Griff stood up and reached out his hand to Colin. “Alyssa and I would be honored to stand up for you and Miss Davies.”
Colin was stunned. “Free Fellows don’t—”
Griff laughed. “I know the Free Fellows unwritten tenet is that we don’t attend weddings, but I broke that rule by attending my own.” He looked Colin in the eye. “Allow me to ease the way for you and your bride and to represent the other Fellows by standing up for you at your wedding.”
Jarrod walked over to Colin. “Listen to him,” he urged. “Now is not the time to be stubborn. Griff’s a duke and a war hero. His august presence at your wedding will go a long way in shielding your bride from the nasty rumors and innuendo that are sure to surface as a result of this hasty marriage. And having Alyssa there will insure that Miss Davies is accepted and welcomed at all the best places.”
“Shepherdston’s right.” Sussex rose from his chair to join the others. “There are a great many advantages to having a duke and his duchess attend your wedding. If I were married, I’d offer to do the same.”
“Thank you,” Colin answered, taking hold of Griff’s hand. “I’ll be honored and grateful to have you and Alyssa there.”
Griff clapped Colin on the back. “That’s what friends are for.”
Chapter Fourteen
“And oftentimes excusing of a fault
Doth make the fault the worser by th’ excuse.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King John
Gillian was about to become a bride. Again. And the nervous fluttering in her stomach increased in direct proportion to the ticking of the clock on the mantel and the flurry of wedding preparations currently under way in her parents’ London town house.
At ten o’clock in the morning, Gillian would promise to love, honor, cherish, and obey for the second time in as many months. And for the second time in as many months, she was marrying a man who was very nearly a stranger. The difference this time was that she was marrying her father’s choice of a stranger instead of her own.
And she wasn’t traveling the length of England in order to do it. This time, she need only make it out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and into the drawing room. Racing to Scotland might prove easier.
Gillian closed her eyes and murmured another in a series of fervent prayers. She prayed her father would be a much better judge of bridegroom than she had turned out to be, and she gave thanks that the wedding ceremony was going to be held in the drawing room of her parents’ home instead of the church sanctuary where she’d been baptized and that only a handful of people would be present to witness it. There was less chance of God striking her dead when she repeated her vows in a drawing room. The church sanctuary was altogether too risky.
When she’d eloped with Colin Fox, she believed in the vows she’d repeated with all her heart. It didn’t matter that she’d repeated them before the anvil in a blacksmithing shop without benefit of clergy. The blacksmith reading the words of the ceremony, a stable full of horses, two witnesses, and Colin were all she’d needed to feel like a bride.
Tomorrow’s ceremony would feature a rector, a special license, her parents, and a bridegroom—another Colin—one who carried the title of viscount and who hadn’t eloped with three women within months of one another. Tomorrow’s wedding would be perfectly legal—in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the law—but Gillian felt like a fraud.
“Stop fretting, Gilly-flower,” her mother spoke from the doorway of Gillian’s bedchamber. She had come to help Gillian select a dress for the wedding and could tell, with one look, that her assistance was needed in other ways as well.
Gillian drew herself up to her full height, straightened her shoulders, looked her mother in the eyes, and attempted a bluff. “Who’s fretting?”
“You are,” Lady Davies said. “And there’s no need. Everything will be all right.”
“Will it?” Gillian asked sadly. “He’s only met me twice. And he’s only marrying me because Papa’s paying him handsomely and forcing him to accept damaged goods.”
Lady Davies canted her head to one side and watched as Gillian twisted a delicate lace handkerchief into a tight little knot. “I’ve only met him twice myself, but Lord Grantham didn’t appear to be particularly weak in character or resolve. Did he appear that way to you?”
“No, he did not,” Gillian admitted.
“Then, perhaps it’s time you realized that men of true character are rarely forced to do things they do not wish to do.” Lady Davies walked over to Gillian and rescued the scrap of knotted lace from Gillian’s hands. “Lord Grantham may have reasons for agreeing to marry you of which you are unaware, but I’ll wager they are good and honorable reasons that have very little to do with the handsome sum your father is paying him.” She looked her daughter in the eye. “If it were only about the money, my dear, he would be marrying an heiress whose reputation isn’t hanging by a very thin thread.”
Gillian was thoughtful. “If it isn’t about the money, then why choose me?”
“Perhaps he likes what he sees,” Lady Davies said. “Perhaps he thinks you’ve a good head on your shoulders and will be a good companion and an asset to his name.”
Gillian gave a very unladylike snort of sarcastic disbelief. “I can see how my most recent demonstration of intelligence and sensibility led Lord Grantham to draw that conclusion.”
Lady Davies ignored Gillian’s sarcasm. “Then it’s up to you to change his opinion.” She smiled at her daughter.
Gillian looked at her mother as if Lady Davies had said something extraordinarily profound. “Lord Grantham told me that our wedding could be a second chance for me if I wanted one.”