Page 26 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 25

E velyn eyed Lord Cumberland from behind her black veil, which had been the only color available to her from the local haberdashery. Thankfully, the church was crowded enough that Cumberland didn’t readily notice her from his seat on the first row. In truth, no one paid much heed because she looked like a grieving widow, except for the modest gray-blue walking dress she wore. If one didn’t look too hard, it might appear a forgivable dove gray.

And then the words she’d heard recited a hundred times, and words she’d ignored almost as many, echoed loudly from the rafters. Or so it seemed. For a moment, guilt flooded her, and she felt sorry for Lord Cumberland. After all, it wasn’t his fault, but neither was it hers.

“And for the banns,” the minister announced. “I publish the banns of Miss Mary Sutton to Mr. Harold Mercer…”

From the modestly full pews came oohs and aahs for the lovely couple who sat conspicuously on the first row, seated across the aisle from one another and sneaking peeks around their proud parents. Cumberland beamed, seated next to the excited young fop like it was some kind of grooms’ club, and she ought to be sitting on the front pew with the bride.

Instead, she sat near the back of the church on an empty pew, waiting for Hades to show up and drag her away for what she was about to do. She kept a nervous vigilance, watching for Rochester because she knew he had the same plan. But after returning to Rosewood Manor and the encouragement that came readily from her godfather, Evelyn had struck out this morning for the family parish after leaving word that she’d gone shopping in the village. She had little doubt her father would eventually be informed of her behavior, but for now, the ruse would throw him off track and keep him from turning up at church.

“I publish the banns of Miss Evelyn Markham and Victor Beasley, Baron Cumberland,” the minister announced. “If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two should not be joined together, ye are to declare it. This is the third and final reading.”

Now was her time. Evelyn braced herself to stand, her knees a little like jelly, but before she could utter a word, the back door swung open with a hardy whoosh, banging the wall like a gong and signaling the entire church to turn their heads.

Rochester rushed in without so much as a look around and shouted, “I appeal the banns.”

“Son, I do believe we’ve had this discussion already,” the very patient minister pronounced.

Just then, as if things could not get worse, Lord Cumberland stood and pivoted around, an angry slant to his mouth. No confused babble now, he blustered quite coherently, “You, sir, are ill-advised and do not speak for this union.”

Rochester looked wildly about, his gaze passing over Evelyn’s covered head and then suddenly crashing back to her, his hazel eyes piercing her soul. She saw anger and perhaps relief, too. Just now, she concentrated on his fiercely flaring nostrils and his stony glare. However, it didn’t stop her from appreciating his granite features and breathlessly swooning good looks. Lord, how she missed him. She wanted to smile but dared not.

“This woman”—Rochester suddenly pointed to her—“can speak for herself.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide, and her breath caught. She cautiously lifted the black veil from her eyes and heard the baron gasp. “Excuse me, Lord Cumberland,” she said. “Mr. Rochester, here, is correct. I stand here today to appeal the banns and the promise of marriage. And to offer my apologies because I hadn’t intended it to be so public.”

“The contracts are signed,” Cumberland blustered more to Rochester than Evelyn while the congregation watched, their gazes ping-ponging about the room like a poorly shot cue ball banking wildly off the bumpers.

It didn’t matter who won this round because Evelyn intended to win the match. She continued, “But I did not sign them, Lord Cumberland.”

“But I’ve seen the contract,” the minister added, unnecessarily.

She turned to Dalton. “What are the grounds for your appeal, Mr. Rochester?”

His gaze softened as it rested on her. “On the grounds that I am in love with you, Miss Markham.”

“So, there you have it.” She tugged at her gloves, then folded her hands, confident Rochester’s admission would be enough. It admittedly did her heart good.

But then the minister added, “And, once again, I say, we have spoken of this, young man. Love is certainly desirable, but not every marriage begins this way, and so it cannot be appealed for lack of it either.” The man made it sound simple, and stifling, and static.

“I—there is—there are,” Cumberland stammered.

“I see,” Evelyn said. “Then it’s my dowry you love and not me?”

“Now see here, Miss Markham.” Cumberland’s entire body went rigidly indignant. “I am not in need of your dowry.”

“Then what exactly do you require of me that another cannot provide? If you have no love for me, then what do you have to offer?”

“My good name.” Cumberland held his arms straight at his sides, and his chin came up two inches.

Evelyn shot Rochester a quick look. His sneering gaze shredded the other man.

She turned back to Cumberland, squaring her shoulders and close to revealing the whole truth. “And what do I have to offer you, if not my dowry, my lord?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Rochester roll his head to glare at her in disbelief. Half a pew stood between them.

Cumberland shouted, “You offer your good name as well.”

She gave Rochester a side-glance. He tilted his head, pulling his mouth into a grim line, and fixed her with a meaningful glower that screamed no!

She kept her eyes on Rochester but pointed her comment to Cumberland. “What if my name is not all that good?”

She heard the growling sigh at the exact moment Rochester bounded toward her and simultaneously grabbed her elbow with one hand and, with the other, flipped the black veil to cover her face.

“Excuse us,” Rochester called to the minister.

As he quickly dragged her from the church, she saw Cumberland’s face redden, but she hadn’t enough time to decipher if he was merely embarrassed at her outburst or enraged.

Probably both.

“What’s the matter with you?” Rochester heaved under his breath as they cleared the back door.

“Dalton,” she pleaded, removing the veil as he dragged her along.

“Do not call me that here,” he hissed, hurrying her down the steps and into the churchyard.

Her chest hurt while her heart made a plummeting frown. A stupid thing to be crushed by a name, she thought while trying to collect herself, but she couldn’t stop the anger rising through the haze of confusion she’d just created. “I apologize, Mr. Rochester,” she spat back, feeling attacked and marooned.

“Exactly!” shouted Cumberland from the small landing just outside the church doors.

She and Rochester turned at once.

Cumberland marched down the steps toward them. “You are Mr. Rochester. I am Lord Cumberland. And Miss Markham is promised to me, so get your hands off her this instant.”

For a man who had barely spoken a complete sentence to her, he fought like a man possessed. What on earth did he want from her? He barely knew her. She turned to see the muscle in Rochester’s cheek popping intensely.

“You”—Rochester pointed to Cumberland—“have no right to this woman without her consent.”

“I am not the one standing here without a contract fighting a losing battle,” Cumberland had the audacity to say.

The challenge was enough for a duel, and as if thinking it could bring it about, Rochester ground out, “How do you like pistols, Lord Cumberland?”

“As much as the next wise man. Only fools would suggest death.”

“I suggest I’d rather die than live without her. What have you to say?” Rochester’s response had come immediately, without thought, without a pause, and Evelyn wanted to cry because the last person who offered their life for hers was her mother. That’s how deeply he loved her.

“Wise indeed,” she said. “He speaks of passion and love. And you, Lord Cumberland, speak of contracts and arrangements. I am not chattel. Not for either one of you.” She looked between Rochester and Cumberland both. “Nor do I require your life,” she said to Rochester.

“But she has it nonetheless,” Rochester blasted the comment to Cumberland.

Cumberland then looked with accusation at Evelyn. “Miss Markham, what exactly did you mean by ‘not good’?”

She felt her face grow hot. The moment of reckoning was upon her.

Before she could answer, Rochester said, “She means that she’s impetuous and headstrong. Is that what you want? Or do you imply something else, Lord Cumberland, because I’d still be happy to oblige you at dawn?”

Cumberland visibly pulled back. “I—it—I addressed her,” he bumbled through another sentence.

Evelyn took a deep breath. “Lord Cumberland?—”

“This is a churchyard,” Mr. Hartley called out, strolling toward them, carrying a hoe from the north corner of the building. “This is not a court. There shall be no judgment here, Lord Cumberland. And this fine lady needn’t answer another question nor endure her questions being answered by another.” Her godfather pointed the last of the comment toward Rochester. “If she’s headstrong, then she is strong enough to choose her own words.”

Evelyn stood a little taller, and Rochester humbly bowed to her. “My apologies, Miss Markham. Evelyn.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Then, to everyone, she said, “Although it may charge a girl’s esteem to have two men fighting for her, it leaves one in a terrible spot. Believe me, Lord Cumberland, I am not only appreciative for the opportunity, but I am also sorry that I cannot oblige your proposal.”

“Which I doubt he ever asked,” Rochester was foolhardy enough to add. She gave him a stern look but wanted to hug him all the same.

“You are correct,” Cumberland conceded, then bowed to Evelyn. “I had assumed you were happy with the arrangement since your name was signed to the betrothal. My mistake, apparently.”

Evelyn stood there stunned. If the contract bore her signature, then her father was to blame for the obvious forgery.

Her godfather put a hand on her wrist. “Let’s not make assumptions on that account. Let’s move forward.” He turned his attention to Lord Cumberland. “Is there anything else you’d like to declare?”

“No. Of course not. I humbly withdraw for the sake of Miss Markham. It would seem we have both been the victim of a puppeteer.”

She swallowed hard. “You are too kind, Lord Cumberland.” She couldn’t blame the man for something her father had manipulated.

“I shall contact your father about dissolving the contract, and we shall keep our peace, Miss Markham.”

She knew what that meant. There was bound to be some public embarrassment, and the baron was asking her not to add insult to injury by defaming his name, although she had more to lose on that account than he did.

“My wish is the same,” she said to Cumberland. “As for me, I will spend the rest of this Season with my brother and sister-in-law awaiting their new arrival. No one will question that.”

Then Cumberland did something unusual. He held out his hand in agreement, and Evelyn placed her hand in his and shook. This was a day for women everywhere when a man such as the baron would make himself respectfully equal to a woman.

She waited for Cumberland to leave before she turned around. Behind her, she heard Rochester breathing furiously during the entire unconventional exchange.

“I have work to finish. I trust you two will find yourselves home safely?” Mr. Hartley dismissed himself.

“Are you angry with me?” Evelyn asked Rochester.

“No. Why would you think so?”

“Because you’re breathing like a bull.” She tilted her head.

“I don’t want to lose you, Evelyn.” His words were filled with pain.

“May I call you Dalton again?” she asked shyly, sending out her words like a gentle hug.

He sighed. His eyes closed with remorse, and he pulled at his nose as if to feel for the bull’s ring. “You know what I’d like to do?”

“Kiss me into submission?”

He chuckled, looking at her through his lashes. “Only if there’s a bed nearby.”

“There’s a coach.” She lifted a brow, sliding her hand down his forearm to his hand. He braided her fingers with his.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

She nodded, a smile playing on her lips.

“I’m sorry, Goose. I truly am.” He smoothed a stray hair from her face. “Don’t ever stop calling me Dalton.”

“Only if you never stop calling me goose .”

He looked side to side, then hurried her behind a hedgerow tall enough to hide them from view and kissed her.