Unclaimed (Turner #2)(92)

“There your dream ends,” Mark said. “I don’t want to marry by special license. I want you to call the banns in your church. I want you to tell your entire parish that your daughter is marrying me. I want you to acknowledge her by name.”

At Mark’s feet, Ellen began to cry softly.

“Of course, of course. It will all be as you wish. Precisely as you wish.”

“One last thing,” Mark said.

“Whatever you say.”

“From now on, when she writes you letters, I want you to answer them. And when she arrives on your doorstep, which she should do in, oh…” Mark peered over his shoulder at the watch on the table. “In two minutes, then I want you to welcome her inside.”

Mr. Carlisle swallowed hard. He looked at Mark. He looked at Ellen, where she’d curled her legs about her on the floor. He looked back at Mark.

“You surmise correctly,” Mark said. “This is no dream. I’d never met Miss Ellen before today. I mean to marry your eldest daughter, Jessica.”

Mr. Carlisle pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. “I can’t announce banns for Jessica. Every one thinks she died.”

“Everyone will have to be disillusioned. How you go about it is, quite frankly, not my problem to solve.”

“I had to think of my other daughters. They—they wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere if it had come out that their sister had been so ruined. I—”

“I do understand,” Mark said. “You were frightened. You had to think of your position, your reputation. But as for Miss Ellen’s prospects—we rather thought the Duchess of Parford might sponsor her Season. I don’t think you understand what I am offering you. I am going to marry your daughter. My brother is going to welcome her into the family with open arms. If you think that the two of us cannot counteract any scandal you can imagine, you are greatly mistaken.”

“Sir Mark, perhaps you don’t understand—”

“You don’t understand. I did not come to ask permission to make your daughter my wife. I am asking if you would like to make my wife your daughter once again.”

“Yes.” He stood up, his voice breaking. “Yes. Yes. You have to ask? You think I didn’t read her every letter and hope that I could find a way? Do you think that a single night passed in which I didn’t regret what had happened? I didn’t know what else to do. And by the time I’d acted, it was too late. Too irrevocable.”

For a moment, Mark thought of reminding the man that he’d had seven years to act. That he’d let it all slip away, knowing what his daughter had faced out there. But now was the time for reunion.

“It’s not too late now. She’s waiting at the door. Come on, now. She’s missed you.” He glanced at Ellen and gave her a smile. “She’s missed all of you.”

Three weeks later.

THERE WAS NOTHING Jessica could do to calm her nerves on the morning of her wedding.

She tried pacing in the nave. She tried braiding her hair. Her sisters distracted her by fussing with her gown, pinning flowers to the hem of her skirt…and just by being present. It was lovely having sisters again. She’d spent the past weeks with them. At the first service, her father had introduced her to the congregation and announced that he’d told a lie when he said she had passed away, and that he was deeply ashamed—but then he’d said nothing further, not one word against her. When he’d called the banns, everyone had forgotten everything else. And for the remainder of the time, she and her sisters had been free to take calls and talk to one another.

Then there had been Mark. He’d gone on walks with Jessica and her sisters. He’d held her hand chastely through three weeks’ worth of afternoon rambles through country lanes. She had dined with his brothers; he had engaged her father in a philosophical conversation that ended up with the two of them arguing over texts for hours. And after dinner last night, she’d scarcely had any time to see him alone. Still, he’d pressed her against the back wall of the garden in the few minutes they’d found and he’d kissed her—soft and sweet, but with the force of three weeks of pent-up longing. He’d kissed her until they were both dizzy with anticipation, until she could scarcely stand for wanting him. And then, when he’d finally pulled away, he’d whispered in her ear: “Tomorrow. Finally.”

She didn’t think that anyone had noticed their disappearance, but when Jessica had returned to the rest of the company, her sister had come up beside her and gently pulled an errant twig from her hair. “How lucky for you,” Ellen had said, with a sly, sideways look. “It seems that Sir Mark has no interest in being practical about chastity.”

It would almost hurt to leave her sisters again. They hummed about her now, Ellen patting the bows on her dress into place. It was tomorrow, finally, and a mass of butterflies seemed to attack her from inside. Charlotte went to join her husband in the front pew, and Ellen departed to take her place as maid of honor. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes. For this small space of time, Jessica was utterly alone once more.

And then: “Hello?” A short man popped his head through the door of the vestry where she waited.

“Mr. Parret. What are you doing here?”

“You invited me.” He smiled cheerily. “Also, I wanted to give you this.”