When the Splendor Falls (59 page)

Adam closed his eyes, feeling an awful dread creeping over him as he remembered his own words spoken so casually about giving Leigh to Neil, and Neil’s own words, spoken so arrogantly, about the pleasures he was to receive in payment for agreeing to marry Leigh. It was to be no marriage of convenience as far as Neil was concerned, and he was worried what Neil’s reaction would be if Leigh threw that idea in his face—as had his first wife.

Suddenly, Adam was startled from his thoughts by the soft sound of Leigh’s laughter.

“You lose, Adam,” she said.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand. I thought you’d just agreed to my plan,” he demanded.

“I did, but it really doesn’t matter whether I agreed to marry Neil Braedon or not. You see, you’ve forgotten one, very important person in these machinations of yours. Who is to marry us?” Leigh asked, believing even Adam incapable of pulling a preacher from his hat.

* * *

The Reverend Culpepper had never been so outraged in his life. Rudely awakened from peaceful slumber, pulled out of a warm bed, forced into his clothes by ungentlemanly hands, and soundly cursed when he hesitated to venture out into the cold darkness of night, he had been speechless with indignation, which had been a blessing had he realized it. And soon enough he had, when he’d felt a pistol barrel pointed at his head to persuade him to keep his silence as they’d descended the stairs of the house, the Draytons continuing to sleep undisturbed as he was manhandled through the hallway to the back door.

Stopping by the door, the scoundrel set down the oil lamp he’d carried to guide his thieving steps through the house. In the flickering light, the frightened cleric met the glittering eyes that stared at him from behind the mask that covered half the man’s face. Snuffing out the light, the man, with inelegant haste, pushed him through the door and out into the frigid night air of the gardens of Meadowbrook, where, to Reverend Culpepper’s amazement, his very own horse was saddled and waiting.

He thought the ride through the night would never end, and he almost wished it would not, for he knew not what awaited him at journey’s end. But he felt somewhat comforted by the knowledge that his Bible rode with him; although why the blackguard had insisted he bring his robe and surplice, as well as the parish register, remained a puzzling mystery to him. One would have assumed he was about to perform church services, clad in his vestments, the parish register at hand and opened to record the joyful baptism of the newest member of the congregation, or the sacred joining of two of his flock in holy matrimony—or, he thought, on a far more blood-chilling thought, the death of a beloved member of the community—himself!

Dear God, this miscreant who had abducted him was obviously bedeviled and deranged—or he was one of the Devil’s own. A hell-rider, the panicked man of the cloth thought as he heard the frightening sound of baying hounds close by.

But the Reverend Culpepper felt his heart slow its irregular beat when he saw a golden light shining from a window somewhere in the darkness ahead. They rode up a curving lane, drawing ever closer to the light, until finally his kidnapper halted before the darker shape of a house that loomed up before them.

Dismounting, the reverend found the rascal’s hands upon him again, guiding him none-too-gently up the steps of the house. Illuminating light suddenly spread across the porch, as if some unseen visage stared out upon them, and had been lying in wait in the shadows. In the golden glow, Reverend Culpepper recognized the perpetrator of such a shocking attack as the thief pulled the green-checked gingham neckerchief from his face, and he nearly choked on the name that came sputtering off his tongue.

“Adam Braedon!” the good reverend croaked. “This is scandalous behavior indeed, even from you,” he said in his deepest stentorious, pulpit-voice, but the words of censure were hardly more than an indignant squeak as they stuck in his dry throat like dust as he tried to straighten his collar, but one of the ends kept popping up and poking him beneath the chin.

“Now, now, Reverend Culpepper, don’t be so persnickety, I’ll have you tucked back safe in your bed before dawn, with no one being any the wiser to your midnight ride,” Adam promised, grabbing the reverend’s hat as it slipped from his head, and placing it firmly back on, never realizing it was a tasseled nightcap.

“I demand you unhand me this instant, sir!”

“It could be worse, Reverend,” Adam said, keeping a firm grip on the struggling cleric as he escorted him into the house as the door opened.

“Indeed?”

“I might have been a complete stranger to you, or a Yankee raider,” Adam said, to comfort him with the cheering thought, which did have the reverend momentarily grateful until he realized that he had still been kidnapped and was now being forced to enter a strange house. Although, there was something vaguely familiar about the pineapple-shaped brass door knocker, which Adam Braedon had not even had the courtesy to use before he barged through the door, dragging the poor reverend behind him.

Later the Reverend Culpepper would calmly accept what had happened as being nothing out of the unusual, considering the people involved in the night’s bizarre activities. The names Braedon and Travers explained only too well the madness that had threatened him. However, knowing the identity of his kidnapper had made him none the less uneasy about his midnight assignation, for had he not been plagued by the two families since first coming to the county nearly fifteen years earlier? Mischief makers, the lot of them.

The wrathful reverend was in no mood to be placated, had that been on Adam’s mind, which apparently it had not, for it didn’t help matters any when he handed him his wrinkled robe and surplice and started to chuckle as he stared in amazement at the reverend.

The man had never shown him the proper respect, Reverend Culpepper fumed as he glanced frantically around, his eyes opening wide as he caught sight of his own ruffled reflection in a looking glass hanging in the foyer. Jerking off his tasseled nightcap, he glared at Adam’s grinning face.

“Sir, I demand an explanation! You will not hear the end of this ungentlemanly act of yours, let me assure you, Adam Braedon!”

“Reverend Culpepper,” a cultured voice said softly and graciously from the opened doorway leading off the foyer, “I do hope you will forgive us, but we were in desperate need of your services. Had it not been of the utmost urgency, a matter of life and death, we would have invited you for tea, and we could have discussed the matter in a most civilized atmosphere. I do hope you will accept my apologies, and on behalf of all of us, for the inconvenience you have suffered.”

Travers Hill
, he sighed thankfully, realizing now where he was. Reverend Culpepper felt some of his anger deserting him as he recognized the woman standing there, her slender hand held out to him so welcomingly, and he thought for not the first time in many years that never had he met a young woman with so pleasant and genteel a manner. “Mrs. Braedon, I am indeed pleased to see you,” he began, and he was indeed, for she, at least, was sane, “but I must say I am surprised to find you involved in such a craven act. Do you realize that your brother-in-law kidnapped me from my bed?”

“I had hoped Adam would show a certain amount of discretion for once, considering the delicacy of the matter,” Althea said reproachfully, much to the reverend’s satisfaction, but her gaze was understanding when it met an unrepentant Adam’s.

“I didn’t have the time to convince the good reverend that his services were needed without delay. And I felt Reverend Culpepper would come more willingly, and quietly, if he did not realize that no harm would befall him at my hands.”

“Hmmmph!” the reverend huffed, not in the least reassured, for hadn’t harm befallen him at the hands of Julia Braedon? He had nearly been emasculated by that scalding tea—and she had giggled! Not surprising, then, that she’d turned into a harlot, he thought with self-righteous superiority.

Althea sighed, leaning against the door tiredly. “You will forgive me, Reverend, if I do not linger here, but I have been ill, and it has been a rather long day for me. I must sit down for a moment or I fear I will faint.”

“Of course, my dear, dear woman,” the reverend said quickly, for Althea Travers…Braedon, he mentally corrected himself, had always been his favorite of the Travers family, along with the late Mrs. Travers, who’d been such a fine lady. Ah, what a pity, he thought, folding his hands together complacently, momentarily forgetting the unusual circumstances of his arrival as he smiled benevolently at the recently widowed Althea Braedon.

“Allow me to assist you,” he offered, hurriedly stepping forward before Adam could lend her a supportive arm, and Adam suspected had he reached Althea first, he would have been callously elbowed out of the way. “Indeed, madam, I would suggest you retire immediately. You look quite pale,” he said, always his best when being conversationally solicitous, although he had to admit Althea Braedon did not look at all well. In fact, she looked as if she’d been crying, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed as if by some recent sadness. “I dare say your physician would be most displeased to find you up at so late an hour…ah, which one cannot help but wonder about. But, naturally, I am at your service now, to provide whatever words of comfort and wisdom that may be required in this hour of need,” he offered politely, his voice having resumed its rich basso tones, his manner at its most punctilious.

“Thank you, Reverend Culpepper,” Althea murmured faintly, truly thankful for a strong arm to lean on, even if it was Reverend Culpepper’s, his voice droning in her ears like the annoying buzz of a fat bumble bee. It had taken all of what little strength she had to prepare for the evening’s ceremonies, Leigh being less than helpful in her own preparations for her hastily arranged marriage, and had it not been for Jolie’s bullying they would never have been ready in time.

It had been Jolie who had remembered which trunk the wedding gown had been carefully stored in for safekeeping years ago. Her wedding gown, Althea remembered, seeing so clearly Nathan standing next to her as she said her vows and became his wife. If only she could hope that Leigh’s marriage to Neil Braedon would be as happy, she fretted, but she had to believe that someday they would, that Adam’s faith hadn’t been misguided.

Althea glanced over at Adam, still unable to believe what he had confided to her and Guy. They were sworn not to reveal the truth to Leigh, but it was hard not to show the heartbreak she felt so deep within. Drawing a deep breath, she said, “The Reverend Culpepper is here. Shall we begin?”

The Reverend Culpepper, however, was anything but ready. The scene that had met his startled gaze when he stepped into the study nearly caused him to falter, and forgetful of the frail woman whose arm he’d held so protectively only moments before, he would have turned and fled without so much as a by-your-leave.

Leigh Travers, dressed in an ivory-tinted gown of silk brocade and cobweb-fine blond lace, her chestnut hair partly concealed beneath a short veil of fairy-spun Brussels lace, the scalloped edges floating around her shoulders ethereally and held in place by a coronet of delicate silk rosettes, was standing next to the infamous Yankee raider, Captain Dagger.

And in the apprehensive mind of the already overwrought reverend, as if to mock him further, the scene became even more macabre as he met the slanting yellow eyes of Jolie, her coppery face looking heathenish as the firelight flickered over it, casting strange shadows that melted into the ebony face of Stephen, the sound of ancient, impious chants whispering against his Christian soul as he heard a soft muttering coming from the mulattress.

Reverend Culpepper nearly fainted from fear, and had it not been for Althea’s supportive arm now, he would have fallen, the stiffness having left his knees as fast as his courage.

And yet, perhaps, it was all some terrifying nightmare, brought on by indigestion, for he had overindulged earlier that evening at supper, but it had been such a long time since he’d enjoyed a well-prepared, generous-proportioned meal. And Mrs. Drayton had served the most delicious pork chops and fried potatoes, and she’d been so pleased to see him cleaning his plate of a third portion. The reverend blinked his eyes, hoping he’d been seeing double, but, no, Adam Braedon still stood beside him, and across the room stood Captain Dagger, for there was no mistaking the heathenish braid he wore, marking him as the notorious Yankee raider depicted in the newspapers.

“Wha—what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, gulping nervously as he met the cold-eyed stare of a man thought to be little better than a demon from hell. “Is this some sort of hoax?”

“Hardly that. We need you to perform a marriage for us, Reverend Culpepper,” Adam said good-naturedly as he hustled the now stiff-legged reverend closer to the pair standing before the hearth. “Not quite the wedding I had imagined, but nonetheless binding. Never forget, Guy Travers was a lawyer in peacetime, and has acquainted me with all of the legal niceties concerning our hasty marriage, so it will indeed be quite legal,” Adam warned, grinning as he placed the parish register on Althea’s lap where she now sat in a chair close by.

“The witnesses, the brother and sister of the bride, Althea also serving as matron-of-honor, and myself, also serving as best man. Quite a family gathering. Now, if you would be so obliging.”

“Ma-marriage! Certainly not!” the reverend exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the bride. “You would marry this…this…”

“Oh, did I neglect to make the proper introductions, Reverend Culpepper?” Adam interrupted before Neil could say anything. “I gather, by your expression, that you’ve recognized Captain Dagger. But perhaps you didn’t realize that he is also Neil Braedon. My cousin. Now, if the Union wins the war, and my cousin here survives to come back to Virginia, then you can expect to have your neck wrung if you don’t perform this ceremony right now. If you live to see that day, because, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to cross Captain Dagger here. The Bloodriders aren’t far away, and a lot depends on this marriage,” he said, shaking his head as if sorry for what was about to happen to the good reverend.