Page 11

“I—nothing.” She twisted her fork around. “I suppose this isn’t a romantic affair, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” he said, relieved that she was being so sensible. For a moment he had been afraid he was going to be subjected to female vapors. He was glad to observe that his initial impression that Miss Bromwich was a remarkably calm and collected young lady had not been wrong.

“We have an appointment with the vicar at eleven. Please be downstairs by ten thirty, ready to depart.”

She nodded. He threw his napkin on his plate and left for his study.

*

Emily stared blindly at her plate, wondering what to do. The man had obtained a marriage license using her name as he thought it to be—the name she’d put on her letter. If she married him under that name, would it make the marriage invalid? Would her age make the marriage invalid? She had no idea. But more importantly, if she confessed her real age, neither the earl nor the vicar would be able to allow the marriage without her father’s consent. And it was possible that if she confessed her real name, he might just recognize it, too. For all she knew, he knew her father. Admittedly, her father was somewhat older, but they were both peers. It was not inconceivable that they knew each other. Oh, dear.

*

Deo noted that Emily was rather subdued throughout the morning, saying not a word in the carriage all the way to the village—which wasn’t far. When they arrived, he wondered if he should ask her if she was having second thoughts, but having come this far, he was reluctant to entertain that possibility.

When they made their vows, she was pale but steady and did not falter, so he was glad he hadn’t asked. He made his own with a faster-beating heart than he had anticipated. He couldn’t help noticing the disparity in size of their hands when hers was put in his and when he slipped the ring on her finger. It had belonged to his mother; it was a little loose but not so loose she would lose it, he thought. He could have it made smaller if necessary.

As he stood holding her hand, he was reminded forcibly of how small she was. Her head barely reached his shoulder. With the vicar’s eyes on him expectantly, he bent and kissed her cheek lightly. Her skin was soft, and she smelled faintly of rosewater. With a shock, he thought he might be smelling that scent for the rest of his life.

The vicar’s wife was their witness, and after they had signed the registry book, Deo swept her back up the aisle and out to their waiting carriage.

Right, that was done.

He handed her up into the carriage and took his place beside her as the vehicle moved off, conscious of a wave of relief. Right up until the last, he had been convinced she wouldn’t go through with it. At least now she couldn’t leave him without a lot of botheration and paperwork. It gave him an unaccustomed sense of peace and comfort.

He had a wife, a companion, who shared his interests, was interesting in her own right, and didn’t appear to need a great deal of care and maintenance. Perhaps I can manage after all?

*

Emily took her seat in the carriage with a sense that she was in a dream and would wake up soon and find herself back in her room, faint with hunger and teetering on the brink of giving into her mother’s bullying.

Her new husband smiled at her with a slightly anxious look. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.” She fiddled with the ring he had given her. Concrete proof, if she needed it, that she was actually married to this quite magnificent man. Someone whose intellect she had admired from afar and never dreamed she would ever meet, let alone marry!

He had taken out the book he’d been reading on the way here, and she turned to look out the window, glad enough to be left to her own thoughts as the carriage lurched into motion.

She was married, but was it valid? If she were somehow found, could Mama still drag her home or make her marry Bidenden? And what would her rather fierce husband say to that? She rather fancied he would be a match for Mama in a confrontation. The idea that he might defend her, stand up for her in a way her father never had, made her heart leap and ache a little. Would he? She hoped that he would.

If she had told him the truth about her name and age, would he have still gone through with the marriage? She doubted it. In the twenty-four hours of their acquaintance, she had gained the impression that the earl was quite rigid in regard to rules and regulations. If he discovered her subterfuge, he would be understandably angry. Her heart quaked a bit at that.

She chewed her bottom lip and stole a look at his hawkish profile. She had noticed he favored a sandalwood cologne that seemed to meld well with his natural male scent. She liked it.

He was a mature man, not a boy like Bidenden. And most important of all, he shared her passion for antiquities. Was it possible—could this marriage become something more than a business contract with time?

What if it already was something more, and he is taking me home to make me his real wife? How do I feel about that? She gripped her hands tightly in her lap. He had said he wouldn’t, of course. But what if he changed his mind? Her mind swirled.

When they arrived home, they discovered that Mrs. Blackthorn had prepared them a special meal in celebration, and after they ate, the earl took a footman to help him move a desk into the library for her and set it up. This necessitated moving a glass cabinet out and putting it in the drawing room—another room swathed in holland covers.

“I don’t use most of these rooms,” he admitted. “But if you want to use them, they can be made habitable again. I spend most of my time in the study.”

“I’m sure I will too,” said Emily with a smile.

After they had sorted out the furniture and reshelved some books that needed to be moved, he suggested a walk to the beach. “Would you like to explore the beach and the rock pools?”

“Oh, yes, very much!” she said.

“Wear some stout boots,” he recommended. “The rocks can be sharp underfoot.”