“I hoped you would,” Marian replied as she settled into the velvet squabs in the direction of travel, pressing her body against the opposite wall from the door to give him more room. “This is quite nice. I’ve only ever seen leather interiors,” she remarked.
David took the seat next to her, noticing how much space there was betwixt them. “You needn’t feel as if you must sit so far away.”
Giving him a tentative grin, Marian scootched a bit closer to him as the coach lurched into motion.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before David asked, “Are you having second thoughts?”
Marian’s eyes rounded. “No. No, I am not. But I cannot help but think we’ve been... set up,” she said in a faraway voice.
“Set up?” he repeated. He turned to regard her. “What do you mean?”
“I promise. I didn’t know anything about the wager. About my uncle winning money if you were to wed by a certain age,” she explained.
“How could you?” David asked.
“But... when my uncle invited me to the Soho Club with him, he said I would be meeting my betrothed,” she continued. “I thought he had arranged a marriage on my behalf, you see.”
David gave a start. “Did he give you the name of this man to whom you were supposed to be betrothed?”
She shook her head. “That’s why I...” She lifted a gloved hand and waved it from her lips to the reticule she clutched in the other. “Why I blurted out what I did when I first saw you,” she explained. “And then, when you said youwere, I was so...” She clamped her mouth shut as her face reddened.
A grin split David’s lips before he suddenly sobered. “You were so... what?”
“Relieved,” Marian said in a whisper. She swallowed. “I feared you would be an old fart...” She paused and inhaled sharply when she realized what she’d said, lifting a hand to cover her mouth.
A chuckle erupted from him. “That you don’t think me an old fart is high praise, indeed,” he replied before he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. He would have kissed her on the lips, too, but the coach came to a stuttering halt. “We’re already here,” he murmured. “Would you like to come in with me?”
“Of course,” she said at the same moment Carver opened the door, his dry hat an indication the rain had stopped falling.
David helped her down from the coach, and they proceeded into the four-story building.
Ahalf-hour later
“Well, that wasn’t difficult,” David remarked, opening the coach door and helping Marian up the step. She gripped the license in her gloved hand as if it were a prized possession. “This is only the third one that has been issued this year,” he added proudly.
“Would you tell me if I asked how much you had to pay for this?” Marian asked as she read the particulars.
Deciding it couldn’t hurt to tell her, he said, “It was twenty-one pounds.” Ignoring her gasp of shock, he added, “The real question is, do you wish to marry me today or wait until tomorrow?”
Although he hadn’t given their wedding date much thought when applying for the license, David certainly was now. If they married this afternoon—he had been given a card with the name and address of someone who would perform the ceremony before six o’clock—they would be spending this very night together as husband and wife. A wave of nervousness had him wondering if he had made a mistake in asking.
Marian’s eyes rounded. “I suppose now is not the time to tell you I’m extremely shy and have no idea what I am supposed to do in the marriage bed,” she blurted.
David blinked. He blinked again. Although he supposed he should have felt even more nervous by her claim, he instead felt relief. Profound relief. “Well, that makes two of us,” he replied, chuckling softly. He turned to the driver, who had stepped down from the bench to help with the coach door.
“Where to, sir?” Carver asked.
“We’re off to get married.” He handed the driver the card he’d been given.
“Best wishes, sir,” Carver said in awe, his gaze finally going to the pasteboard card. “But the... the address on this card is the same as the Soho Club, sir,” he remarked, an expression of confusion crossing his face.
Thinking he might have mixed up the calling cards, David reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the other card he possessed—the calling card he had used to enter the club. He glanced at the one his driver held, now sure he had given him the correct card. “Well, so it is. Let’s stop at the townhouse, first, though. Miss Copper would like to see where she’ll be living when we’re in town for Parliament.”
“Very good, sir.” Carver held the door while David stepped into the coach.
Settling himself next to Marian, he glanced over at her to discover she was staring at him in disbelief. “What is it, my sweet?”
“I would never have guessedyouwere shy,” she murmured.
