The Marriage Ring

by Cathy Maxwell

  “I did. We weren’t friends.”

  “The man has very few,” his uncle agreed. “By the way, a number of people saw the set down you gave him. Word is all over London, along with speculation over who threw him into the hay wagon.”

  Richard didn’t answer…but Grace sensed the twins knew and respected him for it. She certainly did.

  His father turned to her. “Miss MacEachin, my twin and I are wise enough to know when we’ve been bested. You know your story could ruin us. But please, you and Richard, sit and hear our side. It is the least you should do before passing judgment.”

  Grace knew if she made a move toward the door, Richard would go with her. He was that loyal. However, a part of her wanted to know what the twins would say after denying even knowing her father. She moved toward the chair Lord Maven held out.

  Mrs. Fraley entered the room, noticed she had new customers and came rushing over to the table with breakfast plates for Lord Maven and Lord Brandt. She smiled, her expression warm and sunny. “Are you ready for yours and the missus’s?” she asked Richard.

  “Yes, we are,” he answered.

  Lord Maven waited until Mrs. Fraley had left to say, “The missus?” He started laughing.

  Grace ignored him. She looked to Richard’s father. “Tell me the story. Richard says you never were in Scotland but that isn’t true, is it?”

  “No,” the man admitted. “Stephen and I were both in Inverness at the time that Dame Mary’s fortune went missing.”

  “And did you steal it, Father?”

  Lord Brandt had trouble meeting his son’s eye. His uncle had no such difficulty. “We did. But not in the way you believe it to be.”

  “What other way of stealing is there?” Richard demanded, but the question went unanswered as Mrs. Fraley returned to the table with more plates loaded with food.

  She set the heaviest plate in front of Grace. “You are eating for two.” She looked around the table. “Is there anything else I can be finding for you?”

  “We are fine,” Richard answered.

  The inn mistress bobbed a quick curtsey and left.

  “Eating for two?” Lord Maven said.

  “It’s quite a story,” Richard answered, not even flinching under his uncle’s curiosity. “Let’s hear your tale first.”

  His uncle sighed, folded his napkin and placed it on the table. “Do you tell him, Gregory, or do I?”

  “You may.”

  Leaning an arm on the table, Richard’s uncle started in, “We went to Inverness on a fishing trip. The truth was we were dodging our creditors. We’d invested in a ship that had not returned. We’d gone flat out on it. Gambled all, and the ship disappeared. There hadn’t been a word of it and it was three months late coming into port. While on our fishing expedition, we met Reverend Jonathon MacEachin. We became friends, and he confided he needed advice. One of his parishioners, Dame Mary Ewing, was advancing in years. Indeed, she was very frail and often confused. She was also very wealthy and she wished for him to help her handle her finances. Supposedly, one of her servants had stolen a large sum from her and she didn’t want to have it happen again. She asked the good reverend to serve as her man of business.”

  “Why did he go to you?” Richard asked, the same question Grace was wondering.

  “He had no experience in these matters and we did, even if our own finances were teetering precariously,” his father answered. “We sat down with Reverend MacEachin and Dame Mary and advised them both on how such a relationship should work. That’s all we did.”

  “Nonsense,” Grace said, the word exploding out of her. She’d not touched her meal. She had no appetite for it.

  “Here we go again,” Lord Maven muttered, pushing back his chair. “At last you can see how difficult she is,” he told Richard. “She refuses to believe us.”

  “What is wrong with their story, Grace?” Richard asked.

  “Because there is more to it,” she said. “Your names came up in the court documents and the money went missing after you met with my father.” Their explanation did help her understand some of the missing pieces of information. “Besides, if it was all so innocent, you would have said so in the beginning and be done with me. There’s more here you are not telling.”

  Richard’s father drew a long drink from his tankard. He set it town, his hands cupping the pewter mug, as he looked over at his twin.

  “Tell her all,” Lord Maven said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Obviously, it does,” Grace answered, “or else you would be out with it by now.”

  “Dame Mary had a sizeable fortune,” Richard’s father said. “And she wasn’t certain of all of her accounts. We helped Reverend MacEachin document them and gave him some advice. Dame Mary was a very generous woman. She trusted easily.” He looked right at Grace as he said these statements as if he wanted to impress upon her their import. “We had some investments we wanted to make. Opportunities we couldn’t take advantage of because of our funds being tied up with that deuced ship—”

  “So you helped yourselves to her money and let Father carry the blame,” Grace said, elated to at last have the truth.

  “No,” Richard’s father answered. “Dame Mary considered the money a gift.”

  “A gift?” Grace repeated, letting her disbelief show.

  “Yes, Miss MacEachin, a gift. Or you could say a payment for services performed. After all, she and the reverend asked us questions that we answered. The money came at a fortuitous time. It righted our fortunes and provided the stake that Richard has used to multiply our accounts tenfold.”

  Grace couldn’t sit at the table any longer. She stood. “Who would give such a generous gift? My mother was right. You took the money and my father paid the price.”

  “Miss MacEachin, your father was found guilty in a court of law,” Richard’s father said.

  “An English court,” Grace said. “English law.”

  “Only because that is where Dame Mary’s relatives filed their claim.” Lord Maven pushed his chair back in anger.

  “Then if you are so innocent, why are you here?” Grace challenged. “Why did you want to stop Richard from hearing the truth?”

  “Because it doesn’t sound good,” his father answered, his own temper growing heated. “It sounds as if we were taking advantage of a senile woman—”

  “You were taking advantage of her,” Grace stated flatly.

  “Not according to the law,” his father flashed back. “And I like to think we’ve done good things with the money. Invested it wisely.”

  “But it wasn’t yours to invest,” she countered.

  “On the contrary,” his uncle said, “it was, and, unlike your father, no court found us guilty of taking it without permission.”

  “If you are so innocent, why would you fear my telling the story to a magistrate?” she challenged.

  “Because we have our share of enemies, Miss MacEachin,” his father said. “Certainly you can appreciate our situation. My brother and I decided early on to reject the lavish lifestyle celebrated by most of our contemporaries. We prefer piety and a moral code. When a man makes that sort of decision, he is judged harshly by his fellows. They don’t like being reminded that we are all sinners. If word of your accusations, true or not, reached the papers, our reputations would be ruined.”

  Richard stirred on that statement. “And perhaps there is a bit of guilt mixed in there as well, Father? For all of your fine posturing, you and my uncle are not above taking shortcuts where money is concerned, moral code or not. After all, you’ve already admitted to attempting murder.”

  Grace wanted to kiss him for that statement.

  The color drained from his father’s face. “We became carried away. A man’s reputation, Richard…it’s worth more than gold.”

  But his twin wasn’t so contrite. He turned to Grace, his eyes alive with dislike. “Let’s talk truth. On whose information do you base your accusations? Has your father made them?”
/>   “Yes. He told me that he was unjustly accused. You ruined his life and mine. A gift?” She infused the word with disdain. “All that he should have had, should have been, you stole from him when you let him pay the price for your thievery.”

  His uncle came to his feet. “Miss MacEachin, you go too far.”

  “I don’t go far enough, or you would be locked up by now, Lord Maven.”

  Richard had stood, too. He was at Grace’s side.

  His father leaned his elbows on the table, burying his head in his hands. “I knew it would come to this, Stephen. I warned you. I said it would be this way.”

  “Only because Miss MacEachin is the daughter of a lying clergyman,” his twin answered.

  Grace wanted to carve his tongue out for the insult. Richard caught her arm before she could attack. “You owe her an apology, uncle.”

  “Do I?” His uncle shook his head. “Years ago we helped MacEachin. Were we more than handsomely rewarded for our services, mayhap even excessively so? Of course. But we were anxious to put our mark on the world and no funds to do so. And then, here was this dotty old woman and her conniving clergyman anxious to give us money, and we took it. Were we a touch greedy? Perhaps.”

  “And we have paid dearly for involving ourselves with Dame Mary and your father,” Richard’s father said, rising from his chair. He held a beseeching hand out as if begging her to understand. “When the charges were made against your father, we feared we’d be roped into his misdeeds, too. We prepared ourselves. And then nothing. No one charged us.”

  “My father charged you.”

  “No, he didn’t. Not in any court.” Richard’s father took a step around the table toward her. “I don’t know what he told you or your mother, but he never implicated us—”

  “Because we are innocent,” his twin finished for him.

  Grace didn’t believe them. “If you are so innocent, then why wouldn’t you want Richard to know the truth?”

  “For the reason you don’t believe us,” his father said. “A cynical mind would assume we had access to Dame Mary’s fortune and applied pressure, but we did not.”

  Richard stepped in front of her. “Enough,” he said. “There is one way to discover the truth, and that is for all of us to go to Inverness as we are planning to do.”

  “The truth?” his uncle muttered. “The truth for her is whatever she wishes it to be.”

  “Miss MacEachin is a forthright and honest woman,” Richard returned in her defense.

  “Is that so?” his uncle challenged. “Then why is she pretending to be your wife, Mr. Bull? And what is this I hear about a babe on the way? Not that I don’t think there couldn’t be one from the activities I suspect you have both enjoyed—”

  “Mind your tongue, Uncle,” Richard said, his voice a growl.

  His uncle turned away with an angry wave of his hand. He looked to his brother. “I can’t wait until he and Abigail Montross are married. I thought he should enjoy himself, but I didn’t expect him to be so foolish as to not understand the tart’s place in his life.”

  “Who is Abigail Montross?” Grace asked, her mind catching on the name. Had his uncle said Richard was to be married?

  Richard had taken a step toward his uncle, the green coming out in his eyes in his fury—but he pulled up short at her question.

  Before he could answer, his father said in a matter-of-fact voice, “She’s the young woman he’s betrothed to. They are to marry this summer.”

  Marry.

  The word echoed in her ears and Grace was stunned at how much she’d been counting on Richard’s honesty.

  But he wasn’t honest. He was going to marry and he’d not said a word to her…because?

  A list of reasons came to her mind—that she didn’t matter, that he considered her a whore, a plaything, damaged goods.

  Richard turned to her. “Grace, it’s not what you are thinking.”

  She walked out of the dining room, and she kept walking. She walked right out the door and into the street. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to walk. Something was wrong with her mind. It couldn’t seem to accept the idea that Richard was marrying. She should have known better. Of course he would marry. He was at the age when a wealthy young man like himself is expected to meet the altar—

  But she had believed him when he’d said he loved her.

  She believed.

  “Grace,” he called, running up behind her. She was tempted to lift her skirts and start running. She didn’t do that. She had more dignity than to race through the streets. Instead, she kept walking, her head high.

  “Stop, will you?” he demanded, falling into step beside her.

  She ignored him and kept walking.

  “I’ve been betrothed to Abigail Montross for years. She means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. We barely speak. That’s one of the reasons there hasn’t been a wedding. Neither one of us cares.”

  Grace frowned, a torrent of words aching to unleash themselves on him while a cold numbness started creeping through her.

  “You must talk to me about this,” Richard said. When she still didn’t stop, he grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.

  That’s when Grace lost all civility, all sense. She hit him with the flat of hand. Slapped his shoulder, his arm, his chest. He refused to let go.

  “Yes, hit me, Grace. Hit me hard. You are angry, as you well should be—”

  She stomped her heel on the toe of his boot with all the weight in her five-foot, three-inch frame.

  That made him let go—only she didn’t run away. At last her feelings found a voice.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why weren’t you honest with me?”

  “Because I didn’t think about her. You are all I think about.”

  “If that isn’t a greedy, conniving male answer, I’ve never heard one,” Grace shot back. “I loved you. Of course, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? For me to lose all good sense so that you could worm your way into my bed. Here I am, finally having a sense of self-respect, and I meet you.”

  His brows came together. “Grace, you know that wasn’t the way it was.” He reached out to her.

  She shook off his arm. “I know no such thing.” But instead of keeping her distance, she moved in closer. What she had to say was for him alone. “I trusted you.”

  He pulled back, as if the words struck him harder than her blows.

  “You knew I wanted a different life,” she told him. “What sort of woman I wanted to become. And you took advantage of that.” She gave him a hard shove with both hands. “Don’t come near me. I want nothing to do with you.”

  “But, Grace, I love you,” he said. “Do you hear me? I love you.” He practically shouted the words as if not caring who overheard him on the busy street.

  “You don’t know what love is,” she told him and started to walk away.

  However, Lord Maven and Lord Brandt had caught up with them. They blocked her path.

  She gave them a brittle smile. “Excuse me, my lords.” She would have gone around them but Lord Maven held out his arm.

  “A moment of your time, Miss MacEachin. I understand you are upset with my nephew. However, we still have the issue of you believing my brother and I are responsible for a crime. I suggest we solve this matter now by continuing up to Inverness and speaking to your father.”

  “I’ll speak to him once I arrive there,” she replied coolly, wanting to put distance between herself and Richard.

  “On the contrary,” his father said, “we’ve hired a vehicle, we have money. Why not travel with us in style rather than…what? Beg rides all the way to Inverness?”

  Grace raised her hands to her head, her temples pounding. They were right. She didn’t have a shilling to her name. “I don’t want to ride with him. I want nothing to do with him.”

  “He will ride up in the box with Dawson,” his uncle offered magnanimously. “You won’t even have to look at him.”

  “Gra
ce, you are being ridiculous,” Richard said. “Just listen to what I have to say—”

  She cut him off by holding a hand palm up against him. She looked at Lord Brandt and Lord Maven. “When will we leave?”

  “As soon as you are ready,” Lord Brandt said.

  “I’m ready now. Where is the coach?” She didn’t wait for an answer but spun on her heel and marched back toward the inn, where common sense said the coach would be. As she left them, she overheard his uncle say, “I told you to bed her, nephew, not fall in love with her.”

  Grace didn’t hear Richard’s reply.

  They were a day and a half’s travel to Inverness. True to their word, the twins kept Richard away from her. He didn’t ride in the box but rode on a hired horse alongside the coach. His father and uncle rode with him.

  Grace sat in the hired coach, alone.

  She wouldn’t let herself think or feel when it came to Richard Lynsted. For his part, he seemed to know she wanted nothing to do with him. He kept his distance and yet his presence was always with her.

  For the first time in her life, she experienced a broken heart, and she never wanted to fall in love again if this was the result.

  That night, she climbed into bed in the private room the twins had procured for her at an inn, and slept like the dead. She didn’t want to open her eyes in the morning. Sweet oblivion was so much better than the pain that made it difficult for her heart to beat.

  But Grace was no coward. She rose, dressed, and put her best face on. They had brought the bags that had been on the coach when Dawson had taken off so she had her clothing and personal items. She changed into a light blue walking dress and left the vivid green gown on the bed. She didn’t want it.

  Nor was she anxious to break her fast once she saw Richard waiting downstairs for her.

  She started to turn and walk back to her room but he stopped her by saying, “Running, Grace?”

  That straightened her back. She faced him. “From you? Yes. I am. You aren’t good for me, Mr. Lynsted. You aren’t the sort of person with whom I wish to involve myself.”

  “With whom?” He shook his head. “I remember being accused of being priggish when I used such stilted English. You didn’t hesitate to mock me. So what is it now, Grace? Have we switched roles? Are you now the one hiding behind indifference?”