Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hours later, just past dawn, Sophie and Henry had left the injured coachman in the care of Highcliff’s butler. The man had suffered a knock to the head when the relatively minor pistol wound had propelled him from his perch. Henry had driven the coach with remarkable aplomb, Sophie thought, as they walked hand in hand through the deserted streets of Mayfair. It was much too early for the quality to be up and about. Servants tended not to use the main thoroughfares as they could cut through the mews to save precious time.
It seemed the entire world was asleep, everything dampened beneath a light blanket of fog. They stopped in front of the elegant doorway of the townhouse belonging to Lord Deveril. It was early. Very early. In terms of paying a call, though it was hardly that, it was so far beyond the pale no words existed to describe such a breach of etiquette. The entire household would be scandalized by their arrival, but there was nothing for it. They needed a special license and they needed to marry as soon as possible. Lord Deveril, as a proxy of Lord Highcliff, would call in a favor to obtain one for them. While he was doing that, they would go to Viscount Seaburn just as Effie had instructed.
The butler answered the door after they knocked, sniffing with displeasure. “May I help you?”
“I am Miss Sophie Upchurch here to see Lord and Lady Deveril. And before you slam the door in our faces, know that I attended the Darrow School with Lady Deveril and we are here at the behest of Miss Euphemia Darrow and Lord Highcliff.”
She’d uttered it all in a tone far more imperious than she would normally have used. But looking bedraggled and worse for wear after running hither and yon through the countryside, a bit of imperiousness was called for. She doubted very seriously he would admit them otherwise.
The butler sighed wearily. “Please do come in. I shall send someone to fetch the lord and lady of the house. You may wait in the drawing room just there.”
Ushered into the well-appointed drawing room, Sophie settled herself on the settee and noted Henry’s smirk. “What?”
“You’re going to be very good at terrifying servants, my bride to be.”
Sophie frowned at that. “Is that something I must aspire to as a viscountess? Terrifying the servants?”
“My servants, on occasion,” Henry admitted. “I’ve been a very lax taskmaster, I’m afraid. I never enforce my will. I never follow through on anything. I’ve just sort of let it all go… I think because I was so exhausted from managing everything for my uncle.”
“But why would you sacrifice your own household for his? Why should he expect you to?”
Henry couldn’t answer that question immediately. It required careful consideration. “I think I have blamed him for burdening me with responsibility, but I have also never protested the weight of it. I let my own interests go because I would rather suffer the discomfort than see him disappointed. He raised me, you know? He and Cecile. Oh, I was a boy when my mother died and at school when my father passed. But they were not attentive parents… ever. I have a tremendous amount of gratitude to them both.”
“They didn’t do those things, they didn’t raise you and love you so you would respond with gratitude. They’re your family and they can’t help but you love because you’re wonderful. Because you’re kind and good and honest and all the things a gentleman should aspire to be. You do not have to do anything but simply be who you are to be worthy of them,” Sophie insisted.
“I’ve never stood up to them. I’ve never refused them anything.” He shrugged and a slight smile curved his lips. “Because none of it mattered until you.”
“Are we mad?” Sophie mused. “We hardly know one another. From the moment I’ve entered your life, it’s been nothing but chaos. Plots and criminals and murder… murders, as it stands. More than one. And more likely to be uncovered still.”
“We are mad,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll withstand all the chaos this world can throw at me, so long as I have you by my side. Also, Dr. Blake and his crimes are really something we deposited at your doorstep. I think perhaps we should be apologizing to you!”
“Well this is touching. Do you know what time it is?”
Sophie looked up to see Lord Deveril standing in the doorway. He was dressed, but not with his usual panache. His cravat was looped about his neck, hanging loose. His coat was nowhere to be seen and his waistcoat was misbuttoned. Close on his heels was Willa. Her hair was tied back hastily with a ribbon and she wore a simple day dress. Both were somewhat bleary eyed and Willa had a telltale bit of whisker burn on her neck.
Willa smacked at his arm and moved to stand before them. “What’s happened to Effie? Really, Douglas! Do not be rude! Clearly they need our assistance.”
“Couldn’t they have needed our assistance at ten in the morning instead of before the blasted sun is fully up?” Deveril snapped, crossing to the door once more. Opening it, he bellowed into the corridor. “We need coffee. Lots of it.”
“Effie is in pursuit of Lord Highcliff now, somewhere on the road to Bath. Where, specifically, I cannot say. But he is being followed by a criminal called the Hammer who works for a—well, I’m not precisely certain what she is,” Sophie admitted.
“The Hammer,” Henry interjected, “is an enforcer for Miss Ruby, the notorious mastermind of all criminal activity of note that takes place south of London.”
“How the devil did Highcliff run afoul of her?” Deveril demanded, clearly wide awake now.
“Well, it was actually us… or me,” Sophie admitted. “There is a physician in Southampton, Dr. Blake, who is a fraud, a charlatan, a confidence man—whatever you choose to call him. And Henry and I have both run afoul of him.”
Willa blinked at her. “My word, Sophie, you certainly know how to embroil yourself in a ridiculously thickened plot!”
“I’m aware, Willa,” Sophie admitted balefully. “Quite well aware, in fact. And now we are here, at Effie’s insistence, because we require assistance in several ways.”
“First,” Henry said, “We need to obtain a special license. Highcliff stated you’d be able to procure one for us.”
Deveril glowered at him. “I’m beginning to understand why Highcliff hates those words. But go on.”
“Secondly, we must seek out Viscount Seaburn so that he can locate a woman, a Mrs. Alberts, who was poisoned by her physician husband a few years ago but miraculously survived,” Henry continued.
“Why do you need to find this woman?” Willa asked.
“Because the doctor she was married to, who attempted to murder her after borrowing heavily against the annuity she’d received from her first husband, is the same doctor Sophie told you about now practicing medicine in Southampton under the name of Dr. Richard Blake… and he is currently treating my cousin, Lady Philippa Meredith, daughter of my uncle, the Duke of Thornhill. The doctor has also murdered a local apothecary who was assisting us, and he abducted Sophie yesterday but she managed to escape. During that abduction he also revealed to her that he had poisoned another young woman he had married in Salisbury while calling himself Dr. Albert Evans. And he admitted to poisoning Lady Parkhurst who was to be Sophie’s employer because he didn’t want a paid companion nosing about.”
“How on earth did you get pulled into all of this, Sophie?” Willa asked in dismay.
“It is a very long story. Suffice it to say, the doctor will be hoisted on his own petard. Without my position with Lady Parkhurst, I was in need of rescuing and Henry was there—ready to rescue me. And then once I met Philippa, I knew something was terribly wrong. As we began to look into her treatment and this doctor, everything else sort of fell into place.”
“Which does not explain,” Deveril pointed out, “why Miss Darrow is hying off into the countryside after Highcliff or what the hell Miss Ruby, a key figure in the criminal underworld of this county, is doing involved in any of this. Any insights on that, Marchwood?”
Henry nodded and explained, “Unfortunately, the doctor owes a great deal of money to Miss Ruby and her underlings. No doubt, she would prefer that we not see him sent to prison as it might hamper his ability to repay her. One of her underlings, by sheer circumstance, happened to be at the inn where we met up with Miss Darrow and Lord Highcliff last night. He overheard our plan and made arrangements to have us all… well—”
“Killed,” Sophie interjected. “No point in prettying it up now. We were to be murdered to protect Dr. Blake so that he will be able to marry Philippa and pay his debts.”
Willa and Lord Deveril blinked. Finally, it was Willa who spoke, directing her comment to Sophie. “You’ve only been gone from London for four days.”
“I’ve been very busy,” Sophie answered. “They were very eventful days.”
“I should think they would have to be,” Lord Deveril deadpanned.
Willa, unable to tolerate the chaos any longer, took charge. “Douglas, go to the archbishop. Beg, borrow and steal if need be, but get them that special license. I shall get Sophie outfitted in something more appropriate for her nuptials and have Lilly and Val meet us here. You and I shall accompany the couple to the church to act as their witnesses while Val does whatever it is that Valentine does.”
“Right,” Deveril leaned in and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “I’m off. The lot of you,” he leveled a warning glance at Sophie and Henry, “stay out of trouble.”
*
Two hours later,bathed and dressed in borrowed clothes from Lord Deveril that were only slightly ill-fitting, Henry stood next to Lord Deveril and the cleric. Across from them, waiting expectantly, were Lady Deveril and her half-sister, Viscountess Seaburn. From the moment they’d deposited Lord Highcliff’s coachman at the former’s townhouse, it had been a flurry of activity. Apparently, Viscount Seaburn was very good at whatever it was he did because he’d already located the former wife of Dr. Alberts and had made arrangements to escort her to Southampton to make her claims, backed by several peers of the realm, to the authorities there. They would leave the following morning in a caravan of coaches. He did not, by any stretch of the imagination, presume it would go off without a hitch. There was still ample time and unlimited opportunities for things to go awry.
But what he wanted more than anything was to see Sophie. Lady Deveril had spirited her away from him after their debriefing and he had not seen or spoken to her since. He’d made a brief stop at a jeweler to obtain a ring for her.
As rings went, it wasn’t overly ornate or ostentatious. He’d elected to go with small and delicate, the thin gold band topped with a filigreed setting set with one diamond and one sapphire along with a few minuscule pearls.
The church doors opened and Sophie stepped inside. At first, he could not see her at all. He could only make out the silhouette of her in the church doorway. But then the doors were closed, the light dimming and he could see her fully. Her hair was done up in an elaborate style with curls piled high atop her head and others left to cascade over her ears and along the curve of her neck. She wore a muslin dress, the embroidery done in shades of deep blue and gold, with blue slippers on her feet and a gold and blue paisley shawl draped over her arms. In a word, she was stunning. If he were to wax poetic, he’d say she was the most ravishing creature to have ever graced his vision. But he didn’t say either of those things. He simply looked at her, drinking his fill, while thanking whatever strange fate had aligned to bring them together.
“You have the license?” the cleric asked. There was a note of disapproval in his tone that was difficult to miss.
“We are not unknown to him,” Lord Deveril whispered with a smirk. “We’ve scandalized the poor man with numerous hasty weddings.”
Henry bit back a grin as he recognized it would not be well received. “We do, sir.”
“Very well. We may proceed.”
At that, Sophie began walking down the aisle, escorted by Viscount Seaburn. The closer she came, the more his heart hammered. There was no fear, no nerves. Just the overwhelming anticipation of being able to make her his wife. After all, despite the briefness of their courtship, and the fact that it hadn’t really been a courtship at all, they’d been through more and seen more of one another’s measure than most couples ever would. They knew one another in the face of danger and catastrophe—something most people never experienced until well after they were wed, if ever.
When she reached him, Seaburn placed her hand on his arm and, together, they faced the cleric who appeared to not be amused by any of them.
“Dearly beloved,” he began, sounding both bored and annoyed, “We are gathered here today in front of God and this congregation, who will be very generous to this church in light of the inconvenience their impatience has created, to join this man and woman in holy matrimony.”
“Can he do that?” Sophie whispered.
“Do what?” Henry asked.
“Just add things to the service. Will it be legal, if he does?”
“So long as we both say I do, and sign the registry, it’s legal,” he whispered back.
The cleric cleared his throat loudly, gifting them both with a dark and threatening look. At their silence, he continued. “This honorable estate, instituted by God in the time of man’s innocence…” And from that point forward, every word was unintelligible. Uttered at a speed and volume, rather like someone skimming through a text to find the pertinent part, which rendered it completely incomprehensible.
“Ah, here we go,” he said. “Are there any impediments to declare.”
There was not a sound in the church. Everyone present had been stunned to silence.
“All right, with no impediments… wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, live together under God’s ordinance and all that?”
Henry blinked at him for a moment. It was only an elbow to the ribs from Deveril that cleared his stunned stupor.
“Just say yes, Marchwood.”
“Yes,” Henry said. Then more enthusiastically. “Yes.”
The cleric rolled his eyes. “Wilt thou have this man to be thy lawfully wedded husband, live together in God’s ordinance… I’d mention obey but the lot of you preclude such a sentiment.”
Sophie’s lips were pursed in a mixture of amusement and disapproval, but she managed to utter, “Yes. I will.”
“There’s more,” the cleric said, waving his hand over the book of common prayer he was reading from. “But there is no one to give you away as I understand it?”
“I have no guardians,” she said. “But I am of the age of consent.”
“Fine,” he said, clearly uninterested in the details. “Then I pronounce you husband and wife. We shall sign the registry and be done.”
Moments later, they were all standing together outside the church. “That was the strangest wedding I’ve ever attended,” Lilly stated. “And my own was somewhat unusual.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s strange,” Deveril pointed out. “Only if it’s binding. The man might be eccentric, temperamental and unpleasant but he is a cleric.”
“We don’t have a wedding breakfast, but I’m certain if you wish it, we can whip something up,” Willa offered.
Deveril shook his head. “They don’t want a breakfast.”
“But they must have a wedding breakfast!” Lilly insisted, linking arms with her half-sister.
Seaburn stepped in, claiming his wife’s other arm. “They have twenty hours before we have to depart for Southampton, Lilly. Do you really think they want to spend it with us?”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, in such succinct terms, I think we will forgo the wedding breakfast and plan to have a celebration at a later date.”
And then the foursome separated, Lord and Lady Deveril in one direction, Viscount and Lady Seaburn in another. He and Sophie were alone outside the church.
“Where shall we go?” She asked.
“I do have a house in London but it is not… the servants were not told we were coming to town and it will not be ready. So Mivart’s?”
“I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. I suppose it’s a day for firsts, isn’t it?”
His blood heated at the slightly risqué double entendre. “You’re very bold for a new bride, Viscountess Marchwood.”
She grinned. “I like the sound of that… not because it’s a title. But because it’s your title. Are we really married, do you think?”
“We’d better be,” he stated as he hailed a hack. “Or that cleric will not be receiving his sizable donation. Do you want another wedding? Later, when things are not so harried? Traditional with orange blossoms and the whole of it?”
She shook her head as he helped her into the hack that had just halted in front of them. “No, so long as it is a legal ceremony and no one can challenge it—though I can’t imagine anyone would—I think the slightly hurried and eccentric version of the service rather suits us.”
“That it does,” he conceded with amusement. “That it does.”
