Three Weeks With Lady X(55)

As he considered what to do next, two women trotted toward the church  across the square. Just as they came by him, one said, "If the groom is  handing out shillings, I want to be there. Walk a little faster, woman!"  They disappeared down the street to the right of the church.

His mind went blank. It seemed he was too late. He walked after the  women and discovered that there was a small chapel attached to the  parish house. Three or four chattering villagers were walking away from  the door, looking with satisfaction at the coins they held in their  hands.                       
       
           



       

He stopped the same woman who had rushed past him a moment ago. "Have I missed the wedding?"

"Yes, sir, you have," she said cheerfully. "Friends of yours? What a  shame. And I'm sure they would have liked to have you with them, as my  husband had to act as one of the witnesses." She jerked her head toward  the chapel. "Go right in, sir. They're signing the book in the back, but  they'll be out in a moment."

Thorn followed her gaze. Opposite the chapel was his own damned carriage.

He was too late.

He was too late, and it was his own damned fault. Why hadn't he realized  that he'd never felt lust like that before-which meant it wasn't just  lust? He wanted her, all of her, from the tips of India's toes to all  that gorgeous hair.

Now he would never wake up next to her, roll over, take her sleepy  mouth. He would never hold their first child, born in wedlock or not.

The thought nearly drove him to his knees, there in an unfamiliar  village where it was starting to drizzle. He had never felt despair like  this before-not when he was a mudlark, not when he learned his mother  had died without ever returning for him . . . never.

One foot followed another to the door of the chapel. He would see her  once more, and after that he would leave the country. Vander would  understand. Vander would know precisely what Thorn had lost.

As he reached the door, a flock of people emerged: the vicar, the sexton, a parishioner, another parishioner . . .

The bride.





Chapter Thirty-three

Lala had never been so happy in her life. In fact, she was fairly sure  that she'd never had any idea what joy was, because anything she'd  experienced to this point had been a pale, sickly imitation.

She tucked her hand into John Hatfield's and looked up to see him  smiling at her. She couldn't help but sigh: who would have thought that  such an intelligent man would ever want her, Lala? And yet he had told  her that he didn't believe she was stupid at all, but that something was  wrong with her vision that prevented her from seeing print correctly.

"It's like being blind," he had told her the evening before. "How could that be considered your fault?"

Around him, Lala felt intelligent. She was hungry to learn everything  she could about babies, and illnesses, and the work of a doctor. She  couldn't wait to meet his cook, and learn how to run her own household.

"Are you quite certain that you won't mind the fact that Starberry Court  will never be your home?" John asked now, his eyes on hers.

She laughed. Her mother and father would likely disown her, but she  didn't care. She had her husband and his lovely house. She would go on  rounds with him, and feel useful for the first time in her life. No: she  would be useful.

She would feel loved. And she would be loved.

He bent his head and kissed her. "I never imagined that a woman would give up a duke's son for me."

Lala's smile only grew wider. She would have paid a fortune to avoid  marriage to Mr. Dautry. Yet intuition told her that it would be better  if she didn't clarify that for her new husband. Let him think that earls  and dukes had regularly thrown themselves at her feet, and she had  rejected them all. For him.

They walked from the chapel together, husband and wife.

She froze in the open doorway.

He was there, looking like an angel of death. There was a moment of  silence as she and John stood at the top of the steps, Mr. Dautry at the  bottom, arms crossed.

Mr. Dautry's face was drawn and she couldn't read his expression. Lala  found herself instinctively trembling. His face was battered, as if he'd  already been in a fight.

John said, "If you think to sue me for alienation of affection, you'll  find that I own very little in the world. I have nothing of value other  than Laetitia, and I will not give her up." The words rang out in the  morning air.

Dautry was staring up at them, his jaw clenched. He looked like a devil,  standing there with his hair tumbling around his ears and no cravat to  be seen. At the same time, he looked as if he'd taken a tremendous blow.

She had never imagined that he loved her so much. Lala moved a bit closer to her new husband, clinging to his arm.

"We are fast married," John continued. "Laetitia is now Mrs. Hatfield."  He sounded completely calm, even though he was confronting one of the  richest men in all England, one whose fiancée he had stolen. Well, she  hadn't quite been his fiancée, but very nearly.

Mr. Dautry shook himself, like a dog coming out of the rain. "In that  case, allow me to be the first to congratulate you." His voice was oddly  hoarse, but the words were clear enough.                       
       
           



       

They walked down the steps. Her husband gently released her arm and the men shook hands, somewhat to her surprise.

"I suppose you used the special license?" Dautry asked.

"I shall, of course, reimburse you," John said, nodding.

"Consider it my wedding present."

"That is remarkably gracious of you." John bowed again.

"Did you inform Lady Rainsford of your intentions?" Mr. Dautry asked.

"Lady Rainsford and I do not always see eye to eye," John replied.

"You astonish me," Mr. Dautry replied.

John smiled at that. "We had a candid exchange on the subject of my  wife's intelligence, after which Laetitia and I bade her mother  goodbye."

Lala slipped her hand back into the crook of her husband's arm and  beamed at Dautry. "I fully expect to be disowned, and she will not pay  us a visit for a long time, or indeed, possibly ever."

"A consummation devoutly to be wished," Mr. Dautry stated.

Lala had no idea what he meant, but John gave him a lopsided grin and  said, "I hope that if Lady Rainsford decides to visit, I will choose to  be, instead of Hamlet's not to be."

Lala leaned her head against John's arm as they watched Dautry stride back down the street.

"I think he means to be a patron to you," Lala said. "Perhaps I shall  ask him to sponsor a small hospital in the village. He has the money for  it, by all accounts."

John looked down at her, a thrilling frown on his face. "I won't have  you spending time with that man, Laetitia. He obviously adores you,  since he drove all the way here in an attempt to stop your wedding. God  knows what would have happened if he'd arrived an hour earlier."

Lala shivered. When they first walked out the door, Mr. Dautry had  looked ready to murder John. But once he understood it was too late,  he'd shown himself to be a gentleman.

"He will marry," she said, beginning to walk, because she couldn't wait  to travel back to their own house. "Once Starberry Court has a mistress,  I'll speak to him about a village hospital in West Drayton."

"I don't like the fact that the lord of the manor once loved my wife,  even if he does marry someone else. I don't want you ever to be alone  with him," John ordered.

The look in his eyes made Lala feel warm all over. "Kiss me," she breathed, stopping in her tracks.

John glanced down the deserted street, then he pulled her into his arms.  He dropped a sweet buss on her lips, but when they opened beneath his,  it all changed.

Mrs. John Hatfield stood in that empty street for twenty minutes, while  her husband gave her a kiss so deep and passionate that they both forgot  where they were-at least until the heavens opened and they had to dash  through a downpour to the carriage, laughing all the way.





Chapter Thirty-four

India woke early in the morning, still exhausted. She wished she were  excited about marrying Vander and becoming a duchess someday. She truly  did. She had allowed him into her bedchamber the previous evening,  thinking that perhaps she would find herself seduced.

It had made sense at the time: if she found herself enticed by the  handsome lord with adoration in his eyes, it stood to reason that she  would stop thinking about Thorn.

But in the end they hadn't even kissed.

She would never be Vander's wife. She just didn't feel that way about him.

Thorn, though . . .

He would likely be at breakfast. Her heart started beating quickly at  the thought. Presumably, he no longer wished to marry Lala after Lady  Rainsford's behavior.