Page 34 of Yule Be Mine

Chapter Thirteen

Next morning, at precisely eight o’clock as promised, Yule’s carriage pulled up at Morton’s Tower, the entrance to Lambeth Palace, the residence of John Bird Sumner, current Archbishop of Canterbury. The imposing structure had been the entry to the Archbishop for some six hundred years and the worn, brownish-grey door he knocked on showed every single day of it. After plying the heavy metal knocker, Yule stood for several minutes looking around and up at the towering red-brick building, waiting for someone to come let him in. When no one appeared, he knocked again, this time louder and with more impatience.

All he wished to do was procure the special license, return to the St. Claire townhouse, confess yesterday’s encounter with Penelope, then whisk her off to the nearest church with a vicar who’d agree to marry them. Ever since he’d made love to Penelope, the second time even more intensely satisfying than the first, he’d lived with no other thought save that he had to marry her as quickly as possible so he could keep her in his bed for at least a week, pausing their amorous activities only long enough to take in sustenance and an occasional nap.

But he could do none of that if the blasted clerk didn’t answer the bloody door.

At last a creak, sounding like an ancient crypt being opened, alerted Yule that someone had finally realized that he was there. The door opened, revealing a harried looking clerk with huge dark smudges under his eyes.

“Good morning. I am Mr. Ulysses Quartermain and I wish to request an audience with the Archbishop.” Yule had, via a hasty note to his grandfather last evening, obtained the correct protocol for applying for an audience with the Archbishop—and afterward how to apply for the special license itself. He had trusted his grandfather knew everything and once again, he was not disappointed.

“Good morning, Mr. Quartermain. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, however the Archbishop is ill this morning.” The clerk looked saddened, whether because he’d disappointed Yule, was anxious for his employer, or was simply exhausted. “His physician is with him now, but I suspect the Archbishop will not be holding audiences for a week if not longer.”

Yule’s face must have turned a ghastly shade of white at that news, for he could feel the blood leaving his face in a rush that left him giddy. That couldn’t be true. “Not for a week?”

“Or longer, sir.” The clerk nodded mournfully. “I’ve seen the Archbishop with this malady before. He’ll not stir one step for four or five days at the very least. He’s always particular about his health.”

“But…but what are people to do who need a special license to be married?” That was Yule’s burning question now.

“They’d need to have the banns read or get a common license. Excuse me, sir, but I must attend His Grace.” The clerk shut the door and Yule turned away, perplexed.

After yesterday’s activities, he suspected he and Penelope needed to marry immediately. If they waited even for the reading of the banns, which took three weeks, and married on the third Sunday, people would still notice if their child came early. They would be perfectly capable of counting backward and finding a month lacking in the child’s conception. There was no guarantee Penelope was now carrying his child, but Fate had a way of dealing people a losing hand just when they were least expecting it.

Of course, they could board a train and head for Scotland’s Gretna Green, but even that desperate measure had been rendered almost moot by a little-known law, according to his cousin. Sandy had only been able to marry immediately in Scotland because he was a resident of a parish there. Those who were not had to wait several weeks before a wedding could be performed. So he might as well wait it out here. At least Penelope’s parents might be better willing to overlook their little indiscretion if promised the large wedding Mrs. St. Claire had hoped for. It would simply be six months earlier than planned.

Still, he must persuade Penelope to keep their secret a little longer. It would do no good to worry her parents when nothing could be done about hurrying the wedding along. He’d continue to check at Lambeth Palace every morning and inquire about the Archbishop’s health. With luck, they might be able to marry by the end of the week. Yule climbed back into his carriage and gave the St. Claires’ address. He was looking forward to this conversation with Penelope about as much as he would a visit to an undertaker.

*

“Yule, what apleasant surprise so early in the morning.” Mrs. St. Claire beamed at him as he entered the breakfast room. “James, lay another plate for Mr. Quartermain. How is your dear mother? Has she quite recovered from the exhaustion of the Christmas and Boxing Day festivities?”

“As well as can be expected, ma’am. The townhouse does belong to my grandparents, so Mother has few duties. But I will tell her you asked after her.” If these pleasantries didn’t come to an end immediately and Penelope didn’t appear forthwith, he might go stark raving mad. “Has Penelope already breakfasted?”

“No, she has been a slug-a-bed all morning. Let me send for her. James—” Mrs. St. Claire sipped her coffee and shot a summoning look at the unwary footman. “Ask Brown to finish dressing Miss Penelope and send her down here immediately. She has lazed about too much this morning.” She smiled at Yule. “Do sit down to breakfast with me. Mr. St. Claire finished half an hour ago and neither of the girls have put in an appearance.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Yule slid into the chair opposite his hostess and another footman darted forward with a warm plate filled with eggs, ham, kippers, a slab of beef, and rolls with orange marmalade. Well, he probably needed a hearty breakfast, considering the task ahead of him. He dropped a napkin in his lap and speared a piece of ham. “Have you given any more thought to shortening the betrothal period?”

Mrs. St. Claire’s coffee cup rattled in its saucer as the good lady’s mouth opened in protest. “Of course not, Yule. What a thing to say.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you even think such a thing?”

“Well…” Yule forked up some of the eggs, put them in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He’d been feverishly thinking of reasons for him and Penelope to marry sooner rather than later—the most pressing one from yesterday’s encounter at his flat being the last one he wished to mention despite what Penelope had said—and had hit on one he hoped might persuade his future mother-in-law to reconsider. “It’s just that yesterday, when Penelope had that dreadful headache, I began to fear for her health. She’s always seemed to be very well indeed, but now I’m not so certain.” He looked meaningfully at Mrs. St. Claire. “She did have scarlet fever when she was a child, as I remember. The same time that Victor did.”

He turned his concerned gaze on the woman, whose cheerful countenance suddenly drained of color. “I want her to have all the trappings of a long engagement, but not at the expense of damaging her constitution. It must be very taxing, attending all the parties as the guest of honor, being under the ton’s scrutiny for so many months. Seeing what a simple outing to the theater brought on, I am worried her health may go into a decline.”

“Dear Lord!” Mrs. St. Claire dropped her roll back onto her plate untouched. “Do you think she may have come down with that horrible disease again? Her constitution was never the same afterwards, although as she grew up, she seemed to get stronger. Might that be why she hasn’t appeared this morning? Oh, why has Brown not informed me that she is still ill?” She signaled a footman who hurried over. “Ask Brown to come to me in my room. I am going there this instant.”

Yule saw a glimmer of hope at last, although he hoped he hadn’t overplayed his hand.

“I was thinking perhaps a shorter engagement time, such as the three weeks it would take for the banns to be read, might limit the strain Penelope would be under.” Given he couldn’t obtain a special license for at least one week, another two weeks seemed almost tolerable. Of course, he’d burn in agony until he could be with her again the way they’d been yesterday, but he suspected they might find a way to devise another tryst or two while waiting for the wedding. And, in the event there was a child at the end of eight months instead of nine, the ton’s busybodies couldn’t say much, as they’d have been married that whole long time. If they went into the country immediately after the wedding, who could say exactly when the child was born anyway.

Yule wasn’t sure why he was so certain they had begotten a child yesterday, although it was probably merely a guilty conscience. “I wouldn’t wish Penelope to suffer, or sink into dire distress because the wedding preparations proved too much for her.”

“I must go and check on her. I won’t leave this to Brown. If she is ill, she will need her mother.” Rising hurriedly, Mrs. St. Claire dropped her napkin over her almost untasted plate. “There may be something to what you say, Yule.” Mrs. St. Claire’s face was now deeply drawn with worry. “I haven’t given her illness a thought recently, because it was so long ago. But she’s always been delicate, you know. After that dreadful fever… She hasn’t had one of her headaches in ever so long, so I do wonder if the excitement of the betrothal and wedding aren’t taking a toll on her.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Yule tried to keep the glee out of his voice. He truly didn’t wish to worry Penelope’s mother, but… “I see no harm in moving the wedding up. Then afterward Penelope and I could retire to grandfather’s estate, away from the hubbub of London, where we would be close to you. There’s nothing like the country for rest and recuperation.”

“Oh, I must go to her, to make certain she’d not in a decline,” Mrs. St. Claire said. “Thank you for pointing out how stressful this must be on her. Once we are certain of her health, I shall speak to Mr. St. Claire. Perhaps a shorter engagement period might be better for Penelope.”

“Thank you, ma’am, for considering it.” Yule kept his countenance serious, though inside he breathed a huge sigh of relief. “I’ll wait to see how Penelope is and we can discuss what is best for her. If that’s all right.” Inspiration hit. “Why don’t I take her for a carriage ride? Such an outing will certainly be good for her. There is nothing like fresh air to make one feel better.”