The Bride Sale

by Candice Hern

  Verity was encouraged by this information. The land she had seen on the carriage ride to Pendurgan could not have supported a bean, much less healthy crops of wheat. And if they kept sheep then there must be grazing land. It would be much less dreadful, she thought, to escape over familiar-looking farmland than across the rocky moors.

  “I must say,” she said, “it certainly sounds different from the land we rode through today.”

  “Like night an’ day it do be, ma’am,” Gonetta replied. “Night an’ day. Just wait till ’ee do see it in the morning and ’ee’ll know what I do mean.”

  Verity hoped to be well on her way before morning. “I long to see it,” she said. “Tell me, Gonetta. We entered through a courtyard into a sort of great hall—”

  “The Killin’ Hall.”

  A chill crept down Verity’s spine. “Killing Hall?”

  “Aye,” Gonetta said, placing Verity’s ivory brush and comb on the washstand. “Did ’ee ever see so many awful old weapons an’ such? I do call it the Killin’ Hall cuz I figure them things done their fair share o’ killin’ over the years.”

  “Indeed,” Verity said, “but not lately, one hopes.”

  “Oh no, ma’am,” Gonetta said emphatically. “Mrs. Tregelly, she do keep us polishin’ ’em to such a shine. Like as not she do be the first to murder anyone what do touch ’em.”

  “That is certainly reassuring,” Verity murmured. “But how does one get out to the south side,” she continued, “where the gardens are? I tend to rise early and may want to take a walk around the place, explore a bit.”

  “Oh, ’ee do just go downstairs like when ’ee do first come,” Gonetta said, “only don’t be goin’ toward the Killin’ Hall. Go left from the stairs past the lib’ary and out the south entrance.”

  “And can I get to the river from the gardens?”

  “Oh, aye. The grounds skirt the river. ’Ee can’t miss it. ’Tis a pretty sight in the early hours, ’tis.”

  “Will I be any trouble if I wander very early?” Verity asked. “Will the entrances be locked?”

  Gonetta stopped folding a chemise and looked up. “Locked? Lord bless me, nuthin’ do be ever locked at Pendurgan. Who be gonna break inta this sturdy old place, perched way up here all by itself? Ha! Don’t ’ee worry ’bout nuthin’, ma’am. We be safe as milk up here. Just ’ee wander about all ’ee wants.”

  Verity savored the tiny burst of newborn confidence. Though Gonetta made it sound not at all difficult, it would surely be the hardest move Verity had ever made—striking out on her own, friendless, with little more than pin money and a few trumpery pieces of jewelry to sustain her.

  But she would be away from this place. Away from him.

  She could do it.

  “What would ’ee be wearin’ for dinner, ma’am? Shall I be havin’ somethin’ pressed for ’ee?”

  Dinner? Good Lord. The momentary rush of elation collapsed like a house of cards. She had been tricked by the early darkness into forgetting that she had an entire evening ahead of her before she could effect an escape. An entire evening she was no doubt meant to spend in the company of Lord Harkness and perhaps the woman in black.

  No. Not now, just when she had screwed up what little courage she had to do this. She might lose her nerve if she had to face that man again.

  “Oh, Gonetta,” she said, not even having to feign a tone of distress, “would you see if I might have a tray in my room? I really am quite fagged to death and do not believe I am up to dressing for dinner.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be bringin’ a tray up m’self, an’ a nice pot o’ tea to soothe yer bones. Then we be tuckin’ ’ee up all right and tight so’s ’ee do be getting’ a nice long rest. If ’ee do need anythin’ whilst I do be gone, ’ee just do pull that there cord by the bed and I do be up in two shakes.”

  As soon as the door closed behind the girl, Verity slumped against the bedpost with relief. She would not have to see him again. She would not have to face those menacing brows and piercing blue eyes. The man called Heartless would not be able to frighten her out of doing what had to be done.

  She began to rummage through her clothes, deciding what she would carry with her on her escape.

  Chapter 3

  James sat with his back to the smoldering fire and read the same paragraph for the third time. It was no use. He could not concentrate on the essay. He let the book fall open on his lap and closed his eyes. But he would not sleep yet. He fought it, as ever, unwilling to surrender without a struggle to the inevitable nightmares. He was not sleepy in any case. His mind was in turmoil.

  He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and fingered the bill of sale from the auction. The crisp parchment rustled loudly, inviting him to read it one more time. But there was no need. He had memorized the words some hours ago, and those words plagued him, kept him awake.

  All rights. Obligations. Property claims. Services and demands. Obligations. Obligations.

  The wretched document would probably not hold up in a court of law. Even so, his signature was there for all to see, and declared that he freely accepted this…this obligation, regardless of the legalities involved. He was a gentleman, after all, and—

  His own cynical chuckle interrupted that absurd train of thought. Lord Heartless, a gentleman? There were many who would dispute that fine point.

  James tucked away the loathsome parchment in his waistcoat pocket. It had been many long years since he had considered himself either noble or honorable. So, why not just give the woman an apron and a mop, put her to work in the scullery, and be done with foolish anxiety?

  Obligations.

  What was he to do about Verity Osborne?

  He had told Mrs. Tregelly she was a distant cousin down on her luck. The sweet old woman had never once questioned how he had just happened to stumble upon his cousin unexpectedly in Gunnisloe. It was a ludicrous fiction. She had no doubt already heard the tale of the auction from Tomas, but could be trusted to uphold James’s story with the staff and neighbors. It would be widely known as a charade, but Mrs. Tregelly would maintain that charade with her dying breath. She was one of the few people who had not turned their backs on him almost seven years ago, and her fierce loyalty was an enigma to James. He had done nothing to deserve it, yet he had come to count on it.

  He sighed and slid down further in the chair. Stretching his arms out, he flexed his tired muscles and linked his hands behind his neck.

  He must have a serious conversation with Verity Osborne tomorrow and settle on their story, not to mention their living arrangements. The cousin tale would have to do, with some embellishment of details for veracity. Though, God knew, by tomorrow the whole county would surely be aware of how she came to be at Pendurgan.

  It had disappointed him when she had asked for a tray in her room. He had somehow conceived a notion that beneath her prim and docile exterior lurked a scrappy little thing with more backbone. Well, he supposed she had been through enough for one day. He could hardly begrudge her an evening alone. Besides, Agnes had been in one of her moods. The added tension of Verity Osborne’s presence would have been more than he could bear in one evening.

  But what of tomorrow?

  Or rather, today, he mused as the old lantern clock behind him chimed three times.

  An odd shuffling sound in the hallway brought his thoughts up short. Someone was coming. Lobb usually left him alone until dawn. What would make him wander down at this hour?

  But whoever approached was more light-footed than James’s valet, a large man whose heavy tread was unmistakable. Who, then?

  James sat up and cocked an ear toward the library door, which stood slightly ajar. By the time the small shadowy figure passed the opening, he knew who it was.

  “And where do you think you’re going, Verity Osborne?”

  The footsteps came to an abrupt halt and he heard a sharp intake of breath. She did not move.

  “I think you had better come in,” he said, “and
tell me what is going on. If you are leaving, I have a right to know.”

  After a long, silent moment, the library door swung open. A heavily draped figure stepped tentatively into the darkened room. A weighty bag of some sort caused her to list slightly to the left. With slow, deliberate movements, she set it on the floor and clasped her hands at her bulky waist. She kept her gaze lowered.

  James waited for her to speak.

  “What right?” she asked, her voice low and tremulous. But of course, she was afraid of him. They had all made her afraid of him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He watched her swallow. She straightened her back and raised her chin, almost visibly gathering her courage. “What right do you have to know where I’m going?” When she lifted her gaze to look directly at him, her dark eyes caught the light of the dying fire, and for an instant he could have sworn he saw a glint of defiance there. It must have been a trick of the light, for as she continued to look at him, she was clearly frightened, and as twitchy as a bunny under the nose of a fox.

  “I truly wish to know,” she continued. “What rights do you suppose that sham transaction in the village square gives you?” Her voice quavered a bit, but she did not look away. “Do you mean to convince me there was anything remotely legal about what took place?”

  James stared up at her, astonished. Earlier, she’d seemed hardly capable of speech at all. Yet here she was, still shaken and scared, but able to speak not only in a reasonably rational and articulate manner, but with a hint of challenge as well.

  So, she was a scrappy bit of baggage after all. Now that he was faced with it, though, he was not at all sure he liked the idea of a female with spirit. A quiet, docile, shrinking sort of creature would have been so much easier to pack off to the scullery and ignore.

  Her large brown eyes gazed steadfastly into his own, attempting a look to match the note of challenge in her voice. But they betrayed her with the merest flicker of apprehension, quickly masked. She certainly was a proud little article.

  But not so little, James considered as his eyes roamed up and down her strangely large figure. She had seemed perfectly normal-sized in Gunnisloe, if a bit on the short side. He recalled once again the moment Jud Moody had pulled her dress tight across her bosom to reveal her figure to that randy mob. She had appeared very nicely formed, not unusually plump. But now—

  By God, the foolish woman seemed to be wearing every article of clothing that would not fit in her bag! Garment upon garment had been layered on so that she looked as broad and square as an engine house.

  “It does not matter whether it is legal,” he said at last. “I put my name to a document that”—traps, he almost said—“obliges me to take responsibility for you. It also, by the way, makes me responsible for your debts. Before you go tearing off, I should like to know what precise obligations I have taken on.”

  She cocked her head to one side and drew her brows together in a deep vee of puzzlement. “I have no debts,” she replied.

  “I am happy to hear it. You put my mind greatly at ease.”

  “Then may I go now?”

  James heaved a theatrical sigh. “Madam, if I allow you to go haring off in the middle of the night, in an area I suspect to be completely foreign to you, how can I be assured of your safety? There is no moon, I believe it is still raining, and you have no idea where you are. Anything could happen to you. You might slip on one of the cliffs and drown in the river, for instance.” He swept his gaze up and down her lumpy figure. “Hell, if you were to fall down with all those clothes on, you’d never be able to get up. You’d just roll around like a turtle on its back.”

  Coals in the grate shifted and a burst of firelight illumined her face momentarily. He could swear that a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

  “Or you could fall into an empty mine shaft,” he continued, “and break your neck.” The incipient smile died as her mouth set into a grim line. “You could be set upon by drunken miners who would have no regard for your virtue, or your life.”

  She seemed to pale at his words. “And if anything like that happened, it would be my fault and my fate. No one would be to blame.”

  “I would,” James said.

  “Why?”

  He fished out the bill of sale and waved it before her. “Have I not signed a paper, madam,” he said, almost shouting, “making me responsible for you? It would go hard with me if some mischief should occur to you while under my protection.”

  She glared at him through narrowed eyes, but James could read the indecision and confusion there as plain as a barn fire on a dark night. She didn’t know what to do.

  And neither did he. Why not just let her go? It would certainly solve a huge dilemma. What made him play this role of noble protector? He almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

  “Of course, if you have someplace to go,” he said in a mocking tone, “I would not dream of stopping you. Indeed, I seem to be making gross assumptions without any foundation. I must apologize for being so precipitous. Perhaps you have friends or family in the area? If so, I would be happy to take you to them in the morning. There is no need for you to tramp out alone on such a night.”

  She dropped her gaze and looked at her feet. Ha! He had her.

  “Do you have someone to go to?” he prompted.

  She continued to watch her toes for a moment. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. “No, my lord,” she replied in a soft voice. “I have no friends in the West Country.”

  Something in her manner—her pride? her courage?—goaded him into mocking her, daring her to go, pushing her to admit defeat. “Well then,” he said in a tone sure to convey his scorn, “perhaps you have friends somewhat more distant to whom you wish to go? And you meant to hire a chaise in town for the journey?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “No friends or family anywhere to take you in?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Well.” James tapped his chin with steepled fingers and beetled his brow. “Well. That is most unfortunate. Ah, but perhaps you meant to hire a companion and find a cottage of your own so that you could live independently. Is that what you had planned, Mrs. Osborne?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Do you in fact have the means to live independently?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “I thought not. I suspect if you had, your husband would have taken it for himself, would he not?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well then, madam, what had you planned to do? Where the devil were you going in the dead of night in the middle of Cornwall?”

  “I was going to follow the river into the next town,” she said, attempting a dignified posture beneath the heavy layers of clothing.

  “Bodmin?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “And what did you plan to do in Bodmin?” he asked.

  “Look for employment, some sort of position. Then, as I earned a bit of money I could begin to pay you back the two hundred pounds.”

  What the devil? “I beg your pardon?”

  “The two hundred pounds you…you paid for me.”

  “Good God, woman, you are not an indentured servant! Do not concern yourself with the two hundred pounds.”

  “I should not wish to be beholden to you, my lord,” she said. “I will pay you back. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will pay you back. But I must find employment first.”

  James clucked his tongue and shook his head. The foolish, prideful woman. What was she thinking? “Mrs. Osborne, have you no wits? In the first place, the money was not given to you but to your husband. You are in no way beholden to me. You may come or go as you please.”

  Her eyes widened. What had she expected? That he would keep her under lock and key? But of course that must be precisely what she had thought, otherwise she would not be trying to escape like a criminal in the middle of the night, decked out like the rag-and-bone man.

  “And in the second place,” he continue
d, his voice rising along with his aggravation, “the only way you would find the river in the pitch of dark is by falling straight into it. There is not a gentle riverside for at least a half mile downriver. Here at Pendurgan, it’s a straight drop off steep cliffs.”

  Verity chewed on her lower lip, and James knew she was wavering again.

  “See here,” he said with weary resignation, “if you truly wish to go to Bodmin in the morning, I shall take you. I don’t recommend it, but it shall be as you wish. Do not forget, though, that I do have this document,” he said, patting his waistcoat pocket, “and I am bound to take it seriously. I am responsible for you. I would prefer that you stay here at Pendurgan so that I can be certain of your safety.”

  “Stay as what?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Stay as what? Your servant? Your…your…”

  “My cousin,” he snapped. He was growing impatient with this game. “I have told the staff you are a distant relation down on her luck. A recent widow. You are to use that identity while you remain at Pendurgan.”

  She stared at him with those big doe eyes of hers, clearly suspicious of every word he spoke. “That’s all?” she asked. The tiniest note of challenge had crept into her voice. “A poor relation making herself useful?”

  “If you like.”

  “And that is all you will expect of me? Nothing more?”

  He allowed his gaze to travel up and down her boxy, padded figure. “Well,” he said, “we shall just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

  Verity sat huddled in an oversized wing chair by the fire, wrapped in a thick blanket. Soft gray light crept through the edges of the heavy window curtains. Morning, finally. Almost time to go.

  She had trudged back upstairs after her encounter with Lord Harkness, disoriented and confused, but ready to grab at the opportunity he offered. Rain continued to pelt the windows, and an occasional clap of thunder rumbled through the old stone walls and rattled the casement. After a while, she had stretched out on the bed, just to rest for a few hours. But exhaustion must have overcome her, for she had fallen asleep.