Marrying the Rebellious Miss

by Bronwyn Scott

  Bea turned in front of the mirror, taking in Evie’s handiwork. ‘You could start a new trend, Evie. Everyone will want you remaking grandmothers’ wedding gowns when they see this.’

  The engagement dress had been from one of Preston’s relatives, but the wedding dress had come from the Penrose attics, a lovely gown in the robe d’anglaise style, with an ivory underskirt peeping from beneath and the bodice embroidered with dark green flowers. There’d been no time to get anything new. Evie had freshened it up with lace and new ribbons, even new bows for the matching shoes.

  ‘Bea, you look splendid. I hardly had to do anything to the gown.’ Evie hugged her gently, careful not to crush the dress. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘I want to check on Matthew one more time,’ Bea said. He was up in the nursery playing before his nap in order to give them a chance to change clothes. ‘Are you sure I shouldn’t bring him?’ This had been a point of discussion, mostly because Bea kept bringing it up. Everyone else had decided Matthew should stay at home and nap and then be brought over to the Worths’ for the wedding breakfast, rested and happy. Weddings were for grown-ups and this one would be a short one.

  ‘Bea, he’ll be fine.’ May steered her towards the stairs. ‘You just fed him and you’ll be married long before he needs to eat again.’

  ‘I know, it’s just...’ She couldn’t say what it ‘just’ was. She’d left him before, at night to attend all the balls with Preston, and for much longer than this afternoon. The Grosvenor Chapel was only a couple of streets away. If the maid needed her, she would be close, Bea rationalised.

  The sun was out, a glorious late spring day, that allowed them to travel to the church with the top of the carriage down, drinking in the sunshine and the blue day. Nothing could be more perfect. Except it was. At the chapel with its brick work and soaring steeple, a carpet was spread up the steps for her beneath the white-pillared portico. People milled outside in South Audley Street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bride. Little girls threw flower petals, and a lone violinist took up a lovely Vivaldi ‘Adagio’ as she stepped out of the carriage, May and Evie with her.

  Could the day be any better? She knew what the inside of the chapel would look like. She’d helped with the hasty decorating. But this, she’d not been prepared for. Another gift from Preston, who understood how important this day was for her, a day she’d given up on ever having. Now, he waited for her inside. The door was held open for her, the violin music giving way to the swell of the oak-cased organ, as she moved towards her future, towards her happiness.

  She was just steps away when it all fell apart, trampled to pieces by the sound of clattering hooves on cobblestones overriding the organ, the screams of people scattering in the wake of a reckless rider in a narrow street. She turned from the door in time to see a rider, a boy really, throw himself from the unsaddled horse, yelling horrible words. ‘The baby, the baby is gone.’

  At first it made no sense. Those words didn’t belong amidst this perfect celebration. Surely he didn’t mean her baby? She’d just left him, safe and sleeping, having brought him down to her room from the nursery. She’d personally tucked him into the crib beside her bed. May had the boy by the arm, trying to get him to breathe. The poor lad was scared witless. A bystander had the horse by the bridle now, the animal nearly as witless as the messenger.

  The boy caught sight of her and tugged free of May. ‘Mistress, it’s true. The baby is gone. Matthew is gone.’ He was sobbing now as he choked out his story. ‘We had gone downstairs for tea after you left. We heard a crash upstairs and ran up to look. The maid went to check on the baby, thinking it odd the noise hadn’t woken him.’

  Her baby was gone. Bea put a hand to her stomach and staggered, the news rolling over her in a black cloud, the day’s perfection destroyed beyond reclaiming. ‘There’s a note, mistress.’ A note? She couldn’t read a note. She could barely breathe. She was going to fall. She felt herself going down. She wanted to collapse, wanted to wake up and find this was all a dream, perhaps a warning that she wasn’t entitled to happiness no matter how tempting the offer of it. Bea made a thousand promises to herself in those flashing seconds. She would give up Preston, she’d give up the lies protecting her, anything if Matthew could be safe in her arms. But she couldn’t give in, couldn’t collapse. Matthew needed her to be strong. How could she help him if she couldn’t help herself?

  ‘Bea!’ There were male voices now, pouring out of the chapel, the pounding of running footsteps and Preston was there. She wouldn’t fall. He wouldn’t let her. She felt his arms about her, felt him kneel with her on the carpet like a pietà.

  ‘Matthew’s gone.’ Her voice broke over the words. If there was any wonder in the world at the moment, it was in the fact that she needn’t explain any more to Preston. He knew the rest; who had taken Matthew and why. Preston took the note from her and scanned it once before passing it back. He helped her to stand before she could ask. She was starting to function again, starting to find her strength.

  ‘We’ll get him back, Bea.’ Preston was focused and grim, the way he must look when he went out for the Crown, the way he’d looked in the taproom the night he’d fought for her. ‘Let me talk to the boy.’

  Those moments were agony. She couldn’t just stand there. Every second her baby was further away. How much of a lead could Alton have? Did it matter? Alton didn’t want Matthew. He wanted her. Matthew was just the bait. Alton wanted her to come after him, wanted her to find him. The address of the meeting place on the edge of town was in the note.

  Alton knew she’d do anything for her child. This might be the only time she ever gave Alton what he wanted. Bea looked around wildly, grabbing a boy from the crowd. If the wedding had drawn a crush of onlookers, the panic had drawn even more. ‘Find my carriage and bring it back.’ Matthew was going to be safe no matter what it cost her.

  Preston was beside her, helping her into the carriage, Liam clambering up to take the coachman’s place at the ribbons. Preston banged on the rooftop, signalling Liam, his eyes burning as he held Bea’s gaze. ‘Let’s go get our son.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The bribes had cost him a few pennies he could ill afford, but it had been worth it. Everything had gone off splendidly. Alton was still congratulating himself as he paced the rickety old church on the outskirts of town. He checked his watch. Beatrice should be here any minute.

  The building he’d chosen was a far cry from the white and brick elegance of the Grosvenor Chapel, but it was a church with a real vicar and it would do for a wedding and a baptism. He was going to marry Beatrice for the money, but he was going to claim the little brat for revenge, especially since said brat had managed to squall the whole way here and make a smelly nappy that had positively ruined the inside of the carriage. The brat was with the vicar’s wife at present. Out of sight, out of mind, like a child should be. A child was never too young to learn that. It was how he’d been raised and he could see now the philosophy had its merits. He’d made it this far in life, after all. Besides, children, babies especially, were needy and annoying little creatures.

  There was the jingling noise of a carriage and horses approaching, a unique sound in this part of London. Good. It meant his bride was here. They could get started. He yelled for the vicar’s wife, who didn’t like him no matter how much money he gave her husband or how many charming smiles he tossed her way. ‘Mrs Spalding, bring the brat! His mother’s here and will be wanting to see him.’

  He pulled out his pistol, taking the baby from the quaking Mrs Spalding in one hand and levelling his gun in the other. A man had to be prepared. What was a wedding without guests anyway? Beatrice might have come alone, she was impetuous that way. It was what he’d prefer, but she also might have brought Worth and Worth might have brought his ever-present henchman, Liam Casek. He cocked the pistol, training it on the carriage door as it opened and a man’
s foot appeared, followed by his pistol and a drawl Alton was coming to hate.

  ‘Expecting me, were you?’

  Damn it. Worth was here.

  ‘I see she sent her lapdog.’

  Preston froze, gun arm extended, although no shot was possible with Alton holding the baby. It was a horrific scene that challenged all of his self-control. Matthew was screaming, perhaps sensing that this man was a dangerous stranger, which made the scene all the more disconcerting. Preston prayed Bea stayed in the carriage as he’d asked. He could only imagine what the sound of their son’s distress was doing to her. But if she stepped away from the vehicle, she was putting herself into enemy hands.

  ‘Alton!’ he called. ‘Give me the child and I’ll allow you safe passage to leave town.’

  Alton sneered. ‘You can have him, but first you have to come and get him.’ Alton backed up, losing himself in the darkness of the church interior.

  ‘I’m not such a fool as to follow you into a dark building,’ Preston called out, hoping to bring the man back out into the light.

  Alton reappeared, the gun angling towards the baby. ‘I think you will do exactly what I’ve asked.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Or have you decided you don’t want to play father to another man’s child? I wouldn’t blame you. Perhaps I’m really doing you a favour.’ He gave an evil smile. ‘I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you. I’m not known from my patience. Do I need to count?’ He took a step backwards. ‘One, two.’ He paused when Preston didn’t move. ‘Or is it that you think I won’t shoot? Perhaps a demonstration is in order.’ With lightning reflexes, he moved the gun and fired towards the coachman’s seat. Liam ducked, but not without being grazed. An inattentive coachman would have been dead. As it was, the shot took him in the shoulder. Alton tossed away the pistol and drew a knife. ‘Don’t worry, I’m good with both. Are you coming?’

  There was no time to worry about Liam. Once he was inside, Bea could help Liam. Preston had no choice but to follow and hope Liam wasn’t hurt too badly to help. He’d been counting on Liam to find a back way inside. He didn’t think for a moment Alton had no one in the church. It was to be an ambush and now he would face it alone.

  He stepped inside, even knowing the odds were against him. He didn’t dare call Alton’s bluff this time, not with Matthew on the line. There were five men waiting and he saw them immediately. He fired his pistol at the first man, then swung at the second, using the pistol butt like a club. The third was a big, burly street fighter with meaty fists. Preston would have taken him, though, if he hadn’t been jumped from behind by not one, but two men, who held his arms while the brute pummelled away at him. Preston tried kicking, tried using the other two men as leverage to strike the big man in the stomach with his legs, but it was a losing fight. He could hear Matthew crying in the darkness even as consciousness began to slip away. How could he protect Beatrice if he was helpless? How could he reach Matthew? How could he help when he was lost in the dark?

  * * *

  A second pistol sounded from inside the church and Beatrice stifled a scream, her hands trembling as she wrapped Liam’s shoulder. The bullet wound was more than a graze although Liam insisted he was fine. She shot a look at the church door, her decision made. ‘That’s it. I’m going in.’

  ‘Let me.’ Liam struggled to sit up, evidence that he was not fine. ‘You don’t know what’s happened or how many men were waiting for him in there.’

  ‘You are in no shape to take on anyone. You’ll be killed. Alton sees you as expendable,’ Bea argued furiously, already moving past Liam to the carriage door before he could reach for her. ‘He won’t hurt me. He wants me. He needs me or he can’t get the money.’ She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She was done sitting here. Her child was in there, the man she loved was in there and chances were Alton was terrorising them both. She shouldn’t have let Preston go in alone the first place.

  She shut the door against Liam’s protests. ‘If we don’t come back out, go for help.’

  ‘If you don’t come out, I’ll come in,’ Liam said staunchly.

  There was no time to argue.

  Bea pushed open the church door, calling out her presence to avoid being shot. ‘Alton! I’m here.’ She could hear Matthew crying. Still. It had taken more willpower than she knew she possessed to stay in the carriage the first time she’d heard him.

  Malvern was at the front of the church with a vicar, a wizened old man who looked like he might blow away if you breathed on him. ‘Ah, my dear, you are here at last.’ He spread his arms wide to indicate the dilapidated interior. ‘Everything is ready.’

  ‘For what?’ Beatrice was hesitant to move down the aisle closer to him, although she could see Matthew off to the side of the altar with an old woman. She couldn’t see Preston.

  ‘For our wedding. You look lovely, by the way. Much prettier than I imagined.’ She didn’t like the sound of that. Alton didn’t sound quite like himself. He sounded...well, unhinged. Unhinged meant logic and reasoning wouldn’t work.

  ‘Where’s Preston?’

  ‘Oh, my dear, those answers will cost you.’ Alton smirked. ‘Take three steps forward and I’ll tell you.’ She took a few tentative steps forward.

  ‘Gentlemen, will you bring out Mr Worth?’ Alton gestured to the front pew where two men grappled with a third, propped up between them under the armpits, his dark head hanging limply, his face bruised, his shirt bloody.

  ‘Preston!’ Bea rushed forward, her body wanting to reach him against the logic of her mind. She knelt beside him, searching him for the source of injuries, searching for signs of life as Alton sent the two men to the back of the church, presumably to guard against any other intruders.

  Seeing Preston unconscious was unnerving. She threw a nasty glare at Alton. She was going to kill him for this. ‘What have you done to him?’

  ‘It wasn’t me so much as it was them.’ Alton nodded towards the three men. He waggled a finger at her, stepping closer. ‘You were naughty, my dear, and someone had to pay.’

  ‘Like the coachman?’ she retorted, thinking of Liam as she stood in front of Preston’s limp form out of instinctive protection. ‘You shot a man for no reason.’

  ‘For every reason.’ Alton shrugged as if he hadn’t a choice. ‘You were told to come alone. That means zero people, not two.’ He pulled a face of mock concern. ‘I hope no one else is following you. I’d prefer not to shoot any more people on my wedding day.’

  ‘I’m not marrying you. You can’t make me.’ Matthew must have heard her voice. His crying escalated, his little arms reaching towards the sound. Every maternal instinct in her wanted to run towards him. But that meant darting past Alton, something he wouldn’t allow.

  Alton grinned wickedly at her indecision. ‘I see you’re figuring it out. You always were bright. How about I make it easy for you, give you everything you want. It’s the only option really, you can choose to marry me or I’ll make you marry me. Because I disagree with your assumption that I can’t do it.’ He twirled a knife in one hand, his eyes wild. She had to stay calm. He wanted her too scared to think. ‘This blade here in my hand says I can do it.

  ‘Marry me and I’ll give you the baby and when Preston Worth wakes up, I won’t have any reason to shoot him. The deed will already be done. You’ll be mine.’ She’d be beyond Preston’s ability to protect her, but Matthew would be safe. Alton laughed. ‘It’s the ultimate prisoner’s dilemma, isn’t it?’ Matthew was screaming at full force now. ‘You should know I have very little patience for crying babies. Marry me and everyone lives. Refuse and I’ll start with Worth. I’ll slit his throat first. He probably won’t feel a thing in his current state. Then, we’ll see what you have to say about marriage. If you still resist, there’s the baby...’ He was out of his mind. She had no doubt about it now. How did one deal with a crazy man? Behind her, she t
hought she felt Preston stir. She had to buy him time, give him a chance. Together, perhaps they could get out of here.

  She stepped forward carefully, her mind whirling at full speed. ‘Give me the baby first.’ She stood in front of the vicar, her eyes holding Alton’s, watching for any flicker of sanity. Maybe she could get the knife away from him. But probably not if she was holding Matthew.

  Alton let her have the baby the moment she stepped up to the altar, either because there was a scrap of decency in him or because he’d realised as she had that one could not mount an effective defensive with a squirmy child in one’s arms.

  ‘Not exactly Grosvenor Chapel, but it’s enough to be legal, my dear,’ Alton sneered, keeping a grip on her free arm in case she chose to bolt and propelling her forward to the altar.

  ‘Are you willing?’ The trembling vicar turned his attention to her, taking in the struggle she mounted out of a need to at least offer a pro forma protest.

  ‘No!’ Beatrice spat. ‘This is kidnapping. He stole my son. He’s beaten up the man I am supposed to marry,’ she argued hurriedly. Perhaps the vicar could be swayed.

  ‘My son.’ Alton smiled. ‘One cannot be accused of kidnapping his own child, certainly not while the child’s mother was out playing the whore by marrying another man.’ He cocked his head, his gaze lingering on her in triumph. ‘What do you think the good courts of Britain would say to that? The child’s father offers to marry you, to give the child his name, and you refuse. There’s a reason courts prefer children to be with their fathers.’

  ‘You’re not his father.’ It was an easy lie to mouth. She couldn’t imagine a man less fatherly than Malvern Alton, a man who would threaten the life of his own flesh and blood. ‘His father died before he was born. Preston Worth is the only father he’s known.’

  ‘I cannot perform a coerced marriage,’ the vicar began, giving Beatrice hope. She wondered how Preston was doing, but didn’t dare commit the Orphean crime of looking behind her.