by M C Beaton
With the small party of Fiona, Letitia, and Mr. Gore trailing after him, he marched into the posting house and demanded not one, but two private parlors.
“Take Miss Helmsdale off, Harry,” said the marquess curtly. “I shall see her later.”
Then he turned to his dejected wife. “Now, Fiona. Follow me.”
Fiona silently followed him upstairs and into a private parlor.
“Wait,” ordered the marquess when she was about to speak. He rang the bell and ordered wine and waited until the servant had left.
He poured two glasses and then leaned back in a chair at the table and faced Fiona who was sitting at the other end. “You may begin,” he said.
“I was helping Euphemia Perkins to elope with a certain Captain Peter Gaunt. She was being forced by her parents to marry an old man, and, oh, she does love her captain so.”
“Why did you not tell me your plans? Why did you cause such a scandal? You must know our servants would question that hired coachman and be told you were bound for Gretna.”
Fiona hung her head. “You see, I am not accustomed to arranging elopements,” she said.
“I cannot understand love without trust, Fiona.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Fiona, “I should have told you this a long time ago. Papa was deeply in debt. I made a bet with Letitia Helmsdale, Penelope Buxtable, and Euphemia Perkins that I could get you to propose to me. The bet was nicknamed Miss Fiona’s Fancy. I did not mean to marry you. It sounds terrible now, but you did not seem to love me. You said you were marrying me because I amused you. I did not think you would be heartbroken. I was going to tell you the engagement was at an end, but Papa lost all the money. I knew I had to marry you. The nine thousand pounds I gained from the wager was not enough.”
He looked at her bleakly. “This still does not explain why you helped Miss Perkins elope without telling me.”
Fiona looked at him entreatingly, but his face was hard and set, the face of a stranger.
“The day after I returned from Scotland, the three came to see me. They said if I did not help them, then they would tell you of the bet. I should have told you. I meant to tell you, this evening, after Euphemia was safely away.”
“Why not before?”
“I thought you would disapprove and try to stop me.”
“Possibly I would. I would have gone to see Miss Perkins’s parents and tried to talk some sense into their heads. But why did you not tell me of the wager in the first place?”
Fiona sat silently while he watched her narrowly. “When I thought you had married me for a whim, I did not think it necessary to tell you,” she said in a low voice. “Then I fell in love with you, and I was terrified of losing your love, and that made me even more frightened of you finding out. When you trusted me with money, I felt the time had come to return that trust, no matter what it cost me. I did plan to tell you this evening.”
“Why did you need money? Did you spend all the nine thousand pounds?”
“I have it still. I meant to take it to Scotland and perhaps spend it on improvements to my home. You gave me enough money for the journey, and when I looked at my money, the money I won, I could not bear to touch it.”
“Fiona, I am a very rich man, but did it never cross your head or did not those feckless parents of yours think to tell you that fifty thousand pounds was an enormous sum for a man to pay to marry into a penniless Highland family?”
“No,” said Fiona miserably. “I fear we Grants do not know the value of money.”
“And why do you think I packed you off to Scotland?”
“Because you were busy.”
“I told you, it was to eliminate my rival… your home. So what do these actions tell you, my sweet?”
Fiona looked at him and saw the blaze of love in his eyes.
She clasped her hands. “Oh, Charles,” she said. “Can it be that you truly love me?”
“Yes, idiot. Come here.”
He rose to meet her as she flung herself into his arms. He smiled down at her tenderly. “I was beginning to have my good sense blinded by worry and jealousy and I am as silly as you. Two people cannot make love as much as we do just to pass the time of day. But I was sure you had not eloped with anyone. You see, my love, I knew of the wager all along. And I was sure this mad escapade of yours was connected with the three ladies involved in the bet.”
“Charles! I have been so worried. How did you know of the wager?”
“Lizzie, of course. Lizzie scheming as usual. But if it had not been for Lizzie, I doubt if I would have troubled to see you again. It was when I learned I was Miss Fiona’s Fancy that my interest was thoroughly caught. And that was why I asked you to meet me at the Pantheon. Oh, you were so arch and so missish, I wanted to see how far the gambling Miss Grant would go. But the duchess’s eyes must be opened to Lizzie’s true character.”
“Poor Lizzie,” sighed Fiona. “I have so much and she has so very little.”
“Poor Lizzie stands to inherit a fortune.”
“Not if you tell the duchess. And the duchess’s other two daughters married well. They have no need of her money.”
“Well, we shall see.”
“Charles, why did you not tell me you knew of the wager?”
“I wanted you to tell me. I wanted all your love, all your trust. I love you so very much, Fiona.”
He kissed her very slowly and sensuously until he felt her breath quicken. “Let us stay here for the night,” he said. “I cannot wait until we get back to London.”
“Oh, but Charles, what of Letitia? And Mr. Gore?”
“They will do very well without us. They can take that shabby postchaise back.”
“I should see Letitia and comfort her. She was quite overset. Why did you drag her along?”
“I was worried, but not as furious as I appeared to be. I saw how my rage brought out the knight errant in Harry. He needs a rich wife and she wants a husband. Kiss me again, and let her tremble in fear a little longer.”
Letitia Helmsdale and Harry Gore sat in their private parlor and waited, and waited. Mr. Gore had listened, appalled, to Letitia’s tale of the wager. He was sure the marquess would be breaking the inn furniture in his rage by now.
A silence had fallen between them. Letitia broke it by saying wretchedly, “They are taking a terribly long time.”
“Odd,” said Harry. “Only takes a few minutes to strangle your wife.”
“Oh, poor Fiona,” said Letitia, starting to cry again. “We should never have blackmailed her.”
“Particularly not such a pretty little thing as you,” said Mr. Gore gallantly. “Why, you will be married before the Little Season is over.”
“No I won’t,” said Letitia. “M-men f-frighten m-me and if anyone l-looks interested in m-me, I freeze them.”
“By George!” exclaimed Mr. Gore. “Ain’t that the weirdest coincidence! The ladies frighten me to flinders.”
Letitia was sitting on a small sofa at the window. He got up, went over, and sat down beside her. With great daring, he took her hand. “Seems we have a great deal in common,” he said.
The Marquess of Cleveden, carrying his wife in his arms up to the bedchamber he had just ordered, stopped outside the parlor door and listened. Then he shouted at the top of his voice, “Just wait till I get my hands on that Helmsdale female. I’ll kill her!”
Letitia cast herself into Mr. Gore’s arms. All at once, Mr. Gore felt as strong as Hercules. “He shall not touch you,” he said bravely. “Come, look up at me and smile.”
She looked up at him, lips trembling, eyes red with crying.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. It was such a pleasant sensation that Mr. Gore decided he wanted more of it. Half an hour later, Letitia was sitting on his knee with her arms around his neck and her bonnet cast on the floor.
“Do you really want to marry me?” she asked shyly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Gore in a dazed and happy way, thinkin
g of a lifetime of kisses.
“It is very quiet,” whispered Letitia. “I feel awfully brave now. Perhaps we should find out what has happened to poor Fiona.”
Mr. Gore rang the bell. The landlord answered it in person. “Please convey my compliments to Lord Cleveden and tell him we are returning to Town,” said Mr. Gore.
“His lordship said as how he was not to be disturbed.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone to bed with his lady,” said the landlord, drooping one eyelid in a wink. “Hugging and kissing they was.”
Mr. Gore haughtily dismissed the landlord and turned to Letitia. “See, they are reconciled, and we have been worrying ourselves to pieces about nothing. I had better go with you to your parents as soon as we get back. I’ll think of something to say. Your maid must have told them you were abducted by the Marquess of Cleveden!”
“There they go,” said the marquess, standing at the bedroom window, “hand in hand to the postchaise.”
“Come away from the window, Charles! You are stark naked,” said Fiona.
“And so are you,” he said, returning to the bed. “We are all gamblers, Fiona. I gambled on winning your love and I won. At least I think I won. Love me again!”
FOURTEEN
“And what,” said the Duchess of Gordonstoun frostily, “gives you the right to interfere in my affairs, Cleveden?”
It was a week after Euphemia’s elopement and the marquess was not in the best of tempers. He had had to soothe down Euphemia’s parents, persuade Letitia’s parents that they were lucky to secure Mr. Gore as a future son-in-law, and crush the rumor that his own wife had run off to Gretna.
“Because your natural daughter, Lizzie, has seen fit to meddle in my affairs,” he said testily.
“Ah, so you know Lizzie is my daughter?”
“Thanks to Lizzie the whole of the ton knows she is your daughter. She has seen fit on two occasions to try to turn Fiona against me. She has once, with success, persuaded Sir Edward Grant to gamble heavily and nearly succeeded the second time. Her hatred for my wife is insane. It is based on an unnatural jealousy. I wish her to be kept away from my home.”
“Bastards are always touchy,” said the duchess with apparently supreme indifference.
“That is putting it mildly,” said the marquess, surprised. “It is rumored you do not speak to your own two legitimate daughters.”
“Who said they were legitimate,” said the little duchess with a shrug.
“My dear lady, if that is the case, why did you give two your name and yet neglect Lizzie for so long?”
“It was her father’s fault, Lord Charles. He did not want his wife to find out. He told her the baby was Sir Edward’s. My late husband could not father children and turned a blind eye to my little affairs.”
“I was feeling sorry for you because I thought Lizzie was tricking you. But, may I say so, madam, you seem as bad as your daughter.”
“There is nothing wrong with Lizzie that marriage will not cure. She is to wed Lord Blackburn.”
“She is flying high.”
“Lord Blackburn needs money for his estates in Yorkshire. I put marriage to Lizzie to him as a business proposition. He accepted on the understanding she would stay with him in Yorkshire. He does not like London. You will not be troubled by Lizzie.”
“So Lizzie is not to be punished for her spite?”
“She will punish herself,” sighed the duchess. “Do not worry. She will not trouble Fiona again. What a tiresome conversation we are having. Do talk about something more amusing….”
“And that,” said the marquess to Fiona an hour later, “is that. And they call men immoral.”
“I cannot help still feeling sorry for Lizzie,” said Fiona. “Perhaps she will forget all about me when she is married.”
“I doubt it,” said the marquess, “but since she is to reside in Yorkshire, I do not think she will have much opportunity to plague you again. Now, as to our honeymoon…”
“Oh, we are to have one after all.”
“Especially after all. Do you wish to see your home again?”
“With you?”
“I had not thought to spend my honeymoon by myself.”
“Oh, Charles, I would like it above all things.”
“You may take your nine thousand pounds and use it to refurbish your home. Your tales of the kitchen are quite horrendous.”
“I think I would rather give it to one of your charities. It would make me feel more… comfortable.”
“Then you shall hand it over personally. Now what is making you look worried?”
“I do not know what you will make of my home or the Highlands of Scotland.”
“Liar. You are worried because you do not know what your servants and tenants will make of this Englishman you have married.”
“Well, they do not like the English much.”
“We shall see. Scotland it is. With Napoleon controlling most of Europe, there are a limited amount of places to go.”
But as their carriage finally rumbled along the broken roads of Inverness-shire, Fiona’s misgivings grew. Her husband sat in the opposite corner of the carriage, fast asleep. She looked out at the countryside and felt she was seeing it through his eyes: the poverty, the barefoot children playing in the dirt beside the cottage doors, and the houses without chimneys where the smoke found its way out through holes in the turf roofs.
They were approaching Inverness when Fiona saw a band of tinkers camped out under a stand of trees beside the road. The marquess awoke as she called the coachman to stop.
“What is the matter?” he demanded.
“Tinkers. Gypsies. I wonder if they have news of Polly.”
“They look quite frightening,” said the marquess languidly. “I had better come with you.”
“No,” said Fiona, “you might frighten them.” But the marquess climbed down from the carriage and stood watching as she went up to them.
Trying not to choke at the filthy smell of the gypsies, Fiona asked them if they knew of an English girl called Polly.
They stared at her sullenly. Fiona switched to Gaelic and asked the same question. A heavyset man pushed his way forward.
“That’ll be Johnny Gray’s girl,” he said. “Dead by now, maybe.”
“What happened?” gasped Fiona.
“Caught pinching folks’ handkerchiefs at the fair in Inverness. She stands trial at the sheriff court in Inverness today. Probably swing fer it.”
Fiona turned around and looked at the marquess. He saw the distress in her face and came quickly to her side.
“It is Polly!” cried Fiona. “She is too stand trial at the sheriff court in Inverness today, and may even be already hanged. We must go.”
“Very well,” he said. “Has she been stealing handkerchiefs again?”
“Yes, Charles. But for all we know, she may be innocent.”
The carriage could not move fast enough for Fiona as they set out on the road to Inverness, the marquess pointing out he was not going to have the whip laid on the backs of his hired horses.
“And when we arrive,” he said, “stay in the carriage and leave the matter to me.”
“But what if poor Polly has been hanged?”
“If sentence has been passed, then she is probably in prison in the Tolbooth. They would hardly take her straight from the court to the gallows. If I thought her sentence might only be imprisonment, I would not interfere. I do not think Polly will ever stop thieving unless she gets a fright.”
When they reached the sheriff court, Fiona made to get out of the carriage, but he held her back.
“You must wait,” he said. “I can probably help Polly better on my own.”
So Fiona waited. Two hours passed, and she was about to get out of the carriage when people began to flow out of the court. Then came her tall husband with a grimy bundle of rags behind him which she could just make out to be Polly.
The marquess thrust Polly into the carr
iage and climbed in after her. “Drive on quickly,” he called to the coachman.
“How did you manage to free her?” asked Fiona. But the marquess said, “Later.”
“I am ever so grateful, mum,” whined Polly.
“And so you should be,” said Fiona crossly. “Now you see what comes of stealing? You shall come home with me, Polly, and resume your training.”
