“How soon?”
“I can procure a special license today, and we can marry tomorrow.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I believe that will make a splendid Christmas gift for Papa.”
If he had not agreed with that, he wouldn't be standing there. He nodded. “I shall now go to your father.”
* * *
He had sat in that good man's library more than he had ever sat with his own father in their library. Most of those times, he'd found the Pemberton library a comforting place.
But that was not the case today.
Today he felt almost an intruder as he strolled into the dark chamber. A fire blazed in the hearth, and the red velvet draperies were open to reveal dark skies on this bitterly cold day. During previous visits to this room of handsome floor-to-ceiling books and walnut paneling, he thought of Robert Pemberton as his indulgent guardian and later as his former guardian, but today he thought of him as a protective father to a much-beloved only child.
Mr. Pemberton sat reading in front of the fire. It pained de Vere to realize Pemberton was an old man. “Ah, de Vere! Do have a seat.”
Somehow, de Vere did not think it proper to sit back and ask for Miss Annabelle Pemberton's hand as casually as commenting upon the weather. “If you do not object, sir, I prefer to stand.”
“Can't say that I blame you. Despite that this is the warmest room in the house, it is much more comfortable standing in front of the fire. Mind if I join you?”
“If you feel up to it- - -”
Pemberton smiled as he rose, took the poker, and began to probe at the fire. “I see my daughter's been telling you about that rubbish from Marsden.”
“Mr. Marsden is a well-respected physician.”
“So my daughter says.”
“Of course even the wisest physicians are not always correct.”
“That is true.”
“It's just that if the man's prognosis
should
prove accurate, I wish to assure you that Miss Pemberton will be well taken care of.”
“Miss Pemberton? When, my boy, have you ever referred to my daughter by that formal name?”
De Vere relaxed and favored his mentor with a smile. “Since I started to think of her as a suitor would. In fact, sir, I've come to beg for her hand in marriage.”
Pemberton stopped poking at the fire and turned to him, a stupendous smile breaking across his face. How could a man who seemed so alive be dying?
The very thought of losing Robert Pemberton was painful.
“I surmise my daughter has informed you that I would approve of the match?”
“Indeed, sir.”
The older man nodded. “Good. It is very good of you, very good of you, indeed. You have my complete blessing. When will this . . . occurrence take place?”
De Vere swallowed. “Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Tomorrow will be very good. I'll have my man of business draw up the contracts at once, and you can sign them in the morning.” He offered a handshake to his prospective son-in-law.
As their hands came firmly together, de Vere was nearly overcome with powerful emotions. It was as if this handshake symbolized the joining of their two houses.
Forever.
Chapter 4
She wept at her wedding. For most of the ceremony—held in the drawing room at Pemberton House with only her father and de Vere's one sister who was still in London attending—she attempted to exude a graceful serenity she was far from feeling. All of her life she had managed quite nicely to avoid any public display of emotions.
Only when she was with de Vere did her composure vanish like yesterday's snow. Whether it be chastising his gambling or collapsing into tears, her tight control had a decidedly awkward tendency to unravel when she was in the viscount's presence.
Lord de Vere's behavior this day was excessively amiable. As she strode up to him whilst he stood before the clergyman, her husband-to-be mouthed words which she clearly understood:
You look lovely
. She desperately wanted him to find her so on this most special of days. Did he really think she looked pretty?
Even though there had been no time to procure a new gown, she had taken great pains with her appearance. A never-worn dress of ivory muslin as soft as a rose petal and much more thin was, to her mind, perfection. She wore satin slippers of ivory, and her only jewelry was her mother's pearl necklace.
When she had stood before her looking glass to inspect her appearance, she was pleased to note her breasts looked rather womanly. Which is exactly how she wished to appear. Would de Vere notice?
Sensing her nervousness, he firmly clasped her hand and continued to hold it with firmness throughout the ceremony.
She turned back ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of her father, who sat on a gilded side chair a half a dozen feet away. Beneath his bushy white brows, his eyes glittered, and a self-satisfied smile settled on his lips.
Seeing her father so obviously happy caused her eyes to tear up, but she was in possession of just enough mastery over her emotions to keep from crying.
However, when de Vere vowed to take her for his wife, forsaking all others until death they did part, her composure crumbled once again.
That was when her . . . husband settled an arm around her and drew her closer to him. She found the protective gesture poignant.
When it was her turn to recite her vows to him, each word came out as a forlorn sob even though she was far from feeling forlorn.
It was not until the end of the ceremony that her tears receded. She looked up into de Vere's solemn face as it lowered to seal their vows with a kiss. Their first. Her first.
Suddenly she was filled with happiness. She was not only granting her father's fondest wish, she was also marrying the only man she could ever love. Her heart soared. The man she loved was now her husband.
While he was not without fault, she knew he was one of the most honest men in all of London. If de Vere vowed to be a faithful husband, she knew he would not stray.
Now it was up to her to win his love.
* * *
It didn't seem right to be thinking of his bride's breasts during the solemn sacrament of matrimony, but doing so was the only way he could convince himself Miss Annabelle Pemberton was no longer Robert Pemberton's little girl but a full-grown woman who was now to be his own wife.
While waiting for her prior to the ceremony, he had become so nervous his limbs shook like the ground beneath a stampede of horses.
But then he saw her, saw how frightened she looked, and all thought of his own agitation disappeared. All that mattered to him was that he put . . .
his bride
at ease. It was dashed peculiar to think of himself as a husband, to think of Miss Pemberton as his wife.
She's no longer Miss Pemberton
. Now she would be Lady de Vere. As his mother—God rest her soul—had been before her. The very notion of this tiny thing sharing his name, sharing his lands, sharing his life filled him with a buoyant sense of possession.
Following the ceremony, he continued to hold his wife's hand.
“Congratulations, my boy,” Mr. Pemberton said, slapping him on the back. “It is my belief that one day you'll look back on this day and realize it was the luckiest day of your life. Come, let's have at that breakfast so you and my daughter can get on the road before the snows begin to fall.”
Then Mr. Pemberton bent to kiss his daughter's cheek. “You look radiant, love, or should I say,
my lady
?”
“Thank you, Papa. Have you reconsidered about joining us on the trip to Upper Barrington?” She looked up at her husband. “De Vere and I both would feel ever so much more happy if you would come with us.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I told you, I'll come in a few days. I'll be there in plenty of time for Christmas.”
De Vere's sister began to laugh. “Really, de Vere, your new father-in-law is right to decline. You and. . . may I still call you Belle?” Her gaze flicked to Belle.
“Certainly.”
Charlotte turned back to her brother. “You and Belle need a few days to become accustomed to being man and wife.”
De Vere regarded Charlotte with amusement. “Where has my maiden sister acquired such a breadth of knowledge about married persons?”
She glared at him. “I assure you, my knowledge of honeymoons was acquired at the same time I learned the alphabet.”
They all laughed.
“I can well believe that,” de Vere said, “owing to your insatiable interest in all things male.”
“Before you depart,” Robert Pemberton said to him when they sat down to a sumptuous breakfast, “I shall need you to sign the marriage contracts.”
De Vere frowned. He exceedingly disliked having to discuss money with his former guardian. He hoped to God Pemberton did not think he was marrying Belle in order to get his hands on the Pemberton fortune.
While his bride changed into traveling clothes for their journey, he went with Pemberton to his library. “It gives me pleasure to know that I'm finally able to rescue my dear friend's lands,” Pemberton said. “Like you, your father was too blasted proud to ever accept my financial help. I think I was even more upset than he when the roof collapsed on Hamptonworth.”
De Vere frowned. “Because of my father's neglect.”
“I know you're a much stronger man than he. I have no qualms at all that you'll gamble away my fortune.”
“I give you my word that I won't.”
“I know that you've always been a man of your word.”
“A gentleman's word is his honor, and honor is something that can never be recovered, once lost.”De Vere's eyes locked with the older man's. “You know I am not marrying Belle to get my hands on your wealth?”
Pemberton nodded. “I know. I also know you may not fancy yourself in love with Belle at present, but if I were given to wagering, I'd wager my entire fortune that you'll be in love with her—deeply in love with her—before your first wedding anniversary.”
God, I hope he's right
. “I have once again deferred to your wisdom.”
“I had my man of business draw up the marriage contracts. Until my. . . passing, I have provided handsomely for you and my daughter—in case that physician is the idiot I've always thought him to be. In the event my death is not as imminent as that fool Marsden thinks, I wish to make certain that my daughter continues living in the manner in which she is accustomed. Therefore, you'll find the settlements more than generous. Then, of course, once I've gone, everything will come to you.”
“It doesn't bother you that I will expect Belle to make her home at Hamptonworth instead of Upper Barrington?”
Pemberton shook his head. “Upper Barrington is merely a pup as far as houses go. I will own, I have pumped a great deal of money into it, but I think I always preferred the history and solidity of Hamptonworth. It's a national treasure. How old is it?”
“Almost four hundred years.”
“I can't deny that I'm sorry I never had any sons to inherit Upper Barrington. I've spent most of my life trying to make it a grand country home. Throughout those years, though, I always thought one day Belle would marry a peer and become mistress of one of England's treasures. That's what I always wanted for her.”
De Vere wasn't fool enough to believe this man merely wanted a title for his daughter. Pemberton wasn't that shallow. There was more to this wedding endorsement than was readily discernable.
Once de Vere signed the contracts and started for the door, Robert Pemberton called his name.
De Vere stopped and turned back to face his new father-in-law, his brow raised in query.
“You know she loves you?”
Belle?
He gave a bitter laugh. A woman most certainly could not be in love with a man she so blatantly criticized at every opportunity. De Vere had no doubts Belle was marrying him solely to grant her father his last Christmas wish. He shrugged and left the chamber.
* * *
It was bitterly cold in the de Vere traveling coach. So cold, in fact, that the best way to keep from being completely miserable was to snuggle against one another for warmth. She had made certain that one large rug was warmed to ensure that they nestled beneath it for the two-hour journey to Upper Barrington.
As he held open the coach door for her, she gathered her velvet pelisse about her and climbed in. He entered, absently sitting across from her.
Her eyes flashing mischievously, she gave him a wicked smile and patted the seat beside her. “Dear Husband of Mine, I believe you'll be warmer sitting next to your wife. Besides, I have the rug, and I intend for us to share it.”
He answered her with a grin and attempted to straighten his long body as he rearranged himself to sit beside her. In a most maternal fashion, she lifted the rug and covered both of them with it. She had deliberately not brought her muff. Without it to keep her hands warm, she hoped he would hold her hands instead. She did so excessively enjoy holding hands with this man she loved.
Once the rug had been thrown over them, she scooted as close to him as was possible. “Do you think we might hold hands?” she asked innocently.
He peered at her, his face solemn. “If you'd like.”
She placed her hand into his. Though they both wore gloves, the fusion of their hands was incredibly intimate. Her gaze went to the outline of their thighs beneath the rug, side by side, his so long, hers so short. She realized she had never in her life been so close to a man. Her heart fluttered at the realization that this man was her husband. She gazed up at him.
“Warm?” he asked.
“As warm as is possible under the circumstances.” Her gaze moved to the frosty carriage window and the bleak, gray skies beyond. She settled her face against his chest. “I do believe I'm going to like being married. It's nice to have someone with whom to. . . cuddle.”
He began to laugh.
“What's so funny?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because you're such an innocent.”
She straightened. “You surely wouldn't wish to marry a woman who was not, would you?”
“I must own, until two days ago, I gave almost no thought to marrying
any
woman.”