A Convenient Bride For The Soldier. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not worry yourself, Miss Knight. I have no intention of disturbing your privacy.’ There was a significance in his tone that she did not fully understand. It was as if her request had actually hurt him in some way that all her other insults had not.
She gave him what she hoped was a worldly smile, that he might think she had intended what had just changed between them. But, in truth, she did not. It probably had something to do with the things he’d threatened her with when he’d rescued her, if one could even call that a rescue.
Did married people ravish each other? That did not sound right. She could not imagine her father and stepmother ever did. And she was quite sure she did not want to ravish Mr Challenger.
There were paintings on the walls of this very room that showed scenes similar to those on Sir Nash’s snuffbox. But they had to be exaggerations. There were far too many satyrs involved and she seriously doubted that the men of London were actually hiding cloven hooves inside their boots.
Her future husband had turned his back on her speculating and walked to a corner of the room to pull on a bell rope. He did not turn back to her as they waited for the arrival of the servant he’d summoned, leaving her nothing more than silence and a view of his rigid spine and squared shoulders. If he would only relax, just a little, she’d have admired the masculinity of his frame. But at the moment he looked less like an embodiment of strength and more like a man who had just been caned and was braced to take the next blow without flinching.
By the time a maid appeared, the rigidness he displayed had passed to George like an infection. If they did not find some way to manage with each other, when the time came to marry, they would look more like waxworks than human beings.
Mr Challenger turned and addressed the maid with military stiffness. ‘Rose, take Miss Knight to the dressing rooms and find her clothing appropriate for a lady. Then see to it that Snyder gets her out of the club and away before anyone knows of her presence here.’
The girl gave a quick curtsy of assent.
Mr Challenger turned back to her with a smooth half pivot. ‘I will call on your father in the morning. Once I have his assent, I will take care of the licence and the matter will be settled in no time.’ Even though they were only in the presence of a servant, he offered a deep bow. It had none of the irony that his earlier proposal had held. But there was a mechanical quality to the movement that made her think of the tin man who appeared on the hour out of their mantel clock back home. ‘Until I see you again, Miss Knight.’
‘Mr Challenger.’ She imagined herself as the tin girl that came out of the other side of the clock to meet him, offering the same perfectly controlled curtsy. But as she dipped, she lost her grip on the tablecloth she was still wearing and revealed far too much leg than was proper.
Frederick Challenger’s control slipped in response. A quick flick of the eyes downward was followed by a glance heavenward and a tight grimace of disapproval.
Before he could unbend enough to complain aloud, she gathered the cloth close about her again and hurried out of the room after the maid.
‘She is late.’ Fred checked his watch for what seemed like the hundredth time and glanced towards the closed front doors of the church and the empty pews that should have contained the bride’s family. Only the presence of his two oldest friends prevented him from leaving the chancel and hunting the woman down.
‘Only by five minutes,’ Oliver Gregory’s sympathetic smile flashed in the dimness of the church, seeming even brighter against the darkness of his skin.
The five minutes before a battle felt like a lifetime, as if the mind was trying to savour what might be the last moments of life. Perhaps the same was true today, as he bid farewell to his freedom.
Whether it was five minutes or five years, it did not make Georgiana Knight’s behaviour any less annoying. ‘She has had nineteen years to prepare for her wedding day. You would think she would be early. Punctuality is vital in any operation.’
‘Perhaps in the army,’ Jacob Huntington said, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. The ducal ring of Westmoor, which had recently fallen to him, glinted in the light shining through the stained-glass windows of the chapel. He seemed to feel the weight of it and lowered his hand to twist it on his finger as if it gave him discomfort to wear it. Then he spoke. ‘You have sisters, do you not? You must have learned by now that women play hob with timetables.’
‘That does not mean I have to like it,’ Fred said gruffly. He did not have to like any of this. Not the wedding, nor the bride, nor the sudden upending of his life. Nor did he appreciate being forced to buy breakfast for people he took pains to avoid at any other time. He glanced at his own family, gathered on the other side of the church like storm clouds on the horizon.
It was a tiring proposition at the best of times to see them all together in the same place. The Challenger family motto was incautus futuri and they seemed to take pleasure in living up to it. Careless of the future and heedless of consequences, his parents and siblings were prone to excesses, affairs, and embarrassments in public, and arguments and grudges in private. Alone and in pairs, they were bad. En masse their bad judgement magnified to astounding proportions.
Perhaps it was good that the Knights had not yet arrived, so he might deal with a few of the problems unwitnessed. His sister-in-law, Caroline, was waving at him, the lace handkerchief in her hand fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird. Without so much as a smile he turned from her, offering the sort of deliberate cut that he had once given to the woman he was about to marry. Perhaps, some day, he could explain to Georgiana the reasons for his behaviour. But it would not be at the front of a church on his wedding day. Fred meant to treat the ceremony with the respect it deserved. If war broke out amongst the Challengers, the first shot would not be fired by the groom.
But it seemed his older brother had no such qualms. Since Fred had refused to come to their pew, Francis had abandoned his wife and was pushing past his friends to speak with him. Fred readied for the handshake he was about to receive and the words of filial advice that were in no way necessary.
Instead, Francis touched his sleeve in an importunate gesture that was all too familiar. ‘Will we be starting soon? There is an auction at Tattersall’s this afternoon and I do not want to miss it.’
‘I cannot marry until the bride arrives,’ Fred replied, unsure of who annoyed him most.
‘Perhaps she has decided to cry off,’ Francis said, ever the optimist. ‘I told you to book St. George’s for the ceremony. Girls want all of London to know that they are marrying. What is the point of bothering if the ceremony is in some out-of-the-way chapel that attracts no notice?’
If, as Fred suspected, Georgiana Knight was like all the other girls in London, she was in for a lifetime of marital disappointment. He had no intention of catering to her every whim. St. George’s was too large, too loud, and too expensive. It was also so popular that even more people would notice the nuptials and remark on the suddenness of them, which was the last thing he wanted.
But according to Francis and his wife, there was no point in doing anything if the world was not gawping in amazement at it. His brother was a true dandy, with a collar so high that he could hardly turn his head and breeches so tight that the world was left wondering how he managed to bend his knees to walk. Caroline dressed in kind. The gown she had chosen today was trimmed in so much lace that it appeared she meant to outshine the bride. When she saw his disapproving glance in her direction, her smile brightened and the waving began again, proving she was as eager for his attention as ever and just as obtuse of his opinion of her.
He made another deliberate turn away and replied to his brother, ‘Georgiana’s parents were married in this church.’ Then he remembered his desire for decorum. Losing his temper with the family only made them worse. He took a breath. ‘Georgiana chose the place herself. She has no reason to spite me over it.’