“I see,” the fat woman said mildly. She waddled over to the settee, which groaned as it received her weight. Picking up a box of bonbons, she selected one and bit into it. “So you are saying that my husband’s niece has been alone in your company for several days?”
As unobtrusively as possible, her husband sidled past Nicholas until he was again stationed safely behind his wife.
The woman’s jaws moved rhythmically, and she masticated two more bonbons before finally speaking again. “I fail to understand why you are here.”
Nicholas took a deep breath. How to explain that Joanna had run off, leaving only a note? “I wish to satisfy myself that Miss Pettigrew has arrived home safely.”
“She is not here,” the woman said flatly. “And this is no longer her home. If she does attempt to return, she will not be admitted. This is a decent Christian household, and we will not allow it to be contaminated by your discarded mistress.”
“Mistress! She is not my mistress and never has been.”
The woman shrugged. “Whether you have taken advantage of her or not, that is what the world will believe when they learn she has been traveling with you unchaperoned. You may have a blithe disregard of such things, but I shall not allow my reputation nor the reputation of Mr. Alderthorpe to be tarnished by association with such an unregenerate sinner.”
Behind his wife, Mr. Alderthorpe smiled in satisfaction, clearly enjoying Nicholas’s frustration. Recognizing the pointlessness of any further discussion, Nicholas turned on his heel and found his way back to the front of the house, where the butler wordlessly opened the door for him and shut it behind him.
As he drove away, Nicholas’s anger was tempered by his fears for Joanna’s safety. Halting his horses at the end of the driveway, he considered which way he should turn, left or right. England might be a small country, relatively speaking, but it still contained an impossible number of square miles when one was searching for a lost girl.
“Psst! Over here!”
A girl’s voice called from somewhere to his left, and he turned his head toward the sound.
“Oh, sir, don’t let them see you talking to me, else I’ll get a skinning, I will.”
Flicking the reins, Nicholas moved far enough down the lane that his carriage could no longer be seen from the Alderthorpe residence, whereupon a young female servant wearing a stained apron emerged from the bushes.
Looking once over her shoulder, she bobbed a quick curtsy, then said in a rush, “If you are looking for Miss Joanna, she is prob’ly at Riverside with the Dillons.” Again checking over her shoulder, she said, “I got to get back now, afore I’m missed.”
“Wait—how do I find Riverside?”
She hurriedly gave him directions. “Oh, sir, yer not aimin’ to force Miss Joanna to come back here, are you? He’ll beat her somethin’ terrible, he will, and lock her in the cellar with the rats, and I won’t be able to help her, sir, no matter how I wishes I could.”
“No, I would never even consider bringing her back here.”
With tears in her eyes, the girl thanked him, and then, before he could give her a coin for her assistance, she was gone.
He did not have to go all the way to Riverside. About a mile down the road he spotted a small figure trudging along tiredly, dragging a portmanteau. Joanna did not even bother to look up until he halted his horses beside her. When she did, the surprise on her face angered him even more. Was her opinion of him so low that she had truly believed he would so easily abandon her?
“Get in the carriage!” he commanded, his voice harsh even to his own ears.
Joanna had never seen Nicholas so angry. “You really did not have to come after me. It is not at all f-far to my uncle’s house, and I am quite familiar with this neighborhood. I can w-walk the rest of—”
Before she could finish speaking, Nicholas leapt down and caught her around the waist and virtually tossed her into the carriage. Throwing her bag into the back, he climbed in and took his place beside her. Close up, his ferocious scowl was even more intimidating.
Without saying another word to her, he backed his horses and skillfully turned the carriage around in the narrow lane. Then at a trot they set off in the direction of her uncle’s house.
Twice she opened her mouth to say something to him—to explain why she had gone off leaving only a note, to explain that she had found only a caretaker at Riverside, the Dillons having departed three days previous for Paris—but each time, one look at Nicholas’s set expression and the words died in her throat. It was only when he drove past her uncle’s house without checking his speed that she had to speak up.
“Excuse me, but you have missed the turn. That is my uncle’s house back there.”
“I know which house it is. I have already made the acquaintance of your esteemed uncle,” he said, his voice little more than a low snarl.
“Oh. Then you know I ran away.”
“Yes, I know.”
Joanna sighed. “I should not have done so, I realize full well. And I suppose Uncle Nehemiah told you he will not take me back?”
“Yes,” Nicholas snapped out, his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead, “he told me.”
“Please stop the carriage,” she said urgently, and to her relief, he reined in his horses. “You must take me back there. Even though Uncle Nehemiah is angry now, he will forgive me and take me back. I know he will.”
“After he beats you?” Nicholas’s words were like a slap.
“How did you know?” she said faintly. “I never told anyone, not even Mark.”
“One of the kitchen maids saw fit to enlighten me.”
Nan, she thought. Oh, Nan, I know you only wanted to help, but you should not have told. “Be that as it may, it is my only home. I have no other relatives to go to.”
He picked up the reins and signaled to the horses, which began trotting again, but still in the wrong direction. She put her hand on his sleeve, but he shook it off.
“No, you must turn around and take me back,” she insisted firmly. “My uncle will forgive me.”
“Your aunt will not,” Nicholas replied.
“My aunt? But she always follows my uncle’s lead. Why should she object to my coming home if he does not? I fail to understand.”
“It is not so difficult to understand. You have been alone in my company for several days now, which means your reputation is in tatters. In a word, I have compromised you.”
Reputation? Compromised? Joanna was so stunned she could not think of a thing to say. None of what Nicholas was saying made any sense.
“But you may rest assured that I shall do the honorable thing,” Nicholas continued. “I am taking you to my sister’s house in Wiltshire, not far from Bath, where we shall be married by special license within the week.”
Chapter 6
Two days of sitting in a carriage beside a man who spoke only when spoken to and then only in monosyllables was enough to make even the almshouse seem an attractive alternative, Joanna thought. Well, if Nicholas was going to continue refusing to speak to her, she, for her part, would not even look at him.
He was remarkably willing to shove all the blame for their present predicament off onto her while he played the role of patient, suffering martyr. She had already, numerous times, reminded him that it had been his idea to escort her back to England. But instead of admitting that he was thus equally at fault, he had merely looked pained and muttered something about honor. As if honor were the answer to everything. Bah!
Furthermore, she had pointed out to him that if he had only done what she had suggested in her note and allowed her to finish the last few miles of the journey alone, he would never have met her Uncle Nehemiah, plus her Aunt Zerelda never would have discovered that the two of them had been traveling together unchaperoned. At the mention of Uncle Nehemiah, Nicholas had looked ready to explode, but no matter how red his face had become, nor how much effort it had obviously cost him, he had gritted his teeth and refused to say a wor
d.
Really, he was impossible! With every mile they traveled, Joanna became more determined that never—never!—would she marry this irritable, choleric, ill-humored, provoking, illogical, cranky, narrow-minded man.
The devil take him and his precious honor! He could purchase all the special licenses he wanted—he could drag her bodily before a dozen vicars—but she would absolutely, outright, point-blank refuse to take him as her husband.
She sneaked another peek at the man sitting stony-faced beside her in the carriage, and as usual, the sight of his familiar features caused her heart to soften. No matter how much logic she might have on her side, she could not look at Nicholas and stay angry. If only he were not so handsome... If only he were not basically such a kind person... If only... She sighed. What she really meant was: if only he loved her and truly wished to marry her.
Her throat ached, and she had to blink back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She could no longer delude herself; she would marry Nicholas in an instant if he actually desired her as his wife, rather than merely pitying her. But he did not love her, and because he did not, it was up to her to do something to prevent their nuptials. If she married him, for whatever selfish reason, she would be responsible for a lifetime of unhappiness—Nicholas’s unhappiness, which by extension would also mean her unhappiness.
For her part, despite his present ill humor, she would like nothing better than to be near him for the rest of her life. But she could too easily imagine what a disaster it would be if he were forced to marry her when his heart was already given to Belinda.
Joanna bit her lip. Now that she thought on it, her present predicament was all the fault of King Henry the Eighth. If he had not wished to marry an excessive number of wives, England would still be Catholic, and she could simply take herself off to a nunnery, and that would solve all their problems.
* * * *
Nicholas heard a sniffle beside him and saw Joanna surreptitiously wipe her eyes. Did she have to make it so obvious that she could not bear the prospect of marrying him?
She had been bleating about logic ever since he had told her they would have to get married. Logic? She did not even seem to know what the word meant. Logically she should have jumped at the chance to acquire a husband and a home of her own, but from the way she had been reacting, one might almost suppose he was driving her to the guillotine rather than to an appointment with the village vicar.
He glanced down at her where she was sitting crumpled in a pathetic heap beside him. Did she think him so much of an ogre that even Uncle Nehemiah was preferable? Bah, he would never understand women!
Only one thing he was sure of—when he explained the situation to Darius, his brother-in-law at least would understand about honor and duty and responsibility.
* * * *
Just before noon, Nicholas slowed the horses and turned in between a pair of stone pillars. At the end of the private drive Joanna could see a beautiful house of honey-colored stone. It was grand enough to strike terror into the stoutest of hearts, and Joanna, who was admittedly a coward, was thrown into a state of total panic.
Mrs. Dillon’s words, scarcely heard at a dance and then immediately forgotten, now came back to haunt Joanna. “His brother-in-law is the Duke of Colthurst.” A duke! This was even worse than Joanna had realized. A duke! Oh, Nicholas’s relatives would be so angry that she had trapped him into marriage. A duke! Oh, my, this was dreadful!
She felt faint and instinctively reached out and clung to Nicholas’s arm. She wanted nothing more than to hide her face behind his shoulder, but she could not tear her gaze away from the approaching disaster.
“Can’t think where everyone has gone off to,” Nicholas said in a normal voice. He reined to a stop in front of the imposing steps. “I’ve never been here when there were not half a dozen gardeners and grooms lurking about. My sister did not mention anything in her letters about taking a trip.”
He climbed out of the carriage, then turned to help Joanna down. She kept her eyes carefully lowered so that he would not see the abject fear in them and despise her more than he did already.
Grasping her arm firmly, he virtually dragged her along with him up the steps to the massive front door. He pounded on it vigorously, but no one came.
“Blast,” he muttered. Trying the door latch, he found it unlocked, and to Joanna’s dismay, he entered without waiting for a proper invitation.
“Where the deuce is Kelso? Not even a footman here to answer the door.” Nicholas dropped her arm and began to open one door after another, but the house appeared to be totally deserted.
Then a small door behind the main staircase opened and a beautiful blond girl emerged. Dressed in a buttercup-yellow gown, she was like a ray of sunshine lighting up the large entry hall. Catching sight of Nicholas, she whooped with glee, then ran and threw herself into his arms.
Joanna instinctively shrank back into the shadows.
“Nicholas, you’re home! Why did you not warn us you were coming? Have you left the army for good? How long are you staying? Oh, it is so good to see you.” She kissed him on the cheek, and Joanna felt her insides twist with jealousy.
“Calm down, Dorie. I’ll answer all your questions later, but for now I need to talk to Elizabeth and Darius.”
“Oh, Nicholas, the most wonderful thing—Maggie and Munke got married this morning. We are all celebrating down in the servants’ hall. I was just going upstairs to relieve Beth, who is up in the nursery minding the children. I’ll tell her you’re here. She will be delighted—indeed we are all so glad you have come home safely.” She started to dart away again, but Nicholas caught her arm.
“Stop! I shall go up there to speak to her. You just find Darius, but don’t spread it around that I am home. I want to speak to him and Elizabeth privately before it becomes general knowledge that I am here.”
“Secrets, Nick?” the girl asked with an impish smile. “You know I will discover everything sooner or later, so you might as well save the effort and tell me sooner.”
“Later, brat. Now, get along and fetch Darius. Tell him I have gone up to the nursery.”
Joanna was hoping Nicholas had forgotten all about her, and indeed he had given that impression ever since he had dragged her inside. But he waited only until the door had closed behind the girl before looking around impatiently.
Spotting her where she cowered behind a massive urn filled with fresh flowers, he said curtly, “Come along, now.”
When she failed to move, he strode to her side, caught her arm, and she was forced to accompany him, even though her feet wanted nothing more than to be going in the opposite direction. The only thing she could be thankful for was that Nicholas slowed his pace to accommodate her shorter legs, rather than taking the stairs two at a time as he always seemed inclined to do.
“Who was —?” She wanted to say: Who was the girl who kissed you?—but she caught herself in time. “Who was the girl you were speaking to?”
“Hmm?” Nicholas’s mind was obviously miles away—which was where Joanna would have preferred to be also. “Oh, that was Dorie. My cousin,” he added by way of explanation. “She is a hoyden, but I’m sure you’ll like her.”
But would Dorie like her? Joanna wondered. It was rather doubtful, she thought, especially when Nicholas’s cousin discovered she had trapped him into an unwanted marriage.
The door to the nursery was open, and Nicholas paused before entering. “You make a pretty picture, Elizabeth,” he said with a smile.
Peeking around him, Joanna had to agree. The woman seated on the chaise longue was beautiful and as serene as a Madonna, while three toddlers who were clustered around her looked like little cherubs.
Catching sight of Nicholas, the three scrambled down and barreled across the room, hurling themselves against him and clinging to his legs like little limpets.
Somehow he managed to scoop all three of them up. They each gave him wet, smacking kisses, then allowed him to deposit them aga
in on the floor.
The woman waited her turn, then also embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Nicholas, it is so good to see you. Welcome home.”
He returned her hug. “I have brought someone to meet you.” With his arm still around his sister, Nicholas turned to Joanna, who wanted to sink through the floor. “This is Joanna Pettigrew, the sister of one of my friends. You may remember my mentioning Captain Mark Pettigrew in some of my letters. He was killed in Belgium so I have brought Joanna home with me.”
“Oh, my dear, I am sorry about your brother.” Holding out both her hands to Joanna, the duchess got to her feet. “Come sit here beside me, my dear. You look quite fatigued from your journey. Please believe me when I say you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.” Efficiently she scooted all three of the toddlers aside so that there was room for Joanna.
“We shall not impose on you long,” Nicholas said. Although he still smiled, a coldness had crept into his voice that Joanna could not ignore. “As soon as I can produce a special license, Joanna and I are going to be married.”
The beautiful woman’s expression did not lose a bit of its serenity. If anything, her smile became wider. Giving Joanna’s hand a gentle squeeze, she said, “How wonderful. I have always wanted a sister.”
Joanna promptly burst into tears, and one after another the three babies joined in, their wails quickly drowning out her sobs.
* * * *
Elizabeth looked at the young girl sitting beside her. Joanna Pettigrew was pouring out a disjointed account of all the events that had conspired to place her and Nicholas in their present predicament, and it was all Elizabeth could do not to pull the poor mistreated child onto her lap and hold her and comfort her as if she were as young as Louisa and Edward and Catherine.
But she wasn’t a child. Young in years Joanna might be, but her childhood had been left behind in Brussels, her innocence destroyed forever by tents filled with wounded and dying young men. All Elizabeth could do to comfort her was hold Joanna’s hand, which felt so cold and frail, it only made it that much harder for Elizabeth not to pull the younger girl into her arms.
The Resolute Runaway Page 8
