Three Weeks With Lady X (30 page)

Read Three Weeks With Lady X Online

Authors: Eloisa James

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

Chapter Thirty-two

T
horn arrived at the church door at six o’clock the next morning. The door was locked, and the village square was hushed and silent. The only sign of life came from the bakery across the square. Since there were no benches he took a seat on a gravestone, and waited.

He had never been one to ride to the hounds. But that was because he saw no point in chasing after animals, when the world of humans was so predatory. Now his entire body was poised for the hunt, waiting for the moment when either the vicar or India would appear. Either one.

But no one came. After some time, the baker’s door opened, signaling that fresh bread was available. As if on cue, villagers began to appear, greeting each other as they headed across the square for a fresh loaf. A few of them glanced at him, sitting with his arms folded, but they said nothing.

Thorn was quite certain that neither his dour expression nor his battered face was welcoming. Moreover, by now his instincts were starting to tell him that something was wrong. If he were Vander, he would take India to the church first thing in the morning.

Unless they were still in bed. Unless . . . His jaw clenched again. If India and Vander were truly together, and India was happy, he would leave. He would probably leave England altogether.

It could be that his father had made a mistake. They had traveled to some other town, which is why he’d been unable to find mention of them at the inns.

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

L
ala 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

I
ndia 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.

Not that it meant he would turn to her; likely he wouldn’t.

She would wish him well in the future, in a dignified, yet friendly, manner. The only thing she had left was her self-respect, and even that was in shreds and tatters.

Still, she felt better after a bath, not to mention dressing in a close-fitting gown with a violet overlay and a low bosom. It felt as if she were going to war—in which case she might as well dress with her own version of armor.

But in the breakfast room, no one was to be seen besides the butler. “His Grace and Lord Brody have not yet risen,” Fleming announced, escorting her to a seat.

“And Mr. Dautry?” India asked, trying to give her voice a carefree lilt.

“Mr. Dautry is not at home.”

She hadn’t expected that. She paused while unfolding her napkin and looked up. “Not home? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, my lady.” Then he added, “He departed in the Duke of Villiers’s carriage last night.”

“Why didn’t he take his own carriage?”

The lines next to the butler’s mouth deepened. “It was in use.”

India frowned. Fleming was Thorn’s butler, of course, but in a certain way, he would always be hers too. After all, she had hired him. “For heaven’s sake, Fleming, surely I might know who was using Mr. Dautry’s carriage?”

The butler closed the door to the breakfast room and lowered his voice. “It was Dr. Hatfield and Miss Rainsford, my lady. At Mr. Dautry’s request, I sent a man two days ago to acquire a blank special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

Not even by a flicker in his eye did he reveal that the license had been meant for India and his master, even though he had to know the truth. Years of experience had taught India that butlers always knew a household’s secrets.

“Shortly after the confrontation with Lady Rainsford outside the house,” Fleming continued, “Dr. Hatfield requested a meeting with the lady, and I’m afraid that there was a further exchange of words in the library.”

“Lady Rainsford had a very distressing afternoon,” India observed, not bothering to feign dismay.

“Yes, my lady. Unfortunately, she made a number of vehement—one might even say vituperative—remarks before retiring to her chamber. The door to the library was open, and it was impossible not to hear the exchange,” he added.

India waved her hand impatiently. It would have required superhuman restraint
not
to listen. “Was Miss Rainsford in the library as well?”

“No, she was not. But the Duke of Villiers was. After Lady Rainsford departed, His Grace offered Mr. Dautry’s special license to Dr. Hatfield, and the doctor accepted it.”

India gasped. “He
did
? Did he inform Mr. Dautry that he was doing so?”

“At that time, Mr. Dautry was in the dower house with Miss Rose.” Fleming hesitated, and added, “I fear that His Grace may have underestimated Mr. Dautry’s feelings with regard to Miss Rainsford.”

“I see,” India said, her voice faint.

“When Mr. Dautry returned to the house, I was below stairs. But I understand that on learning of the elopement, he made off with all speed in an attempt to catch the pair before the wedding took place.”

India’s heart stopped for a moment. Thorn had gone after Lala. He had desperately tried to stop her marriage to another. He must truly love Lala.

She herself had been nothing more than an available body.

If she was going to become a fallen woman, at the very least she could have kept her heart whole.

But no . . . she never stopped loving her parents, even when they forgot to feed her, and she probably wouldn’t stop loving Thorn either. Right now, she felt like a wounded animal. It
hurt
to love someone like this.

Despite herself, her eyes filled with tears and her lip trembled. Fleming discarded his butler’s code of conduct and put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes deeply sympathetic.

“I’m all right,” she said, swallowing hard and not even trying to hide the pain. “I’ll be fine. I think . . . I think I shall return to London immediately, if you would be so good as to summon my carriage, Fleming. My maid can follow with my godmother whenever Lady Adelaide wishes to make the journey.”

It was only by a miracle that she managed to avoid bursting into tears before she climbed into her carriage. And the fact that Fleming pressed four fresh handkerchiefs into her hand showed that he knew precisely when those tears would escape.

As it turned out, India cried from the moment the carriage entered the post road, all the way to London. “It’s all right, Peters,” she told Adelaide’s alarmed butler, upon her arrival back home. “It’s been a-a-a very trying day.”

What woman wouldn’t have fallen in love with Thorn? He was seductive and yet tender and sweet. He had genuinely listened to her, and created the India rubber band on her design. He was bawdy and rough and
real,
in a way that true gentlemen never were.

Even though he wasn’t a gentleman by birth, he had always been scrupulously honest. He hadn’t meant to sweep her off her feet. He had looked her in the eyes, more than once, and told her that their relationship was temporary, and that he planned to marry Lala.

A sob wrenched her chest. The stupid thing was that men had tried to tumble her for years. They’d assumed that since they were hiring a woman and paying a woman, bedding that woman came as part of the package.

She had failed herself. She had forgotten the safeguards she put in place years ago, the lessons she learned from her father and mother about life. About love.

Now she felt as if a vital organ had been gouged out of her. Who would have imagined that love could hurt like this?

She had to build a new life, one that wasn’t agonizingly painful.

One that didn’t have Thorn in it.

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