Page 8 of Marry in Secret
Ollie was enjoying this, Thomas could see. He liked a bit of drama, enjoyed stirring things up. But Thomas wasn’t worried about proving his claim. He knew he was married to Rose.
It was Rose he wasn’t sure of, her reaction—or rather, her lack of reaction. He could feel her watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking, but she made no move to leave her relatives and come forward and stand with him. The Rose he knew, the Rose he’d married, hadn’t been backward in coming forward.
Then again, people changed. Who knew it better than he?
“Where and when did this wedding take place?” he heard the bishop ask.
Thomas said to Ashendon, “You really didn’t know about it?”
“No. And if my sister were truly married, why would she hide it from her family?”
Why indeed? Ashendon seemed sincere. But why would Rose have kept it a secret? The whole point of the marriage had been to secure her position.
It had seemed so right at the time. In the four years since, he’d never had reason to doubt that their marriage, hasty as it was, had been for the best. He’d thought it the best thing he’d ever done.
So why had she said nothing to any of her family? And why didn’t she come to him now, stand with him in front of them all and explain that yes, they were married?
He glanced at her and caught her watching him. Their eyes met, clung, and then she dropped her gaze and moved back in her seat, out of sight. Failing to acknowledge him.
A familiar cold bitterness stole over him.Et tu, Rose?
The last four years should have prepared him for this. And yet it hadn’t.
He’d come running in, full of expectation, expecting to surprise her, yes, but in a good way. Not this blank-faced silence.
“Genuine marriage all right,” Ollie said. “Took place four years ago, small village church outside of Bath, St. Thomas’s church—hard to forget that name, don’t you think? Ceremony was conducted by...” He frowned and clicked his fingers. “Purdy or Proudy, some name like that. Old fellow. White hair, what he had of it. Nature’s tonsure,” he added, twirling his finger around the crown of his head.
“Bath?”Rose’s brother turned to the bishop, a question in his eyes.
The bishop pursed his lips and nodded. “Cecil Purdue was the vicar of St. Thomas’s in that diocese, but he’s dead. Passed away last year.”
“Purdue, that’s the fellow,” Ollie agreed. “Dead, eh? Not surprised. Getting on for ancient when we met him. But the wedding’s recorded in the church register, all right and tight, eh, Thomas? Thomas?” He elbowed his friend in the ribs.
Thomas dragged his thoughts back into the present. “Yes. Rose has—had—a copy of her marriage lines.” He’d ensured that, in case she needed to prove she was married. Instead she’d apparently never even mentioned it. Had she burned the precious document as well?
“Arrant nonsense!” Lady Salter interjected. “Four years ago, Rose was a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl. She couldn’t possibly have married without her father’s permission—and that I’m certain he wouldnothave given!” She directed a scathing glance at Thomas and his witness.
“Such a marriage might not be legal,” the bishop offered. “If the girl was underage, if she had no parental permission...”
“Rose?” Ashendon turned to his sister. “You haven’t said a word. Is there any truth in this story?”
Thomas folded his arms and waited. What would he do if she denied it? The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. But then, nothing about this day had gone remotely to plan.
Finally, Rose stood, ashen-faced and with a troubled expression. She opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and nodded. She looked at Thomas for a brief moment, then her gaze dropped. An older woman put an arm around Rose and drew her back out of sight.
A cold fist clenched in Thomas’s chest. It was as he thought. She was ashamed of marrying him. Regretted it. Wanted to deny it, but had been trapped into admitting it. It explained why she couldn’t look at him, why she didn’t speak.
Thomas’s hands curled into fists. All these years, dreaming of Rose, dreaming of getting back to Rose, and now... this.
She hadn’t told anyone about him. Not even her family.
She’d been about to marrya duke.
Cold, familiar anger coalesced in his belly. During the last four years there had been one attempt after another to obliterate him. But he had survived. He was not so easily destroyed, not so easily set aside. He would show them all.
But oh, Rose. It hurt. It shouldn’t, but it did.
“It’s a damnable blasted mess.” Ashendon glared at the twittering congregation, so avid to hear every juicy detail, watching as if it were a play put on for their entertainment. Thomas would happily turn a hose full of cold seawater on the lot of them.
