The Reluctant Earl (10 page)

“Oh.”  Quite suddenly she could imagine Simon and Claire kissing and she turned red again.  “My goodness.”

Claire took Charlotte’s other hand into hers and turned her so she was facing Claire.  “Please, Charlotte, will you help us?  All you need to say in the morning is that I was in the bed next to you when we went to sleep.  You never heard me get up.  You’re shocked to your very soul that I disappeared.  I never said a word to you about anything.”  She squeezed Charlotte’s hands.  “You’re my
best
friend, Charlotte.  When Simon and I are married you’ll still be my best friend.  And just think – one day he’ll be an earl and I’ll be a countess.  You can spend all the time you want at the abbey.  Think how much your mother will love that!”

Charlotte looked into Claire’s imploring brown eyes.  Claire had said she, Charlotte, was Claire’s best friend.  Simon might be her husband but Charlotte would always be her best friend.  Those were the two words that decided Charlotte.  “Of course I’ll help you,” she said.  “You’re my best friend, after all.”

Claire reached out and drew Charlotte into a hug.  “I knew I could count on you!”

Charlotte laughed, and when the girls separated, she asked simply, “What do you want me to do?”

#   #   #

Their plan went smoothly.  As expected, Liam drove Claire and her small bag of clothes over to Winsted, where she had dinner with the family.  Geoffrey had gone to visit a school friend for a few days, so he wasn’t home.  Mrs. Weston was full of information about the vicar’s charity collection and how many people would be helped, and the squire complained as usual about poachers.  Mrs. Weston speculated on whom the vicar, who was young and single, might marry. 

“He’s not rich, of course, but the living is decent and he is a gentleman,” Mrs. Weston commented.  “Louisa Merton would suit him very well.  She’s a sweet girl and the vicar would be a good match for that family.”

Unspoken was the understanding that the charitable young vicar would not be a suitable match for Charlotte, who could certainly look higher. 

After dinner the squire went to his library and the women gathered in the drawing room.  Charlotte played a new piece she had been practicing, and Mrs. Weston described in detail a visit she had made to a local woman whom the girls scarcely knew.  Tea was brought in early and Claire and Charlotte went upstairs to bed.

Charlotte had a large four-poster in her room, and she and Claire shared it when she stayed over.  “Better get in on your side and make it look as if you slept there,” Charlotte said, her voice lowered as if she feared being overheard.

“Good idea.”  Claire took off her shoes, climbed in and pulled up the covers.  She proceeded to roll from side to side, mussing the bedclothes. 

“Stop!” Charlotte said, laughing.  “We don’t want it to look as if we were wrestling.”

Claire slipped out of the bed.  “How shall we do this, Charlotte?  What is the best way for me to get out of the house?”

Charlotte said, “Luckily, I remembered this afternoon that John locks all the doors before he goes to bed.  One must have a key to open them from the inside as well as the outside.”

Claire stared at her in horror.  “Are you saying I won’t be able to get out?” 

“No, silly.  I’m saying it’s a good thing I remembered.  I got you a key that opens the door into the kitchen garden.  It hangs on a hook in the butler’s pantry and I stole it just before you came.”  She went to the small table that was set in front of the fireplace and picked up a single key attached to a cord.  “Here it is.  When everyone’s in bed you can sneak downstairs, unlock the door and escape into the kitchen garden.”

Claire thought for a moment.  “Won’t they suspect something, though, when John can’t find the key?”

“John has his own set of keys.  He won’t know the key is missing from the butler’s pantry.  After you open the door, you must leave the key on the ground just outside the door.  I’ll sneak down later, collect it, lock the door and return the key to the pantry.” 

Claire regarded Charlotte with admiration.  “How clever you are, Charlotte.  You make a splendid conspirator.”

Charlotte flushed with pleasure.

The two girls moved at the same time into a tight hug.  Claire said, “You are the best friend anyone could ever have.  I love you so much.  Thank you, Charlotte.  Thank you for helping us.”   Tears stung her eyes and she sniffed.  She dropped her arms and stepped away, attempting a smile.  “I’ll name our first daughter Charlotte.  I promise.”

“Oh Claire!”  Tears were running down Charlotte’s cheeks. 

“Are you certain you’re doing the right thing?  You and Simon are going to be in so much trouble.”

“I’m certain.”  Claire’s voice steadied.  “As long as we’re together we can face anything.  Please don’t worry about me.  And, if I have to, I’ll swear on a bible that you had nothing to do with my escape.”

Charlotte found her handkerchief and began to wipe her tears away.  “You’ll always be my best friend, Claire.  Always.”

“And you mine.  Thank you, Charlotte.  Thank you so very very much.”

#   #   #

Charlotte’s plan, well thought out and simple, worked beautifully.  Sometime after midnight Claire kissed Charlotte goodbye and, with her bundle of clothes in one hand and a candle in the other, she crept quietly down the manor’s back staircase.  She knew this house as well as her own, so she went directly to the kitchen garden door and inserted the key Charlotte had given her. 

The door opened easily, and she bent to put the key directly in front of it so it would be easy to find.  The kitchen garden was dark, but Claire waited until she was at the end of the center path before she lit her candle.  With the candle’s help she was able to find the path to the gate. 

The summer air was warm and the sky was filled with stars.  She inhaled deeply and looked up at the heavens. 
Please bless us, dear Lord,
she said quietly, her words a breath on the soft breeze. 
We mean harm to no one.  We only want to be allowed to love each other.  I promise we will do everything we can to be the sort of people you want us to be.

At the end of the drive she turned right on the country road in front of the squire’s manor.  Somewhere an owl hooted, and a small animal scurried across the road in front of her.  The woods on either side of the road were dark, mysterious, and filled with rustling life.  Claire thought it was very beautiful to be out in the dark like this.  Almost spiritual.

She reached her meeting place with Simon more quickly than she had imagined.  When she first turned into the orchard road she saw nothing, but then, out of the darkness, came Simon’s voice.

“Is that you, Claire?”

“Yes.  Where are you?”

“Here.”  He had her in his arms and was kissing her desperately.  “I’ve been so afraid something would go wrong.  So afraid you might be accosted on the road.  So afraid…”

She reached up and put a finger on his lips.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Simon.  I’m here and I’m perfectly safe.  Charlotte was magnificent.  She even stole the key I needed to get out of the house.”

He laughed.  He was still holding her and now he bent his head to kiss the top of her bare head.  “I hope you have a bonnet with you.  It will look very odd if you don’t have a hat.”

“I have a bonnet tucked into my bag.”

“Good.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We drive to the George outside Cambridge and wait for the mail.  They’ll never give us a room this late, so we’ll have to sit in the waiting room.”

She picked up his hand and held it to her cheek.  “And I was looking forward to sharing a room with you so much.”

He caressed her cheek and turned her face up to his.  His white teeth shone in the moonlight as he said with a grin,  “We’re going to do this, Claire.  We’re going to get married!”

“Yes,” she said, answering with her own radiant smile.  “We most certainly are.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Simon and Claire reached the George several hours before the mail coach was due to arrive.  Simon left his hired horse and gig at the inn, having previously made arrangements for the livery stable in Newmarket to retrieve their property. 

Even at such an early hour, the George was busy.  The two of them sat on a bench in the large waiting room, their bags at their feet.  When the taproom opened at six, Simon went to purchase some food in case they didn’t have a chance to eat before they reached Carlisle.  He put their bags on either side of Claire to make sure no one would sit too close to her while he was gone.

The waiting room had begun to fill up, and Claire was the only female.  A tall, broadly built man with a large mustache and small black eyes sat on her bench, with only Simon’s bag between them, and tried to start a conversation.  Claire, speaking politely, told him that his seat belonged to her escort. The man looked around ostentatiously and said, “I don’t see nobody.”

To her relief she saw Simon coming toward her.  “Here he is now,” she said.  “I see an empty seat over there.  Perhaps you ought to take it before someone else does.”

The man swung around and saw Simon, who was carrying a paper sack in his left hand.  Claire said, “This man was just leaving.”

The man’s quick glance took in Simon’s youth and he made a disparaging sound.  “These seats is open to everyone,” he said.

Simon looked the intruder up and down with cold eyes.  “This seat is taken,” he said in the cut glass accent of the true aristocracy.  “I suggest you find another.”

The man hesitated, then stood up, mumbled something to Claire about ‘begging her pardon for the intrusion,’ and effaced himself.  Simon moved his bag to the now-empty seat and sat down beside her, the sack on his lap.  “I bought some bread and two pasties.  They’ll have to do until we reach Carlisle.”

Claire, who was far too excited to be hungry, just nodded and said, “Good idea.”

They sat on the bench for two more hours before the blast of a horn announced the arrival of the mail coach.  Simon picked up both cases, and they walked together toward the stable yard.  The horses being taken out of harness were breathing hard, and grooms led them away toward the stable.  The mail guard, whose job was to warn coaching inns of their approach by blowing the horn, stood watching as a team of fresh horses was hitched up.   He was an impressively large man, splendidly dressed in a scarlet coat with blue lapels and gold trim.  He was equipped with two pistols and a blunderbuss and would stay with the coach for the entire trip, riding on the back. 

Once the new horses were in harness, the guard beckoned to the four waiting passengers.  Accompanying Claire and Simon were two middle-aged men.  They gallantly insisted that Claire must have the place facing forward, so she and Simon settled themselves on the thinly padded seat.  Their bags had been stowed in the small luggage space next to where the mail was kept.

Claire had just made herself somewhat comfortable when the new coachman came running out of the inn and climbed up to the front seat.  They heard him call to the horses and the coach started forward.  Claire’s heart pounded with excitement.  They were on their way!

#   #   #

When the four passengers had been riding for a short time, the two men introduced themselves.  One was a country solicitor and the other owned a profitable store near Sheffield.  Once they had finished speaking they waited politely for Simon to reply. 

Simon obligingly related the story he had created to explain their presence on the coach.  He and Claire were brother and sister, he said, and they were returning home to Carlisle to attend a funeral.  They were taking the mail because it was the fastest way to reach their destination.

The thin, gray-haired solicitor looked at Claire and said, “I am sorry to hear of your loss.”

Simon answered, “Thank you.”

The heavy-set man with shrewd hazel eyes said, “You don’t look like brother and sister.”

Simon tried to squash the conversation by looking taken aback by this rudely personal observation, but Claire replied inventively, “We have different mothers, you see.  But we never think of that, do we, Simon?”

“No,” he said crisply, every inch the offended noble.  “We don’t.”

The trip to Carlisle was long and exceedingly uncomfortable.  The coach made sixteen stops to change horses, to leave off the mail they were carrying, and to take on the outgoing mail.  Passengers got off and other passengers took their place.  There was no time to eat a meal at the coaching inns; they only had time to use the inn’s necessary and return to their seats.  When the coach passed through towns and villages that were not scheduled stops, the guard threw out the bags of incoming mail, then grabbed the bags of outgoing mail from the local Postmaster, who had been alerted to their nearness by the mail guard’s horn.

None of the other passengers were females, and Simon didn’t like the way some of the men looked at Claire.  But Simon had been prefect in a public school, and he’d perfected a look that could stop a grown man dead in his tracks.  The men who tried to make Claire the object of their gallantry took one look at the expression in Simon’s eyes, and abruptly ceased their attentions.      

Claire slept for part of the way, her head pillowed on Simon’s shoulder, but he was very conscious of being Claire’s protector and maintained his vigilance, even when all the other passengers were dozing. 

Thirty-eight hours after they had boarded, the coach pulled into the Coffee House Inn, the coaching inn on the main road outside Carlisle that was their destination.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was after midnight when Simon and Claire climbed out of the mail coach and collected their bags from the guard.  The two other passengers were going on to Edinburgh and, as Simon turned to help Claire down from the coach, one of the passengers winked at her and said, “Good luck.  I hope they don’t catch you before you make it to Gretna Green.”