“Wherein the world keeps spinning ... faster, and faster.”

 

By mid-morning, Belle had been informed by Crecy that nearly all of the guests had departed. Thankfully, Violette and her husband were staying; Belle didn’t think she would survive the coming ordeal without her reassuring presence. Lord Falmouth and the Countess would also remain with Lady Russell and Lady Sinclair for the wedding ceremony, which would take place the day after tomorrow, by special licence. Belle’s head was whirling with the speed with which everything had been accomplished.

After Lord Winterbourne’s tight-lipped acceptance of his fate, everything had been something of a blur.

Belle only knew she would owe Violette her everlasting gratitude for steering her away from the crowd and prying eyes and back to her room. There, she was brought a tray with a glass of brandy - for her nerves - and a tea and biscuits - because tea and biscuits makes everything better.

Then Violette had given another of those reassuring smiles that promised everything would be fine, no matter how unlikely, and dashed off to do what she said was ‘damage limitation’. She said that by the end of the evening, she would have everyone believing that Edward had been trying to summon the nerve to ask her to be his wife for days, and Belle could only believe her.

There was something about Violette Russell that made Belle convinced that she wasn’t a woman easily thwarted.

So now she was hiding out in her room, still in bed, with a breakfast tray on her lap and her life as the Marchioness Winterbourne looming ahead of her.

She swallowed a bubble of hysteria which seemed to sit in a hard, little lump, somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you going to eat that or simply stare at it?”

Belle blinked and looked up in surprise to find Crecy watching her, anxiety in her grey eyes.

“What?”

Crecy sighed and shook her head, her blonde curls dancing. “You’ve been starring at that slice of bread and butter for the best part of twenty minutes, and your tea is stone cold.”

Belle frowned and looked down at her hands, which were indeed holding a slice of bread and butter. She hadn’t realised it was there. Placing it carefully down on the plate, she wiped her hands on her napkin.

“I’m not hungry.”

Crecy leaned over her, removed the tray, and then clambered onto the bed to sit in an ungainly heap of skirts. Really, it was remarkable how such a lovely girl could have so little grace. She grasped Belle’s hands, squeezing them tightly.

“Oh, Belle, dearest, please talk to me. Did you do this for me, love?” Crecy’s beautiful eyes welled with tears. “Oh, what a fool I am, of course you did it for me. But you do like him, don’t you, Belle? At least a little? You’re not truly marrying a man you hate to keep me from having to be some man’s mistress or something, because if you are ...”

“Crecy!” Belle exclaimed, shaken from her befuddlement all at once. “Don’t speak of such things! Firstly, I am doing this for both of us. Aunt Grimble would have thrown me onto the streets and ... and the least said about her plans for you, the better,” she replied, the anger in her voice only too audible.

Crecy frowned, staring at the pretty embroidered coverlet on the bed and tracing the pattern with one elegant finger. “But ... but do you like him?”

“I ...” Belle began, only to stop as she realised she didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer that question. She remembered the searing heat, the passion, the desperate, overwhelming need she had experienced in his arms last night, and bit her lip. That had to mean something, didn’t it? But she didn’t know if she liked him, she didn’t know him at all. She simply couldn’t deny that when the marquess was around, no one else was even visible; they ceased to exist. “I’m sure we’ll deal famously together,” she said in the end, trying her best to sound convincing and not utterly terrified.

“But I thought you meant to have Nibley?” Crecy continued, looking just as bewildered as Belle felt.

Belle nodded. “I did.”

“Then what ...”

Belle held out a hand. She couldn’t answer any more questions now. Possibly not ever. Not about this. The idea of explaining to Crecy just how she had behaved last night was too ghastly to contemplate.

“Do you mind if I go back to sleep, Crecy, dear?” she said, giving her sister a wan smile. “I have the most dreadful headache.”

“Oh, Belle, and here’s me prattling on. Of course not, love. Can I get you anything?”

Belle shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine after a little nap, I’m sure.”

“Very well, then, I’ll leave you be.” Crecy slid off the bed and went to look out of the window. “It’s such a lovely day, I thought I ... I’d go for a ride.” Her sister turned then, looking just a little too innocent perhaps, but Belle was too preoccupied to read anything into it. “Everyone is gone now, so I’m in no risk of being waylaid,” she added with a bright smile.

It was only now that Belle realised that she was wearing her riding habit. She felt glad of that. The outfit had cost a pretty penny that they could ill afford, but as yet her sister had only been out in it once. She supposed she needn’t worry about such things now. How strange, not to have to count every farthing and turn collars and mend.

She looked at Crecy again. The riding habit was a deep velvet brown with green velvet trimmings and a plume of green feathers that curled around Crecy’s lovely face in a charming manner. She looked positively ravishing.

“Oh, yes, do,” Belle replied, feeling that this, at least, she could be certain of, no matter what the future held. Crecy was safe. Crecy would have fine clothes and jewels and a proper come-out, and she would never have to worry or be forced to marry a man she didn’t love. Belle thought she could face the future with far more bravery, knowing that this was true. “Have a lovely time, but take care, won’t you? Don’t go too far or get lost, and take a groom or someone with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Crecy replied, her tone light, before leaning in to give Belle a kiss on the cheek. “Do stop worrying. I might not be back for lunch, so don’t fret over me.”

Belle nodded, though in truth, for once in her life, she wasn’t the least bit worried about Crecy, but about herself.

“Oh, I almost forgot, here are the scandal sheets for you; don’t worry, they’re last week’s, so we’re not in there yet,” she added, with what Belle thought was unnecessary good humour.

“It’s only you that likes those dreadful things, as you well know,” Belle huffed, but her sister merely grinned at her.

“And don’t worry, I’ll tell Aunt Grimble you’re sick as a cushion, or the dreadful creature will be in here fretting you to death and making plans for you.” Her sister clapped her hands together and squealed with delight. “Oh, just think, Belle! We can be rid of her once and for all.” Crecy beamed at her and Belle could not help but smile back. “Lord, you should have heard her crowing at breakfast. Honestly, you’d think the marquess had proposed to her, she’s so full of herself.”

Finally, Crecy left in with a swirl of velvet skirts, and Belle was left alone. Of course, the moment she was, she wished Crecy would come back again. Because if left alone, she had no distraction from her thoughts and the inevitable turn they took. In a very short time indeed, she would be married to Lord Winterbourne, and she didn’t think her future husband was the slightest bit happy about it.

***

“Jab, slip, hook, cross.”

Edward tried to focus on the pads, in putting all of his frustration and anger and ... whatever it was he was experiencing that he could not name, behind each fist. Perhaps if he hit hard enough, for long enough, everything would become clear.

Because right now, everything was very far from clear.

“Jab, slip, jab, hook, cross.”

Charlie’s voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts and he clung to the sound of them like a drowning man at a straw. If he kept hitting, kept on fighting ...

“Jab, jab, hook, jab.”

They had moved indoors to the ballroom, now that everyone had gone. That was one blessing, at least. He’d not have to contend with the curious stares and the whispers that would question why he should marry a penniless nobody. Not that he cared what they thought. It was no one’s affair but his own.

“Jab, slip, hook.”

Though why had he offered? Well, of course, honour demanded it, but ... he still couldn’t quite believe it. He was marrying Miss Holbrook. Of all the annoyances and irritations he’d known this bloody weekend was bound to be filled with, finding himself leg-shackled hadn’t even been on the list.

How had it happened?

“Hook, jab, cross, jab, slip.”

He’d known it was a set-up. That’s what he couldn’t get over. He’d gone with the intention of saving Nibley and ended up trapped himself, and he’d bloody well known they were coming!

Why, if he’d been so desperate for her - and that much he did remember – why hadn’t he just hauled her off somewhere more private and comfortable? She had been utterly in his power: he could have had her and gotten rid of this dreadful itch beneath his skin. If only he’d chosen any one of hundreds of bloody rooms in this vast castle where the entire guest list wouldn’t have stumbled upon them. But no ... he had to do it in full view of the cream of the ton and find himself honour-bound to marry the chit!

“Jab, slip, hook, cross.”

And his sister hadn’t helped, the wretch. Anyone would think she’d planned it to happen, she was so bloody thrilled at the outcome. Though, with hindsight, she’d at least saved them all from a terrible scandal with her quick thinking.

He couldn’t help but wonder if a scandal might have been preferable, for him at least.

“Jab, jab, jab, jab, Jesus, man, give me a break!”

Edward dropped his fists as Charlie collapsed to the ground red faced and blowing, this thin chest heaving with effort.

“You tryin’ to kill me, blast you?” his sweaty valet wheezed, clutching at his heart.

Edward merely grunted and started to unbind his knuckles.

The creeping sense of frustration still lingered under his skin, and he knew just who was to blame. He should at least find some satisfaction in the idea that the wretched creature would be his to bed as often as he desired in a few short days, but somehow it didn’t help.

He was angry with himself, no, with her, for being trapped, and he didn’t want to see her at all, ever - and yet he didn’t know how he’d get through the next few days without crawling out his own skin if he couldn’t touch her.

The only image behind his eyes was Miss Holbrook in the library, her eyes a far brighter blue than he’d previously realised, highlighted perhaps by that lovely blue gown. It had been the finest he’d seen her wear so far, clearly saved for the ball.

Not that it had been in any way fancy, a simple cut and style and the bare minimum of frills. Miss Holbrook didn’t wear frills; he doubted she had time for them. He didn’t much care. All he’d wanted, all he wanted still, was to strip it from her soft curves with as much haste as was possible. And he’d been well on his way to doing just that, before the blasted guest list had filed in to watch.

Edward walked over to where Charlie was still sprawled on the ground, and offered him a hand up. Charlie accepted and hauled himself upright with a groan.

“P’raps once you’re married, you’ll find other ways to occupy yerself without killin’ me on a daily basis,” Charlie grumbled.

Shooting his outspoken valet a warning look that suggested this was not a safe topic of conversation, Edward began to walk away. “Have a bath prepared for me, please,” he said, his tone curt, before pulling his shirt on and heading back to his room.

***

Belle dithered behind the bedroom door and wondered if she could get away with having a tray sent to her room instead of going downstairs to eat. Surely that was cowardly? Well, yes, obviously it was, but it also seemed a lot more sensible than the possibility of facing the marquess over food. If she had to eat in front of him, she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite, and after missing breakfast, as she’d been too stressed to eat, she was now famished.

Instead of opening the door she returned to the looking glass to check her reflection, again. Though why it mattered, she didn’t know. The marquess had made a bad bargain, and well he must know it. Though admittedly, he had seemed enthusiastic enough in the heat of their embrace last night.

Belle watched two high spots of colour appear on her paler than usual complexion and sighed. Yes, well, best not think of that. She was old enough to have no romantic illusions. The kind of woman that a man would bed without a second thought was not usually the kind he would happily marry. The idea that she’d been consigned to the first category rankled more than Belle liked to admit.

Belle stared at her reflection and decided that she had nothing to blush for – well, except for Aunt Grimble, and surely everyone had a relation like that somewhere? She would just have to prove to Winterbourne that he had made a far better choice than he realised. Longwold might be a vast and intimidating place - so vast and so terribly intimidating - and she may have little experience of running such a household - she had precisely no experience - but she was a quick a study and she would learn – oh, heaven help her!

Belle reconsidered the idea of eating in her room before dismissing it again with regret. She was made of sterner stuff than that. With a deep breath, she replaced one errant curl, pasted an awkward smile on her face, and walked out of the door.