by Lynn Kerstan
He took her hand. “I liked you immediately, the first time we met,” he said honestly. “And I’ve come to respect you since. You would make me a far better wife than I deserve. But there are … complications.”
Her lips curved. “Clare Easton.”
“Yes.” Bryn was relieved that they could speak frankly. “I’m not certain that I am capable of loving anyone, Elizabeth. At the least, it is unlikely I’d recognize the symptoms. But I know that life without Clare would be intolerable, and I will do everything in my power to keep her. My wife would have to accept that.”
“It seems to me you know very well how it feels to be in love, my lord. Why do you not marry her?”
He blinked. “She is my mistress.”
Elizabeth regarded him critically. “Does that matter?”
Letting go her hand, he folded his arms across his chest. “I have obligations which date from—well, about the time you were born. Whatever I feel for Clare, I must wed a woman of impeccable birth and breeding. It is a matter of promises made and thus far unkept, to my discredit.”
Her gaze lowered, but Bryn caught a glint of reproach in her eyes. “Even so, you are willing to marry the daughter of a drunkard and a gambler,” she said quietly.
Releasing a harsh breath, he leaned forward. “Elizabeth, you are more unlike your father than the stars are distant from the muddy ground. And if you are able to accept what little I have to offer, I will gladly meet you at the altar. You must decide if you can wed a man who will give you a home, children, and security while keeping another woman under his protection. You’ll be a countess, and have money enough to satisfy every whim, but I doubt you care for that.”
“I do not,” she said flatly. “And in truth, my lord, you would find yourself burdened with a wife who loves another man, although I would never be unfaithful to you.”
There was a short pause while that sank in. Then he came to his feet and stared at her, hands balled into fists. “Why the hell didn’t you say so to start with?” Hushing, he muttered an apology for his language and began to pace the room. “That changes everything. Who is he? And where’s the problem?”
“He has no money,” she said in a dull voice. “He cannot afford to buy off my father, who would never consent to the marriage without an enormous settlement. And I am only seventeen, Lord Caradoc. I cannot marry without his approval.”
He spun around. “Head out for Scotland and take your vows over the anvil. Why not?”
She shook her head. “I suggested that, but Rob—he would not hear of it. In his opinion I deserve better than a havey-cavey runaway marriage, as if I cared a bean for that. And he insists he cannot support a family, with no income and no prospects. He thinks I’ll do better as your wife.”
“Lacey.” Bryn slapped his forehead. “By God, we’re talking about Lacey. I should have known. All the signs were there, but I’ve been too preoccupied with my own affairs to notice.”
Color flamed in her cheeks. “I told Robert I didn’t mind living in the fields so long as it was with him, but he wouldn’t listen. He wants me to be draped in fancy clothes and cut a tear through London society.” Her voice was edged with anger. “Men are so pigheaded.”
He couldn’t argue with that. And suddenly the ice at his spine began to thaw. “You shall have him, Elizabeth. I’ll see to it, if that is what you really want.”
She looked him in the eye. “I love Robert with all my heart. And I want to be his wife, whatever the consequences.”
Nodding, Bryn made rapid plans. “We’ll need to be clever and spirit you out of London before your father gets wind of our scheme. Leave the details to me. For now, I suggest you go upstairs and pack your belongings while I inform Lace he is to be a bridegroom.”
She studied his face, her eyes troubled. “But what if he doesn’t agree? I know Robert loves me, but I was unable to convince him we should marry. What will happen when my father finds out? And what is to become of you, my lord? By your own admission, you need a wife.”
Bryn laughed, feeling optimistic for the first time since he got Lace’s message. “Your prospective groom will do as I say. Your father will find himself thwarted, but by then you’ll be beyond his reach. And as for me, I’ll doubtless find an ambitious young woman so eager for a title and wealth that she’ll ignore my liaison with Clare.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Be happy, child. I’m glad you are to be part of a family I hold dearer than my own. Now go upstairs and make yourself ready for a trip to Gretna Green.”
She stood and curtseyed, blushing furiously as she hurried out of the room.
With pleasure, he watched her practically float away. Then he crossed to a window and studied his reflection in the glass. Was he in love with Clare, as Elizabeth had suggested? He had no idea. He wanted her. Perhaps he even needed her. Things had worked out for the best, he finally decided. Better he marry a woman he didn’t care about at all. Elizabeth would have complicated matters, because he’d always have worried how she felt when he went to his mistress’s bed.
Once Lace and Elizabeth were wed, he could concentrate on building a future with Clare. Then he would find a wife. Any well-bred girl would do. Now that he’d abandoned hope of a love match and accepted that an ideal marriage was not in the cards, he was able to proceed without delusions.
Meantime, Lacey needed a reliable source of income to support his bride. Bryn was more than willing to settle on his friend the same fortune Landry would have demanded, but he knew Robert wouldn’t accept a handout. He was too proud.
“What’s the verdict?” Lacey asked in a stony voice from the door. “Are you betrothed?”
“No.” Bryn turned and gave him a wry grin. “But you are.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Lacey stalked across the room, Isabella at his heels.
“Elizabeth says she all but proposed to you, and you turned her down.” Bryn jabbed him in the chest with a hard finger. “I suggest you think again. Damned if I’ll marry a girl my best friend wants for himself. You are on your way to Scotland, Lace, as soon as we work out the logistics.”
The viscount shuffled his feet. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that, Bryndle, a thousand times. But I’ve no way to take care of her. I can barely support myself. And before you offer, I will not take your charity, not even for Beth. She wouldn’t respect me if I did.”
“As it happens, Lace, I am somewhat overextended in the charity department and have no intention of taking on another dependent. No, I rather suspect you’ll have to work.”
“W-work?” He looked stunned. “But I don’t know how to do anything. Lead a cavalry charge, perhaps, but even if Boney escaped again and raised another army, I haven’t the blunt to buy a commission.”
Isabella laughed. “You could be a shepherd, Robbie. Surely you have wit enough for that.”
Lacey turned on her. “Easy for you to say, now that you’re plump in the pockets. All you had to do was marry a rich man who got himself killed in the war.”
Bryn stepped between them. “Children, children. Our tempers are on edge, but let us concentrate on the problem at hand.”
Lacey snorted. “You’ve got it all worked out, don’t you? I know that smug attitude.”
Bryn poured himself a glass of brandy. “In fact, I do. River’s End must be restored—I promised my father I’d see to it—and you are the ideal man to take charge of the project. I like what you did at Clouds, and I’ll pay you well to do the same for the Caradoc estate.”
“You want to live there?” Lacey asked incredulously.
“Absolutely not.” Bryn took a deep breath. Ghosts walked at River’s End. He’d managed to escape everything but his memories, and he had no intention of ever setting foot in the place again. “One day my heir will claim his birthright,” he said with deliberate indifference, “so I’m committed to seeing the castle brought to its former state. Better than that. Make it splendid, Lace. I expect it will take several years, and meantime you and Elizab
eth can live at your own house, with your mother.”
Isabella hugged him. “That’s perfect, Bryndle. Mama has been too much alone, and she won’t come to London however much I beg her to do so. You have found the solution to all our troubles.”
He wasn’t so sure of that. “Assuming Landry is watching your house,” he said, “we have to get Elizabeth safely out of here without arousing his suspicions. So long as she’s in my company I don’t expect he’ll interfere. Izzy, where could we take her tonight? Who is hosting a party?”
While she ran upstairs to check the invitations, he turned to Lacey. “For now, go to your lodgings and pack whatever you need. I’ll send a servant to collect your luggage, with instructions on what to do next.”
Isabella returned with a handful of cards, and he sorted through them. “The Esterhazy ball,” he decided. “Landry won’t be admitted there. Izzy, make sure Elizabeth is dressed for a dance, not an elopement. I’ll pick the two of you up at nine o’clock.”
Lacey glowered at him. “Do you intend to explain or go on snapping orders?”
“Both.” Bryn put his hand on Lacey’s shoulder. “So far I’ve only a sketchy idea how to bring this off, but in a few hours you and Elizabeth will be on your way to Scotland with Landry none the wiser. Trust me.”
“May I at least speak to her first? Make sure she really wants to do this?”
“Better we leave together, I think. Laughing, so the watchdogs suspect nothing, and now because I need the time to make arrangements. Come along, Lace. You’ll have several hundred miles between here and Gretna to woo your bride.”
24
“Do you think we were followed?” Elizabeth asked nervously as the earl’s crested carriage drew up at the Esterhazy mansion.
“Possible, but unlikely.” Bryn handed Isabella out of the coach and turned to help Elizabeth. “So long as you are with me, your father will make no trouble. I’m what he most hopes for, after all.”
With a lady on each arm, he mounted the marble steps and joined the throng waiting to pass through the receiving line. Although reasonably sure he’d accounted for every hazard, he reviewed his plan again, reflecting that he had gained some tactical experience smuggling Clare to and from Ernestine’s house. On the other hand, he remembered with an interior groan, Ernie had found him out.
But this time he’d taken greater care, because the consequences of discovery were more disastrous than a scolding from the duchess.
By now Lacey was well on his way to the obscure inn where Bryn had spent the weekend. It seemed eons ago. Within the hour, Bryn and Elizabeth would make their way out the back door to the mews where a coach waited. It would carry them by a circuitous route to another unmarked coach laden with the couple’s luggage. In his pocket was enough money to see Lacey to Scotland and home again. Tomorrow, Bryn would dispatch a bank draft to Heydon Manor, to get Lace started on the restoration of River’s End.
He’d sent a message to Max Peyton, asking him to appear at the ball so Isabella would have someone to escort her home, and another to Princess Esterhazy, requesting that she admit Peyton.
He had decided to accompany Elizabeth to the inn and make his way back to London from there. It occurred to him that he should have told Lacey to take a horse from his own stable, because God only knew what sort of transportation that thatch-gallows had devised. Damned if he wanted to be stranded at the Black Sheep again, at the mercy of whatever ramshackle vehicle might pass by in the middle of the night.
Swearing under his breath at the oversight, he found himself face-to-face with Princess Esterhazy.
“You honor us, Lord Caradoc,” she said, lifting her hand for his salute. “We have seen too little of you this season.”
“I could scarcely resist what will surely be its crowning event,” he said politely.
“Your Mr. Peyton is somewhere about.” She lifted a curious brow. “Handsome devil, with those unusual eyes. From where did you conjure him?”
Swallowing his impatience, Bryn produced a smile. “He is lately come from India, I believe. Thank you for inviting him, but for the rest you must quiz him yourself. I daresay he is keen to dance with his gracious hostess.” Before she could pursue the interrogation, he bowed and moved on.
Just outside the ballroom, he drew the ladies aside. “Izzy, you are to stay here as long as possible. Be among the last guests to leave. By the time you return to my carriage, anybody watching this house will be hours too late figuring out that Elizabeth and I have already gone.” He turned to Elizabeth, who was chewing her lower lip as she peered into the ballroom. Looking for her father, he suspected.
“I’ll lead you out for a dance, my dear, in case your father has planted a spy. But I doubt there is reason for concern.”
“He hasn’t many friends who would be invited here,” she agreed, somewhat breathlessly. “But still—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry. I shall be with you all the way, until you are delivered into Lacey’s protection. You are perfectly safe.”
She gazed solemnly into his eyes. “You are so kind to me, Lord Caradoc. And for no reason I can imagine. How shall I ever be able to thank you?”
He lifted a hand. “I assure you, it is my pleasure to be of service. And perhaps you can keep Lacey out of trouble. I’ve not managed to do so, but I expect you will. Now smile and pretend you adore me. So long as your father imagines there is hope you have snagged a rich suitor, we have bought time.”
“Here you are at last.” Max Peyton appeared at his shoulder, regarding the ladies with an expectant smile.
Elizabeth must be wholly besotted with Lace, Bryn thought as he performed the introductions, to be so oblivious of Peyton’s dazzling smile. Isabella, on the other hand, had a look in her eyes he’d never seen before. She positively glowed as Peyton brushed his lips over her wrist.
With obvious reluctance, Max let go her hand and drew Bryn aside. “I’ve done some checking,” he whispered. “Landry has hired any number of scoundrels to keep tabs on his daughter. Paid them with promises, I’m sure, because when he came to me this morning he was clearly at his last prayers. Keep your eyes open. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Nor I. But there is a sword concealed in this cane, and both coaches waiting for us are manned by two armed footmen. Should there be any trouble when you take the countess home, I stowed two loaded pistols under the carriage seat.”
Peyton grinned. “Quite a beauty, the Lady Isabella.”
“Proceed at your own risk,” Bryn warned. “She’s more than a handful.”
They rejoined the ladies, and after the opening minuet Bryn took Elizabeth’s hand and led her down the back stairs, through the kitchen, and across a deserted alley into the mews where the first coach waited.
“No sign of trouble,” said a brawny young footman as he lowered the steps. “We’ve watched the alley, but nobody is lurking about.”
A few minutes later, they drew up on a deserted side street, where the transfer to the second coach was accomplished without incident. Bryn was almost certain they hadn’t been followed, but even so he ordered the footmen to keep close watch on the road as they drove out of the city.
Elizabeth sat quietly, lost in her own thoughts for nearly an hour until the coach made a sudden turn, proceeded a short way, and came to a stop. Her gaze shot to Bryn’s.
“Not to worry,” he said, drawing the heavy curtains over both windows. “We’ll wait here a few minutes, to make certain no one is on our trail. The footmen have shuttered the lanterns and gone back to the main road to see what passes by.”
“You have thought of everything,” she said in an awestruck voice.
“At the least, you may be sure that when you and Lace are on your way, there will be nothing to fear. This should be a romantic adventure, my dear, not a flight in terror. Concentrate on the road ahead, not the one behind you.”
She relaxed visibly and gave him a sweet smile. “I quite like your Clare, my lord.
Will you bring her to visit us?”
“Perhaps.” His fingers tightened on the cane. “When you are next in London. I have no wish to go near River’s End.”
“Then we will come to see you.”
Suddenly uncomfortable, he pulled out his watch. “Nearly two hours, I expect, before we reach the inn. Sleep if you can, Elizabeth. You’ve a long night ahead of you.”
Twenty minutes later, a footman rapped on the panel. “One carriage,” he reported, “only women inside.”
Bryn pulled the curtains and nodded. “Thank you, Rafferty. Let’s go on, then.”
The driver soon found a place to turn around, and the coach returned to the country byroad that led to the inn.
Robert was waiting outside, an anxious look on his face. When Elizabeth alighted he rushed to take her in his arms, and Bryn turned his back while they kissed each other for what seemed like a very long time.
Finally Lacey acknowledged his presence by clearing his throat. “Er, Bryndle, the horse I hired to get here went lame two miles back. I had to walk the rest of the way. Maybe he’ll be all right by tomorrow morning.”
Wheeling, Bryn glared at him. “You mean I’m stuck here for the night? Dammit, Lace, why didn’t you come in some sort of reliable vehicle?”
“Couldn’t afford it,” he replied with a shrug. “I presume you’ve brought money to see me to Scotland.”
Bryn reached into his pocket and tossed him a leather wallet. “There’s enough in here to cover post-horses and all the rest,” he said crossly. “I’ve sent a servant ahead to reserve rooms and secure a change of nags at proper intervals. The driver knows where to stop on the way, and you can improvise on the road home to Heydon Manor. Stay there out of my sight for several months, if you know what’s good for you.”
Lacey smiled at Elizabeth. “I do,” he said softly. Then he shook Bryn’s hand. “Sorry to leave you stranded, old man, but you’re only twenty miles from London. Sooner or later you’ll get home.” With a grin, he helped Elizabeth into the coach and jumped in after her. “For what you’ve done, I owe you my life,” he said out the window.
