by Brenda Hiatt
“Would that I were mistaken as well, but Mary’s note left little doubt. This is what she slipped under my door last night.” She pulled the crumpled note from her pocket and handed it to him.
Frowning, he read it through. “Yes, she clearly intended to elope, though she doesn’t say with whom. Are you sure—?”
“Who else would take advantage of her in such a way? Nor did she change her mind, for the innkeeper told me Lady Simpson’s coach was here earlier today. I described it most minutely.”
“What of Bigsby? Did you describe him as well?”
“To what purpose? If the coach was here, he and Mary must have been, too. Oh! Just thinking about Julian makes me so angry I could— Well. You must see that I cannot turn back now.”
He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged. “In that case, I suppose there is nothing for it but to offer you my escort—and the use of a faster carriage. I was able to make up the two hours I was behind you on the road thus far, so we may have an outside chance of catching them before they reach the border.”
She gratefully accepted his offer, though the thought of traveling so far alone with Lord Rushford made her insides flutter, even tired as she was. “How long before we can leave?”
“A few minutes, no more. I bespoke their fastest team before making my inquiries.”
So saying, he led her to an elegant coach that was clearly built for both speed and comfort. Being an earl, she supposed, had some advantages. He helped her into the well-appointed interior but did not join her.
“Driving myself makes an enormous difference when time is of the essence,” he explained. “Why do you not try to get a bit of sleep? You look fagged to death, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
He had to be far more exhausted than she, if he had driven all the way here from London, but she was too eager to be on the road again to argue. Vowing to make him rest at the next change, she allowed him to shut her into the carriage. Vaulting onto the box, he whipped up the new pair and they continued on at a noticeably faster pace than her post-boys had driven.
Though Violet was certain anxiety for Mary would keep her awake, they had not been on the road for more than twenty minutes before she fell soundly asleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Rush no longer felt the same urgency driving him now that Violet’s safety was assured, but nevertheless attempted to keep the same pace, as she was clearly desperate to save her friend. Though he could not imagine Violet truly to blame for Miss Simpson’s foolishness in eloping with Bigsby, he had no wish to see his fiancée fall prey to the scoundrel.
Fiancée?
Like a thunderclap, it struck him that Miss Simpson’s elopement had quite effectively freed him from their betrothal. On the heels of that thought came another: this unchaperoned journey to Scotland together meant that his marriage to Violet was now more imperative than ever. His task would be to convince her of that.
By the next change of horses, Rush was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open and on the road. He sternly reminded himself that he’d endured far worse during the war, campaigning for days on end with next to no sleep. A strong cup of coffee or two would no doubt carry him through a few more hours…
Violet countermanded that idea after one look at his face when she exited the carriage. “My lord, you simply must rest. It will do neither us nor Mary any good if you land us in a ditch because you are too tired to drive properly.”
“Are you suggesting we stop here for the night? We would lose any chance whatever of catching them before the border.”
Though he did not add that spending a night together in a public inn would also compromise her reputation irretrievably, her blush indicated that she realized it as well.
“Of course not. But if we hire a postillion for the next stage, you can sleep inside the carriage for a few hours. We may lose a bit of ground, but not nearly so much as if you run us off the road. It is also possible they will stop for the night somewhere themselves, in which case we should catch them up before morning.”
To that he agreed, for she was correct that continuing on in his current state risked an accident that might injure them both. He made inquiries while the horses were being changed and was told that a burgundy carriage carrying a couple had indeed stopped there some four hours earlier, but only long enough to change horses.
On joining Violet in the coach a short time later, he shared what he had learned. “I would never have given Bigsby credit for this degree of stamina,” he commented as the postboy whipped up the horses. “He is not driving himself, however, so I must assume they are also sleeping in the coach.”
“Poor Mary. I should have described to her how very uncomfortable elopements are when I encouraged her to follow her heart.”
He regarded her in some amusement. “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten that this is hardly your first elopement.”
“I am not eloping!” she protested. “I am merely attempting to keep my friend from doing so, which is not the same thing at all.”
“Your motive may be different, but the result is the same,” he pointed out. “After a days-long carriage ride to Scotland without a chaperone, your noble intentions are unlikely to stave off Society’s censure.”
She sucked in a quick breath. “I…did not think that far ahead. My only concern was—is—Mary. There will be time enough to fret about my own situation once she is secure.”
“I envy you your ability to set your worries aside, though I suppose I should not wonder at it. You do seem to have a knack for somehow escaping the worst consequences of your various escapades. Though as I will likely be painted as the rogue who ran off with you, I cannot help giving some thought to the future.”
“Nonsense! I will simply tell everyone that you did no such thing. There is no more need now for you to sacrifice your future on my behalf than there was a few nights since. Between us, I’m sure we can contrive an explanation that will let you off the hook with honor.”
He leaned forward to look into her face, partially hidden in the shadows cast by the setting sun. “Suppose I do not wish to be…let off the hook?”
Her eyes flew wide. “What do you—? Do you mean to say that you—? Pray do not jest about such a thing, my lord.”
“I am not jesting, Violet. As Miss Simpson’s elopement has quite conveniently freed me from that entanglement—with honor—I find myself more than ready to enter into another, far more appealing one.”
“Is…is this a proposal, my lord?”
Smiling now, he nodded. “It is. Miss Turpin—Violet—will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
Though Violet had dreamed of this moment, she could not at first believe it had truly happened. She was on the point of agreeing wholeheartedly and flinging herself into Rush’s arms when she again noticed the lines of fatigue in his face. He must be delirious from exhaustion, with no idea of what he was saying.
“I…I believe you should sleep a while, my lord, before we discuss such a serious matter. Tired as you are, you cannot be in the proper frame of mind to make such a momentous decision.”
He returned her gaze for a long moment, as though attempting to decipher her meaning, but then his head fell back against the squabs. “Perhaps you are right that our discussion should wait, though I assure you my offer will still stand upon waking. For now I will give you good night…my sweet.”
Her heart still thrumming from the shock of his question, she watched his face as it relaxed into repose, the lines of strain gradually smoothing. Yes, there would be time enough when he woke to learn whether his offer was the product of over-fatigue or something…more. She would do well to sleep also, that she might also be in a more rational frame of mind for that discussion—not that she expected to manage it.
* * *
The day was broad when Violet awoke to discover herself again alone in the carriage. Its rapid pace told her she must have slept through their last change of horses, after which Rush had again
taken the ribbons. Remembering how very tired he was, she was angry at herself for sleeping even more soundly than he.
Some two hours later the carriage again drew to a halt. Leaping down from the box, Lord Rushford opened the door.
“This should be our last change of horses before reaching the border,” he told her. “According to the last toll-keeper, we are no more than an hour and a half behind them, so we may arrive in time to prevent a marriage. Of course, it is also entirely possible that we will not.”
“We must hurry, then,” she cried, renewed worry for Mary swamping all other concerns. “I should like a chance to relieve myself, however.”
He smiled and helped her to the ground. “You have at least ten minutes, I should think. I will procure some breakfast for us while the team is changed out.”
She went into the inn to partake of the necessary, then hastened back to the carriage.
“Are you certain you are rested enough to drive the rest of the way?” she asked in concern.
“I achieved far more on much less sleep while on the peninsula,” he assured her. “If all goes well, we will reach Scotland in a few hours, at which time we can deal with whatever we discover.”
Violet wondered what Rush meant to do if they arrived too late, and the knot had already been tied. He had implied he would kill Julian had he coerced Violet herself into marriage. Would he do the same for Mary’s sake? Technically, they were still betrothed…
“The, ah, question you asked me before you fell asleep,” she tentatively began. “I, er—”
“I should not have sprung that upon you under such circumstances.” He looked slightly embarrassed, the first time she could recall seeing him so. “Given both my fatigue and yours, as well as your anxiety for Miss Simpson, my timing was inexcusable.”
She regarded him uncertainly. Was he expressing regret only for the timing, or for asking the question at all? “Yes, but—”
“If we’re to have any hope of catching Bigsby and Miss Simpson, I fear we haven’t time to discuss the matter properly just now, either. With any luck, we will have ample opportunity after reaching Scotland.”
With that, he handed Violet back into the carriage and vaulted onto the box to continue their journey, leaving her to analyze every word he’d said as the countryside hurried past.
* * *
Three hours later, Rush stopped to pay the final toll before crossing the bridge that marked the Scottish border. Violet took the opportunity to lower the window and put her head out.
“What news?” she called to him.
“They passed through less than an hour since. If they bespeak a room and eat something before calling the parson, we will have them. If not—”
“We will be too late,” she finished. “Do hurry!”
Shutting the window and sinking back into her seat, Violet felt selfish in the extreme for making such demands upon him to rectify a problem largely of her own making. She herself owed Mary no less, but what Lord Rushford’s feelings on the matter might be, she was less certain.
Her anxiety rose to its height as they finally drew to a halt in front of the Gretna Hall Hotel. She threw open the carriage door just as Rush leapt down from the box.
“Is this where they stopped?” she breathlessly asked him.
“That is the Simpson carriage, is it not?” He pointed.
Indeed, there stood the burgundy traveling coach she had pursued for so many miles. Rush handed her down and she was hurrying forward almost before her feet touched the ground.
“Mary!” she cried out. “Are you here? Please, you must stop and listen to what I have to say before—”
She was interrupted by the appearance of Mary herself emerging from the hotel, her face radiant with happiness. Beside her, holding her hand and looking every bit as happy, was…Lord Killerby!
Rush gaped at his friend in amazement.
“Killer!? What do you here? Where is Bigsby? How—?”
He broke off as the truth hit him with blinding clarity. It was Killer, never Bigsby at all, who had eloped with Miss Simpson.
How had he not suspected before? Almost from the moment of their first meeting, she had seemed far more at ease with Killer than himself. Belatedly, he recollected their shared love of music, how comfortably they conversed when walking their horses together, the numerous times they had danced together… It made perfect sense.
The couple halted, their expressions now alarmed rather than blissful.
“Rush!” Killer exclaimed. “How did you—? That is, I never meant to— Dash it!”
At the same time, Miss Simpson—or was she already Lady Killerby?—gasped out, “Violet? How are you here, and with Lord Rushford? I asked you to delay any pursuit, not to come after me yourself! Not that it matters now.”
Stepping forward, Rush’s former fiancée lifted her chin to regard him squarely, something he could not recall her ever doing before. “My lord, I cannot marry you after all, for I have just become the wife of Lord Killerby. I apologize for your finding out in such a way, but I cannot be sorry, for I am persuaded this will do as much to secure your future happiness as my own.”
Killer, meanwhile, eyed Rush warily. “You…you don’t mean to call me out over this, do you? I’ll fight you if I must, but I would far rather—”
“Oh, stop blathering and let me congratulate you,” Rush interrupted. “Finding you here is a stunner, no question, but I’ve no doubt you will make your new bride far happier than I could have. Do you not agree, Miss Turpin?”
He turned to Violet, who still seemed to be struggling to find her voice. She gazed first at her friend, then at Killer, then back. “I…I do not know when I have ever been so surprised,” she finally managed. “Mary, why did you not tell me it was Lord Killerby you meant to wed? Had you done so, I never would have…we never would have…” She glanced dazedly up at Rush.
“But I did tell you!” the new Lady Killerby exclaimed. “Did you not receive my note?”
“Of course I did. But it made no mention whatever of Lord Killerby.” She pulled the much-folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to her friend as proof.
The former Miss Simpson read over it and gasped. “Oh, no! I was absolutely certain I had named him. But…surely you must have guessed, Violet? Who else could you possibly imagine I would elope with?”
“Bigsby,” Rush answered for her. “I confess, I believed it likely as well, given what I know of the man, though when I began my pursuit I assumed it was Miss Turpin he had carried off. It appears he never had anything to do with the matter at all.” He was still finding it difficult to reconcile what he had believed with the truth.
“Mr. Bigsby?” Killer’s new wife repeated in apparent confusion. “I scarcely know him. Why on earth would I wish to marry him?”
Rush and Violet looked at each other and he was suddenly struck with the complete ridiculousness of the entire situation. She appeared similarly struck, for a small snort escaped her, then a giggle. That was enough to set him laughing as well and for a long moment neither of them could speak, they were so overcome with mirth. Perhaps it was due to exhaustion and the sudden lifting of anxiety, but he had never found anything so hilarious in his life.
When Violet was finally able to catch her breath, she turned to her friend. “I…I am sorry for believing such a thing of you, Mary, and give you both my heartiest congratulations. I feel sure you will be very happy together.”
An instant later the two young ladies were laughingly hugging and crying together, while Rush and Killer looked on in bemusement. Both ladies appeared somewhat sheepish when they finally released each other, but Killer spoke before the moment could become awkward.
“I say, won’t you both join us for a celebratory dinner? We thought it safest to marry straight away upon arriving. We were just coming back out to get our things from the coach when you showed up, and have yet to bespeak food or a room. We can then share our tales from beginning to end over our impromptu
wedding feast.”
To this everyone readily agreed. Rush and Killer carried the baggage inside, where they requested three rooms and the best meal the inn could offer, to be served two hours hence. Violet had turned to follow the newlyweds upstairs when Rush placed a gentle hand on her arm.
“A moment, if you please. If we are to relate our adventure from beginning to end, I should first like it to reach a proper conclusion. You, ah, never answered my question, if you recall.”
Her lovely violet eyes met his and color overspread her cheeks. “You…you really were serious, then? It was not merely fatigue…and your sense of honor…that prompted your offer?”
Smiling down at her, he shook his head. “I won’t deny the fatigue, nor the claims of honor, but I asked you to marry me because I cannot think of anyone with whom I would rather share the rest of my life. I love you, Violet, and hope in time you will learn to love me as well. Do you think you can?”
Her lips parted in surprise before curving into a most alluring smile. “No learning will be required, my lord, for I have been smitten with you since I was a girl of fourteen. Recent events have only served to strengthen that childish infatuation into something more permanent. In short, I am already quite thoroughly in love with you.”
His spirits suddenly soaring, he lowered his lips to hers, right there in the main entryway of the inn. She responded eagerly, prompting him to deepen the kiss, reveling in the sweet taste of her. Reasoning that such scenes were likely no novelty here, he allowed himself to enjoy the sensations she aroused in him for some minutes before raising his head to smile tenderly down at her.
“Considering where we find ourselves, I suggest we formalize the declarations we have just made. We can then take advantage of the fine meal we are soon to enjoy to celebrate two weddings instead of one.”
