“Because if he believes Juliana loves him, he’ll return to take advantage of her. Vaughan must be forced to realize he’ll gain nothing by coming back.”
Overton shivered. “What if he still attempts it?”
“After the navy gets through with him, he won’t want to come near Wales.” He patted Overton’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, brother. He’ll struggle through the navy, slink off into some corner of the world with his tail between his legs, and thank his good fortune that he needn’t deal with us ever again.”
Overton chafed at his brother’s condescending tone. Rhys Vaughan hadn’t seemed that sort of man to him. “Well then, what if Morgan Pennant comes back? He looked rough.”
“A printer?” Darcy chuckled. “You certainly are spooked by shadows.”
“I just don’t understand why you said all that rot to him about his sweetheart and got him riled up. You told me you only wanted to rid the town of radicals.” He crossed his arms. “Now I wonder if you did this to get him out of the way, so you could have Lettice.”
Darcy glared at him. “I hope you don’t voice that theory to anyone but me, dear brother. Remember, when Father dies, I’ll hold the purse strings. And I never forget a slight. Do you understand me?”
Overton blanched. Darcy had never threatened him, but then, he’d never needed to. Overton had always deferred to his brother’s superior intellect. In return, Darcy had always made certain Overton received sufficient funds for hunting and gaming.
“Well?” Darcy prodded. “Say you’ll support me, no matter what.”
If Darcy wanted this so badly that he’d make threats to get it, Overton dared not cross him. “I’ll support you.”
“Come on, then.”
Moments later, they found the innkeeper and determined that Juliana hadn’t left her room. “I think she might have fallen asleep. ’Tis awful quiet up there.”
“Good.” Darcy gave the man more money and reminded him once again of the story he was to tell anyone who asked. “And be sure all those in your employ say the same.”
The three of them climbed the stairs. Darcy paused outside the door. “Remember, this is our first visit to the inn. We know nothing about Vaughan’s disappearance.”
When Overton nodded, Darcy gestured to the innkeeper to unlock the door. Then he threw the door open.
Juliana was asleep. But as soon as Darcy boomed out “Where is he?” she jolted awake.
Overton averted his face as she immediately sat up, exposing her nakedness. And though she scrambled to cover herself with the sheet, rage surged through him to see her obviously deflowered.
“Where is he?” Darcy, too, wore a tortured look as he strode inside and scanned the room. “Where’s that scoundrel Vaughan?”
Darcy was so convincing that Overton had to remind himself it was merely an act. Clutching the sheet to her chest, Juliana watched Darcy prowl the room with an expression of growing horror.
Darcy fixed her with a fierce gaze. “Where’s Rhys Vaughan, Juliana?”
She looked pitifully bewildered. “I-I don’t know. I fell asleep and then . . . What are you doing here? How did you know where to find us . . . I mean, me?”
“Mother found your note this morning, and we’ve been searching inns ever since. When we got here, the innkeeper said there was indeed a young couple staying here.” Darcy cast her sheet-wrapped body a look of contempt, and poor Juliana cringed. “I see we came too late to rescue you from that fortune hunter, but not too late to make him face the consequences. So tell us where he is! ”
“What time is it?” Juliana asked.
“Milord,” said the innkeeper, in keeping with Darcy’s instructions, “the maid told me Mr. Vaughan came downstairs a few hours ago and went out. She didn’t stay around to see him come in, and I assumed he was up here—”
“Where did he go, Juliana?” Darcy demanded. “Tell us! ”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know! ”
Guilt stabbed Overton.
Darcy snatched up her clothes and threw them at her. “Then you’re coming home with us.”
“No. I want to wait here for my husband.”
“So you really did marry that fool Welshman.”
Juliana tilted her head back regally. “Yes. And there’s naught you can do about it.”
Darcy’s tone was deceptively casual. “Prove you’re married. Show me your marriage certificate.”
Overton held his breath. If they could get their hands on the certificate they could make the marriage disappear entirely, provided the bishop cooperated.
Juliana, however, dashed those hopes. “I can’t. I’m not sure where it is. Rhys might have it with him.”
Overton and Darcy exchanged glances. Neither of them had thought to search for papers on Vaughan’s person. And the ship had already sailed. If Vaughan ever returned with that certificate . . .
“The marriage certificate is gone,” Darcy said coldly. “And so is your husband. It appears, madam, that Vaughan has abandoned you.”
“No! He wouldn’t have. Why marry me, then leave?”
“So he could bed you and take your lands. But he’s nowhere in sight, so you might as well come home with us.”
She turned an imploring gaze on Overton. “I must wait for him.”
Overton bit his tongue to keep from telling her everything. But even if he wanted to go against Darcy, doing so now would be futile. Telling poor Juliana that her husband had just begun a lengthy stint in the navy wouldn’t exactly comfort her.
“Listen, love,” he heard himself saying. “There’s no point in waiting here by yourself. Mother is sick with worry. Come back to the house, and I’m sure this good innkeeper will send your—” he nearly choked over the word “—husband on to Northcliffe if . . . when he returns. I’ll bring you back here later, if you want.”
When Juliana cast him a grateful smile, he swallowed his guilt. In truth, she was lovely, and it would be a bloody shame to waste her on a chap like Vaughan, who might indeed have married her for her property.
He and Darcy were doing what was best for her. She deserved a better husband. And with that thought, he silenced his conscience.
It had been hours since Juliana had left the inn, where there’d been no sign of Rhys. Their bags—and the deed to Llynwydd—had still been there, intact. Something awful had happened to him; she just knew it. But what?
And now Papa wanted to see her. Worried sick, she descended to the ground floor. As she reached her father’s study, Lettice emerged from the shadows, her normally vibrant eyes dull and red.
“What is it?” Juliana asked.
“Have they not told you? Everyone’s been out looking for your husband and heard that the press gangs were about in the wee hours this morning. Someone reported seeing them take two men aboard a rowboat.” Lettice’s voice wavered. “My Morgan . . . and your Rhys.”
Juliana’s stomach roiled. “No. No. Not Rhys, not my husband—”
“It’s true, my lady.” She swiped away fresh tears. “I asked around myself. No one’s sure which ship they were meant for. Several set sail from Carmarthen Bay this morning, and the boat likely headed for one of them. The other Sons of Wales think the burgesses learned who was responsible for those pamphlets and told the press gangs to take them.”
“It has to be a mistake! Who would have known where to find Rhys?”
“Anyone might have sent word to the press gangs.”
She thought of Rhys aboard an English man-of-war and shuddered. He wasn’t a seaman. How would he survive?
Suddenly the door to her father’s study opened and her mother stepped into the hall. She flashed Lettice a reproachful look before turning to Juliana. “Come in, they’re waiting for you.”
As soon as Juliana entered, her heart sank to see Papa and Darcy scowling at her. Even Overton looked worried.
But nothing touched her. Not Papa’s shouting, not Darcy’s frowns, not Overton’s obvious discomfort. Juliana c
ould only think of what Lettice had told her. Rhys and Morgan taken by the press gangs. The thought swamped her in an acid tide of terror. If only she’d gone downstairs with Rhys. If only—
Suddenly she realized Papa was asking her a question. “Are you listening to me, girl?” Rage made his eyes bulge.
“Yes, Papa.” How calm her voice sounded. And how odd that her fear of him had vanished. It was as if the marriage ceremony had transformed her. She was no longer Lady Juliana St. Albans, but Rhys’s wife, Lady Juliana Vaughan. She had a husband now; she didn’t need her family’s approval.
Her father’s ramrod posture didn’t alter. “We’ll have the marriage annulled. You’ll tell the bishop that it wasn’t consummated, and—”
“But it was consummated.”
Her father looked at her as if a doll had suddenly opened its porcelain mouth to speak to him. But she was his doll no more. She was married, and wouldn’t stand for him treating her like a little girl.
They were trying to make this marriage go away, and she wouldn’t let them.
“That doesn’t matter,” Darcy bit out. “You’ll tell the bishop whatever Papa says.”
“I certainly won’t. I won’t let you erase my marriage.”
“I’ll lock you in your room forever, girl! ” her father roared. “I’ll keep you from eating and—”
“You can’t bully me anymore. None of you can. Only my husband can tell me what to do. If you bring me to the bishop, I’ll tell him the truth—so don’t even think it.”
“Come now, Juliana,” Overton cajoled, “this is the best way. We’ve heard that the man’s been impressed.”
A tight fist closed on her heart. “So it’s true?”
“A piece of good fortune for us,” Darcy said. “Now you don’t have to live out a miserable existence legally bound to a man who didn’t want you.”
Though Darcy’s words lacerated her, she thrust out her chin. “He did want me. He still does.”
“Even if that’s true, he’ll be at sea for years,” Papa said.
“Perhaps he can escape.”
“He’d be a fool to try. The punishment for desertion is hanging. Or if you’re lucky, whipping through the fleet.”
“Aye,” Darcy said. “The master-at-arms takes the unlucky deserter in a boat from ship to ship, and at each stop the deserter receives lashes from that ship’s boatswain. I heard tell of a man who was dead by the time they reached the last ship. They flogged him anyway. When they buried him, the flesh was completely flayed from his back.”
Bile rose in her throat. “My poor Rhys! ”
“And even if he doesn’t escape, he’ll be lucky to survive,” Darcy went on relentlessly. “They treat sailors abominably on those warships—flogging them for any infraction, feeding them maggoty biscuits—”
“That’s enough, Darcy! ” Overton bit out.
But Juliana was already numb. How would her dear, sweet husband bear it all?
“In any case,” Darcy said, “he’ll not be back for a long time. So this whole thing can be fixed if you’ll just—”
“Nay! ” Juliana choked out. “I love him. He’ll return someday, and when he does I’ll be waiting. I know he’ll find me as soon as he can.”
“No doubt,” Darcy snapped. “So he can get his greedy hands on Llynwydd. ’Tis why he married you, isn’t it?”
“He didn’t know Llynwydd belonged to me. He married me for love.”
“None of this matters! ” Papa roared. “There’s been a scandal, and we must keep it quiet. You’ll get this marriage annulled, girl, or I’ll force you into it.”
“Now, Horace,” her mother said, “stop shouting at the girl. It does no good to be like that.”
Juliana’s courage wavered. Could Papa force an annulment? He couldn’t make her agree to one, but if he pressured the bishop, could he bring it to pass without her? She couldn’t let that happen.
She considered her choices. There was only one—a colossal lie. “If you try to annul my marriage, I’ll make sure every man, woman, and child in this town sees my marriage certificate and knows the truth of what happened.”
Darcy scowled. “You said you didn’t know where the certificate is. You said you thought Vaughan had taken it.”
She forced herself to sound calm. “I lied. And I have it now in a safe place where none of you will find it. So either you let me have my way in this, or I shame the family by revealing what I’ve done.”
Papa paled and, for a moment, actually looked vulnerable. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, love?”
Something twisted inside her heart. He never called her “love” unless he wanted something from her. “I don’t want a scandal any more than you do, Papa. I wouldn’t want to bring shame on the family, or on Rhys. But I am his wife.”
Darcy came from behind the desk, his expression calculating. “What if Vaughan doesn’t return? What if we never hear from him again? What if, God forbid, he dies at sea? You’d likely never know it. You’d live your whole life in some half state between widow and wife, never having a family or a husband.”
She fought to ignore that harsh truth.
Darcy shot their father a glance. “I have a proposal that might settle this to everyone’s satisfaction. If Juliana doesn’t wish an annulment, she doesn’t have to get one. We can ask the bishop to keep silent about the marriage, under the circumstances. I’m sure he’ll agree. As for anyone else who knows about it—like the innkeeper—I’ve already ensured that they’ll keep quiet.”
She eyed her brother warily.
“Why don’t you also keep quiet for now, Juliana?” he went on. “Take time to consider what you wish to do. There’s no hurry. You may decide you’re unwilling to sacrifice your future for the memory of one Welshman.”
She surveyed the expectant faces of her family. In truth, she wasn’t up to facing people right now, to telling them about her marriage when she had only sorrow in her heart.
Still . . . “What if I find myself with child?”
“Oh, mercy,” her mother squeaked, and her father looked ill.
Although Darcy’s expression grew more stony, he held her gaze. “Then we’ll announce the marriage, of course. Still, it’s unlikely. You only spent one night together, didn’t you?”
Turning crimson, she nodded.
“So what do you think?” Darcy prodded. “Why don’t we give it a little time and keep it quiet until you make up your mind?”
As Juliana stared at him, a great weariness stole over her. It had been a long day and night. Darcy’s words held too much logic for her to ignore. Yet wouldn’t she be betraying Rhys if she did as Darcy asked?
She sighed. Yes. But she had few other choices. And Darcy’s proposal did have merit. It would give her time to explore possibilities, to determine if she could buy out Rhys’s service or something. As soon as Rhys wrote to say which ship he was on, she could take care of it.
But if she stayed here with the family, they’d try to change her mind and get an annulment. She thought of all the plans she’d made with Rhys. Then her brow cleared. “All right, I’ll consider it.” The group breathed a collective sigh until she added, “But only under one condition.”
“Condition?” her father growled.
“That I live at Llynwydd in the meantime.”
“Llynwydd?” her mother protested. “Alone?”
“Yes.” Juliana cast them a defiant glance. “It belongs to me, after all.”
“I should never have given it to you,” her father grumbled. “Perhaps if I hadn’t, none of this would have happened.”
“But you did, and I won’t give it back. It belongs to me and Rhys. And until he returns, I want to live there and make certain it’s cared for properly.”
“Of all the stupid ideas—” her father began.
“If you don’t allow it, Papa, I’ll trumpet my marriage to the rooftops. I’ll tell everyone I know, and devil take the scandal.”
She sta
red at her father with a resolute expression. He scowled, but the fight seemed to have gone out of him. For the first time in her life, she realized he was looking terribly old. And worn down.
She softened her voice. “Please, Papa?”
Anger flickered in his eyes, but he quelled it. “Very well, girl, as you wish.” He stiffened. “But I tell you this: If I ever get my hands on that scoundrel Welshman, I’ll wring his bloody neck, I will.”
She was too relieved by his acquiescence to protest.
Her heart wrenched in her chest. She had a home of her own now, even if she had no husband to share it with. Rhys was gone, and it might be years before he returned.
Nonetheless, having Llynwydd to care for was something. All she could do was hope that fortune would smile on her, and bring Rhys back to her soon.
PART II
Carmarthen, Wales
June 1783
Hard blow, why care where’s my home,
You broke faith, and it grieves me.
—LLYWELYN GOCH AP MEURIG HEN, “LAMENT FOR LLEUCU LLWYD”
8
O, when you eye all Christendom’s
Loveliest cheek—this girl will bring
Annihilation upon me . . .
—DAFYDD AP GWILYM, “THE SEAGULL”
The harsh smell of vinegar roused Juliana, but it took the sound of arguing voices to drag her fully from her faint. She caught snatches of words—“liar,” “crazy Welshman,” and “my wife.”
She forced her eyes open to find her mother holding a ghastly bottle to her nose. Brushing it away, she attempted to sit up, but Overton said, “Don’t rush it, love.”
He looked so pitying that she turned to him and not her mother, who was near hysterics. “Is Rhys truly here?”
With a nod, Overton moved to let her see across the room. Stephen stood silent and angry at the window, the very picture of the haughty lord, and beside him stood Darcy, his face red. The object of both men’s fury was the man she still could hardly recognize. Rhys Vaughan.
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