Saved by Scandal by Bárbara Metzger Read Free Book Online Page A

bride’s lowly dwelling and meager possessions, such notions were instantly quelled by Ella’s scowls and Ruff’s growls.
    Lord Woodbridge himself arrived thirty minutes early, after having his coachman drive around the block a few times. He wanted to come back two hours early, to make sure Margot had not changed her mind. Devil take it, he should never have left the woman alone. Permitting a female time to think was like giving a toad a road map. He should have carried her off, married her in all his dirt and disarray, and worried about her trappings and tender feelings later, when the deed was done and she could not withdraw her consent. But a girl was entitled to some consideration on her wedding day. Since this was the only wedding Galen hoped Margot would ever have, he’d given her the extra few minutes. Of course, if she did not come down soon, he’d go scoop her out of her bath or whatever, and the footmen and frowning maids could go hang.
    Luckily for what remained of his lordship’s fraying nerves, Margot shortly descended the narrow stairwell, nodding to the bows of the waiting servants and smiling brightly at her betrothed. He was looking every inch the wealthy aristocrat, confident and commanding in his perfectly tailored blue superfine and the buff pantaloons that hugged his well-formed, well-exercised body. His hair was neatly arranged, still damp from his bath, and without the shadow of a beard, he was like a prince from a fairy tale, except for a very slightly crooked nose. Heavens, he ought to be wedding a princess, she thought, not a needy Nichol Road ragamuffin. Perhaps he was coming early to tell her he’d reconsidered. Perhaps his friends had made him see reason, or threatened to commit him to an asylum. Perhaps she was marrying a madman! Oh, dear. Margot forced herself to smile. She had never let the vast audience of Drury Lane know she was quaking in her slippers, and she would not show the viscount how terrified she was now. With her head held high, crowned with her hair twisted into a golden braid encircled by a wreath of silk roses, Margot held out her hand to Galen, praying he would not notice the trembling.
    She hadn’t run off with one of his footmen, was all Galen could think, as he brought her gloved hand toward his mouth. She was going to go through with the marriage! Lud, his hand was shaking in relief. He hoped she wouldn’t notice, this golden goddess in her ivory gown. He’d double Ella’s salary, if she’d created such a masterpiece to complement his bride’s slim elegance. This must be one of the Magnificent Margot’s theater costumes, he realized, but the pearls around her neck looked real.
    “My mother’s,” she whispered, touching the strand when she noticed his glance. Then she cleared her throat and spoke louder. “I sold everything else, but I was holding onto them for an emergency.”
    He squeezed her hand and presented a bouquet of orange blossoms. “And now you shall never have to part with such a precious reminder of your parent. Are you ready, my dear?”
    Margot was as ready as she would ever be. She let him lead her to his waiting carriage, to another life.
    *
    Galen Woodrow, Viscount Woodbridge, was celebrating his nuptials at St. George’s after all. This time, however, the ceremony was taking place in a narrow antechamber, more an office than a chapel. Skippy, the Reverend Mr. Skidmore, by George, had managed to waylay a floral tribute destined for the funeral being conducted later on in the actual church. The fact that the funeral was for one of the noble patrons of Epsom Downs, and the tribute was in the form of a horseshoe, had not fazed Skippy for an instant. He turned the horseshoe so the opening faced upward, to keep the luck in, he whispered to Galen. So what if such superstitions had no place in the church? So what if the flowers were now all wilting with their stems out of water? So what if Skippy was sneezing? He’d never been good out in the