Page 38 of The Earl's Practical Marriage

‘Of course I would not ask something so distressing of you, Stepmama.’ Laurel sat down with a bump on the nearest chair. ‘I have only realised now how I feel. Giles, would you mind? Did you want a large wedding? Only, I fear that it means that we must take that honeymoon after all—I would not inconvenience Stepmama for the world.’

‘We will elope to London.’ Giles sat down, too. ‘Scandalously run away to the town house. I will obtain the licence and we may be married at whichever church you wish. We will lure in two witnesses off the street if you want to do without guests entirely. Think of the saving in champagne,’ he added in a whisper.

‘What will people say?’ Lady Palgrave demanded.

‘I have no doubt that those with unpleasant imaginations will be counting the weeks until our first child is born,’ Laurel said coolly, ignoring her stepmother’s outraged expression. ‘I see no reason why we have to make a great parade of our wedding for the curious. Provided the Marquess does not require the town house, of course.’ Honeymooning with her new father-in-law would be nearly as embarrassing as sharing the house with Stepmama.

‘No danger of that. Parliament is not sitting, of course, so my father will stay at Thorne Hall for the summer. Our engagement has improved his health wonderfully—I expect he will be out riding the estate and making life hideous for his steward before much longer. I am certain that he will be delighted to assist you in any way with your move to the Dower House, Lady Palgrave.’

‘When shall we go?’ Suddenly the prospect of marriage to Giles was a reality, whereas before it had seemed dreamlike. He had made love to her, he had agreed to elope with her, he understood her. All those doubts, all the little niggling suspicions that he was holding something back, that he was not being completely open with her, seemed to have evaporated.

‘Tomorrow?’ he asked. He was laughing at her, she realised. Not mocking her, but amused by her excitement, just as he had laughed with her when they were children. So often she had been the one to have the madcap ideas, but it had been Giles—quiet, studious, apparently un-dashing Giles—who had put them into operation and had made them work, just as he was doing now. Although where that quiet, studious boy has gone...

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Tomorrow. I can be ready if you can.’ She threw it out almost as a challenge.

‘But your clothes!’ Her stepmother seemed to be wringing her hands.

‘London has no shortage of excellent shops and is full of modistes who would be delighted with the prospect of creating Lady Revesby’s new wardrobe just at a time when the city is quiet,’ Giles pointed out. He leaned closer and whispered, ‘Besides, you will not need clothes on honeymoon.’

‘I wash my hands of both of you,’ Lady Palgrave said, as she virtually tossed her pen into the tray. ‘You will at least keep me informed of your plans to return here?’

‘Of course, ma’am. If London becomes too hot as the summer progresses we may go to the coast—but rest assured, you will have at least three months to remove to your new home.’

* * *

The next morning Laurel felt a certain longing to have at least three days to relocate to her own new home. Binham had enlisted every maid in the house to assist with packing and the footmen had been staggering up and down stairs until well into the evening, but the big travelling coach was finally loaded with trunks and bandboxes. Binham herself, rigidly disapproving of both this informality and haste and the company of Dryden, Giles’s manservant, was sitting amidst the luggage clutching Laurel’s dressing case as though that might protect her from whatever the valet had in mind to pass the journey.

Bridge followed on, driving Giles’s curricle with another groom on one riding horse and leading Arthur, and the cavalcade was led by an elegant travelling chaise borrowed from the Thorne Hall stables.

‘This must be the least discreet elopement in history,’ Laurel commented as Giles handed her into the chaise. ‘So much for slipping away to be married with no fuss.’

‘A procession like this would certainly be somewhat incongruous on the road to Scotland,’ he agreed, settling beside her on the blue-plush upholstery. They waved to Lady Palgrave and the staff lined up on the steps to see them off and then sank back with perfectly co-ordinated sighs of relief. ‘Alone at last,’ Giles said as the carriage turned on to the road that led towards the turnpike.

‘Mmm.’ Laurel stifled a yawn. ‘Goodness, I hardly got a wink of sleep last night. We were packing until eleven and then I kept waking up thinking of things that I had forgotten.’

‘Sleep now.’ Giles put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to his side. ‘We’ve a long way to go...’ His voice faded as she closed her eyes. Safe and secure... Giles was there, the old Giles, the friend she had always relied on, the new Giles who was her lover...

* * *

‘An excellent journey, thank you, Downing, but I confess I am glad to have stopped moving and I suspect that Lady Laurel is, too.’

The butler bowed to Laurel, who was smiling gamely as she looked around her with an air of bright attentiveness which must surely be feigned. She had slept most of the morning, then dozed again after luncheon and for the last two hours had been clearly biting her tongue so as not to demand when they were going to arrive. Not the most patient of travellers, his bride-to-be, he recalled from their encounter at Beckhampton.

The St James’s Square house was kept in constant readiness for the family and a swift glance round told Giles that their unannounced arrival had not found Downing and his staff wanting. Only the merest hesitation on the butler’s part revealed his surprise at seeing the young master arrive with an unmarried lady on his arm and a mountain of luggage in train.

‘Laurel, this is Downing, our butler. Downing, Lady Laurel Knighton and I are eloping.’

‘Indeed, my lord? My felicitations, my lord, my lady,’ Downing said with a fair attempt at his usual unruffled dignity. ‘Which suites would your lordship wish me to prepare?’

‘I will have my usual rooms and Lady Laurel will be most comfortable in the Rose bedchamber, I believe. Here is her woman now. You really do not want my late mama’s suite, Laurel, trust me. Gloomy rooms, they need redecorating and besides, they are on the floor below. Yes, Downing?’

‘Might I enquire if your lordship’s presence in London is widely known? Will you be receiving visitors, for example, my lord?’ Downing gazed at a spot about a foot above Giles’s head. ‘The Marquess is...’

‘The Marquess knows all about it, so does Lady Laurel’s stepmother. We are not so much eloping as avoiding a large wedding. Let me see—if I can get the licence tomorrow, then we can be married the day after and I’ll send out the announcements. Until then I suppose we had best not be at home to callers. And please ensure that the staff are officially unaware of Lady Laurel’s presence in this house until after the wedding. I want to avoid gossip.’

‘All the neighbours must have noticed your arrival.’ Laurel gestured towards the vehicles at the kerb and the grooms with the horses. They were effectively blocking the street and already people had stopped to stare.

‘I will be out tomorrow sweet-talking the Archbishop’s chaplain and you will be out and about shopping, I have no doubt. We will not be at home to be called upon. Can the kitchen produce some supper in half an hour, do you think, Downing?’

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