Page 12 of Undercover with the Heiress
People will do things you can’t imagine for money.
He had no solid answers as to why Lord Richard had been accosted, just that they might return and hurt her if they could not find him. If she didn’t marry someone, her reputation would remain shattered. In the closed study, as her father had downed three whiskies in ten minutes, she’d held back tears about her split lip, her swollen cheek, and the screeching accusations from Mrs Crofts. Meanwhile, Babbage had rattled off that he worked not only as a clerk, but something about fraud, and that he’d been looking for a bad man and that man had made a threat against her. He’d said that name over and over,Pennington, and every time he did, her father swallowed a glug, then topped up his glass. Then, almost as an afterthought, Phineas had turned his sharp eyes on her.
‘You work at the hotel.’
She had only been able to nod.
‘After we’re married, you will continue to work there.’
In less than a week, he’d procured a special licence, and this morning, as the sun rose over a tired and smog-soaked London, a small congregation of family and neighbours filled the church. Elise stood beside her, as none of her sisters had debuted yet, so none of them could serve as her maids in waiting. Little Ottile sat on the church floor as a flower girl, picking petals from her basket. She sniffed one, bit it, then scrunched up her face in disgust.
‘It’s ridiculous. Compromised women thinking they must marry to cover it all up. Just be compromised,’ Elise muttered beside her.
Rosanna would give anything to tell her friend the story, but Phineas had sworn her and her parents to secrecy.If we move fast, it will be over before anyone asks too many questions. Draw up whatever paperwork you like, this isn’t a ruse. Hilarious, Hempel, I don’t need her money. You want to wait for Lord Richard to explain? He’s in trouble, and you don’t know Pennington like I do. I don’t need the attention; I need to work. Once I find Pennington, I’ll be out of your life. Out of everyone’s.
‘Flafoo,’ Phineas said, then held out his hand.
Rosanna blinked hard, shook her head, and tried to bring Phineas into focus through the gauze of her veil. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked.
‘I do,’ Phineas repeated. ‘I need your hand. For the ring.’
She’d sat in this church twice while waiting for a wedding to take place, but neither had actually happened. Maybe the trend would hold. Maybe, as with Elise’s sister, the church doors would fling open, and Lord Richard would shout his objections and explain that it was a terrible misunderstanding, that he didn’t owe the bad man money. And he would fall to his knees and beg her not to marry someone else.
Light flickered in the antechamber.
An omnibus rumbled by.
The doors remained closed.
Rosanna slapped her palm into his. As he pushed the simple gold band over her knuckle, it pinched the skin. She tried not to flinch. ‘I do,’ she said, not even knowing if it was the right time in the sermon to say the words. ‘For better orworse, I do.’
‘You may kiss the bride.’ The words echoed at a distance in the vicar’s monotone. He snapped his book of common prayer closed.
Phineas twisted a little to face her, his feet shuffling. He pinched the edges of the veil and raised it, and the world cleared as she looked to the man who was to be her husband for the next few weeks. Dark hair, clean shaven, wearing a simple suit with a white flower in the button… What an uncommonly ordinary-looking man. He was not even taller than her, but at least he wasn’t shorter. His lips twitched. Was that a smile? Babbage didn’t smile. A few little creases formed at the edge of his eyes. They fixed her with certainty, their dark brown shade almost black in the diffused church light. He leant in.
‘I don’t want to do this,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be married to you.’
And now he smiled properly. A small dimple indented each cheek, an incongruent softness to his hard demeanour. ‘The feeling is more than mutual, Hempel.’ His lips barely skimmed hers before he squeezed her hand and they turned towards the congregation. A smattering of applause followed them as they left the church. Outside, pigeons scattered along the path, taking flight with a flustered coo.
Rosanna clomped down the stairs, indignation filling her chest. ‘What do you mean,more than mutual?I am a fine bride for someone like you. Your social standing will not suffer.’ She hadn’t broken her fast, and her stomach grumbled.
Phineas grabbed her elbow and spun her to face him. He took a few strained breaths. ‘You think this is about your blasted reputation?’
Rosanna met his glare. ‘Where is the carriage?’ she asked, accentuating each word.
‘The street is there.’ He gestured towards the wall of Number 1 and the stark white of Odette’s palatial villa that formed thebright entrance to the street. ‘It’s a sunny day. We can walk. You can show off your fancy dress.’
‘Fancy? There was no time for a fancy dress. And no modiste would even consider an urgent appointment once they found out who the groom was. This is the dress I debuted in, three years ago. I will not walk from the church and become a spectacle for ridicule.’
‘Sorry to inform you, Mrs Babbage, but your husband does not own a carriage. But if you will not walk, perhaps I can offer a solution.’
He was only her height, but he moved fast and was strong. Before Rosanna could swat him and turn away, Phineas had grasped her around the middle and thrown her over his shoulder. Rosanna squawked and screeched, and as he spun, the horrified faces of the congregation flashed in and out of view.
‘Hungry?’ he asked, then set off across the park. ‘I believe the wedding breakfast is at Number 3.’
She pounded, she grumbled, she hollered. Still, Phineas did not relent. He only gripped her tighter, and when she began to screech, he slapped her bottom before calling out to some walkers in the park, ‘It’s a family tradition. From up north.’
As he jogged across the road, his shoulders dug into her stomach, and each lurch up the front stairs of Number 3 jolted her head against his back. Here, he deposited her on the landing. ‘How was the carriage ride, milady?’ he asked with an exaggerated curtsy. ‘Would you like me to carry you over the threshold?’
