Chapter Eight
St George’s Church, Hanover Square—June 1815
Every pew was taken. No mean feat in a church as large and grand as this one, yet hardly a surprise when this was the wedding of the Season: the day when the darling of society, the beautiful only daughter of the Earl of Upminster, married her handsome peer.
Even the sun had come out to celebrate and was cheerfully streaming through the imposing stained-glass windows in an exceedingly pleasing fashion and causing a kaleidoscope of colours to decorate the floor. The air hung heavy with the fragrance of lilacs, Lizzie’s favourite flower, and tall vases and boughs festooned the aisle she would soon walk down.
Her wedding dress was embroidered subtly to match and her dainty bonnet decorated with beautiful silk replicas, scaled down to sit in a pleasing fashion. Just as she had always imagined.
In fact, to her complete delight, everything about her wedding to the Marquess of Rainham was exactly as she had imagined it. After all, she had been planning it all since she was ten, right down to the minutest of details because it was the most important day of her life. The beginning of her perfect, happily ever after, exactly six months on from her first meeting with the man she loved with all her heart.
Many in society were surprised by the match, her own dear parents included. Charles did have a reputation as a bit of a rake and had broken more than one heart before he had found his one true love. But as she was prone to point out whenever he was criticised—something which happened with annoying regularity—everybody knew rakes made the very best husbands once they found the right woman, and Lizzie was very definitely the right woman for him.
Dear Charles told her so every single day. From their very first dance he had been the most ardent and attentive suitor, and although Lizzie came with a substantial dowry, he made it quite plain that he did not give two figs for the money. The money meant nothing because he would happily take her with nothing. In rags if need be. Dowries were of no consequence when his heart beat only for her. They were destined to be together for ever. All he cared about was her. Something he proved time and time again with his effusive compliments and daringly longing gazes. It was all so wonderfully romantic. A courtship which had made her the envy of her peers and now she was having the perfect wedding, too. The first bride of June.
‘I shall give him a stern piece of my mind later! Be assured of that!’ For the second time in as many minutes her father snapped his pocket watch open and stared impatiently at the dial. ‘It is the bride’s prerogative to be late, not the groom’s. To leave us here, hiding in the vestry like common criminals, is beyond the pale, Lizzie. I have no idea what the bounder can be thinking to insult us so grievously.’
She smiled reassuringly at him. At the Foreign Office he was used to being in charge and far too much of a stickler for timekeeping than was necessary, and he had been very vocal with his misgivings about her choice of husband. She had spent much of the last two months reassuring him that everything was destined to be wonderful and her Marquess was not at all what everyone believed. ‘Calm down, Papa. Nobody in the congregation is aware that we have arrived, so it hardly matters. There is probably a perfectly good reason Charles has been delayed. He will be here.’ Last night, just before he had crept out of her bedchamber window and scrambled down the wisteria, he had blown her a kiss and told her how he was counting the seconds until they took their vows. What difference did a few minutes of tardiness make in the grand scheme of things? Especially when they were about to embark on a lifetime together.
Instinctively, her hand fluttered towards her belly and she suppressed the grin which threatened to bloom. Her father would hit the roof if he knew what she had kept secret from everyone for the last week.
Later tonight, when they were all alone, she would tell Charles about the baby. Her wedding present to him. Made in love almost two months ago, when she had gladly given him her innocence as there seemed little point in prolonging the agony of withholding it unnecessarily. ‘We are engaged,’ he had said teasingly the first time he had clambered up the wisteria and surprised her in her bedchamber. ‘What difference do a few more weeks make? Besides, when a love is as deep and abiding as ours is, a wedding ceremony is merely a formality. I am already married to you in my heart.’ As was she. Lizzie knew he would be overjoyed by the news. The perfect end to the most perfect year of her life.
* * *
It was the ashen face of her brother Rafe, over half an hour later, which caused the first real doubts to creep in. He came in through a side door, quietly closed it behind him and simply stood, slightly slumped before her.
‘He’s gone, Lizzie.’
The finality in his voice made her fear the worst. Her darling fiancé was dead? Surely not. She could not bear it. ‘What do you mean he’s gone? What has happened?’ He had been in fine fettle a few scant hours ago. Ardent. No sign of illness or fever. Tears were already streaming down her cheeks as the panic made her heart hammer wildly in her chest. ‘Did he have an accident?’ Please God, make him not have suffered.
Her brother shook his head and it was then she saw the fierce anger in his eyes.
Anger and pity. For her.
‘No, poppet. Nothing so noble, I’m afraid. I don’t quite know how to tell you this, so I shall just say it straight out. The scoundrel is marrying someone else.’
Lizzie’s knees gave way and her father supported her as she stumbled backwards on to a chair. ‘You are mistaken.’ The walls started to spin as nausea threatened. ‘Charles would not do that to me. He loves me.’
‘He