Page 7 of An Accidental Marriage

“This is no trick, son,” Mother said.

Charles waved a hand about the room. “Then what is all of this?”

“Why, your marriage,” she responded, her voice low as if the others couldn’t hear, “to Miss Oakley—just as you requested.”

Charles’s jaw weakened. “I requested? I have never once expressed any desire to have an arranged marriage with anyone—let alone Miss Oakley.”

Gasps sounded around the room, Mother’s loudest of all. Father scowled fiercely, Mrs. Oakley’s smile faded, and Mr. Oakley’s lips were stretched in a grim line. Miss Oakley finally revealed her own uncertainty, her smooth brow slightly puckered, and for a moment he knew a sense of compassion for the woman who had clearly been duped as much as he had.

The only one who did not appear surprised was Mr. Berryman. In fact, he looked as if he’d expected Charles’s actions.

The vicar had been over the parish since Charles was a boy. Charles had tormented the man during his sermons, whispering to Tristan incessantly and tossing pebbles at the vicar as he pulled faces—all while Mother and Father weren’t watching.

Charles had repented of his childish ways since. Well, not so much repented as replaced his habits for less annoying ones. But Mr. Berryman had never liked Charles. Due to the condemning eyes now on him, Charles didn’t find it difficult to believe the vicar’s opinion of him hadn’t changed.

But Charles refused to feel a shred of guilt. His parents were to blame for all of this.

“I must apologize for the shock this must be causing,” Charles said, then he faced Mother directly, “but how could you do this? Not only have you tricked me into coming here and encouraged me to believe that this would be a simple meeting, but you’ve also allowed the charade to carry on for the Oakleys, as well. One can only imagine the damage this will cause to all of us.”

Her chin began to quiver, and Charles grimaced. Mother could cry at the drop of a hat—and often did so—but she needed to know her behavior was unacceptable.

And yet, when Father moved forward in clear defense of his wife, Charles knew his words had gone too far.

“What on earth is going on here?” Mr. Oakley chimed in. “We deserve an answer.”

“We all do, Mr. Oakley,” Father said. “I assure you, we will get to the bottom of this.” He faced Charles. “For the last time, this was no trick. And how dare you stand there and cast such accusations toward your mother when you know full well the contents of your last letter.”

Charles stared. His last letter had been filled with sardonic and fictitious agreements. There was no chance it could have been taken seriously.

But as he looked about the room, each pair of eyes confirmed his worst fears.

“You said you had changed your mind,” Mother said, leaning forward with her eyebrows drawn high. Her tears had vanished, as had her quivering chin—as quick to disappear as it was to appear. “You told me to make all the arrangements. You even set this very date.”

“This miscommunication is precisely why God condemns any sort of untruth, whether speaking with satire or otherwise,” chimed Mr. Berryman.

Charles cast him a look of long-suffering, then faced Mother again. “Tell me you did not take my word as fact.”

“I believe one look around the room will help you deduce just exactly what she thought,” Father said dully. “What we all thought.”

If anyone had ever questioned whom Charles had inherited his wit from, the truth was now obvious.

Mother pulled up her reticule, rummaged around the deep pocket, then pulled out a crumpled letter. “Here,” she said, thrusting it toward Charles. “Read this and tell me you did not mean a single word of it.”

“You have it with you?” he asked incredulously, accepting the letter.

“It made me so happy, that is all,” she said, dabbing at fake tears. “I like to be reminded of it.”

Charles clenched his teeth, then read over the whole of his words, most of which he’d forgotten.

Mother,

Very well, you’ve convinced me. Arrange the marriage. Set the date. Order the flowers. Send out the invitations. Read the banns. Purchase a ring for her, will you? I care very little about the details.

As for the marriage date, that must be perfect. How about the eleventh of March? A nice odd number. Should be lovely weather, too. The rain will help ring in my new life with Miss Oakley. I will be home for a few days, so that will be just enough time for me to become acquainted with my new wife.

Oh, heavens above. I haven’t the time to obtain a license. Perhaps one of you could do that. The banns must be read as soon as possible. Better yet, we ought to look into obtaining a special license. This marriage will be special, so why do we not forgo a church ceremony and begin our life with a license using the same descriptor as my and Miss Oakley’s future.

Perhaps Mr. Oakley will be able to manage that with his connections, seeing as how he is the grandson of an earl—as you have mentioned to me at least half a dozen times.