The Madcap Marriage (21 page)

Chapter Ten

May 25

Wind whipped through the churchyard, ripping leaves from the trees and petals from the flowers planted on several graves. Clouds boiled overhead, promising rain to disguise any tears and wash away any regrets. It was the perfect day for a burial.

Clutching her skirts to keep her legs decently covered, Helen watched Alice as men slid Pauling’s body into the family crypt. The girl was beautiful – blonde, petite, and fragile as a porcelain doll. Hillcrest remained at her side, ready to catch her if she swooned.

Helen’s chest tightened. She’d been a fool to jump into marriage knowing nothing about Rafe. How could he not love sweet Alice?  The girl was every man’s ideal wife – and everything Helen was not.

You’re jealous
, whispered her conscience.

Never!  She stiffened. Jealousy implied an attachment, but she did not know him well enough to be attached.
Married the first girl you saw
. No man of sense would consider uttering such a vow, let alone acting on it. Irresponsibility was no basis for marriage. She would have been better off eloping with any of the fortune hunters her father had turned away.

Rafe rested his hand on her back, but she stepped out of reach. He’d been furious to find her door locked last night and had been trying to charm her ever since. She couldn’t let him succeed. Pain left her too susceptible.

Hillcrest pulled Alice against him, letting the wind wrap his cloak about her.

Rafe stiffened.

That
was jealousy. His eyes hadn’t left Alice since she’d stepped from her carriage. Every time Hillcrest brushed against her, Rafe tensed. Despite challenging Hillcrest to marry Alice himself, he clearly hadn’t meant it.

Hillcrest whispered in Alice’s ear.

Rafe growled.

She nearly warned him to keep his jealousy hidden, but she didn’t trust his control. He seemed on the verge of another temper fit. Arguing in a churchyard would shame them both.

Alice laid a lily atop the shroud, then accompanied Hillcrest to her carriage.

“It’s over,” said Rafe, taking Helen’s arm. “We can leave.” Hillcrest had made it plain that they were not to return, not even to share the customary funeral meats. “Thank you for insisting we come,” he added as they picked their way toward his carriage, which was the last one in line. The other mourners were already pulling away. “Pauling was a decent man. Not overly bright, but he did his best.”

“There are worse epitaphs,” said Helen noncommittally.

“Like Hillcrest’s.” Rafe opened the carriage door. “The best description is,
A petty tyrant who forced his views on everyone he met
.”

Helen ignored his bitterness. “We need to—”

“We need to return to London,” Rafe said, speaking over her.

“No!”

He shook his head. “You heard Hillcrest. There are rumors reviling you.”

“Which we cannot remedy just yet. No one knows me, and no one will believe you.”

“Absurd!  I am a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t lie.”

“Think, Rafe. The tales claim you were duped by a scheming courtesan who stole my identity, passed herself off as an innocent, then pressed for marriage after you drunkenly seduced her. Considering your reputation, who will believe your denials?  And since no one in town knows me, they won’t believe me, either. Keeping Steven away from Audley is more important than the rumors – and requires that I study the estate books.”

“You don’t understand society. Once gossip takes hold, it is impossible to eradicate,” insisted Rafe. “You will forever be suspect. Do you want to face cuts?  Society is brutal to anyone who breaks the rules. Our only hope is to nip this tale in the bud.”

She could write a book about society’s brutality, but she refused to let him distract her. “Once Lady Alquist vouches for my identity, there will be no gossip. As soon as Steven is under arrest, she can inform her friends about her goddaughter’s marriage to her nephew. Her introduction will settle the matter in a trice, banishing these rumors for all time.”

“Why wait?”

Sidestepping a windblown newspaper, she cursed gentlemen’s one-track minds. “Steven must have started the story, probably by decrying that a prostitute appropriated his niece’s good name. He will be furious if Lady Alquist discredits him. I won’t put her at his mercy. We have not acquitted him of ordering Alquist’s death.”

“You are overreacting,” he said stubbornly. “No gentleman would harm a lady. We need to show ourselves in town. One day should do it. Then we can leave for Audley.”

“No.” She scowled. A man could laugh off his gaming and would actually preen if thought a rake, but no man liked being called gullible. And Rafe was more sensitive than most.

Yet she feared that more than concern for his reputation underlay his insistence. His eyes had followed Alice’s carriage during their entire exchange. If Alice had given him some errand to town, he might use the rumors as an excuse to execute it.

It was time to remind him whose priorities took precedence. “If you insist on returning to London, I can’t stop you, but I am going to Audley. I owe it to my tenants to protect them, and I owe it to Papa to carry out his last wishes. Stopping Steven was uppermost in his mind.”

Alice’s carriage disappeared over a rise. Rafe glared. “A wife’s duty is to obey—”

An angry voice spun him around as Hillcrest dragged Ned behind a crypt.

“I don’t countenance traitors!” Hillcrest snapped, loud enough to be heard throughout the village. “You knew I had barred entrance to that wastrel, yet you allowed him inside. Be gone with you. There will be no reference. Mason will send your things to the Green Bottle.”

Ned blanched.

“Stay here,” Rafe ordered as Hillcrest strode to his horse and sped away.

Rafe was gone before Helen could reply, but she wasn’t about to meekly follow orders.
Obey
, indeed!  She set out after him.

Rafe caught up with Ned near the church and pressed a letter into his hands.

Helen frowned.

“Alice … help…”  The wind drowned the rest.

Helen tripped over a root, falling against a gravestone.

“… protect … Alice … Hillcrest…”

She rubbed her shin. Rafe was arranging for Ned to look after Alice – and probably carry out her commission to London, too. When he passed over a heavy purse, she trudged wearily back to the carriage. Rafe might accompany her in body, but his spirit was clearly elsewhere. Finding a compromise they could live with had seemed possible last night. Now she wondered. But she had to try.

* * * *

Alex Portland slowed as he rode into the village of Hillcrest. Another hour and he would be home. The war was over, his last assignment complete. He could finally retire.

At least this mission had been a success. He glared at the Green Bottle, recalling two wasted weeks in its wretched taproom. All for naught – because of Lord Hillcrest.

On the thought, the viscount burst from the churchyard, nearly running him down.

Alex swore.

“You!” hissed Hillcrest, dragging his horse to a halt. “I told you never to show your face here again. We don’t need scoundrels hereabouts. We’re peaceful folk.”

“Meddlers, morelike,” snapped Alex, giving tongue to the fury he’d fought for two years. Doffing his hat, he nodded in a parody of a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. The honorable Alex Portland, third son of the Earl of Stratford and chief investigator for His Majesty’s Home Office. Your high-handed meddling cost England thousands of lives. If it had been my choice, you would have been arrested for treason.” He shoved his hat in place as a gust of wind tried to rip it from his hand.

“How dare—” sputtered Hillcrest.

“Take your posturing elsewhere.” Alex scowled so fiercely that Hillcrest backed his horse into a wall. “By waylaying me that day, you let the French courier I was following escape.”

“But—  He said you were a highwayman!”

“
He?”
  He pressed his horse closer, forcing Hillcrest into a post. “Was it Harriman?”

Hillcrest nodded.

“And you never questioned why he complained to you instead of the magistrate.”

“It was my land!”

“Fool!  Harriman was the traitor I was seeking. Duping you protected his mission – he knew you were too stupid to question his tale. If you’d consulted the magistrate, you would have learned the truth. Instead, you jumped me, letting the courier escape and prolonging the war at least a year. It took us another six months to identify Harriman and execute him.”

“I—”

Alex cut him off. “Go home. Stop interfering in things you don’t understand. And the next time someone runs to you with a tale, investigate before accepting it. I’ve never met a more credulous idiot. You accept even ridiculous charges as gospel.” He pushed his horse to a canter, leaving Hillcrest behind.

Damn, but he hated that family. Hillcrest had precipitated the worst failure of his career, and the son was an even bigger thorn in his side.

“Rafael Thomas.” The name was bitter on his tongue.

Thomas had nearly destroyed him ten years earlier, fleecing him of every penny he had and more. Ten thousand guineas stolen by a pariah who wallowed in idle pleasure while worthier gentlemen risked life and limb defending England from those who would destroy it.

Fury raged so hotly he could barely see. By the time he controlled it, the village was out of sight, so he slowed to a walk. But he couldn’t slow the bitter memories.

Thomas had done more than rob him. He’d turned his family against him by spreading lies about his character, then added new humiliation by blackballing him from Hasley’s club. The last straw was stealing his mistress, then accusing him of fighting a duel over her. The incident had nearly cost Alex his position at the Home Office.

He suppressed echoes of Sidmouth’s dressing down — the Home Secretary had scoffed at claims the tale was false.

It was done. Thomas wasn’t worth a moment’s thought. Only the future mattered now. His last assignment was complete. Ten years of service would end next week, allowing him to marry, set up his nursery, and embark on a new life. His betrothed was waiting.

Green eyes wavered before him, smiling beneath a crown of auburn curls. He passed Hillcrest Manor’s gatehouse without seeing it, sunk in memories of her sweet kisses.

“That’s him,” growled a voice as two horses burst from a copse.

The movement shattered Alex’s reverie.

“Damnation,” he gasped, ducking a club. He’d let down his guard too soon.

Spurring his horse to a gallop, he fumbled in a pocket for his pistol. He always carried one when traveling, but he’d not kept it ready today. Napoleon’s abdication should have sent French supporters into hiding.

His shot missed. “Double damnation!”

The men surged closer, one on either side. Their horses were fresh, while his had already traveled fifteen miles today.

The blond again swung his club, missing when Alex hauled his horse to a stop. But before he could wheel for the village, they were on him, dragging him to the ground.

He elbowed the dark man in the jaw, then landed a blow to the blond’s stomach and a kick to his groin. But he was outnumbered. As fists slammed into his body, he could only curl up and protect his head.

“Why?” he choked through the bile churning into his throat.

“’E said t’ make ye suffer afore we killed ye, Mr. Thomas.”

The dark man laughed.

I’m not Thomas,
Alex tried to scream, but no sound emerged. Darkness descended. He’d never see Helen again.

* * * *

Helen stared through the carriage window as they left the churchyard behind, biting her lip as she searched for an appropriate opening. Since returning to the carriage, Rafe’s demeanor had again changed, reviving yesterday’s attentiveness. It had to be an act. Somehow they must move beyond such posturing.

The problem was how to convince him to take her seriously – and guard herself while doing it. His glib tongue could make black seem white. Charmers could glide through life without paying penalties. Like Alex. He’d never suffered a moment for abandoning her.

Now she was wed to another charmer whose words contradicted his deeds. She glared at Rafe. Look at him sprawled across the opposite seat as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Wind-tossed hair. Loose cravat. One foot propped in the corner.

He appeared dangerously virile.

She forced her gaze outside, watching the last cottage slide past.

“I’m sorry you had to endure Hillcrest’s vicious tongue,” Rafe said, breaking the silence.

“It was enlightening — married the first girl you saw.”

“Damn him!” he cursed. “It wasn’t like—”  He shook his head. “Well, maybe it was a bit, but not really. I mean—”

She watched him flounder, astonished. No glib tongue here. He seemed honestly embarrassed. Which he should be. Who in his right mind would set out to wed the first girl he saw?  “Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“I wasn’t serious. I never intended—  And you weren’t the first anyway.”

“Ah. Just the first with acceptable breeding.”

“No. Damn it, Helen!”  He ran his fingers through his hair. “That was a stupid taunt made in the heat of the moment that meant nothing. Forget it. Steven’s lies are more important. They could ruin you.”

She shook her head at this proof that his sudden attentiveness had been an act. He hadn’t set aside his earlier argument and might plan to drive straight to London despite her objections.

“They will, Helen. We need to counter them.”

“Steven’s lies can’t hurt me.”

“Of course, they can.”

“No, he’s attacking the schemer who borrowed my identity and plans to dispose of you the moment she gets her hands on your fortune.”

“What?”

“Think about it. Steven still wants my inheritance, but Dudley can’t wed me while you’re alive. The rumors will explain your disappearance and absolve me of any complicity. Forget them. Once we expose him, no one will believe his tales. In the meantime, going to London could put you in danger. Our sudden journey to Hampshire may already have saved your life.”