Page 41 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

I n the early evening Graham was called away to meet with Mr. Chase, who had been ensconced in the drawing room by the butler. He held out a small piece of folded parchment to Graham when he entered.

“What is it? Graham asked warily before taking it, as if the paper might strike him. It didn’t sit well that Amelia had signed an ambiguous contract in her brother’s place. He should have read it himself before any deal was struck.

“A wedding gift.”

Graham frowned.

“I suggest you hurry and use it. Even now, the aunt, Mrs. Clark, and her annoying son are planning Lord Alston’s funeral. Neither have any understanding of the word discreet . They’re telling everyone within hearing distance that Lord Alston is on his deathbed, and that Lady Amelia and you have been living together unmarried.”

Graham almost crumpled the paper. “How do you know this?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. Even the shadows report to me.” He flashed a smile.

Graham took the parchment and unfolded it.

I am loath to lose yet another stud from my stable, but I never could resist a love match. I will one day collect on this debt with interest.

BDL

Along with her brief note was another piece of parchment, and Graham couldn’t believe what he saw. How was this possible? The very idea that the power the Widow held not only in her club but in all of London could reach all the way to the Archbishop of Canterbury? Diabolical. The woman should be in politics, but instead she ran a gaming hell and enjoyed crass betting games. He shook his head, blinking at Mr. Chase as if he were about to disappear in a puff of smoke. Shadows, indeed.

But the evidence was right here in his hand. A special marriage license. He and Amelia could marry immediately. All they needed was a priest.

“Shall I procure a priest?” Mr. Chase asked, as if reading his thoughts.

Graham scoffed. “What will that cost me? It seems I now owe a heavy debt already.”

Mr. Chase smirked. “A good bottle of whisky will be my fee. I’d also require being present for the wedding and for much of Lord Alston’s recovery. In fact, my employer insists I be given leave to come and go as I please, ensuring all parties hold to the bargain.”

Graham only stared at him. “You think he’ll live?”

Mr. Chase shrugged. “I’m not a betting man, but fortune does favor the bold, and the Clark family is certainly full of boldness.”

Graham’s chest tightened. He couldn’t draw breath, and yet something warm and glowing floated in his chest. He could marry Amelia right now. She would be safe from her aunt and cousin’s machinations and protected from the apparently rapidly unfolding scandal.

“Fetch the priest.” Mr. Chase tipped his hat and hurried off.

Graham’s heart pounded. He was going to marry Amelia. Tonight.

Well, hopefully. After all that had passed between them this afternoon, he was now sure of her affections, but he wasn’t certain she’d want a rushed wedding at her brother’s deathbed. But Graham could not see it happening any other way. Alston had to be there.

He took the stairs back to Alston’s room, his feet heavy but his heart light.

Amelia looked up from her vigil over her brother. “Is everything all right?”

Graham went to her and cupped her cheek, tilting her face up enough so that he could bend and kiss her.

“We can marry tonight.”

She blinked and leaned back. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon purchased a special license for us. Mr. Chase just delivered it. I know it’s soon and far from the romantic wedding many women dream of, but I fear we don’t have the time. I want your brother to be with us, and I know you do, too.”

Her bottom lip trembled as she nodded in agreement. “I do.”

“You can still refuse. We can wait. But Mr. Chase also informed me that your aunt and cousin are at present spreading word of Alston’s inevitable death and our shared accommodations. I think Nelson intends to ruin you out of spite.”

Her face hardened. “Very well.”

He squatted beside the chair. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I’ll think of something. We’ll barricade the doors and windows to keep the gossip mongers at bay and take an extended break from society.”

She snorted and wiped at her eyes. “That will only support everything they’ve said.”

“She can’t make such a claim—not really. And Dr. Bradley can also attest to the truth of the situation. She’s desperate, but not that powerful.”

“Neither am I,” Amelia said. “Not without Sam.”

“But with me you will be. Lady Amelia Blakewood—whether you choose to accept me today or not.”

She grinned, her eyes lighting with so much joy his heart leapt. “Hurry up and marry me.”

He smiled back and leaned in for another kiss. “I’ll ask Mrs. Keen to prepare for an impromptu wedding here in Alston’s room.”

Moments later, Amelia went to her room to change. Then Graham did the same. The gravity of his actions weighed on him, though there wasn’t a force in this world that could stop him. He wished his parents and sister were here. They would not be pleased to learn he’d married so swiftly. A scandal was sure to ensue—there would be no doubt about it once the news spread of Alston’s accident, their deceit about it, and their hurried nuptials. But all that paled in comparison to the momentous weight of Alston’s looming death. They would exchange vows at the foot of his bed. Maybe he would hear them. Maybe he couldn’t hear anything at all. But all the same, they would not do this without him.

Alston had talked of one day giving Amelia away to some faceless man. Someone not good enough for her—because no man was—but a decent enough fellow who she’d fallen in love with. That was all that mattered, he’d said. He wanted her to have a love match. That’s why he’d never pressured her to marry after her debut. He wanted only the best for her.

Graham would either be that man or die trying. This is what he would promise his friend—vow, even, just as he would make vows to Amelia.

He finished dressing and stared at himself for a long moment in the looking glass. He was dressed in his finest clothes—his wedding clothes, now—a gray, double-breasted coat, a blue waistcoat, and dark-blue trousers.

He returned to Alston’s room, but Amelia had not yet returned. Petrov had taken his place at Alston’s side, ready to assist his master at a moment’s notice. Graham wondered what Amelia would wear to marry him. A dress he’d seen before? It didn’t matter if she wore a flour sack. She’d stun him to pieces.

The room had been carefully and quietly transformed by the staff. Dozens of candles had been lit. Fresh flowers bloomed in crystal vases, and garlands of ivy and roses in white, pink, and yellow hung from Alston’s bedposts. White cloth covered the floor before the bed, sprinkled with pink rose petals. Charming is how he would describe it. His throat tightened. It wasn’t much at all—hardly elegant. But it was made with love, and that made it more worthy than any expensive wedding.

“We wanted to arrange flowers around his lordship, but it appeared too much like a wake,” Petrov said.

Graham smiled. He’d combed Alston’s hair and tucked a loosely tied cravat around his neck. Pressure built behind Graham’s eyes. There was a single pink rose tucked in his hand and his favorite pin, the gold phoenix, Amelia had gifted him last Michaelmas, was pinned to his cravat.

Alston would hate this. He’d hate that he was so helpless in bed, unable to see them or touch them. But there was nothing left to do now. There might not be another chance. In time—if he lived—he would understand. Maybe one day he’d be well and happy enough to forgive Graham for rushing this.

“We’re ready,” Mrs. Keen said from the door.

Graham took stock of the room once more. The few household servants who remained in residence—four footmen, four maids, and two cooks—hovered outside the room. Mrs. Keen and the butler, Mr. Keen, waited beside Petrov. Mr. Chase stood back in the shadows, his hat held in front of him, observing everyone quietly. The priest stood next to him, a bit wide eyed and pale. Graham wondered what Mr. Chase had done to get the man here. Dr. Sloan was not present. Graham nodded to Mrs. Keen to begin.

Mrs. Keen wiped her eyes as she stepped aside. Amelia appeared in the doorway and his breath caught. Her dress shimmered with stars caught in a sea of silvery-blue fabric.

Her come-out gown, the same gown that had enthralled him four years ago.

In her hands, Amelia held a spray of pink roses and white tulips. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and her smile was brighter than the sun. It filled him with a light so bright that he felt he might burst. His heart pounded as she stopped before him and bit her bottom lip. The urge to kiss that plump pink skin overwhelmed him, but he held back. Soon, she’d be his. Soon, nothing and no one could ever part them. Not even the specter of Death that was present in the cold, dark corners of the room. For now, it was subdued, driven back by golden candlelight and love. There was so much love in this room, Graham could feel it pressing against his skin.

The priest stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“We are gathered here this eve to witness the holy union of these two souls, Lady Amelia Clark and Mr. Graham Blakewood. I’ve been made to understand that while this union is blessed by love, the circumstances under which it must take place are steeped in sorrow, and for that, my lady, Mr. Blakewood, you have my condolences.”

Amelia, looking at the priest, reached for Graham, and he took her hands in his and gave them a comforting squeeze. Tears brimmed on her lashes, but something in her face—anguish, yes, but also tenacity and force of will—let him know she had strength enough for this.

“I cannot rightly say whether your brother, your twin, is truly present with us now in any scientific sense, but if you believe in the power of the soul, of the unshakable bonds built by familial love, then you can believe that he is here with you now. Watching over you as I know he’s done since your first breath.”

Amelia nodded as a sob slipped out.

“Do not cry, my lady. Your brother is with you, and he always will be.” He turned his attention to the Bible in his hand and opened it, beginning his sermon.

Graham heard none of it. The only sounds in the room were his own heartbeat and Amelia’s breathing. But he seemed to answer every question correctly, even when he grew impatient. They should have made it clearer how time was of the essence. Or was it that he just wanted Amelia to be his already? He might not be able to take a full breath until she was.

“Do you have the ring?”

Graham froze. A ring. A bloody ring. He hadn’t even thought—

“It is here.” Fran approached and held out a small box. “It was her mother’s. She was always meant to wear her mother’s ring.”

Graham nodded gratefully and took the box. His throat burned with so much feeling, he couldn’t speak. He opened the box and took out the simple silver band with an emerald-cut diamond bracketed by a trio of smaller diamonds on each side.

Graham took her hand and looked into her eyes as he slid it over the tip of her ungloved finger. They kneeled.

“With this ring . . .”

Graham repeated the vows, his heart lifting with each word as if it would leave his body and transfer itself into her keeping.

“You may stand. A prayer—”

But Amelia could apparently take no more delays and gave the priest a frustrated look. “There has been enough prayer in this room this past week to marry all of England. Please just move to the end. As I’ve been told repeatedly, every second of my brother’s life is a gift, and I don’t want to spend any more of it in ceremony.”

To Graham’s shock, the priest took no offense and nodded in agreement.

“I understand. Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. As Mr. Graham Blakewood and Lady Amelia Clark have consented together in holy wedlock and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth to each other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands. I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

Amelia gave Graham a brilliant smile and Graham was too speechless to move. It was done. They were married. If he were a man of weaker constitution he might have fainted. His head went light, and the space around his vision twinkled with silver specs as she stepped closer to him. Mrs. Keen stepped forward with the register, and they signed their names, as did their witnesses. The priest stepped back and the household gave their well wishes.

Graham still couldn’t believe it was done. Amelia was his wife. Mrs. Keen had biscuits and sherry for everyone. There was even a cake, plain and white but decorated with flowers. Everyone had put so much care into this ramshackle wedding, and he’d never been more honored to know them. He would have to thank them somehow for their care and loyalty to Amelia and Alston.

“Before I go,” the priest pulled Graham aside, “would you like me to give last rites to Lord Alston?”

All the light that had filled his heart stuttered. “I... Amelia,” he called her over. She was smiling brighter than she had in days; her cheeks flushed as she laughed with her maid, Fran, and another housemaid.

Graham hated to darken the moment, but he would not take this decision from her.

“Do you want your brother to have his last rites read, just in case?” he added.

The joy blinked out of her. Her mouth popped open, and then she frowned. “Oh...” She glanced back toward Alston, on the bed, as still as a statue except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

“I suppose it would be best. Just in case.” She turned back to Graham and took his hand. “He’ll be amused once he wakes.”

Graham tried to smile at that thought. The cheer faded slowly as the maids began clearing the room of food and most of the decorations, but Amelia requested the vases of flowers remain. They stood by Alston’s bedside as the priest gave him his last rights. After that, he left with Mr. Chase and they were alone.

Amelia leaned against his arm once more. He could feel the weight of her weariness. It slowly drained his energy as well.

“Why don’t you go change into something more comfortable?” he suggested. He plucked at the diamond-studded fabric. “While stunning, this can’t be the most comfortable.”

“It is and it isn’t.”

“Go. I’ll stay with him.”

As Petrov returned with a fresh ewer of water, Amelia glanced toward the door. “Petrov, please take care of my brother for a while.”

“Of course, my lady. You need not spend your wedding night tending a”— deathbed hung in the air, unsaid—“sickbed. Allow me.”

“Come. Walk with me, husband.”

His body lit with heat at the word. He glanced down at her, but she was looking away, tugging him toward the door.