as a hobby.”

“Ah. How easily you transform my profession into a mere pastime. Apparently I have overlooked the advantages of spending the rest of my life as a wealthy widgeon.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His eyes looked fevered. “Do you imagine this is easy for me? But I have no choice. You are an impulsive creature, Jessica. You cannot deny that. And you’re proud as well, perhaps too proud to back away from an agreement that can only hurt you. But it all comes down to one obvious truth—a two-and-a- half-week marriage with me is not worth twenty pounds, let alone the twenty thousand you stand to lose by it.”

“And you imagine that I would consider marrying for money?”

“You were prepared to marry me for a good deal less. I understand how you feel at this moment, but you’ll soon get over it. And yes, perhaps you’ll never marry. But I want you to have the next three years to change your mind, or the chance to seize an opportunity that may arise. I’m only thinking of you.”

“No. You are only thinking
for
me.
Spare me your high-sounding excuses, Duran. If you are inclined to call off the marriage, there is justification enough to be found in my character. I am, as you say, obstinate and impulsive and proud. But do not take it upon yourself to protect me from the consequences of my decisions or deprive me of the right to make those decisions for myself.”

“We all make mistakes, princess. If you saw me about to do something hopelessly foolish, would you not try to stop me?”

“I might. But you wouldn’t listen, any more than you are listening to me now. The money does not signify. I will never marry for it, nor will it stop me from marrying. And to prove that, I am going now to stand before the altar in company with the vicar and our witnesses, where I shall wait for five minutes. Unless I leave this church as your wife, I wish never to see you again.”

Cheeks burning, she turned on her heel and swept out the door, gathering the bewildered vicar on the way and towing him to the altar like a dinghy. Beckoned, Helena and Hart joined her there, Helena serene and Hart trying without much success to conceal his anger. One look at her face and he closed his mouth.

For several excruciating hours, or so it felt to her, the three of them stood facing the vicar, who clutched his prayer book between trembling hands and, from the movement of his lips, appeared to be praying for a miracle.

No miracle appeared, but the eleven o’clock wedding party did, boisterous and cheerful until, or so Jessica surmised, they became aware of the grim little company frozen in place before the altar. The laughter faded to whispers and shuffling, followed by silence.

Proud, impulsive, obstinate. She’d brought this humiliation on herself, dragging her friends and the hapless vicar into the soup as well. No wonder Duran considered her incapable of making a sane decision. If this was any sample of her judgment, she might as well consign herself to Bedlam and be done with it.

She thought about moving, resolved to do so, but nothing happened. Her feet seemed rooted to the marble floor. She looked down at them, wondering why they refused to obey her. Perhaps they didn’t trust her brain to give the proper directions. She could scarcely blame them.

She looked back to the vicar’s flushed, unhappy face. His eyes pleaded with her.
Go, you unfortunate, demented creature.
And she would have to walk past the people standing in the back of the church, the happy bride and groom and their friends. What if she was acquainted with someone there? What if one of them recognized her? Dear God. They’d almost certainly recognize Hart. He was the most famous peer in the kingdom. In another five minutes, the story of Lady Jessica’s jilting would be all over town.

But so far, they’d only seen her back. The encompassing bonnet with its wide ribbons concealed her face well enough, and while Hart was distinctive from any angle, he would never betray her identity. Duran must be long gone by now. Perhaps she could safely exit through the vestry. If only her feet would do her bidding.

She looked in that direction, at the portal that seemed a hundred miles away, and closed her eyes in a silent prayer for mobility. When she opened them again, Duran was coming through the door.

He was carrying, she saw through tear-blurred eyes, a small nosegay of flowers, which he put into her frozen hands.

“The stems are wet,” he said. “I took them from a vase in the—”

“You robbed a
church
?”

“Borrowed. We’ll put them back when we sign the register.”

“And the contract.”

“Sign that before you’re married,” said the duke. “I insist, Jessica. There’s nothing to compel him to sign it afterward. Miss Pryce and I will stand witness.”

So they all swooped into the vestry, inscribed their names on the marriage settlement, and swooped back out again. On the way to the altar, giddy with relief and a swarm of other feelings that had yet to identify themselves, Jessica noticed that about twenty people had ensconced themselves in the back pews, watching like an audience at a comedy.

“What took you so long?” she whispered to Duran as they took their places again.

“I was trying to escape,” he said. “But I couldn’t find a back way out of the church.”

It was the most inconsequential of remarks, designed to tease her past the last of her anger at him. Past the fear that had paralyzed her, although he couldn’t have known of that. He would have intended nothing by it. But something had happened to her between his last word and the moment she began to smile. And it was when she realized that she was smiling, simply because she was happy, that she understood why she was standing here, prepared to marry him. Against all reason, determined to marry him.