The Stolen Bride (7 page)

He looked at her with humorous amazement and peeled her fingers off the cloth. “Don’t be silly, Sophie. Serves me right for quoting Shakespeare. If there was any sense to it, surely, it was that I wish we had been married months ago. And that,” he added, with an indulgent touch of her chin, “is certainly true.”

By then the others had returned and he moved away to help set up the board and place items upon it. Then they cheerfully, ladies as well as gentlemen, hurled stones at the pots to shatter them.

Sophie did remarkably well but Beth wasn’t really surprised as she appeared to be taking out some bitter feelings on those pots. What had occurred between her and Randal? Beth had noticed that brief kiss and hoped it augured well. Judging from the anger Sophie was directing at the pottery it was not so.

Sophie was about to hurl a final stone at a singularly dull and ugly urn with a large chunk out of the rim when Lord Wraybourne’s shout stopped her.

He ran over and picked the pot up with reverence. “For God’s sake. It’s the Rakka Pot. It’s been missing for years.” He rubbed away some of the dirt and cobwebs, and they could see the raised design on the clay. “This is priceless!” He looked sharply at Verderan. “Surely you must have seen this was not kitchenware?”

The Dark Angel was the picture of innocence. “I’m no authority on such matters,” he said.

The earl made no further comment but Beth saw the expression in Verderan’s eyes.

“He knew,” she said softly to herself. “He just left the matter in the hands of fate.”

Sophie heard. “Is that the way, then?” she asked.

Beth could tell it was not an idle question and had no notion of how to answer. “Some say we cannot change our fate, Lady Sophie, no matter how we try.”

“But can we be sure,” asked Sophie, “that someone will come between us and shattering disaster?”

She walked away slowly and Beth had no idea what that short exchange had been about.

B
ETH AROSE the next morning to a quiet household. Only Jane and her husband, Sophie, Beth, Captain Frederick, and Sir Marius remained. Soon after breakfast Lord Wraybourne took Sir Marius and Frederick off on some manly pursuit, leaving the ladies to handle the household.

“There is, I’m afraid,” said Jane, “still rather a lot to do. Despite the fact that the staff here is excellent, the Castle has lacked a woman’s touch. We’re expecting the whole clan—all David’s aunts and uncles and not a few of the cousins as well as many friends. The staff can take care of cleaning all the bedchambers we will need, but I’d like to ask you and Sophie to check the linen and fixtures to make sure everything is as it should be. And Sophie, perhaps you can consider who would be suited by some of the less usual quarters.”

Beth agreed to this willingly enough, though Sophie could not be said to be enthusiastic. She did agree to guide Beth around the huge place, however, and soon became more animated as she related stories of the Castle.

“This is called the Nun’s Walk,” she said with relish as they climbed a short staircase to find another unpredictable passageway. Beth decided it would be very easy to get lost in Stenby. “I think we will put my cousin Maria Harroving and her brood in here. She deserves to meet the tortured nun.”

“The tortured nun!”

“Yes. One of my ancestors—oh, I don’t know how many greats ago, turned Catholic. Under Elizabeth, would you believe? Well, actually, I think she converted under Mary and then stuck with it, foolish woman. The second earl, her brother, handed her to the authorities for attending Mass, and she was crushed to death because she wouldn’t make a plea. She’s said to walk here, dripping blood.”

“Lady Sophie, are you teasing me?”

“No, honestly,” said Sophie. “My aunt Elizabeth claims to have seen her and she’s the most down-to-earth person. She’s married to the Bishop of Winchester and certainly has no sympathy for popish martyrs. There’re lots of tales of knights in armor walking over near the Great Hall too.”

Beth had to admit that if any house was likely to have specters, it was Stenby, with its quaint corridors, its thick and ancient walls. “Well,” she said briskly, “ghosts or not someone will have to sleep in this part and it may as well be the Harrovings as anyone. Let us see what state the rooms are in.”

As Jane had said, they were freshly cleaned, but the servants had paid little heed to the finer points. One bedchamber, for example, had no chairs at all. Beth made a note on the tablet she carried.

“They must have been moved elsewhere,” said Sophie, peering idly into a wardrobe. “I don’t think anyone has slept in the Nun’s Walk since David’s christening. The king came to that, you know.”

“It’s to be hoped he wasn’t put in here,” said Beth drily, “or the Kyles can hold themselves responsible for his mental instability.”

“Oh no. He had the Royal Suite. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Before Beth could protest, she had sped away and Beth felt she might as well follow. Up and down staircases and along a myriad of passageways they came to heavy, ancient oak doors which Sophie flung open. “It’s not called the Royal Suite because of Farmer George,” she said. “I think Henry VIII was the first to use it and most of the others have at one time or another. It was refurbished for David’s christening, but keeping the sixteenth-century style.”

The Royal Suite, in one of the oldest parts of the Castle, was magnificent. The walls were hung with blue silk damask embroidered with gold crowns. The same design was used in the fringed hangings over a huge bed and in the covers of the heavy oak chairs and benches. There was a dressing room with a curtained bathtub, and two anterooms where attendants could wait and sleep. There was also the King’s Gallery, a long narrow saloon with a massive fireplace and tall windows giving a view of the lawns.

“Who on earth gets to sleep in here?” asked Beth. “Or is the regent invited?”

“Well, he is, actually. One has to, you know. But he is unable to attend, thank goodness. He doesn’t much like coming north. Brummell is coming, though,” she said with a grin. “Perhaps he would like all this, especially as no one but a monarch is supposed to sleep in the great bed.” She went to flop on it. “I can’t say it’s very comfortable. This mattress feels like the original.”

It soon became clear to Beth that Sophie was unwilling or unable to put her mind to organized employment and was much more of a hindrance than a help. With a flash of inspiration, she sent the girl off to discover the condition of the invalid and see to her comfort. Sophie happily agreed, obviously finding something appealing in the mystery. With a sigh of relief, Beth went off to find some member of the staff to guide her.

Easier said than done. When another staircase she had thought familiar brought her to another strange passageway, she stopped and uttered a very unladylike, “Oh drat!”

She heard a chuckle behind her. “My dear lady,” said Sir Marius. “Could it be that you are lost?”

Why on earth did she have to blush? she wondered as she turned. “That is correct, Sir Marius. May I hope that you will guide me?”

He strolled forward. Casual country buckskins suited him, she realized, and in this solid, old building, his scale seemed somehow right. He would have done very well as a knight in armor.

“Could I refuse a damsel in distress?” he asked. “Where is it that you wish to go?”

“I don’t know ...” she said accurately, then realized that it sounded very silly.

“In that case,” he said with a grin, “I suggest we sit and consider the problem.”

“I merely meant that I don’t know the names of all the rooms, Sir Marius,” she informed him. “Everything here has a special name—the Large and Small Crimson Chambers, the Knight’s Hall, the Great Hall, the Nun’s Walk ...”

“You want to go to the Nun’s Walk, Mrs. Hawley? I wouldn’t have supposed you to have a taste for the macabre.”

“Of course I don’t,” she snapped, wondering why conversations with this giant always seemed to spin out of control.

He came over to her, took her hand, and gently led her to the window seat. To her surprise, she went. He sat down beside her. “Now, let us talk calmly and find out what it is you have in mind.”

“I am perfectly calm, Sir Marius,” she said with some heat, snatching her hand out of his.

His lips twitched. “Just like when you challenged Verderan to a duel?”

Beth knew she was bright pink. “I do not care to be reminded ... And I did not,” she said, meeting his eyes. They were, she discovered to her surprise, rather fine. “I threatened to shoot him in cold blood.”

“And called him a stupid boy.”

“Which he is.”

“No,” he said seriously and took her hand again. “A word of advice, Mrs. Hawley. He is unpredictable. Last night, for some reason he took your words well. Don’t presume on that. He is a very dangerous man and I would not like to see you hurt.”

“Even the infamous Dark Angel wouldn’t assault a lady,” she protested.

He shook his head. “There is nothing he would not do if it pleased him at the time, and when his temper is roused he is likely to do things that don’t please him at all. In actual fact I like the man, but I tread very warily near him and I would suggest you do the same. If you cannot avoid him entirely.”

Beth became aware of her hand in his large warm one and withdrew it. “I would be delighted never to meet him again,” she said firmly.

“Well,” he said with a lazy smile, “I hardly thought you were setting your cap at him. He’s too young for you for one thing.”

“Setting my cap!” said Beth leaping to her feet and moving away. “Really, Sir Marius.”

“Are you going?” he queried, rising lazily to his feet. “I thought you wanted a guide.”

“Since you are not in the mood to be serious,” she retorted, “I will fadge for myself. I can hardly get lost beyond recall.”

After a few steps, his voice stopped her. “No, but if you go that way you’ll end up out in the garden by the sundial and it’s a devil of a walk from there back to the front entrance.”

She turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Which way should I go, then?” she asked.

“We come back to the question, Mrs. Hawley. Where do you want to be?”

“The front hall will do nicely, thank you, Sir Marius.”

He lazily pointed to a door. “Through the Tapestry Chamber, turn right. Take the second stairs and I don’t think you can miss it. If you don’t appear for luncheon, I’ll organize a search party.”

Beth flounced off and was hard put not to slam the door. Really, what was it about that man? She couldn’t be five minutes in his company without degenerating to behavior more fitted for a schoolroom, and a poorly governed one at that, than a lady’s chamber.

She must have still been scowling when she descended the wide staircase to the main entrance hall, and met Jane crossing it.

“Why, whatever has happened, Beth? Is it Sophie?”

“Sophie?” echoed Beth. “No, of course not. I’ve sent her off to attend to the invalid. It’s Sir Marius.”

“What has he done?” asked Jane.

“Oh, nothing,” said Beth, wishing she’d not mentioned it. “He seems disposed to tease me.”

“He’s very kind really,” said Jane, surprised. “I can’t think he means to overset you.”

“Oh, really,” snapped Beth but then hurried on. “What I need, Jane, if I am to be of any use, is some member of the staff to guide me and run errands.”

Jane soon arranged for a maid and footman to accompany Beth and saw them off on their labors. Then she stood in thought for a moment with a little smile on her lips. Beth and Marius? Well, why not?

 

Sophie knocked softly on the door of the modest bedchamber given to the injured lady, then entered. A maid had been set to sit with the woman and do mending. She rose and dropped a curtsy.

“Has she recovered consciousness?” Sophie asked.

“Yes, milady. She understands what we say to her, but she’s not said anything to the purpose. The doctor dropped by this morning and says she’s well enough. Just needs a good rest.”

“You may go and do something else for half an hour,” Sophie said and went to look at the patient.

Not so very old, she thought. Not like Randal’s grandmother at nearly eighty. More like her own mother, aged and worn down by grief. Had no one taken care of her? At least the Dowager Lady Wraybourne ate reasonably, took exercise, and pursued mild interests. This woman looked half starved and had the pallor of living indoors. Heavens, what if she’d been in a prison or an insane asylum?

The parchmentlike eyelids fluttered and the woman looked around with hazy confusion.

“Don’t worry,” Sophie said quickly. “You are safe at Stenby Castle. Would you like a drink? There is some barley water here for you.”

The woman nodded and so Sophie raised her, noticing how frail she was, and set the glass to her lips. The invalid drank and then settled back.

“If you could tell me who you are,” said Sophie gently, “we could summon your family. They must be concerned.”

The eyelids drooped and Sophie thought she had lapsed into unconsciousness but she spoke in a dry, raspy voice. “Who I am?”

“Yes. There is nothing in your possessions to say who you are, you see.”

The eyes remained shut but Sophie knew the woman was conscious. “I don’t know,” the woman said at last.

“You don’t know what?”

“Who I am. Where did you say I am?”

Sophie looked down with a frown. This must be the result of the blow on the head. She supposed they would have to advertise. “Found, on the road in Shropshire, one middle-aged lady in frail condition ...”

“You are at Stenby Castle, seat of the Earl of Wraybourne. You were on your way here when you had a carriage accident and suffered a blow to your head. If you rest, I am sure you will soon recall why you were coming here.”

The eyes opened again. They were a pale blue-gray, a faded, weary color. “And who are you, young lady?”