His thumb rubbed her bottom lip, and his eyes flared.
“Hello, wife.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Thorn arrived at the church door at six o’clock the next morning. The door was locked, and the village square was hushed and silent. The only sign of life came from the bakery across the square. Since there were no benches he took a seat on a gravestone, and waited.
He had never been one to ride to the hounds. But that was because he saw no point in chasing after animals, when the world of humans was so predatory. Now his entire body was poised for the hunt, waiting for the moment when either the vicar or India would appear. Either one.
But no one came. After some time, the baker’s door opened, signaling that fresh bread was available. As if on cue, villagers began to appear, greeting each other as they headed across the square for a fresh loaf. A few of them glanced at him, sitting with his arms folded, but they said nothing.
Thorn was quite certain that neither his dour expression nor his battered face was welcoming. Moreover, by now his instincts were starting to tell him that something was wrong. If he were Vander, he would take India to the church first thing in the morning.
Unless they were still in bed. Unless . . . His jaw clenched again. If India and Vander were truly together, and India was happy, he would leave. He would probably leave England altogether.
It could be that his father had made a mistake. They had traveled to some other town, which is why he’d been unable to find mention of them at the inns.
As he considered what to do next, two women trotted toward the church across the square. Just as they came by him, one said, “If the groom is handing out shillings, I want to be there. Walk a little faster, woman!” They disappeared down the street to the right of the church.
His mind went blank. It seemed he was too late. He walked after the women and discovered that there was a small chapel attached to the parish house. Three or four chattering villagers were walking away from the door, looking with satisfaction at the coins they held in their hands.
He stopped the same woman who had rushed past him a moment ago. “Have I missed the wedding?”
“Yes, sir, you have,” she said cheerfully. “Friends of yours? What a shame. And I’m sure they would have liked to have you with them, as my husband had to act as one of the witnesses.” She jerked her head toward the chapel. “Go right in, sir. They’re signing the book in the back, but they’ll be out in a moment.”
Thorn followed her gaze. Opposite the chapel was his own damned carriage.
He was too late.
He was too late, and it was his own damned fault. Why hadn’t he realized that he’d never felt lust like that before—which meant it wasn’t just lust? He wanted her, all of her, from the tips of India’s toes to all that gorgeous hair.
Now he would never wake up next to her, roll over, take her sleepy mouth. He would never hold their first child, born in wedlock or not.
The thought nearly drove him to his knees, there in an unfamiliar village where it was starting to drizzle. He had never felt despair like this before—not when he was a mudlark, not when he learned his mother had died without ever returning for him . . . never.
One foot followed another to the door of the chapel. He would see her once more, and after that he would leave the country. Vander would understand. Vander would know precisely what Thorn had lost.
As he reached the door, a flock of people emerged: the vicar, the sexton, a parishioner, another parishioner . . .
The bride.
Chapter Thirty-three
Lala had never been so happy in her life. In fact, she was fairly sure that she’d never had any idea what joy was, because anything she’d experienced to this point had been a pale, sickly imitation.
She tucked her hand into John Hatfield’s and looked up to see him smiling at her. She couldn’t help but sigh: who would have thought that such an intelligent man would ever want her, Lala? And yet he had told her that he didn’t believe she was stupid at all, but that something was wrong with her vision that prevented her from seeing print correctly.
“It’s like being blind,” he had told her the evening before. “How could that be considered your fault?”
Around him, Lala felt intelligent. She was hungry to learn everything she could about babies, and illnesses, and the work of a doctor. She couldn’t wait to meet his cook, and learn how to run her own household.
“Are you quite certain that you won’t mind the fact that Starberry Court will never be your home?” John asked now, his eyes on hers.
She laughed. Her mother and father would likely disown her, but she didn’t care. She had her husband and his lovely house. She would go on rounds with him, and feel useful for the first time in her life. No: she would be useful.
She would feel loved. And she would be loved.
He bent his head and kissed her. “I never imagined that a woman would give up a duke’s son for me.”
Lala’s smile only grew wider. She would have paid a fortune to avoid marriage to Mr. Dautry. Yet intuition told her that it would be better if she didn’t clarify that for her new husband. Let him think that earls and dukes had regularly thrown themselves at her feet, and she had rejected them all. For him.
They walked from the chapel together, husband and wife.
She froze in the open doorway.
He was there, looking like an angel of death. There was a moment of silence as she and John stood at the top of the steps, Mr. Dautry at the bottom, arms crossed.
Mr. Dautry’s face was drawn and she couldn’t read his expression. Lala found herself instinctively trembling. His face was battered, as if he’d already been in a fight.
John said, “If you think to sue me for alienation of affection, you’ll find that I own very little in the world. I have nothing of value other than Laetitia, and I will not give her up.” The words rang out in the morning air.
Dautry was staring up at them, his jaw clenched. He looked like a devil, standing there with his hair tumbling around his ears and no cravat to be seen. At the same time, he looked as if he’d taken a tremendous blow.
She had never imagined that he loved her so much. Lala moved a bit closer to her new husband, clinging to his arm.
“We are fast married,” John continued. “Laetitia is now Mrs. Hatfield.” He sounded completely calm, even though he was confronting one of the richest men in all England, one whose fiancée he had stolen. Well, she hadn’t quite been his fiancée, but very nearly.
Mr. Dautry shook himself, like a dog coming out of the rain. “In that case, allow me to be the first to congratulate you.” His voice was oddly hoarse, but the words were clear enough.
They walked down the steps. Her husband gently released her arm and the men shook hands, somewhat to her surprise.
“I suppose you used the special license?” Dautry asked.
“I shall, of course, reimburse you,” John said, nodding.
“Consider it my wedding present.”
“That is remarkably gracious of you.” John bowed again.
“Did you inform Lady Rainsford of your intentions?” Mr. Dautry asked.
“Lady Rainsford and I do not always see eye to eye,” John replied.
“You astonish me,” Mr. Dautry replied.
John smiled at that. “We had a candid exchange on the subject of my wife’s intelligence, after which Laetitia and I bade her mother goodbye.”