Page 17 of A Kiss Gone Wylde
9
At precisely two in the afternoon, she walked into St. George’s Church as Miss Benedicta Wylde. At precisely ten minutes past two, she walked out on the arm of her husband as Benedicta Asher, Baroness Davenport. It hardly seemed possible that so momentous an occasion could have happened so quickly and with so little fanfare. The vicar had said a few words, they’d said a few words, then everyone had signed the book and now it was done. She was forever more tied to the man at her side, bound in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of God. Was it any wonder that her knees were quaking? She had never fainted in her life, but she was becoming familiar with the urge.
“Smile!”
The hissed order had come from her left, from her aunt. Apparently, married or not, she was still under Marguerite’s dominion. Dutifully, Benny pasted a false smile on her face. No doubt it was ghastly.
“You look as if you stepped on something sharp,” Payne whispered in her other ear. “If you do not want to smile, do not. But for heaven’s sake, don’t do that again.”
Benny was feeling mutinous. Being told what to do but multiple people, each one contradicting the other, was simply more than she could abide. “Well, let me keep my face devoid of all expression then so that neither faction must be entirely dissatisfied with it!”
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I don’t care. I don’t care if you smile, if you laugh, if you weep or throw yourself to the ground kicking and screaming. Just do not pretend. Do not be what others demand you ought to be to please them. Be only yourself, Benny. That is all.”
As he drew back, their eyes met, gazes locking, and whatever response Benny had been on the verge of making simply fled her mind. She couldn’t think when he looked at her that way. She couldn’t think when she lookedat him, for goodness sake!
It had not escaped her notice just how handsome her husband was. Tall and strong, though in truth she was dwarfed by nearly everyone. Broad shoulders and a lean waist, all of which were displayed to perfection by his well tailored clothing and highly polished boots. His dark hair was cropped short at the sides and left slightly longer on top. It swept back from his high forehead—nothing to obscure his chiseled, angular features. But it was his eyes that drew her. A soft, warm brown flecked with bits of green and gold, they were not entirely extraordinary but for the remarkable humor she could see in them.
“I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” Payne asked, clearly surprised by her apology.
“My temper,” Benny offered ruefully. “It just gets away from me. Someone says something, I take it in the worst possible manner it could be intended and then I fly off a bit and have much to regret, afterward. Regardless, I should not have snapped at you just then.”
He shook his head, “You’ve been under a great deal of strain. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t snapping at people. Just this morning, I nearly took Cooper’s head off because I could not find my cravat pin… which was already placed in my very neatly tied cravat.”
She laughed, no doubt as he’d intended. “Well, it seems we have something in common even if it may not improve our compatibility overall.”
“Well, I must tell you, sadly, you will be under more strain yet... I must introduce you to my mother. Take nothing she says to heart. She’ll be vicious if she thinks she has wounded you. If she thinks you impervious to her insults, she’ll soon settle down. It’s rather like ignoring the buzzing of a bee when one has the benefit of glass between them.”
And that was the moment Benny realized she, Payne’s mother, had not come to their wedding. Admittedly, it had been a rushed endeavor. Her aunt and his man of affairs had served as witnesses. No contracts had yet been signed between Payne and her father because her own parents had not yet arrived from Bath. She had no concerns about her father’s generosity, of course. Giving them money had always been easy for him. Giving them affection, approval, or even attention—that had been something else. And in all honesty, at six and twenty, Benny no longer required parental permission to wed. Neither did Payne. But that didn’t mean she wanted his mother to despise her and that certainly seemed to be the direction they were heading.
“Is she very angry?” Benny asked, unable to keep the worry from her voice.
Payne glanced over at her. “No. I don’t think so. My mother simply makes it a point never to go anywhere that she is not the center of attention. Other people’s weddings, even mine, are a bit difficult for her to manage on that score. If she’d been here, she would likely have fainted. Not really. Purely for effect. Then there would have been apologetic weeping—supposedly for my benefit—because her weak constitution has failed her once more and made her an embarrassment to her son. No doubt she would then wail that we would all be better off had she simply gone on to meet her maker years ago.”
“Surely it would not be so bad as that,” Benny whispered the protest, mostly because she was too stunned to speak properly.
“Oh, it would. And after the wailing ceased, then myself and some other unfortunate gentleman would have been forced to help her to her feet. All sixteen stone of her, because she would insist she could not get up under her own power when, in fact, she is perfectly healthy. There would likely be a few near collapses and a bit of wilting.”
“Wilting? What precisely does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I wish I could explain it. I don’t understand how she wilts, but she does. She simply goes limp and sinks to the floor, weeping in a manner which might be piteous were she not wearing a very expensive gown she had only just commissioned... and that somehow, the manner in which she winds up splayed on the floor is one which will show said gown to its best advantage.”
Benny's eyes had widened in something akin to terror. “That does seem a remarkable gift. Perhaps it is only a coincidence?”
He cast a sidelong glance at her, his eyebrow lifted in complete skepticism. “Once is a coincidence, Benedicta, this happens--to varying degrees--at least once per week. Oddly enough, my mother’s many ailments have never inhibited her ability to shop… Really, we should be grateful she was feeling poorly today.”
Benny’s eyes widened. “Oh, my. That is… well—”
“A lot. I think the words you are looking for in relation to describing my mother would simply be ‘a lot’.”
And with that, they fell silent, both of them dreading what was to come.
* * *
They entered Asher House en masse. Lady Marguerite, Miss Cordelia and Miss Charity. He and the newly minted Baroness Davenport were brining up the rear, mostly because he’d wanted a moment alone with her. Not to speak of anything in particular, but because he had the sense that Benny was on very shaky ground. She looked terrified. She wasn’t wrong on that score.
Barrett had overseen the wedding breakfast as his mother had surely been unable to do so. She’d been in a state of hysterics since their first conversation about his marriage. When he’d informed her the previous evening that he intended to marry quickly and by special license—suffice to say there had been many projectiles hurled about the room.
