Emily Hendrickson (30 page)

“That fellow should have stayed with us, not gone haring off into the gloom, I says,” Ellen replied testily.

“I suspect he needed another glass of restorative for his cold,” Chloe said, still not sounding convinced.

“Cold? More likely he wanted another pint of gin and ale.”

“Gin
and
ale? Goodness,” Chloe said in amazed reply. “Small wonder he could scarcely walk if that is what he’s been consuming.”

“Best strike out from here and follow the road,” the usually taciturn Ellen advised. “In this fog, who would be fool enough to venture forth?” Her tone implied that her mistress easily qualified for that term with no trouble.

“Very well,” Chloe said meekly, feeling terrible that she had fallen into such a stupid situation just because of her most noble intent to free Julian from his unwanted marriage to her—a marriage that ought not have taken place if he had just listened to her in the first place.

“At least he will not have to worry about my Aunt Elinor now,” Chloe mumbled to no one in particular, which was fortunate because her maid was busy gathering the portmanteau, the bonnet box, and the other bundles—thrusting a few of the smaller ones into Chloe’s numb hands.

They set off down the road, which was little better than a track, stumbling and struggling with their burdens as best they could.

It must have been an hour of fog and cold and a miserable road full of holes where one least expected them when they at last reached a village. There was one inn, a surprisingly respectable one, and Chloe headed for it like a hungry horse to the stables.

While the innkeeper would normally have turned away anyone who arrived on foot, there was something about this pair of women that captured his attention. The one was obviously a maid, and the other—well, she seemed to be a lady.

“Innkeeper,” Chloe said, then she sneezed, totally spoiling her attempt to appear lofty. “Kachoo!” she repeated, giving up her pretense at once. “Please, I need a room for my maid and me. That wretched driver abandoned us in our post chaise some distance down the road in this dreadful fog and chill. If I ever find that dratted man I shall order him dumped into the sea!” Her sniff somewhat spoiled the threat of dire retribution.

Convinced that this was indeed Quality—who else would behave this way—the innkeeper bowed low and ushered Chloe and Ellen up the stairs to rooms. He proudly displayed a neat sitting room, a bedroom, and a closet with a cot where Ellen might be as cosy as a hen on her nest.

“Kachoo,” Chloe burst forth once again when the innkeeper had left them with the promise to send pails of steaming water for a bath.

“If we don’t catch galloping consumption it will be a miracle,” Ellen grumbled while helping Chloe out of her wet garments. Chloe had fallen into at least two of those nasty holes in the road and taken quite a wetting. Ellen, being the cautious type who looks before leaping, had fared better. She was damp and chilly, but a hot drink, dry clothes, and a blazing fire soon cured that.

It wasn’t long before Chloe had soaked in a hot tub, drunk a posset sent by the innkeeper’s wife that was guaranteed to cure practically anything, and was popped into bed. The posset made her a trifle woozy, but otherwise she felt amazingly splendid, except her woeful tendency to sneeze, that is.

It was after noon of the following day that she finally woke up. A shaft of sunshine filtered through crisp curtains and touched her crumpled linen pillow. Outside birds sung in the trees and leaves danced in a light breeze. No hint of fog lingered and the air was summery again.

She saw Ellen sitting by the window and said, “I feel surprisingly well. I suppose we had best be on our way.” She made a halfhearted attempt to get out of bed and was discouraged by her weakness.

“Nay, not with the fever and shakes and all you have had, my lady,” Ellen proclaimed, rising from her chair to nudge Chloe under the covers again. “You need more beef broth and posset before you attempt to go anywhere.”

“I do believe there is something odd in that posset, Ellen. It certainly does put me to sleep.” Chloe sank back against the pillow and gave said posset a suspicious look.

“You stopped sneezing and that’s a blessing. I thought for certain you’d be taken from me with a nasty case of galloping consumption.” Ellen smoothed Chloe’s hair back from her forehead, also noting the resumption of normal temperature at the same time. She saw to it that Chloe drank her posset and consumed a few bites of custard.

“Well, I cannot stay here forever. Not but what I cannot pay for the excellent services, for I took all I had saved for just such an event.”

“You expected your cousin to have need of you, my lady?” Ellen said with a skeptical look.

“Indeed,” Chloe said with a serious face. “I have known for some time that I would have to make this trip.”

Then she burst into tears and allowed Ellen to stroke her hair until she drifted off to sleep once again.

The maid stared down at the tear-streaked face of her dear mistress and resolved to do anything about affairs as they stood. Once she was certain her mistress was sound asleep—for the posset did indeed have something odd in it, she left the bedroom.

Belowstairs she consulted with the innkeeper, who was most impressed with the superior lady’s maid. He hastened to assist her, and before long a message was sent off to Aubynwood.

The pity of all this was that Julian had left long before the message informing him as to Chloe’s whereabouts arrived.

* * * *

He had tracked her down to the village, the first and second stages of her journey, by that time having a notion of which cousin she intended to visit. It was when he attempted the third stage of the post chaise run that he ran afoul. The man had decamped, the innkeeper informed him. The driver had known trouble before but this beat all. He had left the coach, passengers and all, in the middle of a road and headed off for a drink.

When informed of the direction, Julian took a chance and dashed off, following the innkeeper’s muddled instructions the best he could.

It was late in the day when he drove into the quiet little village. He noted the pleasant inn, but felt no particular hope that he might know success. Even though the road had been rutted, most roads were like that. It proved nothing.

He entered the inn, found the genial host, then posed his question.

“I am looking for two women. One is a taciturn maid, the other is my wife. Lady Chloe St. Aubyn. She was on her way to visit her cousin and I had hoped to catch up with her.”

The suspicious look on the innkeeper’s face dissolved at the mention of Chloe’s name and the visit to the cousin. Everyone in the inn knew about the cousin.

“Aye, she be up those stairs, first room on the right. Mind you, she might be asleep, for dreadful ill she’s been. Maid was afraid she’d take to galloping consumption. M’wife sent up her special posset that did the trick, I’d say. She looked right as rain, or so says the maid, this afternoon.”

Julian scarcely heard the last of these words. He raced across the common room and charged up the stairs. Once at the top he hurried to the first door on the right, tapping first before opening the door and entering the sitting room. Ellen was in the act of rising from a chair when he surprised her.

“Well, if you ain’t the speedy one. She be in there. She’s as well as can be, and I’ve had a frightful time of it, keeping her in bed when she’s fine. If you had not come today, I’m afeared she would have demanded to go on.” The maid picked up a shawl and prepared to leave the room.

At this outburst Julian gave Ellen an amazed look, then entered the bedroom, his mind awhirl. Ellen had
conspired
to keep Chloe here for him?

“Julian? Is that you, dear? Or am I imagining your voice again,” murmured the slight figure in the bed.

Peeling off his coat, Julian tossed it aside, then advanced upon the bed while tearing his cravat from around his neck. “Indeed, dear wife, it is your loving husband.”

At that Chloe sat bolt upright and shrieked, “Julian!” Then more softly, “What are you doing here…and in my room!”

He slid onto the bed, placing a hand down on either side of her so she could not escape from him again.

“I have found you and now intend to tell you what I should have told you weeks ago. It would have saved a great deal of anguish…on my part at any rate.” He leaned forward and placed a highly satisfactory kiss on her surprised lips. Then he continued with business.

“You kept insisting on eliminating one of your names in the calling of the banns, as though that would invalidate the marriage. Sweetheart, unless we were able to find a judge that was both blind and deaf, we wouldn’t have a chance with that ruse.”

“But the Pouget case…” she began.

“Slightly different, my love. The Pouget marriage was annulled by reason of false publication of the banns in connection with the minority of the husband and failure to obtain the father’s consent. It was not just the banns, dear. It was fraud on several counts. He was only sixteen.” Julian kicked off his shoes while he tenderly traced the lace that edged his wife’s neckline of a deliciously sheer lawn nightgown.

“Julian, am I truly your love?” she whispered, quite forgetting her promise, and the Pouget case, and that Julian must have known all this the entire time, and, indeed, forgetting everything else in the world but her beloved husband.

By this point Julian had managed to divest himself of his clothing and climbed in bed beside his wife. “Indeed, my love, you most certainly are. And shall I show you the many ways in which I love you?”

“Please do,” she whispered back at him, quite willing to be taught by her scoundrel husband.

And so he began.

* * * *

X
Dedicated to Laura Watson, my Canadian lawyer friend, whose expertise in Old English law, especially regarding annulments, proved most valuable.

Copyright © 1994 by Doris Emily Hendrickson

Originally published by Signet (0451179358)

Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.