Читать книгу Bride For A Night - Rosemary Rogers, Rosemary Rogers - Страница 8

MUCH TO TALIA’S astonishment, her wedding day dawned with a glorious sunrise that painted the cloudless sky in shades of pink and gold. It promised to be a perfect summer day. She had expected a gray, dismal morning that would have matched the impending sense of doom that had haunted her for weeks.

Even more astonishing, she appeared almost pretty in her ivory silk gown overlaid with silver gauze and sprinkled with diamonds along the low-cut bodice and the hem that stopped just above her ivory satin slippers. Her dark curls were carefully arranged in a complicated knot on top of her head and held in place by a large diamond tiara that matched the heavy necklace draped around her neck and shimmering earrings.

Gifts from her father, of course.

He was determined that her wedding would be the talk of the season, impervious to Talia’s pleas that a lavish wedding would be in poor taste considering that all of society knew that the bridegroom had been purchased with Talia’s vast dowry.

So far as Silas Dobson was concerned, discretion was for those who could not afford to toss about their money in gaudy displays of extravagance.

Reluctantly accepting that the earth was not going to open up and swallow her whole, Talia silently entered the glossy black carriage and allowed herself to be driven to the small church where the private ceremony was to take place. After the ceremony they were scheduled to return to Sloane Square for an elegant wedding breakfast with two hundred guests.

It was only when she was standing at the altar that the disaster she had been anticipating the entire day at last struck.

The rector was attired in his finest robes with a somber expression on his round face. Talia’s father was standing at her side wearing his finest black jacket and silver waistcoat. And on the other side was Talia’s only friend, Hannah Lansing, the daughter of a baronet who shared Talia’s miserable fate as a wallflower.

But there was one notable absence.

Mr. Harry Richardson was nowhere to be found.

For nearly two hours they waited for the missing bridegroom to make his appearance, while the increasingly bleak silence that had filled the church echoed in Talia’s heart.

She felt…numb. As if the humiliation of being abandoned at the altar was happening to some other unfortunate lady.

It was a sensation that refused to be dismissed even when her father had stormed from the church, swearing that the bastard would suffer for having made a fool of Silas Dobson. And when she had been forced to return to the house and announce to the two hundred avid, twittering guests that the wedding had been regrettably postponed.

Or now, as she sat in her private sitting room decorated in soothing shades of lavender and ivory.

Perched on the edge of the window seat that overlooked the rose garden filled with guests still reveling at being in attendance at the greatest scandal of the season, Talia understood she should feel something.

Anger, humiliation, heartbreak…

Anything but the awful emptiness.

Absently she watched as Hannah paced across the Persian carpet, the swish of her rose satin gown the only sound to break the thick silence. The poor girl was clearly at a loss as to how to handle the awkward situation.

“I am certain there must have been an accident,” Hannah at last muttered, her round face flushed and her frizz of brown curls escaping from silver combs.

Talia shrugged, unable to stir an interest in why Harry had failed to appear at his own wedding.

“Are you?” she asked, her voice dull.

“Yes, indeed.” Hannah’s dark eyes held a sympathy she couldn’t entirely disguise. “No doubt the carriage overturned and Mr. Richardson and his family were knocked unconscious.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh.” Hannah pressed a hand to her plump breasts. “Not that I would wish for the passengers to be injured.”

“No. Of course not.”

“But it would explain…”

“Explain why I was left at the altar?”

Hannah grimaced in embarrassment. “Yes.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the sitting room, and with an effort, Talia searched her mind for a means to be rid of her companion.

It was not that she didn’t appreciate Hannah’s attempts to offer comfort, but for the moment she desperately wished to be alone.

Clearing her throat, she glanced toward the door. “Has my father returned?”

“Do you wish me to discover if he is here?”

“If it is no trouble.”

Hannah gratefully latched onto the small task, obviously pleased to be of service.

“Not at all. And I shall bring you a tea tray.”

Talia shuddered at the mere thought of food. “I am not hungry.”

“Perhaps not, but you are very pale.” Hannah’s soft brown gaze lingered on Talia’s face with obvious concern. “You should try to eat something.”

“If you insist.” Talia managed a smile. “You’re very kind.”

“Nonsense. I am your friend.”

Hannah left the room and softly closed the door behind her. Talia heaved a sigh of relief. Later she would appreciate Hannah’s staunch loyalty. After all, the young lady could easily have used her position in the center of the brewing scandal to elevate her status among the gossipmongers still cluttering the rose garden.

Instead she had stayed at Talia’s side, anxious to provide comfort.

It was not her fault that Talia was incapable of weeping and wailing and wringing her hands like a proper bride who had just been publicly jilted.

With a frown, Talia reached to push the window open, hoping for a breeze to stir the air. The room felt…stifling. Too late, she realized that two of the unwelcome guests had strayed from the banquet tables and were currently standing just below her window.

“Good heavens, Lucille, you appear quite flustered,” one of the ladies was exclaiming.

“Have you heard the latest?” the second woman demanded.

Talia froze on the point of sliding shut the window.

It was absurd. What did she care what rumors were swirling about society? The gossip could be no more humiliating than the truth.

Still, she found herself unable to curb the destructive urge to know what was being said.

“Tell me,” the first woman breathed, her voice vaguely familiar.

“Lord Eddings is said to have been with the missing bridegroom last eve at some horrid gambling establishment.”

“That is hardly news. It is Harry’s fondness for the cards that forced him to become engaged to Dowdy Dobson in the first place.”

Talia’s hands clenched in her lap. Dowdy Dobson. It was an insult she had endured since her first season.

“Yes, well, last eve he was heavily in his cups and he confessed that he never intended to wed the vulgar chit.”

“Never?” There was a malicious giggle. “But why become engaged at all? Surely it was not just a cruel hoax?”

“According to Eddings, the naughty boy insisted on a portion of the dowry to purchase a suitable townhouse he discovered in Mayfair.” There was a dramatic pause. “Instead he intends to take his windfall and disappear.”

The first woman sucked in a scandalized breath. “Good…heavens.”

“Precisely.”

Talia knew she should have been equally scandalized.

Despite the fact that Harry had all but ignored her since the announcement of their engagement, he had appeared resigned to the notion of taking a wife. Certainly she’d had no warning that he intended to deceive her father into handing over a small fortune and using it to flee from London.

And from her.

“A daring scheme, but Harry cannot possibly imagine that he can hide from a man such as Silas Dobson,” the first lady said, her tone edged with revulsion at the mention of Talia’s father. “The brute no doubt has a dozen cutthroats on his payroll.”

“True enough.”

“Besides, think of the scandal. Lord Ashcombe will have his head on a platter.” Would he?

Talia was not nearly so confident.

From the whispers that had circulated throughout society, the earl had washed his hands of his younger brother when he had announced his intention to wed the daughter of Silas Dobson.

“Not if Harry escapes to the Continent,” the unknown Lucille insisted.

“In the midst of a war?”

The woman’s sudden laugh drifted on the breeze. “Obviously the danger of being shot by a Napoleon is preferable to marrying Dowdy Dobson.”

“And who could blame him?” her companion swiftly agreed. “Still, he cannot intend to remain exiled forever?”

“Certainly not. In a year or so the scandal will have faded and Harry will make his glorious return.”

“And be welcomed as the prodigal son?” There was the sound of a fan being snapped open. “You have a very odd notion of the earl if you believe he will forgive and forget. The man terrifies me.”

“He may be terrifying, but he is so wickedly handsome.” Her soft sigh was filled with the feminine appreciation shared by most women. “Such a pity he has so little interest in society.”

“Well, at least polite society.”

“I would be as improper as he desires if only he would glance in my direction.”

The two shared a giggle. “Shocking, my dear.”

“Oh, there is Katherine. We must tell her what you have discovered.”

There was a rustle of silk as the two women slowly moved away, their conversation muted but still clear enough for Talia to follow.

“Do you know, I almost have it in my heart to pity poor Miss Dobson.”

Talia grimaced. Despite her words, there was a decided lack of pity in the woman’s tone. In fact, it sounded remarkably akin to gloating.

“Yes,” her companion purred. “One thing is for certain, she dare not show her face in society again.”

“She should never have forced her way among her betters to begin with.” Talia detected a sniff of smug disapproval. “Nothing good ever comes of getting above your station.”

Despite the heat, Talia shivered.

She remained safely cocooned in her odd sense of detachment for the moment, but she wasn’t stupid. Eventually the protective shell surrounding her heart would shatter, and she would be laid bare to the endless disgrace of a woman scorned.

She couldn’t even console herself with the thought that her father would have the decency to allow her to withdraw from society until the scandal had passed.

No. Silas Dobson would never comprehend the notion of a dignified retreat. He would insist that she face her tormentors regardless of the pain and embarrassment it might cause her.

She was brooding on her bleak future when the door was opened, and Hannah crossed the threshold carrying a large silver tray.

“Here we are then,” she said in the overly bright tones that people used in a sickroom. “I have brought a small dish of poached trout in cream sauce and fresh asparagus, as well as a few strawberries.”

“Yes, thank you,” Talia softly interrupted, her stomach rebelling at the smell of fish.

Perhaps sensing Talia’s distress, Hannah moved toward the low cherrywood table near the white marble fireplace.

“I’ll just leave it here, shall I?”

Talia managed a weak smile of gratitude. “Did you locate my father?”

“No. It is…” Hannah broke off her words, gnawing on her bottom lip. “What?”

“I was told that Mr. Dobson has not been seen since he left the church.”

Talia shrugged. Her father was stubborn enough to search for Harry Richardson until hell froze over.

“I see.”

Hannah cleared her throat. “No doubt he will soon be returning.”

“No doubt he will,” a dark, sinfully dangerous voice drawled from the open doorway. “Mr. Dobson is rather like a cockroach that scuttles about the shadows and is impossible to be rid of.”

Talia went rigid with horror, as she easily recognized the voice. How could she not? As much as it might embarrass her to admit, there was no denying that she had used her position among the shadows to spy upon the Earl of Ashcombe like a lovelorn schoolgirl.

He had fascinated her with his golden beauty and predatory grace. He was like a cougar she had seen illustrated in a book. Sleek and elegantly lethal.

And of course, his aloof manner of treating society with barely concealed disdain had pleased her battered pride. He obviously had no more regard for the frivolous fools than Talia did.

Now, however, it was not breathless excitement she felt as she turned to regard the stunningly handsome face and the frigid silver gaze.

Instead it was a chill of foreboding that trickled down her spine.