The Spinster and the Earl

by Beverly Adam

  She spread the paper open for the maid to see. She had to keep the simple woman’s confidence until she was rescued, or they might move her away to yet another hiding place.

  “See the message is as you thought. Her ladyship merely wanted to wish me well with the viscount.”

  “Well, ain’t that nice.” The maid nodded as she hung the veil beside the dress that had been chosen for her to wear. “I always thought she was a sweet, young lady, I did. Not like some I hears that likes to try and castrate a gentleman.” She nodded at the famous shrew. “Not that I think the viscount is likely to put up with such tricks once you’re married.”

  Pretending to pay avid attention to the servant, Beatrice prudently dropped the short missive into the hearth’s fire. None would know of her impending rescue. She had now only to pray that the earl and her father would find her.

  * * *

  Beatrice paced her tiny, shabby chamber. It was nearing the dinner hour and soon the wedding would take place. There was still no sign of the earl and her father.

  Nary a sound of dissent came from below. Indeed, if she were to go by the boisterous laughter she heard, it sounded as if all the visitors to the inn were celebrating the impending nuptials.

  Mary approached her with the borrowed wedding gown. “It’s time you were dressed in your finery, my lady. They say they intend to hold off serving dinner until you and the viscount are wed. Aye, and for once even the priest has arrived beforehand to see to it the deed’s done.”

  “Let him wait,” said Beatrice, wringing her hands, worriedly looking out the tiny window. Where were her promised rescuers?

  “What’d you say, my lady?” asked Mary, giving her a sly glance, her voice sharpening. “Listen well, your ladyship, the viscount told me ’imself he’d come up and fetch you if you didn’t hie yourself t’ him in good time. Aye, and if I was you, I’d be setting m’thoughts on how to placate your new husband. From what I understand, he’ll not likely make ye a gentle one.”

  Beatrice dumbly nodded at that bit of advice. She needed no one to remind her of the feel of the viscount’s riding whip brushing against her cheek, or of his violent threats. She closed her eyes against the fear roiling inside, willing her heart to cease its frantic hammering.

  “Help me prepare,” she whispered, fingering the bridal veil, her hopes secretly lying with its owner.

  * * *

  Lady Kathleen Langtry looked at her dour companion, Mistress O’Grady. The grim-faced lady in plain black was more like her prison warden than her paid companion. The woman, who had once been the housekeeper of this large manor house, had been told by her husband to keep an eye on her. And keep an eye on her she did.

  Every word and action Lady Langtry made were duly noted in a little black book the woman kept by her side. There was not a word or gesture the plain woman did not note and criticize.

  Her husband, she shuddered thinking of the crippled old man her uncle had married her off to, knew everything she did and every word she said. It was almost maddening. She had overnight become a prisoner in what was supposed to be her home. Before her marriage, she had been simply a neglected orphan living unobserved in her uncle’s house. Now she was the child bride of an old, lecherous lord, who had incarcerated her in this gloomy tombstone of a manse.

  She leaned her head back against the stiff, red sofa and inwardly sighed. Her golden blonde curls contrasting against the bright red material of the lounge chair as her sad blue eyes looked up at the ornate ceiling above her. But she had a plan.

  She may not have been able to help herself out of such a grim state of being married to an old man she did not care for, but she would do her utmost to try and save another from the same, dreadful fate. She had devised a plan to help the Spinster of Brightwood Manor not marry that villainous fop who’d attended her wedding dinner. It was the same horrible night she’d heard of the criminal plot to kidnap the rich heiress and force her into an unwanted marriage.

  “Mistress O’Grady,” she said innocently turning to the other woman. “I should like you to tell the stable boy to saddle my horse this afternoon. I intend to go riding today.”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” answered the other, her coal-black eyes looking down at the china doll figure of the young lady who had overnight become the mistress of the house where she had always reigned supreme. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, my lady. In fact, I’m quite certain that Lord Langtry would object to it. He thinks it’s very bad for your health to go riding about in the country.”

  “But you’re wrong, Mistress O’Grady. I have already spoken with him,” the young mistress said firmly, knowing ahead of time what her reply would be. “I have already obtained my husband’s permission to ride this afternoon.”

  “Then I shall have someone accompany your ladyship,” O’Grady replied smoothly, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

  It was well known that the housekeeper did not know how to ride, and would not be able to keep up with her ladyship if she tried, the young lady being a horsewoman of some skill. She had counted on her companion not riding.

  “That will not be necessary,” she said, feeling the test of wills between her bare fifteen years and the others odd fifty.

  “But I insist. His lordship would want someone to accompany you, Lady Kathleen. You are still young and unknowing of the world and the dangers others may represent to you, especially gentlemen. I, therefore, feel it to be my duty to send at least our stable master with you,” the companion reiterated more firmly.

  “As you wish,” answered the child bride sweetly. Everything was going according to plan.

  * * *

  That afternoon, dressed in her oldest riding outfit, the same ill-fitting one her uncle had given her when she first came to live with him, Kathleen sat calmly astride her horse. He had taken all her beautiful riding clothes and sold them to pay off his gambling debts. Before she lived with her uncle, she had a stable of horses and ponies of her very own. That was before her parents had died in a typhoid plague and left her to the negligent care of her loathsome uncle, Squire Lynch, and his corruptible solicitor.

  “Why are you wearing that rag?” asked Mrs. Ryan appearing beside her. “I thought his lordship had ordered you to burn all those old clothes.”

  “My other one is still being fitted by the modiste,” she lied. “I have no other riding clothes to wear. So I put these on.”

  “Very well,” answered the grim woman. “I suppose if you keep to the back roads, no one will see you.”

  “Indeed not.” Kathleen nodded, and picking up her riding whip, walked around the frowning woman towards the stables.

  Instead of entering the stables, she walked beyond them to a small wood where a gardening hut stood on the edge, well-screened from the main house.

  She opened the door and stepped inside. In the half dark, she took off the old riding dress, and stepped into a pair of boy’s breeches, pulling an old blue peasant shirt on. She wrapped her hair up into a broad, leather shepherd’s hat pulling the floppy brim low over her face.

  “What goes on ’ere?” she heard the gruff familiar voice of the stable master behind her. “And who might ye be, lad?”

  “Uh . . . I’m the new house boy, Jeremy O’Conner, sir,” she said stammering, holding onto the brim of her hat in a manner she hoped the stable master would not find peculiar. “I brought you word from the big house, master.”

  “Oh, you did, lad,” said the stable master. “And what is it?”

  “The uh, lady, the one what’s always dressed in black?”

  “Aye, that be Mistress O’Grady,” he said impatiently. “What’s she want?”

  She tried putting on her best servant accent. “She, uh, said that you weren’t to wait no more for the young mistress. She up an’ changed her mind, she did . . . decided she didn’t want to go riding after all. But they wants me to have a pony to fetch some needles and thread in the village for them.”

  “They did, eh?” T
he stable master nodded. “Very well, you brought your message, lad. Here, I’ll give you a hand with that black pony there. Buttons, he’s called, lad.”

  The stable master went and fetched a saddle for the pony. He strapped the saddle onto the small mount and gave her a hand up.

  Smiling, Lady Kathleen kicked her heels into the pony’s flanks and departed, heading towards the tavern where she’d heard the earl and his men were waiting for news concerning the kidnapped Spinster of Brightwood.

  Cautiously, she approached the inn. Word of mouth had made it known about the parish that a small fortune had been posted as reward for news of the wealthy spinster and her kidnappers. It had not been difficult to learn where the gentlemen searching for her had decided to rest before continuing their frantic search.

  She arrived just as the gentlemen were preparing to leave the inn. She dismounted and tied the pony to a post, pulling her hat low as she approached the group of gentlemen and outriders drinking and talking at tables that had been set outside beneath the shade of a large oak tree.

  She eavesdropped on their conversations. It was evident that they were still waiting for news. Several of the gentlemen were in deep discussion as to where they should look next. Two of them were, she noted, the earl and a handsome gentleman of fashion, an Englishman she’d never seen before.

  The stranger was almost as tall as the earl and just as broad shouldered. His hair, the color of a shining new guinea, was neatly cropped in the Corinthian style. She had never seen a real dandy up close before, and skirting the other gentlemen came as close as she dared to this manly perfection.

  She must have been staring openly, for next she knew a sharp pair of sapphire eyes looked down at her.

  “Looks as if you’ve snared yourself another admirer, Beau,” said the earl with a hint of amused laughter. “The lad here with his mouth hanging open apparently finds you quite fascinating.”

  Kathleen pulled harder on the brim of her hat, her own blue eyes staring up at the two gentlemen, her cheeks blushing with shame. She’d been caught.

  The nonpareil looked down at her with a kindly smile. “What is it, lad?”

  “I, uh, have a message for you two gentlemen,” she said, swallowing nervously. “A noble gentle lady sent me here to give it to you.”

  The earl grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Did this lady, by chance, have long raven hair and green eyes the color of new sprung grass?”

  “No-o,” she squeaked, her arm feeling as if it were in a vice.

  “Release the lad, James, you’re frightening him,” said the nonpareil, noticing her evident distress.

  He looked down at her with a reassuring smile. “Tell us the rest of your message, lad. Does it perhaps concern the one we seek, Lady O’Brien?”

  She silently nodded.

  “I was sent to give you this,” she said, almost whispering, as she stared up at his mouth. It felt unreasonably good to see this handsome Corinthian smiling down at her with approval. It had been a long time since anyone had shown her any sign of friendliness.

  “Where is it?” the earl asked.

  “The lady writes that she espied Lady Beatrice one league from here, at a country inn called the Blue Bonnet. That’s where she’s been taken,” answered Beau in a rush. “They intend to marry her off to the viscount tonight.”

  Kathleen grabbed hold of his arm, her eyes pleading with him.

  “You must hurry and rescue her before it’s too late, sirs. My mistress told me that they’ve sent for a priest.”

  “But surely she can protest the marriage to the clergy?” he said, as he noticed her look of panic and worry.

  “Not this one,” she replied, shaking her head. “I know this cleric. For the right price, he’ll say they were properly married.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and reaching into his horse’s satchel withdrew a purse of money. “Here, take this to your mistress. The reward is hers. And thank her kindly for us, for she may have saved my beloved’s life.”

  “Aye, my lords. I will give her your thanks,” she whispered and pushed the satchel back into his hand. “But she didna do it for the reward, kind sirs. Rescue Lady O’Brien away from those evil villains. That is all she do ask of ye.”

  She noticed the dark circles around the earl’s eyes and the haunted look of determination. She felt reassured that this lord was determined to succeed in rescuing Lady O’Brien. She was relieved. This man would surely save the kind woman who had always treated her with gentleness and compassion.

  “May God speed you on your journey, Your Grace,” she said to him, and turning, she bowed and walked back to her pony. It was as she remounted using both of her hands that her broad leather hat, which had managed to stay safely upon her head, blew off.

  Two pairs of amazed male eyes stared at her long golden hair as it tumbled down her shoulders. Her eyes met those of the astonished dandy’s. She gave him a saucy wink and a coquettish laugh that she could not keep from bubbling up, and galloped away.

  “Heavens, a girl!” Beau muttered aloud, almost choking on his ale in surprise.

  James watched, in admiration, the retreating back of the brave, young woman disappear down the road.

  “Beautiful and brave . . . just like my Beatrice,” James said, his words bitter with regret. He knew now he loved Beatrice with all his heart and soul.

  He’d behaved like a complete idiot. Marry in order to establish a dynasty? Balderdash! What had he been thinking? That was not the way he should have spoken to her. He should have taken her into his arms and told her he loved her. Damn his eyes!

  He wanted to tell her as soon as possible how much she meant to him, how his heart pounded at the very sight of her, how she made his blood run hot at her very touch, how he greatly admired everything she did. There were so many things he should have said.

  He was head over heels in love. If she didn’t believe him, he would dedicate his entire life proving it to her if he had to. But first he had to find her and set everything right. He had to! Nodding to his men to hurry and prepare for their departure, he quickly set off.

  * * *

  Through the fine silver net of her veil, Beatrice saw that the inn had filled with men. A fire had been lit and the priest, in clerical white, stood waiting with the viscount for her appearance.

  “Some of our customers asked if they might not see you tie the knot,” whispered the maid to her as she paused. “The viscount gave his consent, saying the more witnesses, the better. Less likely for his claim upon you to be challenged that way.”

  Silently, Beatrice acknowledged the servant’s words, her hands clutching the bouquet of wildflowers the maid had thrust upon her.

  No doubt, the viscount was making doubly certain that his word would not be questioned concerning the wedding rite. Aye, she felt the invisible rope he’d made around her neck tighten. Soon there would be no way of escape. She looked at the rough men lounging about in the half-darkened room staring at her as she approached. They were grouped about in one big, brown and black blur.

  One of the men, his face partially hidden by the shadows, nudged another, who appeared to be the tallest man in the room. She heard him say to the ruffian wearing a gypsy scarf about his head, “Isn’t she the bonniest bride you ever did clap yer eyes upon, sir?”

  The deep voice, it was a familiar one . . .

  She turned to stare. But could not make out the face in the shadows. The voice was one she would dearly love to hear again. It sounded so much like her father’s.

  “Aye, sir,” The tall man nodded in a cultured accent. “And a delightful feast for any man’s eyes.”

  Startled, peering at the man from beneath her veil, she looked up at him.

  “Please, dear God,” she whispered aloud, praying. “Let it be . . .” And when she opened her eyes, she met those of the tall man staring at her.

  Blue eyes like the ocean before a spring storm stared back at her. The gypsy saluted her. She gasped, almost losing her balance
as she tripped on her next step.

  “Courage, my lady,” he said, his hand immediately at her elbow steadying her. He nodded her forward, to continue her journey to where her detested bridegroom stood impatiently waiting for her.

  “Have no fear for me, good sir. I fully intend to play my part and see this through,” she said, her eyes never leaving his, her courage drawing from his.

  “I thought you would, my dear,” he said, audaciously kissing her slender hand.

  The squinty-eyed man beside him, one of the paid mercenaries, put his hand on the tall gentleman’s shoulder, trying to keep him from touching the bride. But the tall man ignored him, swinging his tankard into the air shouting out, “Another toast t’ the bride, gentlemen!”

  “To the bride!” all the men shouted, raising their tankards to her.

  The cleric, Father Rathbourne, stood in front of the lit hearth, where above it two small swords lay crisscrossed on hooks for decoration. The cleric gave her a benevolent smile as she reached him, and the viscount. He was, she could see, a bit tipsy. His fat pudgy nose and round cheeks were rosy from the brew that everyone had been passing liberally around.

  She felt the viscount’s cold hand grab hold of hers. The boisterous talking quieted, and all eyes focused on the scene before them as they awaited the cleric’s opening benediction over the couple.

  “Dearly beloved, we have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” he intoned in churchly solemnity. “The bond and the covenant of marriage was established by God so that man might create a union.”

  As the cleric continued invoking the holy virtues of marriage, Beatrice cast her eyes about the room, looking for a familiar set of beloved colt-blue eyes. They were not difficult to find, for they immediately met hers.

  “Will you, Viscount Reginald Adolph Philip Linley, have this woman to be your wife?” she heard the cleric ask, breaking with tradition by asking the groom first, his bleary eyes trying to focus on the page before him.