First Season / Bride to Be (41 page)

“Why have we stopped?” demanded his mother, pushing the door open and surging forward.

She was met by the barrel of a gun and thrust back. At the same moment, the opposite door was flung back and another gun aimed at Richard. “Here they are,” called the huge man holding it. “Just like you said.”

Another figure joined him, tall and heavily cloaked. Richard stared into the darkness of the hood, but all he could see was the folds of a scarf and the glitter of eyes.

The reflexes honed in the jungle took over, and he launched himself through the air at the man's throat.

He heard Emily scream as he struck. The man went down under him and thudded onto the road. Richard's hands closed on his throat.

Something struck Richard's head with stunning force. He reeled, but didn't let go. Then a voice snarled, “Get out of that or I'll shoot the girl.”

Turning, he saw that the gunman had Emily. Red rage and the urge to kill flashed through him. If he dared to hurt her…

Shaking with fury, Richard let his hands ease. The man under him struggled. At least he would know one thing, Richard thought. As he sprang up, he grabbed the scarf that hid his assailant's face and pushed the hood aside. “Taft?”

The old man rose with some difficulty, ignoring Richard's incredulous gaze. “Put her back in the carriage,” he said to his henchman. “And secure the other door.”

“Taft?” repeated Richard.

“Get the servant and tie her up with the driver,” said Elijah Taft, still paying him no heed. Lady Fielding's maid was dragged from the coach and led off.

“Why?” demanded Richard.

Finally, Taft turned to him, contempt clear in his eyes. “You'll not be pulling down the house I've spent my life preserving. It'll go to a man with some money, and some sense. It'll be saved.”

“But I didn't…” He had said something about razing the house in Somerset, he remembered, but he hadn't been serious.

“You'd say anything now, to save your worthless skin.” Taft turned away. “Why the good Lord didn't drown you, I'll never understand.”

“You sent me to that shipping agent,” Richard exclaimed. Taft had recommended the firm, said they were friends and would give Richard a good price on passage to the Indies.

Taft merely turned to the gunman. “Take the reins and get rid of them once and for all. This time, make it look like an accident. Drive them over a cliff. No more shooting.”

“We was just trying to flush 'im out of the house,” the man murmured sullenly.

“Well, now I have handed them over to you. Don't blunder again.”

The man glowered at him but turned to climb up on the box. Richard was shoved back inside. When he tried the doors, he found them secured from the outside.

* * *

The carriage bounced along a rough lane, throwing its passengers against the seats and one another. Emily fell against Richard. His arm curved warmly around her for a moment, supporting her, then was withdrawn as the vehicle swung back. Emily's throat tightened and her eyes stung. He had gotten her through so much. She wouldn't give up just yet.

The carriage slowed. Emily heard a voice call out. One of the men on the box above them answered. She couldn't tell what he said. The more distant voice replied. The carriage slowed further.

There was a shout. Two shots rang out as their vehicle jerked to a stop.

“You don't suppose it could be highwaymen?” Emily was shaken by a crazed desire to laugh.

“Whatever it is, we'd better try to take advantage of it.” Richard shifted in the seat. “Move back.”

Richard turned sideways and kicked the door with both feet, hard. It shuddered, and the carriage rocked on its springs.

“Stow that,” bellowed one of the men on the box.

Another shot split the night. It seemed to Emily that it had not come from their guards.

Richard kicked the door again. It gave a little. Their captors pounded on the roof. He kicked again with all his strength, and the carriage door sprang open, the latch shattered.

“Stay back,” he commanded.

Scrabbling sounds up above warned them.

“Down,” said Richard.

They all crouched. The barrel of a gun appeared in the opening, then the distorted face of one of the London ruffians, hanging upside down. With a lunge, Richard took hold of the gun and twisted it. It fired, and the bullet tore through the carriage roof. There was a sharp cry from above.

Richard jerked savagely and the man hurtled off the carriage roof, landing with a thud on the ground. His gun remained with Richard, Emily saw. He tensed to leap. She put a hand on his arm. In that moment there was a roar of rage outside. The carriage dipped as if a great weight had hit it, then swayed as it was removed. “I'll put your lights out for good, Bob Jones,” roared the voice.

“Is that…?” began Emily.

“If you move, I will shoot you,” someone else declared.

“Papa?” she exclaimed.

“If you've harmed one hair on my daughter's head, I'll shoot you anyway,” he added.

The man who must be Ralph the Thumb moaned on the ground beneath the door.

“Emily? Are you there?”

“Yes, Papa,” she called.

Richard climbed out of the vehicle, looked around, then turned to lift her over the recumbent form of Ralph. Emily's father materialized from the bushes at the side of the road. Simultaneously, the Bruiser appeared, frog-marching Bob Jones to join them.

“Jerry! How did you get here?”

“I brought him,” replied Sarah Fitzgibbon, emerging beside Alasdair. “I had a feeling you were going to need some help, so I set him to watch Lord Warrington's house.”

Astonished, Emily tried to take it all in. There was a post chaise blocking the road. Sarah also held a pistol. “Mama didn't come?”

“Of course I came,” answered her mother, pushing out from between some branches on the other side of the road. She gestured with her gun. “Don't be ridiculous.”

Lady Fielding emerged from the carriage. She surveyed Emily's parents with far more approval than before. “I see what you mean about the pistols,” she said to Emily's mother. “Did you really learn to shoot when you were twelve?”

Olivia approached the group around the vehicle. “Oh no. My father would never have allowed such a thing. Alasdair taught me.”

Lady Fielding nodded judiciously. “Richard, perhaps you could…”

“Yes, Mother. We can discuss it another time. Where is Taft?”

“Taft?” Alasdair Crane growled.

“A cloaked man rode off that way,” said Sarah, pointing back the way they'd come.

Richard strode over and began unharnessing one of the horses.

“What are you doing?” asked Emily.

“I have to go after him.” Richard threw off the last of the straps and mounted the restive horse bareback.

“Wait.”

“I must find him,” was all Richard said. Setting his heels to the horse's flanks, he pounded off.

Emily took two steps after him.

“You, young lady, are by no means out of trouble,” declared her father. “How dare you go sneaking off alone from the inn, without a word? And you have spent days—
days
—in the company of…” He broke off as Olivia put a hand on his arm.

“I didn't mean to be gone for days, Papa.” She watched Richard disappear around a bend.

“We should go back to the village,” put in Olivia.

“He's taken one of the leaders,” objected Alasdair. “How are we to drive without a full team?”

Emily's mother quieted him. They deposited Bob Jones and Ralph the Thumb in the carriage with the single horse, with the Bruiser to watch them. The rest of the party took the post chaise, which Emily's father drove. Once they were moving, Olivia took her daughter's hand. “Are you all right?”

Exhaustion was dragging at Emily now that the ordeal seemed over. It felt like a huge effort just to nod. “I'm tired and bruised and filthy. But I'll be fine once I can rest.”

“This is all very inconvenient,” complained Richard's mother.

“Very unsettling,” said Olivia. And Emily acknowledged that Lady Fielding's amazing transformation earlier was not to be lasting.

“I want to go back to Lydia's. And someone must fetch Jevers.”

“And the coachman,” remembered Emily.

When this was explained, Olivia promised to send someone from the inn to retrieve them both.

“I don't understand how you found us,” said Emily then.

“Jerry saw the attack on Lord Warrington's house,” Sarah explained. “He tried to follow, but he's not very good in the countryside. So we started watching the Farrell place instead, and when he saw Bob Jones and Ralph call there, he kept an eye on them from then on.”

“Sarah explained everything to us, and we were able to set up an ambush,” Emily's mother finished. She gave Emily a reproachful look. “You really ought to have confided in us, you know. Your father was very hurt that you did not ask him to shoot those men.”

“I'm sorry,” Emily mumbled. She laid her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She and Richard hadn't been separated for days, and now he seemed very far away. Events had been moving so quickly since the moment she found him lying bound in the field behind her house. She had been whirled off to London, made over by her aunt, and then embroiled in a murderous plot. There'd been no time to think.

The mystery was solved, she realized. They had discovered who was behind the attacks on Richard. Their agreement was at an end.

But things had changed since they set those terms. She rubbed her forehead with one hand. What had changed was not circumstances, but herself. She loved him, she admitted. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

And what did he want?

Sometimes, she was certain he shared her attachment. At other times, he looked at her as if she were an irksome problem he had to solve. Was he thinking then of the engagement? Was he wondering whether she would keep her word?

Emily swallowed. He would come and speak to her once things were more settled. She would see in his eyes what he felt, and then she would know what to do.

“Emily.”

She started violently.

“We've reached the inn.” Her mother sounded quite concerned. “Are you burnt to the socket? Come inside and rest.”

Slowly, she climbed down from the chaise. There was no sign of the other carriage, or of Richard. Weariness dragged at her. Nothing more could be done tonight. When she saw Richard again, she would decide what to say.

The next few days passed in a flurry of activity. Messengers came and went from the inn. There were visits to and from a solemn magistrate. Richard appeared at unexpected moments, always preoccupied and hurrying, and left again without saying much of anything. People seemed to swirl around Emily with dizzying speed, but none of them appeared to want her opinion or her help.

Richard certainly made no effort to speak privately to her. He hardly seemed to notice her existence, and Emily grew more apprehensive with each hour. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he was waiting for her to fulfill her promise and set him free.

“Warrington knows how to get things done,” said her father approvingly at dinner two nights later. “He's even managed to get that poor excuse for a magistrate to move. I daresay he'll have the business wrapped up by the end of the week.”

“What will happen to that man Taft?” asked Emily's mother.

Alasdair shook his head. “Warrington didn't want to prosecute. Said it was a misunderstanding. He's pensioning the man off.” He seemed torn between outrage and admiration.

“I still don't understand what he thought he was doing,” said Emily.

“He's a bit unbalanced,” replied her mother. “Apparently he has devoted his life to preserving the Warrington estates in Somerset, and now that he is getting old, he became obsessed with leaving them in good hands. He seemed to think Lord Warrington's heir was the answer.”

“So he decided to get rid of R—Lord Warrington?”

Olivia nodded. “And those close to him. Who might prevent the heir from inheriting.”

Alasdair growled.

Emily tried to imagine being so attached to a place that you were willing to kill for it.

“The man's demented,” said her father. A thought seemed to strike him. “Still, he'd make a splendid Mephistopheles.” His hand moved as if it held a paintbrush.

“Too old,” protested Olivia.

“Not necessarily.”

Emily's thoughts drifted as they disputed the matter. They would go back to their painting, and Papa's bickering with the neighbors, and the love which sustained them through every difficulty. She had to see Richard. Why didn't he come to her? Just then, his name caught her wandering attention.

“Warrington will be here tomorrow at three,” said her father.

Both her parents looked at her.

“It's all arranged,” Alasdair added.

Was he coming to say good-bye? “Good. I need to speak to him,” she said.

Alasdair raised his dark eyebrows. “You'll have plenty of time for that.”

Emily rose from the table. “I'm going to walk a little.”

“Emily,” began her mother.

“I won't be long. I'll stay near the inn.” Emily hurried out before they could object, leaving behind a concerned silence.

“I hope we're doing the right thing,” said Olivia after a while.

“No question of that,” answered her husband.

“I wish I could be as sure as you.”

“How can you think of any other course of action?”

Olivia shook her head. “I don't understand what Emily feels about it.”

Alasdair nodded. They contemplated this enigma for a while. “Never have understood her,” he ventured finally.

“I know.” Olivia sighed. “She's always been so self-contained. It's worrisome.”

After another interval, Alasdair brightened. “Been that way since she was a tiny creature,” he pointed out.

“That's what I just said.”

“No, I mean, perhaps she's very happy. Wouldn't show that either, would she?”

Olivia pondered this.

“Warrington hasn't been about much,” he added. “Perhaps she's pining for him.”

“Do you think…?”

“Dragged us all down here to save his neck.”

“That's true,” said Olivia, looking happier.

“Went haring off into the wilderness with him.” Alasdair scowled. “Alone. When I think that
my
daughter…”

“Yes, yes. You must be right.”

“I dashed well am right. Warrington sees it.”

“I know.”

“It's all settled. Let us say no more about it.”

Setting aside her doubts, Olivia nodded.

* * *

Emily rose early the next morning and set off before anyone else was stirring. Finding a secluded spot not too far from the inn, she sat in the summer sunshine and tried to prepare herself for the afternoon. She moved her hand, making the ring glitter and throw rainbow reflections on the stones. It was an exquisite piece. But more than that, it was a symbol of what she wished for more than anything else in the world. Emily slipped it off and put it carefully in her pocket. She wouldn't put it on again until she was certain.

She didn't return to the inn until past noon, and when she got there she found her parents were out. “They said they had some things to do to get ready for this afternoon, miss,” the landlady told her. She smiled broadly at Emily as if they shared some secret.

Mildly puzzled, Emily ate the luncheon set before her and then went up to her room and lay down. She hadn't slept well, and the walking had tired her a bit. After a while, she dozed.

It seemed only a moment before someone was shaking her awake again. She blinked sleepily up at her mother's face.

“It's time to dress. How can you be sleeping?”

Emily sat up, surprised by the urgency of her mother's tone.

“I found some flowers. One of the local landowners let me take some from their cutting garden.”

Emily rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two. We haven't much time.”

Her gown was crumpled and her hair in disarray. “I must change.”

“Well, of course. I thought the blue sprigged muslin. I had them press it.”

Emily looked at the gown hanging on the door of the wardrobe, then at her mother. Why should she take such an interest in what Emily wore for Richard's visit?

Swinging her legs around on the bed, Emily stood. “I'll be down in a few minutes.”

“Don't you want me to help you dress?”

Emily stared. Her mother hadn't helped with her clothes since she was four years old. “I can do it.”

Olivia looked oddly disappointed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Well, all right.” With obvious reluctance, she moved toward the door. “Your father and I will be waiting downstairs.”

She would have to find a way to get rid of them, Emily thought.

Emily washed her face, dressed, and tidied her hair. She transferred the ring from the pocket of her crumpled gown to the sprigged muslin. All she wanted now was to get this over. She couldn't think clearly, or make any sensible decisions, until it was.

There was a tap on the door. “Emily?”

“Yes, Mama?”

Her mother came in. “I made you this.” She held out a garland of summer flowers—blues and yellows with a touch of white. “I thought it would look so lovely with your dress.”

She never grew accustomed to her parents' artistic fancies, Emily thought. They would suddenly take it into their heads to decorate all the china with eccentric designs, gather seaweed to make some sort of exotic paint—or to weave circlets of blossoms that their daughter was expected to wear.

“May I put it on?” asked Olivia. Her mother settled the flowers on her head, then stood back. “You look lovely,” she said, her voice catching as if she might cry.

That was something. Perhaps Richard would think so too? “Shall we go down?”

“We hadn't so much as a daisy when we married,” said Olivia as they walked down the stairs. “Not even a bit of green.”

Emily hardly listened. She had heard the details of her parents' runaway match so often that she could have told it herself.

In the private parlor on the ground floor, they found Emily's father talking with Richard. “Warrington came early,” said Alasdair jovially when they walked in. “Couldn't contain his eagerness.”

Emily scarcely heard him. She couldn't attend to anything except Richard, looking very handsome in a dark blue coat and buff pantaloons. She wondered fleetingly why he was so dressed up. But the thought evaporated as soon as she reached him.

“You look splendid,” he said with a small bow.

He seemed stiff and strained, Emily thought. Perhaps he was worrying about what she meant to do. “I must speak to you,” she said quietly.

One corner of his mouth quirked. “We will have ample time to talk later on.”

Emily looked around. Had her parents planned some event?

“Where is your ring?” asked Richard abruptly.

“In my pocket. I…”

“Put it on at once.”

He seemed angry. Meeting his eyes, Emily swallowed. They were hot with something she didn't understand at all. He frowned. She slipped the ring back on her finger, her heart pounding.

“There he is,” said her father, who was gazing out the window. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and left the room.

“Who?” asked Emily.

“The vicar,” answered her mother.

Emily grimaced. Had her father already become embroiled in some dispute with the local parson? She wouldn't have thought he had time.

Her father returned, followed by a small, dark-haired man in clerical bands. Emily was relieved to see that the latter was smiling. “All in order,” said Alasdair, rubbing his hands together.

To Emily's surprise, Sarah Fitzgibbon and Richard's mother came in behind them.

“And all present and accounted for,” her father added. “We can get started.”

Olivia took Emily's hand and squeezed it. Emily gave her a wild look.

Suddenly, Richard was standing beside her. The vicar came over and faced them both. He smiled benignly and opened the small book he was holding. “Dearly beloved…”

Emily's throat closed in astonishment. She gaped at Richard. His attention was on the parson. She stared at her parents. They looked serene. She turned to Sarah, who winked at her.

The vicar was speaking Richard's name, asking if he took this woman for his wife. His face solemn, Richard said, “I do.” He looked down at Emily. His hazel eyes were clear, but unreadable. The parson turned to her.

How had this happened? Emily wondered in a panic. Her gaze flew over the faces again. Richard's mother looked resigned. They had all thought the engagement was real, Emily recalled. They would have no reason to question a marriage. But Richard…

She met his eyes again. He didn't look angry. He didn't look anything.

The parson was asking if she would take him for her husband.

Emily's throat was tight with tears. She wanted to, and she was afraid to. Had her father forced him to stand up with her?

“Miss Crane?” said the vicar. He started to frown.

Emily swallowed. “I…”

Richard took her hand and held it. His fingers were warm on her icy ones. He held her eyes—steady, serious. She tried to ask with her expression what he really wanted. But he simply waited.

“Emily?” said her mother.

She couldn't look away from Richard. Her senses swam a little as she lost herself in his gaze. It felt almost like being in his arms. She could think of nothing else. “I do,” she said.

Several breaths sighed out in relief. The vicar eyed her for a moment, then went on with the ceremony. In another few moments, it was complete. Richard's lips brushed hers for an instant, then the others crowded forward with congratulations.

Emily put a hand to the flowers in her hair. Had she actually gotten married?

Her father was opening a bottle of champagne; Richard was opening another. Glasses were poured. Toasts were made. Through her turmoil, Emily gathered that Sarah and Lady Fielding were traveling back to London together the following day. Her parents would be leaving for home soon after. And she would be left here with her new husband, whose only words to her so far had been an apology for the lack of a wedding journey because there was “far too much to do here.”

Perhaps she was dreaming, Emily thought as the party went on. Perhaps she was actually still asleep in her room at the inn, having a nightmare in anticipation of breaking things off with Richard forever.

But she didn't wake. The parson took his leave. A carriage with ribbons tied to the traces was brought round, and her trunk—which she had not packed—was fastened to the boot. Before she knew it, Richard was handing her in and the others were waving and tossing blossoms at them. He climbed in after her, and the horses started off. Emily watched out the window as her parents grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared around a bend in the road.

“I managed to get a few more furnishings for Morne,” Richard said. “Lydia was very helpful. And I've engaged some servants. I think you will be tolerably comfortable there.”

His tone of voice was perfectly normal. He was looking at her as if there was nothing odd about the sudden change in their situation.

“I have some people coming to talk about development of the coal,” he added.

Now he sounded apologetic. Emily couldn't imagine why.

“It's rather important. My other estates are heavily encumbered.”

The tension in Emily was rising too high to ignore. “I was going to break the engagement,” she blurted out.

Richard's head jerked slightly, as if taking a blow.

“I was going to keep my word.”

“That was no longer possible,” he replied, his words clipped.

“I meant to tell you today, but there wasn't any time. I didn't know… Everything happened so fast.” Emily fell silent. It sounded as unreal as it had felt.

“Your father told you he was sending for a special license.”

Richard sounded bewildered, and perhaps something more. Emily couldn't be sure. She remembered her father mentioning a bishop, and thinking it odd. But she hadn't been paying attention. “I didn't want a forced marriage,” she murmured.