Lord Sebastian's Wife. Katy Cooper
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“No. I am sure there was a wedding. I am telling you that the marriage was invalid.”
“Invalid? On what grounds?”
“That she was promised to another man,” John said. “Promised in a binding betrothal.”
“Another man?” he asked, disbelieving. His heart pounded, loud in his ears, hard against his breastbone. He had thought he knew the worst Beatrice could do. His sense of approaching disaster deepened. “Are you saying she has known yet another man?”
“Another man? What are you babbling about?” John asked, frowning, and shook his head. “She is betrothed to you, Sebastian.”
“To me?” The pounding of his heart was swallowed by a vast silence, a numbed stillness.
Beatrice cried, “Are you mad? We are no more betrothed than…than… We are not betrothed. Do you think I could make such a mistake?”
“Or I?” Sebastian demanded. “This is not funny, John.”
“It is not jest, Sebastian, and I do not think it funny. Do you not remember that Twelfth Night when you and your family joined us at Wednesfield? I filched a ewer of mead and the three of us drank it in the old tower. You and Beatrice promised to marry when you were grown and then we all laughed and drank some more.”
“Oh, blessed Virgin,” Beatrice said, closing her eyes.
“I do not re—” But he did remember, no matter how he tried to forget. Details he had wanted to bury rose up from the depths of his mind. Words, the words of a vow… “Yes, now I do! What foolishness is this? We made no promises that bound.” Promises to break, yes, not promises to bind.
“That is not what I remember, Sebastian. Think. Think what you said, the words you used. The promises you made bind you.”
Beatrice clenched her hands into fists as if she might batter her way out of this. “You are no churchman. How can you know for certain?”
In a distant corner of his mind Sebastian wondered if perhaps he slept and John’s appalling announcement was a part of a nightmare from which he would soon awaken. Surely this madness was the stuff of dreams. Otherwise his life had been disordered beyond recognition in the space of five minutes.
“Do you not remember? You promised to have Sebastian as your husband and he promised to have you as his wife. Both of you promised without conditions. You made a binding marriage between you,” John said. “I have lived among churchmen for the last three years, Bea. Canon law fills the air in Rome. A man who has ears to hear cannot help learning a little.”
Sebastian knew a little canon law, as well. Enough, he had thought, to keep himself from doing just what John claimed they had done. “We did not lie together. It cannot be binding.”
“That does not matter in this case. If you never lie with her, she will still be your wife before God,” John said gently.
“I cannot believe this,” Beatrice said. She went to sit on one of the benches pushed against the wall and leaned her head back, her hands lying slack on her lap. For a moment Sebastian wanted to go sit beside her, companions in calamity. But he could not, not when she had betrayed him, not when she had abandoned honor as easily and thoughtlessly as she might discard a gown that no longer fit.
He had to do something, anything, to avert this disaster.
“I am betrothed to Cecilia,” he said.
“You cannot be,” John said.
At the same moment Cecilia said, “Do not lie, Sebastian. It will only confuse matters.”
“We can pretend it never happened. If no one knows…”
His voice slowed. Truth was sinking into him, the awareness that he would not awaken from this nightmare slowly breaking over him. No matter how he might wish it otherwise, his betrothal to Beatrice was real, as unbreakable and real as marriage. He could behave like a fool and a child, and fight it for a time, but to what end? Damage to his soul, damage to his honor, and marriage to Beatrice at the end of it anyway.
But, God help him, he wished it were not true.
“You will know, Sebastian. And God will know. Can you take another woman to wife, knowing you make a concubine of her? And if you do not marry, who will your heirs be?” John asked.
“How do I get out of this?” Beatrice asked, her voice flat, bled of expression.
Sebastian glanced at her. Against the black of her hood and bodice, her pallor was stark, the color leached even from her down-turned mouth. She looked weary and sad, a woman alone despite the company of her kinsmen. Pity moved in him, pity she did not deserve, pity he refused to feel. Balling his hands into fists, he turned away and walked to the opposite side of the room. He leaned against the wall and pressed his forehead against its cool stone. Behind him, the others continued as if he were still in their midst, while slowly he tried to absorb the shocks of the afternoon— John’s unexpected homecoming, his disastrous announcement.
“Ceci, why do they fight this? What has happened while I have been away?” John asked.
“I do not know, John. I do not now nor have I ever understood why they are at odds.”
“It avails you nothing to do this!” Beatrice cried. “You will do most good by telling me how I may escape!”
“There is no way. You are married to Sebastian,” John said.
“If I deny it? What then, O brother?”
“Sebastian can sue you to live with him.”
“And how many witnesses will he need? Is one enough? And will you oppose me in this, my brother?” The fraying edge of Beatrice’s temper rang clearly in the sharpness of her tone.
“It takes two witnesses to make a case, but if you marry another man, you will be committing bigamy and your children will be bastards,” John said.
“I do not intend to marry again. Once was enough to last me a lifetime.”
“Bea, you know you are married,” Cecilia said.
“There are no witnesses!”
“I will be a witness to your admission of the promise,” Cecilia said, her voice firm. “With John, that is two witnesses.”
“A pox on you!” Beatrice’s voice caught on the last word.
Sebastian lifted his head. The moment had come for him to put an end to her bootless protests. He and Beatrice must face what they had done—it was past time to honor a promise that should not have been forgotten in the first place. This marriage was calamitous, but they had sown its seeds themselves. Who better to reap the bitter crop? He turned and crossed the hall, joining them by the hearth once more. He faced Beatrice, forced himself to confront her beauty, to meet her clear blue eyes steadily and to hold his simmering anger in check.
“I cannot marry another woman, knowing the marriage is a lie. I cannot let her risk her life to bear me a son, knowing that son is a bastard. You are my wife, as much as I wish it otherwise, Beatrice, and if you have a particle of honor left, you will come live with me as my wife.”
“I will not. I will not be wife to a man who scorns me as you do,” Beatrice said, glaring at him as if this garboil was entirely his fault, as if she had not made the same witless promises as he.
His anger flared. “I do not desire to be married to a woman so stupid with pride she will ruin herself rather than yield, but unfortunately, I am betrothed to one and have no choice. In law, Beatrice, you are already my wife and as such you owe me obedience.”
“How dare you!”
John went to sit beside her and laid a hand over hers. “Beatrice, be sensible. You cannot win, not if Ceci and I both bear witness against you. Nor can you wish to spend the rest of your life in limbo, neither wife nor widow nor maid.