The Bargain. Mary Jo Putney
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he repeated incredulously. “It will fulfill the terms of the will, but your father’s hope was that you’d find a husband to keep you in line. This Major Lancaster can scarcely do that.”
Jocelyn did her best to look soulful. “Why do you think I have not married elsewhere? The attachment between David and me is … is of some duration.”
It wasn’t quite a lie. An hour qualified as “a duration.” “He was in Spain when I visited my aunt and her husband. But the war, you know …” Also not a lie, though certainly intended to be misleading. “I have never known a braver or more honorable gentleman.” That, at least, was the truth.
Mollified, Crandall promised to procure the special license, arrange for a clergyman, and have the settlement and quitclaim documents ready in the morning. On the ride home, Jocelyn pondered whether to tell Lady Laura about her wedding, but decided against it. Her aunt had said in as many words that she didn’t want to know about Jocelyn’s marital schemes. Far better to explain after the deed was done, she thought wryly. She’d learned early that it was easier to get forgiveness than permission.
Jocelyn awoke the next morning with a bizarre sense of unreality. Today is my wedding day. Not that this was a real marriage, of course. Yet that knowledge could not mask the reality that today she would take the step that for most girls was the most momentous of a lifetime, and she was doing it almost at random.
On impulse, she decided to add something special to the tragic little ceremony that would take place later that morning. When Marie appeared with her chocolate and rolls, she sent the girl down to the kitchen with orders to pack a basket with champagne and glasses, and to gather a bouquet of flowers in the garden.
She chose her costume with special care, selecting a cream-colored morning gown with pleats and subtle cream-on-cream embroidery around the neckline and hem. Marie dressed her chestnut hair rather severely, pulling it back into a twist with only the most delicate of curls near her face. Seeing that her mistress looked pale, Marie deftly added a bit of color with the hare’s foot.
Even so, Jocelyn thought when she glanced in the mirror, she looked as if she was going to a funeral. And wasn’t that almost the truth?
At fifteen minutes before eleven o’clock, Jocelyn’s carriage halted at the entrance of the York Hospital. Waiting there was Crandall, a bulging case of papers in one hand and a vague, elderly cleric at his side. The lawyer looked gloomy. Jocelyn considered pointing out that he should be glad that she was keeping her inheritance and her need for his services, but decided that would be vulgar.
As Hugh Morgan helped her from her carriage, she said softly, “You know about my father’s will?”
He nodded. She was unsurprised; servants always knew everything that happened in a household. “I’m about to marry. Please … wish me well.”
His jaw dropped for an instant. Rallying, he said, “Always, my lady.”
Crandall joined them, ending the private conversation. With Morgan carrying the flowers and a ribbon-decorated basket, they entered the hospital in a silent procession. No one challenged them or asked their business. Jocelyn had the eerie feeling that she could ride a horse into the building and no one would give her a second glance.
Major Lancaster and Captain Dalton were engaged in a game of chess when Jocelyn arrived with her entourage. She was absurdly pleased to see that her intended husband was not only alive, but Richard had helped him sit up against the pillows so that he looked less frail. She smiled at the men. “Good morning, David. Richard.”
Her bridegroom smiled back. “This is the best of mornings, Jocelyn. You look very lovely today.”
Hearing the warmth in the major’s voice, Crandall unbent enough to smile, his sense of propriety appeased. He introduced himself, then said, “Major Lancaster, if you will sign these, please.”
David studied the papers carefully before signing. Ignoring the business aspects of the wedding, Jocelyn arranged the flowers on the bedside table in the glass vase she’d brought. Unfortunately, the brilliant summer blossoms made the rest of the room look even more drab. On impulse, she arranged some of the flowers into a small bouquet and tied it with a ribbon stolen from the basket.
After taking her own turn at scanning and signing papers, Jocelyn moved to the side of the bed and gave David her hand. His grasp was warm and strong on her cold fingers. She glanced down into his eyes and was caught by the tranquillity she saw there. Major Lancaster was not a man who either wanted or needed pity.
She smiled tremulously, wishing she could match his calm. “Shall we begin?”
The details of the ceremony were never clear to her after. She remembered fragments: “Do you, David Edward, take this woman …”
“I do.” Though not strong, his voice was firm and sure.
“Do you, Jocelyn Eleanor …”
“I do.” Her response was almost inaudible, even to her.
The vicar’s next sentences were a blur, until the words “Till death us do part,” jumped out at her. It was wrong, wrong, that death should be hovering over what was usually a joyous occasion.
She was drawn back to the present when David took her hand and carefully slid on the gold ring that Richard provided. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
There was humor in his eyes, as if the two of them were sharing a private joke. Perhaps they were.
In a voice much larger than his diminutive frame, the vicar intoned the last, rolling words of the ceremony, “I pronounce that they be man and wife together.”
David tugged at her hand, and she leaned over to kiss him. His lips were surprisingly warm under hers.
Fighting tears, she lifted her head. Softly he said, “Thank you, my dear girl.”
“Thank you, husband,” she whispered.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that she would never forget their brief acquaintance, but the moment was shattered by a low, intense voice from the doorway. “What is the meaning of this?”
Jocelyn jumped as if she had been caught in the act of theft. A scowling young woman stood in the doorway, her fists clenched by her sides. While everyone in the room watched in stunned silence, the newcomer marched to the bed. Her gaze moved from David to Jocelyn, who saw that the angry eyes were brightly green.
With dry amusement, Jocelyn realized that her new sister-in-law had arrived and was not pleased by what she’d found. Sally Lancaster was a short wiry creature, almost relentlessly plain, her dark hair pulled into a tight knot. Her drab gray dress was unfashionably high at the neck, and she wore a practiced look of disapproval. The fine green eyes were her only claim to beauty, and at the moment they sparked with fury.
Jocelyn inclined her head. “You must be Miss Lancaster. I am Lady Jocelyn Kendal. Or rather, Lady Jocelyn Lancaster. As you have no doubt guessed, your brother and I have just married.”
The woman said incredulously, “David?”
He reached out his other hand to her. “Sally, it’s all right. I’ll explain later.”
As she took her brother’s hand and glanced down at him, her face softened. She no longer looked like an avenging angel, just a tired woman little older than Jocelyn herself, her eyes bleak with despair.
Jocelyn turned to her footman. “Morgan, the champagne, please.”
Opening the basket, he produced a bottle and glasses. Pouring and handing around champagne dissipated the tension in the room. Even Sally accepted a glass, though she still looked like a rocket ready to explode.
Jocelyn realized that a toast was in order, but under the circumstances it would be grotesque for anyone to wish the couple health and happiness. In his capacity as best man, Captain Dalton saved the moment. He raised his glass to the newlyweds, looking quite at ease despite