“James, with his lordship’s assistance, a special license can be procured,” Badger said.
“I’ve already spoken to the Duchess about your wedding dress, Jessie,” Maggie said.
Sampson poked his head into the kitchen. “I’ve alerted his lordship and the Duchess that you’re both here.”
The earl peered over Sampson’s shoulder. “Well? Are we to fetch Mr. Bagley?”
“Yes,” James said.
“Yes,” Jessie said.
“Perhaps,” Marcus said to James, “you’d care to tell me how you won the day? Did you do something romantic and dashing? Did you perhaps pin her in the wet grass and teach her how to breathe? Or did you protect her from the rain and caress her until she was panting for you?”
“My dear husband,” the Duchess said, slipping around him and Sampson, “I believe Jessie is a bit flushed—no wonder, since you never seem to curb your thoughts before they become words.”
“She loves it,” the earl said. “Just look at her. Her eyes are nearly crossed. She’s staring at James. We’d best get them married as quickly as possible before she flings him to the kitchen floor and has her way with him.”
“A special license,” James said. “Just tell me what to do, Marcus, and I’ll see to it.”
Spears said, “While you and Jessie are changing into dry dressing gowns we will discuss what is to be done. Then we will tell you.”
James threw a towel at Spears, who looked eloquently pained.
The earl laughed. “I’m hungry, Badger. Do you have any of those currant dumplings left over from luncheon?”
17
A thoroughbred and a husband: both must have uncommon endurance, boundless nerve and heart.
—COMMON WISDOM
“I WILL,” JAMES said, and looked expectantly down at Jessie, who was remarkably pale even with the rich emerald green wedding gown that made her shoulders look more creamy than he would have believed possible. Emerald green. An excellent color on her. It made her hair seem even brighter. He realized that during the past five days things like this had been sticking in his mind.
He’d bought her a pair of white slippers to replace the ones ruined during her escapes from him in the rain. He remembered her reaction when he’d handed her the new slippers wrapped in silver paper. She’d looked down at the lovely white shoes and become completely still. “They’ll fit you, Jessie,” the Duchess had said. “Maggie and I traced out your own shoes for Mr. Dobbs, the cobbler.” Still, Jessie had just looked down at those white slippers. Then she’d looked up at him, and he would have sworn that she was afraid of something, which was surely unlike Jessie. Afraid of what? “Thank you, James,” she’d said, then she’d turned around and walked off.
The Duchess said with a sigh, “She’s off to see Charles again. He doesn’t make her feel frightened or unsure, you know,” to which James had said nothing himself, turned around, and walked off himself.
He looked down at her now while the Bishop of York, that exalted personage who’d agreed to conduct the ceremony as a favor to the powerful Earl of Chase, exhorted her to obey her husband. James would have preferred Mr. Bagley, but Marcus had decided they needed to have the ceremony presided over by one of the highest in the land. Two whimsical streamers curled lazily down over Jessie’s ears. White, delicate ears. He’d never imagined that Jessie Warfield could have white, delicate ears.
So much had changed since that day and yet so little. She’d become a Jessie even the new Jessie didn’t resemble. She was restrained, that was it; she didn’t say a word unless directly spoken to, and surely that wasn’t either the old or the new Jessie. Perhaps she was trying to be like the Duchess. She wasn’t succeeding, if that was her aim. She avoided James after he gave her the new slippers, spending most of her time with Charles and Anthony. James wasn’t troubled. So busy was he with his horses at Candlethorpe, he was frankly relieved Jessie didn’t look hurt or reproachful when he finally did come to Chase Park on those days when the Duchess sent him invitations to dine. He couldn’t imagine himself playing the smitten suitor, not with a girl he’d wanted to beat into the ground in every race where they’d been competitors. He figured Jessie couldn’t imagine him that way either. She couldn’t possibly expect him to ride all the way to Chase Park every day to coo poetry in her ear. James had played the romantic only once before—in wooing Alicia—and he had no intention of playing the role again. He’d been another man back then, so head over heels in love that he’d scarcely been able to construct a coherent sen
tence in her presence. And he’d wanted her. He’d hurt with want. It was all he could think about when he was near her. It was all he could think about when he wasn’t near her. He’d embarrassed himself many times, become as hard as a stone by merely touching her hand. All he could think about was having her naked beneath him, moaning for him because, surely, she’d want him as much as he wanted her.
James forced himself to listen a moment to the bishop’s mellifluous voice, soaring richly now, as he praised this union, brought about by his illustrious lordship, the Earl of Chase. James wondered if Jessie realized the bishop was saying in so many words that they were a couple of savages, kindly brought to order by a peer of the realm. Marcus must be spitting at such nonsense, that or waiting until it was all over so he could laugh his head off. James stopped listening before he punched the bishop in his long, thin nose. He hoped the Duchess had a good hold on Marcus; he was probably quite tempted himself.
Actually, now that he thought about it, neither could he imagine Jessie playing the wistful maiden, sitting beneath the Duchess’s rose arbor waiting for him to come recite some nauseating poetry to her, any more than he could imagine himself reciting it. He was startled when suddenly Jessie said, “I will,” in a voice as thin as the lovely stockings he’d glimpsed when she raised her skirt to allow him to tie the ribbon more securely around her left ankle.
He’d never before in his life considered what seeing a lady’s stockings could do to a man. He’d become instantly harder than the heels on his boots.
The Bishop of York blessed the young couple, then said to the Earl of Chase, not to the groom, “It is done, my lord. They may wish to embrace as many young married persons do upon completion of the ceremony. God believes a modest tendering of affection following dedication to Him bodes well for a union and enhances the pleasure of those witnessing the event.”
James gently placed his index finger beneath Jessie’s chin and pushed up. He leaned down and lightly touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were as cold as the carrot soup Badger had forgotten to heat for dinner the previous night. No one had remarked upon the cold soup. Badger had insisted upon preparing all the wedding dishes and had thus been distracted for the past four days.
“It’s going to be all right, Jessie,” he said, and lightly touched his mouth to hers again. “Trust me. It will be all right. Come, kiss me. Let’s enhance everyone’s pleasure.”
She said nothing, merely stared up at him, wondering how this could have come to pass. She was married to James, something she’d dreamed of since she’d met him six years before when she’d seen him at the Weymouth racecourse striding confidently beside a quarter horse, speaking to Oslow, speaking to the horse, telling both of them that no one could possibly beat them. She remembered he’d beaten her in the second race, just as he’d said he would to his horse and to Oslow.
The sky had been clear that day, but she’d been struck by lightning. One big strike and it was all over for her. She fancied that lightning strike would stay with her for as long as she lived.