Chapter Four

H attie's heartbeat raced through her veins. Though her family was in attendance, they didn't give her much comfort, for by and large, they all considered this marriage the best thing that could have happened to her. But then, she supposed that they were all quite relieved not to be responsible for her scandalous reputation or anything else she might do in the future.

"You should talk to your husband-to-be, dear, especially since the vicar is here," her mother whispered with a nod to the clergyman.

Soon-to-be husband, remover of freedom, jailer… did it matter what he was called?

"Ah, because you cannot wait to be rid of me?" she asked in a whisper. It didn't really matter, for she'd donned breeches beneath her skirting. She had no intentions of lingering after the wretched nuptial ceremony, and as soon as she could secure a horse from the mews, she would be off.

Her mother sighed. "I am hoping and praying this marriage will be everything you need."

"At least the captain is a good sight better than Mr. Toppin. He might be Viscount Chesterton's son, but he's a degenerate and the sooner you're wed, the sooner we will all be rid of him."

On that, she would agree. Samuel had forfeited his future with his scandalous actions, but he had been a lovely distraction and a decent kisser.

Finally, her tall, thin father offered his arm. "Enough of the balking. I shall introduce you."

There was nothing for her to do except put her gloved fingers on his arm and let him lead her to the top of the room. "I'm surprised you agreed to this match, Papa, for the man isn't titled."

"He is a captain and is quite capable of managing his life and finances. No doubt he will keep you in comfort." Though worry shadowed his eyes as he glanced at her. "If you could see it within you not to antagonize him or destroy the thing before it takes root, I'd be appreciative. The family doesn't need more gossip around it."

I guess he wouldn't want me to run away from my new husband directly after the ceremony, but he's not the one being forced into this.

There was no more opportunity for talking, for she and her father paused before the captain. Immediately, his presence was commanding and all-encompassing, as if the room was too small to contain him. When he trained his one blue eye upon her and she was caught in that intense sapphire gaze, a tingle of something twisted down her spine.

"Thank you for coming today, Your Lordship, and for lending your home for the ceremony and wedding breakfast." The timbre of the captain's voice was soothing and resonated within her chest, but there was something slightly familiar about it, something that immediately made her pulse beat faster.

Her father cleared his throat. "Happy to be of use, Captain." Then he offered her hand to the captain. "This is my daughter, Lady Harriett—"

"—Hattie," she hissed in a horrid Drury Lane whisper.

They both ignored her, which was just as well, so she could look her fill of the man she would soon wed.

To start with the aesthetic, the captain was magnificent in his dark formal clothing—tailcoat included. The waistcoat of bright blue satin embroidered with silver swirls drew her attention to his flat abdomen, but it was his wide chest and broad shoulders that captured her wandering attention. As men went, he was quite an excellent representation. Black hair prone to curling waved over his head, parted to the left, and when her gaze traveled over the eye patch of black leather covering that eye, another shiver careened down her spine.

"I wish you good fortune with her," he continued, and was that a note of amusement in her father's voice? "She is rather headstrong."

"I'm quite certain I can take her on." His eyebrow lifted and he leaned down to put his lips to the shell of her ear as her father returned to his seat. "Did I pass muster, or do you take exception to the missing eye? Some women do."

"Not at all." She narrowed her eyes as her full attention landed back on the conversation. Well, a pox on both of them! Quickly, she snatched her hand from the captain as her fingers slipped over his gloved palm and his began to close around them. "Good morning, Captain."

"My lady." He gave her a shallow nod. "Shall we begin? Mr. Tate looks to be quite anxious to get underway."

Knots of anxiety returned to her belly, quickly multiplying when Mrs. Dove-Lyon entered the room and took a seat at the farthest end of the space. Again, she wore veils on her bonnet, and it was all Hattie could do not to blurt out the question of why. "If we must." Knowing that if she didn't go through with the ceremony, her father would be liable for a veritable prince's ransom to the gaming hell owner, she nodded as the clergyman turned to her. "Whenever you are ready, Mr. Tate."

"Ah, it's lovely when a couple is excited to be wed," the clergyman said, clearly oblivious to the tension brewing between her and the captain.

While the vicar led them to the top of the room near the fireplace where a cheerful fire danced merrily behind an ornate grate, Hattie tried to remain outwardly calm. In mere moments, she would be the captain's wife, a married woman, and truth to tell, the thought of having her future settled and being "saved" from a life of spinsterhood still left her at sixes and sevens.

Once situated, the captain touched her shoulder. "For what it's worth, you are lovely this morning." The truth of that statement lay reflected in his eyes, and oddly, there was a bit of a connection that registered between them. Why did he seem so confident? It gave her a faint sense of calm curiosity.

"Oh… Thank you. My mother chose the gown, said my taste in clothing didn't flatter my figure." Do shut up, Hattie! He doesn't care about that, and it makes you sound like a ninny besides!

"Since this is my first time meeting you, I can't speak to that, but I look forward to seeing for myself." Again, the rumble of his voice tickled through her chest.

She tamped down the urge to sigh, but didn't answer. This was an impossible situation, and she needed to remind herself not to let any of it suck her under in compliance.

Mr. Tate cleared his throat. "Are all the expected guests present?"

"I believe so." The captain's voice sent gooseflesh sailing over her skin. Why did it seem so familiar? "Please proceed." When he gestured with a hand, the scent of his shaving soap wafted to her nose.

Of course he would smell lovely and masculine. Notes of cedarwood, orange, and a hint of leather teased her nostrils, beckoning her closer, but she stood her ground. That was one of her favorite things about men—how they smelled, and how lovely it was to chase down those scents when each piece of clothing came off.

Not that she had any such designs on this man.

On principle. One couldn't be opposed to the marriage but still want the man.

Could one?

"Very well." The clergyman opened his well-worn copy of the Book of Common Prayer to the requisite page. No doubt he knew the words by heart, much as she did with her favorite stories, long left in her past, for the belief in those happy endings had cracked. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this gathering, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…"

Beset with nerves, worry, and rebellion, Hattie's mind drifted, for the vicar's voice wasn't nearly as pleasant as the captain's. In perhaps ten minutes, she would cease to be herself and would then carry the description of Captain Huxley's wife. He would remove her from the only life she'd ever known, and suddenly everything would be different.

Even worse was the fact she didn't know him. The man standing beside her was a stranger, and she didn't like that. At least the other men she'd dallied with she had come to know—some better than others—and none of them had offered marriage. Of course, she hadn't wished for them to; she enjoyed the scandal, the pursuit, the fun more.

Yet the man standing beside her would marry her sight unseen. When she glanced up at him, because she stood on his left side, she couldn't see his gaze, thus his thoughts and feelings were blocked from her. She bit her bottom lip, for the whole situation was frustrating. Just because she knew her own mind, wanted to shape her own future, she was considered a risk—so they would pack her off to the first man who'd pay for the honor?

That was, she assumed he'd had to pay Mrs. Dove-Lyon, because didn't everyone?

Beyond that, what would happen between them in the meantime? Did he wish for a real marriage in every sense of the word? If so, how could she agree when she didn't know anything about him other than his name, or that he'd only become aware of her due to her mother imploring the owner of a gaming hell to match her with a lion?

She gasped, barely masked the intake of breath. Was that the reason she'd been dreaming of lions for the past few weeks? Because she was about to marry one, more or less? Panic rose in a hot tide through her chest, and her heartbeat pounded all the more.

This is a terrible mistake!

"Lady Harriett." The captain softly cleared his throat. He touched a hand to hers, and that tiny connection scattered her thoughts if not compounded her worries. "It would behoove you to pay attention, since the next words we say to each other will bind our lives forever." A hint of annoyance ran through his whisper.

Heat slapped her cheeks. "Do not think to order me about," she said back in a barely audible whisper of her own as she turned to face him before the vicar.

Only someone must have heard it, for a soft, masculine chuckle emanated from one of the witnesses.

The clergyman centered his gaze on the captain, apparently unbothered by the slight interruption. "Captain Huxley, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

There was no denying the words were the height of romance and almost like poetry if one let their imagination run away with them, but hadn't she learned that there was no such thing as romance any longer? No such thing as love? Still, Hattie trembled with anticipation and nerves as she peered at him. Would he go through with the ceremony? What was his penalty to Mrs. Dove-Lyon if he didn't?

After a few seconds' hesitation, in a clear voice, he answered, "I will."

A shiver of relief mixed with trepidation twisted down her spine, but there was no time to wonder further, for the clergyman addressed her.

"Lady Harriett, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Oh, dear, that is a difficult prospect. "I am not so brilliant at the obeying part," she couldn't help but whisper, as she locked gazes with the captain. When his sensual lips formed a thin line of annoyance, she let her gaze skitter across the room to where Mrs. Dove-Lyon sat, and her stomach bottomed out. She couldn't let her father be punished. So, she sighed. "Yes, I will." Her answer came out in a breathless whisper, for tears crowded in her throat. Life was rapidly changing, and oh how she hoped it would change for the better. And she also hoped the captain wasn't an abuser of women, didn't take delight in too many vices or any other of the many horror stories she'd heard from married women over the years.

Then the captain was instructed to take her right hand in his, and hers shook so badly he gently squeezed her fingers. Heated tingles danced up her arm from the point of contact. "Breathe, my lady. We're nearly through."

The clergyman gave them a look of indulgence. No doubt he thought she suffered from nervousness and excitement. He cleared his throat. "Captain Huxley, repeat after me…" He intoned words Hattie scarcely heard until he said them to her, one eye locked on her, and that intense sapphire orb beckoning her closer.

Almost as if he wished to mesmerize her, arrest her flight, quite like a predator on an African savannah would do to its prey.

Why am I plagued by lions?

"I, Simon Henry Huxley, take thee Lady Harriett Anne Russell to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part." When he regarded her as if trying to puzzle her out, unexpected flutters went through her lower belly. "According to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Dear God. Never once did he make a scene or protest the match. Did that mean he was honorable? And his name was Simon. Such a lovely name. She tumbled it over and over in her mind a few times.

They were directed to release hands, and Hattie was told to then hold Simon's right hand with hers. Mr. Tate addressed her. "Lady Harriett, repeat after me." He gave her the words, and she prayed she would remember them, for it was difficult to think while the captain watched her so intently.

"I, Lady Harriett Anne Russel, take thee Simon Henry Huxley to my wedded Husband." She paused to swallow and clutch at his fingers, as if she might tumble into the abyss if she were to let go. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance." Her voice dropped to a whisper. Worry rushed up to try and swallow her. How would any of this work? What would become of her afterward? When he raised a dark eyebrow in question, she continued. "And thereto I give thee my troth."

They were instructed to again release their hands. Captain Huxley gave a plain, thin gold band to the clergyman, who then laid it upon his open Book of Common Prayer along with what she assumed was a form of payment for the clergyman and his clerk. While that happened, Hattie removed the glove from her left hand. The fact he'd thought to bring a ring had some of the anxiety fading. Then the older man returned the ring to the captain, who slipped it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Not flashy or ostentatious, seeing it there on her finger drove home the point that she belonged to this man.

No longer free.

The clergyman directed Captain Huxley to repeat another set of words while she replaced her glove.

"With this Ring I thee wed, with my Body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow." His voice remained steady, and for that, she appreciated his calm. Was that how he'd been onboard his ship, during battle? She admired him for that.

"In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Is it over? Slightly stunned and confused, Hattie kneeled when Captain Huxley did. What would happen now? While the vicar prayed, she risked a glance at the man who was now her husband. With his head bowed, nothing about his demeanor revealed how he felt; nothing gave away his mindset. Amid all this upheaval, he remained strong and stoic. A waypoint of sorts. Would he be the same through the length of their marriage? Would it be enough for a start?

At the conclusion of the prayer, she and John stood. The clergyman intoned, "I now pronounce thee husband and wife."

And then it was over, and she was left feeling… odd. As if she had one foot in the past while one foot was firmly anchored in the future. And neither of those places was where she wanted to be.

"You may both rise." Once they'd done that, Mr. Tate turned to address the room. "May I introduce to you—Captain and Mrs. Huxley."

Polite clapping went through the assembled company, and many of the witnesses stood. Mrs. Dove-Lyon linked her arm with Hattie's mother and they both left the space, no doubt headed to the dining room for the wedding breakfast.

"After the well-wishes, if you could both sign the registry with my clerk, we can make everything official."

"Of course," the captain murmured, and with a glance at her, gave a tight grin. "I'll do my bit right now."

Hattie nodded. "I will as well." As she glanced at the people in the room, at the men who encircled the captain to either congratulate him or commiserate him, the nerves she'd started the morning with increased their restlessness. She crept away from the vicar as she took in a few deep breaths. That was it, then. Going directly from her father's house to her husband's without a stop between. Without a chance to discover who she was by herself—for herself.

Another few steps brought her closer to the double doors, but she was waylaid by one of the women guests.

"Ah, pardon me. I'm Lady Ashbury, wife of the blond viscount over there." She waved across the room to a man Hattie had seen talking with the captain when she'd come in. "Thomas is Captain Huxley's best friend in the world. They have been through much in life, and I'm telling you this because my husband can vouch for your new husband's character if you wish it."

Hattie frowned. "That very well may be so, but I know neither of them, yet I'm bound to one for the rest of my life." She eyed the doors again before looking at the woman with the gorgeous red hair. "Isn't it odd having to marry a stranger you've never met?" Many of her own friends had fallen away when Hattie chose scandal over proper decorum. Perhaps she needed some advice before she ran away so she could breathe without this heavy weight pressing in on her chest.

The viscountess chuckled. "Well, it's certainly not orthodox, but neither are the operations within the Lyon's Den." With a sigh, Lady Ashbury touched Hattie's shoulder. "My own marriage was forced, as was Lady Pennington's." She gestured at the countess, who trailed over to their location.

With a sneeze into a delicate lace-edged handkerchief, Lady Pennington laughed. Her nose was red. "I apologize, but I've come down with a wretched head cold. My husband insisted we attend this wedding, though." She scratched a finger into her upswept brunette hair. "You made a lovely bride, I must say. There is something romantic about marrying in winter."

"I don't know about that." Hattie snorted. "Lady Ashbury told me both of your unions were forced through the Lyon's Den. Is that true?"

"Oh, yes." With a smile, the countess looked back at her husband, who watched her like a hawk when he wasn't talking with the other men. "I won't lie and say things were wonderful straightaway, for they weren't. There was much arguing and fighting, hurtful words and such, but then, as the days went on and we were both willing to listen to each other, things changed between us."

"You love him." It wasn't a question.

"Dearly."

Then Hattie looked at Lady Ashbury. "And you?"

"Oh, I most definitely love my husband, but like Adriana, those emotions didn't come immediately. In fact, I almost stabbed him twice in those early days. At Christmastide, no less."

Lady Pennington nodded. "And I nearly lost mine to a horrid, impossible wager at the gaming hell itself."

Both women snickered with laughter.

Confusion ran amok through her brain. "Then why do it at all?"

"Why not?" Lady Ashbury shrugged. "Sometimes, it is better to let someone else make the decision for you, especially if it's at cross purposes with your own mind. It forces you to concentrate on that one problem instead of all the other petty and oftentimes silly other things that distract you."

She frowned. "From what?"

"Meeting your own potential and fate," the viscountess was quick to add with an encouraging smile. "Things might seem hopeless or even aggravating now, but Valentine's Day is approaching. The holiday of love. Perhaps you and Captain Huxley could grant each other latitude because of that."

"Yes, and who knows what you might find with him," Lady Pennington said. A sneeze followed. "Look at him, Lady Hattie. Is he not the most gorgeous man?"

The viscountess sighed. "Those shoulders…"

"That is rather beside the point, isn't it?" Hattie shook her head, for she wasn't having any of this nonsense. "My freedom and future have been stolen. What am I to do now?"

Lady Pennington sighed. "Find some way through, because there is no going back. The past is in the past."

"What if what's ahead isn't nearly as nice as what I had?" If Hattie were honest with herself, she felt primarily afraid. It was one thing to tryst and tease and flirt with men because nothing would eventually come from those things, but it was quite another to be leg-shackled to a man—a stranger—for a lifetime.

Above all, was he the lion she kept dreaming about? The eye colors certainly matched, and he was a part of the Lyon's Den…

"Give it time," Lady Ashbury said in a calming tone. "Don't expect miracles immediately, but do measure how far you both come by the little moments, the ones that will make you smile or laugh."

"Yes, and then you will suddenly realize life isn't as bad as you first thought," Lady Pennington said with a nod.

Then she was called over to the small table where the vicar's clerk waited with the church registry and other paperwork. In a daze, as panic welled in her chest, Hattie excused herself from the two ladies. Once she'd dashed her signature onto the requisite lines, her father escorted the clergymen out of the room, presumably to invite them to the wedding breakfast.

Her siblings followed, as did the remainder of the guests, leaving her alone with her husband for the first time.

And she simply couldn't process the changes so quickly. Mumbling a half-cry, half-excuse, she hiked up her skirting and ran from the drawing room, pelted down the corridor, and careened down the stairs, not stopping until she'd left the house and was headed for the mews.

I need a moment for myself.