The Bashful Bride (Advertisements for Love Book 2)

by Vanessa Riley

  “You win,” he said under his breath and put his gun in Mother’s hands. “You always had a way with reasoning.”

  “No one could ever call you stupid, Josiah. Go down to the carriage and wait while I speak with the lovebirds.”

  Papa looked cornered, with his neck swiveling between Mama and Bex. He didn’t look at Ester.

  “Don’t take too long, Horatio.” With his head lowered, Papa thumped from the room.

  Ester moved to her and put her arms about her mother’s stiff form. “Mama, I’ve never seen you stand up to him.”

  “You’ve never had to. Your father and I know our responsibilities. Your father’s not perfect, but he is a good man.”

  “No, he isn’t. Those letters of his affair.”

  Her mother frowned and stared in Bex’s direction.

  His blank expression gave nothing away, but he was part of this now. He didn’t need to leave.

  Stepping away from Ester, Mama pulled off her reddish-brown gloves and stuffed them into her satin reticule. “That is my business, Ester. Mine. Not yours. We worked through that long ago. I don’t know why he kept the letters.”

  “You knew? But you looked so hurt when you read the letters.”

  “Your papa told me when he ended the affair. He told me and promised me to never let anything break us again. Those letters brought back that hurt, but that debt had been forgiven.”

  “I don’t ever remember you even getting mad at him. You knew of his failings. Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?”

  Mama grabbed Ester’s hands and led her to the mirror. “I had you and Ruth and an evil family on a sugar plantation an ocean or two away. Could I leave to go back to Jamaica—with two girls—so your cousins or uncles or even your grandfather could have at you as an enslaved mistress? ’Cause I was born enslaved. Those that look like Mr. Bex in Jamaica can claim you as their property and use you up for nothing but evil. That’s why this very actor fights for abolition. You remember the articles on Mr. Bex’s cause in the papers.”

  Ester knew Bex’s stories, but her mother had never said much about her upbringing in Jamaica. When Ester had asked, it had made Mama’s face fill with pain. “Mama…I…”

  Her mother picked up Ester’s bag and set it on the bed. “I forgave a man who was repentant, and we rebuilt the trust we had when we married. Yes, I was mad, but your father is a good man. He’s a big man, with beautiful black hands, and we’ve created two beautiful, ungrateful girls.”

  Bex went to the door. “I could step outside.”

  “You leave this room, Mr. Bex, and Josiah may find his other gun from the carriage and shoot you. There are a lot of woods outside this inn, the kind you could be shot in and buried with no questions. That happens to our people all the time, so it’s best you stay here, where I can see you. That is, if you want to live.”

  Ester winced and reached for Bex before she lowered her hands. “Stay, Bex. Mama’s right about my father’s temper.” She turned back to her mother. “Why didn’t you say something about this, or even about Ruth? I am old enough to understand.”

  Mama gripped her shoulders and shook her. “Because it was my business, Ester. Mine. It was private until you got a hold of those old letters. And Ruth didn’t want anyone to know about her failings. Her little baby has no name, just a fake one. It is hard enough to be Blackamoor, but illegitimate, too? It’s too much.”

  Wanting the world to stop moving, Ester stepped into Bex’s shadow. If only she could fall into his arms and have him hold her to stop the shaking. “You could’ve explained instead of offering lies. I would’ve listened, Mama.”

  “You don’t listen, Ester. You’re like your father in that way. You judged me weak. You don’t know what type of strength it takes to hold a marriage together, to be the bigger person and forgive. The way you two are starting off, learning to forgive will be a necessity.” Mama rifled through Ester’s bag until she whipped out the party gown. “Put this on. It’s the one you will marry him in. Mr. Bex. What is your full name?”

  “Bex…Arthur Bex,” he said, “But your daughter has changed her mind. I was getting ready to put her on a coach to send her home.”

  Mama came near and swatted her on the bottom. “You haven’t come this far to change your mind. If you or Ester have cold feet, stick them in the fireplace. This wedding is happening. I made your father agree. There’s no going back on this. Now put this on.”

  Ester looked at Bex, and he caught and held her gaze. “Yes, Mrs. Croome. if your daughter will still have me.”

  “I already told you she accepted. Now turn around so she can put this dress on.”

  Bex nodded and turned to the door. “I could step outside.”

  Whipping through the buttons on Ester’s carriage dress, Mama shook her head. “Step outside, Mr. Bex, and you could get shot. Just face the wall.”

  Ester clasped her hands. “Mama, he’s…”

  “You ran away with this man. In a few more minutes, he’ll be legally able to see everything, if he hasn’t already. Don’t be modest now. You’re a runaway bride. I’m getting a wedding out of one of you girls. I won’t have you looking like an urchin.”

  Beet red across her bosom, face fevered, Ester stood in her chemise and corset as Mama dragged her carriage gown to her hips.

  “These shoes are horrid, Ester. They’ll show under your ball gown. But that can’t be helped.”

  Bex had his good hand to his face as if to shield his eyes, but the shadows of the ribbon loops of her chemise were obvious on the wall.

  She couldn’t think about what was to come, marrying Bex, not with her dress at her knees. “Hurry. I can’t stand here like this.”

  “Don’t be shy now, Ester. You’ve been five days with this man.” Mama pulled the party dress up the rest of the way, then slipped on the shimmering overdress, tightening the laces, fluffing the netting. “Your chignon is horrible.”

  She took Ester’s locks and smoothed them with her palm. “There is no time to redo this. It will have to do.”

  Ester grabbed at her hand. “Please, Mama. Fix it.”

  She nodded and undid the chignon, then made a quick new braid and pinned it up again. “A little better, but not what I wanted. This isn’t what I wanted for you at all.”

  Sighing as if she could barely contain her emotions, Mama placed the wrinkled shawl on Ester’s arm. “It’s not the beautiful beaded silk gown I had planned for you, but it will do. Now you are ready to wed. Come along, Mr. Bex. My husband and I will take you both to Gretna Green.”

  He scooped up Ester’s hand. “Right behind you, ma’am.”

  She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but it was hard to have a cohesive thought with her mother now forcing her to marry Bex. “We don’t have to do this, Mama. If you want me to say I made a mistake, I will.”

  “You’ll not shame the family any more, Ester. I’m going to watch you marry the man you chose above the Croomes.”

  Ester had always wanted to see her mother get angry, but to be furious at Papa, not her. The determination she heard in the woman’s voice was resolute, chilling.

  “Run off now, Ester, if you can.” Bex said in a whisper. “Your father won’t shoot you, and your mother doesn’t have a gun to your head.”

  But she did. The weight of ruining the Croome name was as good as a flintlock, and the look of disappointment on her mother’s face was enough to break any resistance in Ester’s spirit.

  “Stop buzzing, you two.” Mama held her head high as she pushed them out the door. “Remember, this is what you wanted.”

  They walked past Mr. Smythe and the grandson—both staring with mouths open. Mama tossed a guinea to them but never stopped.

  “Mr. Bex, Miss Croome, you’ll have time to say everything after we see the blacksmith at Gretna Green.”

  This marriage was about to happen. It wasn’t going to be stopped. Not by Papa, not by Bex, or by Ester’s doubts. Little Mama was the power. She drove things no
w, and Ester could only nod and agree.

  They climbed into the carriage, the three of them joining her brooding father. The silence in the cabin made her pulse loud within her ears.

  What a curious group they made. Ester beside her stoic mother, Bex with a coat half draping his bandaged arm, sitting next to her sulking father. Five miles of no talking, the rumbling of the big carriage’s wheels, the pounding hooves of the two pairs of horses sounded loud, definite. The trip was five miles too short.

  The carriage stopped. Bex didn’t wait for the footman and jumped out. He stuck his hand back inside and helped Ester down. “So, we are going to do this.” His tone teased her ear, but he moved her forward, not waiting for a reply.

  Then she realized it wasn’t a question. He was committed.

  An older fellow stood at the anvil. “I assume…” He stared, and Ester wondered if he’d ever seen so many dark faces together in his establishment. “I assume ye want to be married. It’s late. Come back tomorrow. I have a suite of rooms next door for the ceremonies—”

  “It must be tonight,” Mama said and put coins into his hand. “They must wed tonight.”

  “Very well. I’m Mr. Elliot, the blacksmith and the anvil priest who will marry the happy couple. I need the parties’ names and places of abode.”

  “I am Arthur Bex. I stay in London.”

  “I am Ester Croome, I stay near Cheapside.”

  “Are you both single persons?”

  “Yes,” Ester said.

  “Yes. I’m single.” Bex took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Did you come here, Miss Croome of your own free will?”

  Sort of yes, and sort of no, but the anvil priest didn’t need the particulars. “Yes.”

  The man leaned forward and stared in Bex’s direction. “Did you come here, Mr. Bex, of your own free will?”

  “Yes. I’m pleased to marry Miss Croome.”

  Mr. Elliot turned and started jotting in a book. “How do you spell Bex?”

  “B-E-X”. Her fiancé said it loud and bold, a perfect direct address, the climax of the tragedy in this play, only this was true. It was Ester’s life.

  “There that is done.” The blacksmith said as he turned around. “Do you, Arthur Bex, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, forsaking all others, kept to her as long as you both shall live?”

  “I will.”

  “Do you, Ester Croome, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, forsaking all others, kept to him as long as you both shall live?

  She looked up at Bex, caught the sparkle in his cobalt eyes. “Yes.”

  “A ring, Miss Croome.”

  Bex swung a hand to his forehead “Can I buy one for her?”

  Mama pulled off one of hers, the one with the jade stone, her favorite. “Use this, Ester.”

  Willing away tears, she handed it to the priest and just breathed in and out, the ash and sulfur of the hearth and the melting tools.

  “Now give it to Mr. Bex.” Mr. Elliot put the ring back into Ester’s palm.

  She did, her fingers vibrating every moment of the exchange.

  “Now give me the ring.” The blacksmith tugged his hands upon his stained apron and stretched for it.

  Nodding, Bex gave it to him. The anvil priest held it up in the light of his hearth. The band reflected the fire. He pushed it to Bex. “Now put this on the fourth finger of her left hand and say these words: with this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen.”

  Bex cleared his throat. He turned to look at Ester. “I…” He cleared his throat and took sole possession of her gaze. “I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods, I thee endow, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen.”

  The blacksmith took her hand and put it on his bandaged shoulder. “You’re supposed to link right hands but that seems impossible. Hope you put up a good fight before landing in the parson’s trap, Mr. Bex.” He winked and chortled.

  Papa groaned.

  Then Mr. Elliot turned to Ester. “Repeat after me, Miss Croome: what God joins together let no man put asunder.”

  These were the last lines. If she would rebel, this was the time. But with Papa looking as if he’d be sick, and Mama wiping her eyes, there was nothing else to do but play the part she’d begun. Pulse raging, she said, “What God joins together let no man put asunder.”

  “Good,” the priest said. “Forasmuch as this man and this woman have consented to go together by the giving and receiving a ring, I, therefore, declare them to be man and wife before God and these witnesses in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen. Go in peace.”

  Ester’s mother kissed her on the cheek. Her father just shook his head and left the shop.

  She wanted to go after him, but she’d let her mother soften him. She now understood the woman’s power. “Perhaps, Mama, we can come to dinner in a week or two. Then you can get to know Bex.”

  Her mother kissed her again on the forehead. “No, Ester. You chose to leave us for him. I’ve given you your wish. But you are cut off this day from the Croomes.”

  Ester’s heart stopped at least thirty seconds before it started again with a jolt. “But you forgave father for worse. I want to come home.”

  “Your father is my business, as much as this man you chose is yours. You wanted his hands on you. Go to him like you left us, with the clothes you smuggled out. No dowry. You will live as he lives. You’re not a Croome anymore, Mrs. Bex.”

  “Mama?”

  The woman pushed away, head up, but she stopped at the blacksmith’s door. “If you think this is your father’s doing, then you don’t know me. You punished him enough for his flaws, broke his heart every time you washed his nose in it. Now, you’ve done it again, and ripped up mine, too. Take care of her, Mr. Bex.”

  “I will, Mrs. Croome. I don’t want a dowry. Don’t let money come between you. She’s your daughter.”

  “No. She’s your wife. You’re all she’s ever talked about. Now she has you. Be good to her.” The voice sounded strong but also winded, like it held back a forthcoming sob. The hurt in her mother’s face was worse than the day Ester had found those letters. She reached for her hand.

  But it was too late.

  Mama had turned her back on her and left.

  Ester wanted to run after her, but what could she say? All this time she’d thought Mama weak, and the woman had been the strongest Croome.

  Bex gathered up the document from the priest and they had a low conversation, something about names, but all she could hear was the sound of the great carriage going away. Her parents had left. She was cut off from them.

  With a wistful look in his cobalt blue eyes, her new husband took her hand. “We have a five mile walk back to the inn. The evening air will do us good. Come along, Mrs. Bex.”

  She walked beside him. Without the energy to act happy, she couldn’t put a smile to her lips. All she wanted to do was cry.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Long Walk Back

  Keeping his stride small so his little wife could keep up, Arthur held her hand and walked away from the blacksmith at Gretna Green—a married man.

  He’d wanted to marry Ester, wanted to stay with their original plans to elope, but had decided to let her go. He’d failed her with his reckless driving, his lack of planning, but now they had a new start. He’d make the disappointment cresting upon her lips go away.

  He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Ester, Ester Bex, a farthing for your thoughts?”

  She didn’t look up but gazed down like she hunted for her slippers in the evening light. “That sum of money doesn’t seem like enough.” She folded her arms about her. “I don’t think it wise for you to know. It may doom our path more than we already have.”

  Her gentle spirit was breaking, and that hit him squarely in the gut. He had to make it better for her and bring her
back to that hopeful moment when she’d first leaped into his arms. He stopped, tugged her hand from the voluminous scarf that she tried to hide behind, and spun her. “You made a pretty bride, Mrs. Bex. This is the dress in which you floated down to me, a sun come to earth. Good to see it in the evening light.”

  Pushing away until he dropped her arm, she brought her hands to her face. “I gained you.” Her voice was low and full of pain. “I’m happy of that, Bex. There’s no one I’d rather marry. But I lost my parents today. I’ve learned more secrets and lies about the past than I ever wanted to know. I’m robbed of joy. I’m so sick over this.”

  A lump formed in his own throat. He had secrets, too, and telling her now would ruin her. He yanked at his drooping tailcoat. “Maybe it was best that you didn’t know all the bad. Maybe they thought not knowing was a way to protect you.”

  She glanced at him with glassy, wet eyes. “They didn’t think me strong enough, so they sheltered me with lies. The way I hurt my mother, maybe they were right. I’m horrible.”

  “You’re not anything but courageous. We’ll find a way to reconcile with your parents. I don’t think it’s a permanent break. Look, Ester.” He pointed to her father’s onyx carriage. It’s evenly matched team sat out front of the coaching inn. “They waited for you. Perhaps they have already had a change of heart.”

  Her head rose, but then her pretty face became sadder with a bigger frown, then unreadable. “No, they just wanted to see if we made it this far. They’re leaving.”

  He turned in time to watch the big carriage drive off. It was cruel to see them abandon her again. Thinking how to make this better for her, he came up with nothing. He swiped at his dry mouth and tried to sound the role of an encourager. “They surely waited to see if we made back to the inn safely, but they are still angered. It will pass. They still care, Ester. You can see that?”

  “I see them leaving like I left them, but not through a window. They left in a comfortable fashion, hours before midnight.”

  He took her hand, the one with the shiny gold band, and kissed her fingers. “I was there to catch you, Ester. I’m here now.”