Marriage Made In Shame(24)

‘My aunts would have liked you, I think, Lord Wesley, and Lady Montcliffe was just counselling me on the fact that a wise woman finds a union   allowing her to gain the things that she needs.’

‘And are you wise, Adelaide Ashfield?’

‘Wise enough to know that the sort of marriage that you speak of is exactly what I do want.’

She did not mention love or lovemaking.

‘I also want a man who I can talk to, a husband who understands the power of conversation and debate.’

Even better. Those things he could manage easily. She neither simpered nor flirted as she stated her requirements, rather he had the notion she had not even thought to. Surprising in a woman. He couldn’t help but smile, though a knock at the door brought the others in. His allotted minutes were up and Amethyst Wylde was a woman who was careful with the maintenance of a lady’s reputation.

‘I hope you have had enough time to settle the affairs between you, Gabriel, but Christine Howard has come to call and I thought we could all have some tea.’ Her sharp eyes ran across him as she gestured to her maid to bring in refreshments, a worried look beneath her smile and a hint of curiosity.

‘Indeed we have, but perhaps champagne might be more in order, for I have asked Miss Ashfield to become my wife.’

‘And she has agreed?’ Amethyst asked this question, the timbre of her voice rising.

He turned towards Adelaide, hoping she might say something and was pleased when she did.

‘I have.’ The soft assent brought Lady Christine to her side, though she, too, was looking at him for more explanation.

Digging into humour, he tried to give it to them. ‘The luck of the damned can sometimes take a wondrous turn, though in my defence I have made a concerted effort to explain to my would-be bride all that I am not.’ Despite his levity the shock was easily seen on their faces. The anger he felt because of this was palpable. He did not deserve Adelaide Ashfield and they knew it. She was everything good, and honourable and right.

It was Christine Howard who broke the silence. ‘Well, I think this is wonderful news. Gabriel has always been interesting and kind. I should imagine he will make a sterling husband and at least with your fortune you will be able to rescue his absolute lack of one. That is two down now. Just my brother and Francis to go and all our problems shall be solved.’

Gabriel had forgotten Lucien’s sister’s penchant to state the truth in a way no one else would have thought to, though her take on the impending union   seemed to have broken through the reserve. As the tasks of finding the necessary things for a toast ensued, Gabriel used the moment to have a quiet word with Adelaide. ‘I doubt this news can be contained for very much longer, but if you have any regrets you might be wise to voice them now.’

‘Do you?’ The query was fired back quickly to him.

He smiled because amazingly he knew that he didn’t. ‘No.’

‘Then why should I?’

‘Your uncle won’t be pleased.’

‘I am no longer a young girl foolish enough to imagine that his opinions should shape my life.’

‘But you do understand that others’ opinions of me might very well do just the same?’

At that she laughed. ‘I hope I am made of stronger stuff, my lord. Allowing others to moderate one’s private life is not only absurd, but also very dangerous.’

‘And yet the reality of such constant disparagement cannot be overstated.’ He smiled. ‘Even I find it difficult at times.’

‘To live down to your reputation, you mean?’ The fire in her eyes was as bright as the small flash of a shared humour. ‘Are you trying to dissuade me from your offer, my lord?’

He couldn’t lie despite knowing that he should. ‘I most certainly am not, Miss Ashfield.’

‘Good.’ The single word held no hesitation within it and as Amethyst walked across to join them, a servant behind came with a silver tray full of long-stemmed crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne. Two moments later Daniel was pouring the newly found tipple.

‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ he said as he finished topping up the last drink. ‘To Gabriel and Adelaide. May their union   be as happy as ours has been, Amethyst, and as fruitful.’

Gabriel caught the humour on his friend’s face as he finished. A quiet ribbing held a certain look and he knew Daniel would want an explanation of events as soon as they got a moment together.

But for now he tipped up his glass and drank, the first hurdle jumped and a row of others in front of him.

* * *

The champagne made her feel a little dizzy and Adelaide knew she would have a headache come the morning, but she could also barely believe what had just happened. Gabriel Hughes, the fourth Earl of Wesley, had just asked her to be his bride. The spectres of Lord Berrick, George Friar and Richard Williams faded into the distance as she looked over at the man opposite her.

His hair was queued today, tied back in a severe style, but the cravat he wore was softer. In the light from the window she saw a small scar crossing his left cheek just below the corner of his eye and it seemed to highlight all the danger and risk associated with him.

Yet she could not care. No other man had ever made her feel the way that he did, with his humour and his menace and his manner of speaking that held her in thrall. Even from this distance she could feel the rise of her body towards his, wanting touch and intimacy and closeness. Wanting all the things that a marriage promised, all the things she had for so long been panic-stricken by.

He was beautiful in a way that had her holding her breath and bringing her fists into her sides, the hope of it all overwhelming and irrefutable. Could it possibly be this easy to finally be happy?

In the midst of all the joy Christine Howard at her side leaned forward to take her hand, squeezing it and smiling.

‘I love weddings, Adelaide, and if I say it myself I am very good at knowing what style suits a bride. Amethyst allowed me to help her at her celebration, so if you wish I would be most happy to do the same at yours.’

‘I am not...as beautiful as Lady Wylde,’ she answered slowly.

‘Because you make nothing of yourself. The colours you wear show your skin in a poor light and the style of your hair is old-fashioned and dowdy. But believe me, Adelaide, there is beauty beneath because although you can’t see it everyone else who ever speaks about you can.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You see, there it is, right there. Most women simper at compliments and turn them into something that they are not. Your directness has its own particular allure and Gabriel has been quick to understand this.’

Despite herself Adelaide laughed. ‘I would not wish for a big wedding or a very formal one.’

‘Amethyst had about four people at hers and she looked unmatched. Perhaps I could show you her dress and we could begin from there. That sort of style would look very well upon you, too.’

Lady Montcliffe had joined them now and she was smiling as she finished her lemonade.

‘I cannot wait until I can have a proper drink again,’ she said, her hand crossing the roundness of her stomach. ‘From your face, Adelaide, I can guess that Christine is regaling you with her ability to transform one into the most beautiful of brides. From personal experience I should grab her offer with both hands for I don’t think I shall ever again look as wonderful as I did on my wedding day.’

‘Then I do accept, Lady Christine.’

‘Just Christine,’ she returned and the three of them set to discussing the colour of gowns and the most flattering ways to fashion hair.





Chapter Twelve

The wedding was small and wondrous.

Her uncle had been furious at first with her choice of groom but had, over the days leading up to the service, made a kind of peace with her that she had found endearing. Imelda Harcourt had simply washed her hands of the situation altogether and left London to stay with her sister in Bath.

‘You shall rue this decision for every day of your life, you silly girl, for every single dreadful day. Lord Berrick had a fortune whilst your husband-to-be is rumoured to be a whisker away from bankruptcy. Let us hope he does not fritter your money away as well.’

Those had been the last words between them, though Adelaide had returned to her room to find a book left upon her pillow and inscribed in the front page with Lady Harcourt’s name. Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, Addressed to a Young Lady was a well-used tome, and Lady Harcourt had marked the section on how to make a good marriage. Each paragraph had stressed the importance of wealth, family name and a spotless reputation.

Lord Wesley had stayed away for the most part. Oh, granted, he had made the obligatory call to her uncle, but the visitation had held only awkwardness, the uncomfortable dislike both men had of the other the resounding tone of the meeting.

Alec Ashfield had made it known from the start that he should have much preferred the suit of Frederick Lovelace for his niece and his questions about the financial soundness of the Wesley estate were both embarrassing and disconcerting.

Gabriel Hughes’s estate was in trouble and he made no effort at all to disguise the fact. The family seat had all but burned to the ground and the books of the surrounding farmland accounts were in disarray and confusion.

‘You have not been tending to the lands of your ancestors, Lord Wesley, but have instead been cavorting with the womenfolk of London town and gaining a reputation that is hardly salubrious.’