The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) by Katy Madison Page A
Authors: Katy Madison
Ads: Link
his daughter marry the squire—if he would still have her. The whole affair made him sick, and he dreaded his talk with his future son-in-law. He wondered if he should make some reference to Joseph's trials with Mary, but since Sophie was in no wise carrying the savior, that idea seemed rather blasphemous.
* * *
Keene checked his watch as they turned into the Farthings' drive. He would have to remember to give John Coachman a hearty vail for his diligent work in driving the coach through the sheets of rain. Although time was short, he wanted to make sure his servant was treated to a warm mug of ale and a dry spot in front of the fire, before he proceeded to marry Sophie.
His friends were a different story. He was half tempted to toss them out of the carriage and leave them to flounder in the mud and muck. "Do endeavor to make sure you shall not pass out at my wedding, George."
At the inn where they had all changed and Keene had donned the clothes he had set aside for his wedding, George had given up on the flask and purchased three bottles of good French brandy. He and Victor were drinking as if they had a bet to see who could swallow an ocean first.
"Right-o. Are you sure you wish to do this? Nothing short of misery, marriage is." Well, the drink had improved George's mood. The tone was at least jovial if the message was not.
"You wouldn't have said that six months ago."
"I should have, if I had known then what I know now." George's words were slightly slurred. He looked puzzled, as if he wasn't quite sure what he had just said made complete sense.
Since he was coherent, whether or not he was conscious of it, Keene supposed he was presentable enough.
There was no hope for Victor's shiner. He had retreated to a corner and said little since the scuffle in the mud.
The Farthings' butler greeted the carriage with an umbrella. George slipped as he stepped off the carriage steps. Keene caught his arm to keep him from falling. It was only then that he realized the rain had turned to ice on the cobblestones of the drive. Lord, what a day for a wedding. An occasional sting told him the rain had begun to mix with sleet.
Huddling together under the umbrella, he steered George to the front door.
Victor trailed along behind them, his head turned down against the biting barrage of precipitation. He hugged his shoulders as if the cold were too much.
"The family and guests are assembled in the drawing room, sir. If you would follow me."
"My good man, please be sure my coachman is treated to a warm drink and a place in front of a fire."
He'd left two footmen at the inn with the instruction that he would pick them up the following day, weather permitting.
The butler paused outside the drawing room door, patiently looking at Keene. Belatedly Keene gave his friends' names and titles so they could be properly announced.
His father and an elderly aunt were there. A dozen people he did not know milled around the room with another dozen that looked vaguely familiar, people he had undoubtedly met in his myriad childhood stays at this house. Sophie's father frowned in his direction, while Cousin Jane gave a welcoming smile. His glance around the room did not turn up Sophie. Disappointment curled through him. Until he failed to find her, he wasn't aware he was looking for her. Of course she wouldn't be here.
Victor collapsed onto the nearest chair. Keene gave him a preoccupied glance. Victor looked pale, which made his shiner stand out all the more. George wobbled beside him.
"Where have you been, boy?" asked his father.
"On my way here." Keene thought of the broken axle, the rain and ice, his friends' fight. He turned from his father and headed toward Sophie's parents.
"My apologies for my late arrival."
"It's quite all right, Keene." Jane patted his sleeve. "We assumed the weather had delayed you. We've decided to serve the breakfast before we leave for the church."
"Perhaps we should postpone the service." The sheer terror on
* * *
Keene checked his watch as they turned into the Farthings' drive. He would have to remember to give John Coachman a hearty vail for his diligent work in driving the coach through the sheets of rain. Although time was short, he wanted to make sure his servant was treated to a warm mug of ale and a dry spot in front of the fire, before he proceeded to marry Sophie.
His friends were a different story. He was half tempted to toss them out of the carriage and leave them to flounder in the mud and muck. "Do endeavor to make sure you shall not pass out at my wedding, George."
At the inn where they had all changed and Keene had donned the clothes he had set aside for his wedding, George had given up on the flask and purchased three bottles of good French brandy. He and Victor were drinking as if they had a bet to see who could swallow an ocean first.
"Right-o. Are you sure you wish to do this? Nothing short of misery, marriage is." Well, the drink had improved George's mood. The tone was at least jovial if the message was not.
"You wouldn't have said that six months ago."
"I should have, if I had known then what I know now." George's words were slightly slurred. He looked puzzled, as if he wasn't quite sure what he had just said made complete sense.
Since he was coherent, whether or not he was conscious of it, Keene supposed he was presentable enough.
There was no hope for Victor's shiner. He had retreated to a corner and said little since the scuffle in the mud.
The Farthings' butler greeted the carriage with an umbrella. George slipped as he stepped off the carriage steps. Keene caught his arm to keep him from falling. It was only then that he realized the rain had turned to ice on the cobblestones of the drive. Lord, what a day for a wedding. An occasional sting told him the rain had begun to mix with sleet.
Huddling together under the umbrella, he steered George to the front door.
Victor trailed along behind them, his head turned down against the biting barrage of precipitation. He hugged his shoulders as if the cold were too much.
"The family and guests are assembled in the drawing room, sir. If you would follow me."
"My good man, please be sure my coachman is treated to a warm drink and a place in front of a fire."
He'd left two footmen at the inn with the instruction that he would pick them up the following day, weather permitting.
The butler paused outside the drawing room door, patiently looking at Keene. Belatedly Keene gave his friends' names and titles so they could be properly announced.
His father and an elderly aunt were there. A dozen people he did not know milled around the room with another dozen that looked vaguely familiar, people he had undoubtedly met in his myriad childhood stays at this house. Sophie's father frowned in his direction, while Cousin Jane gave a welcoming smile. His glance around the room did not turn up Sophie. Disappointment curled through him. Until he failed to find her, he wasn't aware he was looking for her. Of course she wouldn't be here.
Victor collapsed onto the nearest chair. Keene gave him a preoccupied glance. Victor looked pale, which made his shiner stand out all the more. George wobbled beside him.
"Where have you been, boy?" asked his father.
"On my way here." Keene thought of the broken axle, the rain and ice, his friends' fight. He turned from his father and headed toward Sophie's parents.
"My apologies for my late arrival."
"It's quite all right, Keene." Jane patted his sleeve. "We assumed the weather had delayed you. We've decided to serve the breakfast before we leave for the church."
"Perhaps we should postpone the service." The sheer terror on
Similar Books
