The Thoroughly Compromised Bride

by Catherine Reynolds

  Elizabeth, hearing this, was seized with a sudden inspiration, and not allowing herself time to change her mind or to consider the folly of her action, she stepped quickly forward to say, “Excuse me, Mrs. Parker, but I wonder if I might ask a very great favour of you?”

  A few minutes later, having collected her belongings and written a hasty note for Charles, she stepped into the Parkers’ travelling coach. And only then, as it turned out of the inn yard and onto the road to Bath, did she begin to wonder if she had perhaps jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Immediately upon Elizabeth’s leaving the parlour that morning, Charles had suffered a pang of conscience for his cavalier treatment of her. Her expressive eyes had been unable to disguise the hurt and shock he had caused her, and he had risen from the table almost as soon as she, his hand reaching out to her. But of course she had not seen that, and he had not been able to utter the words which could have halted her flight from the room, for in spite of his contrition, he could not wholly banish the anger that had taken strong possession of him. And one deplorable part of himself had felt glad that she was suffering as much as he.

  Damn it! She had deceived him, and he had every right to feel betrayed—any man would. How could he have been so mistaken in his assessment of her character? He had thought her so perfect, when all the time she was no better than some and worse than many, and he had instinctively wanted to strike out at her, to retaliate for the bitter blow she had dealt him.

  But he would not brood on that now. It would serve no useful purpose, and since they must go forward with this farce of a marriage, they would get over the heavy ground more lightly if they could, as she had said, behave civilly to one another. To be forever at daggers drawn would only make this affair more awkward and uncomfortable, and God knew it was already that.

  So he had made up his mind that in future he would conduct himself with nothing less than scrupulous politeness towards Elizabeth. But then her note had been delivered, informing him that she had left with the Parkers, and all his good intentions had gone by the wayside. Of all the damned, mutton-headed things for her to have done!

  A half hour later, he was tooling his curricle towards Bath at no more than a moderate pace—for he had no intention of overtaking the Parkers and thus rescuing Elizabeth—and occupying the time in devising ways in which he might, most effectively, point out to her the error of her latest start. He had just thought of a particularly incisive phrase, having to do with her want of discretion, when he came upon the Parkers’ carriage, lying upon its side in the snow-covered ditch which bordered the road, and he pulled up shortly.

  He knew, without the telling, that they had taken the curve here at too fast a pace for the condition of the road. In one comprehensive glance he took in the sight of the Parkers and their coachman hovering beside the overturned vehicle, but Elizabeth was not with them, and his heart immediately leapt into his throat as a picture of her, severely injured or dead, flashed into his mind.

  In the next instant, however, he discovered her sitting calmly upon a fallen log at the other side of the road. This discovery, which should have afforded him the greatest relief, contrarily angered him beyond all reason, and his anger was only enhanced by the needless fright she had caused him. Never mind that it had not been intentional on her part; she was at fault for bolting with the Parkers in the first place.

  Acutely conscious of the presence of others, he controlled his longing to give her a rare trimming, and as she stood and stepped towards him, he sprang down and handed her the reins. “Kindly hold the horses while I see if I can be of assistance over there,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Elizabeth took the reins from him without speaking and he strode across the road to confer with the Parkers, but it was only a matter of a few moments until he was back and handing her up into his curricle.

  From the time immediately following the accident until Charles’s appearance on the scene, Elizabeth had felt a not unpleasant apathy, once she had ascertained that she was uninjured except for feeling rather battered and bruised. But now a reaction was setting in, and Charles could feel the trembling in her hand as he assisted her up.

  He waited until they were on their way, then asked gruffly, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am fine,” she told him.

  Subjecting her to a close scrutiny, he saw her give an involuntary shiver, and at the same time he detected an ugly bruise forming on her temple. The better part of his pique faded away in a rush of concern for her. “You are not!” he contradicted, and reached over to wrap the lap-robe more snugly about her legs.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and after a pause, “What of the Parkers?”

  “Their coachman will ride one of the carriage horses back to the inn for assistance.”

  He did not mention the fact that, owing to the delay that the accident would cause them, the Parkers had decided against going on to Bath. Let Elizabeth stew for a time, imagining the gossip they might stir up. She would be well served for showing such poor judgment as to run off with them. Though he would never have admitted it, his pride still smarted to think that she would prefer their company to his.

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth in answer to him.

  They had been silent for several minutes when she said quietly, “I am sorry. 1 should not have gone off with them as I did.”

  “Well, why the devil did you?” he demanded, reminded of his grievances.

  “Because you were being so damnably hateful! Oh, dear! There I go, losing my temper when I had only just promised myself I would not.”

  In spite of himself, a grin tugged at his mouth at this reminder of her unusual upbringing, and he cleared his throat loudly, resisting the unwelcome urge. “Yes, that’s all very well, but I cannot, for the life of me, see how you could have thought it preferable to place yourself at the mercy of that tattle-mongering female. Your wits must have gone a-begging!”

  “Very likely!” she said primly. “It is a pity that we cannot all be perfect.”

  “Well, we both know that you most certainly are not!” he was goaded into retorting, and was immediately sorry for it.

  “Yes,” she agreed in a hollow voice, and turned her head away, pretending to be absorbed in watching the passing scenery.

  He muttered a curse, then said, “Forgive me, Elizabeth. As a matter of fact, I believe, as you do, that we must try for some civility in our dealings with each other.”

  Looking at him hopefully, she said, “Oh, yes! It will make this drive so much more bearable.”

  He glanced at her sharply. “I was not only speaking of this drive: I was speaking of our marriage, too.”

  Her eyes widened before she frowned, but when she spoke, her voice was perfectly amiable. “I don’t know what maggot you have in your brain, Charles, but we are not going to be married.”

  He gave her one exasperated look, while her chin rose an inch or so into the air, and those were the last words spoken until they had nearly reached Bath.

  “I gave you credit for more good sense than this,” he remarked, as though there had been no break in their conversation. “You have no choice but to marry me.”

  “Oh, but I do! I have thought it all out, and have decided that if necessary. Aunt Emily and I shall remove to some place where I am not known.”

  He gave a short, derisive laugh, and said, “My foolish, green girl! Do you not know that there is no place you can go where gossip will not follow you, or even arrive before you? Do you intend to get rid of all your servants and hire new ones? Even then, I promise you, you would not be safe from the scandal-mongers!”

  She felt a stab of dismay, but with every appearance of unconcern, replied, “Well, it is not your problem, so you may put it out of your mind with a clear conscience.”

  “Oh, yes! I daresay it would please you no end to see my reputation further blackened!”

  “Gammon! It is common knowledge that no one cares a
fig for how black a man’s reputation may be!”

  He threw her a fulminating look. “You would be well served if I washed my hands of you.”

  “Pray do!” was her rejoinder, but then she caught herself and said, penitently, “Oh, Charles, listen to us! We are at it again! Please believe me when I say that it would be the greatest mistake for you to marry me, feeling as you do.”

  He looked at her oddly, but as they had arrived in Upper Camden Place, he made no reply, and it was in a less than felicitous mood that they entered the drawing room a few moments later.

  Aunt Emily and Lady Langley had heard the sounds of their arrival and were waiting, their expressions a peculiar mixture of fright, concern and guilt when Elizabeth and Charles walked into the room. The two women looked so like naughty children caught pilfering the cookie jar that without thought, Elizabeth’s and Charles’s eyes met, sharing the humour of the situation. But, suddenly becoming aware of what they were doing, they quickly looked away, and fixed their relatives with stern glares.

  Both ladies appeared somewhat haggard; it had been a nerve-wracking week. Emily emitted a small yelp, and Lady Langley, who had spent every day in Upper Camden Place, worrying and praying, exclaimed, “Thank God, you are back! You can have no notion of what we have been through! My poor nerves are quite frazzled!”

  Charles had moved to stand before his sister, and hands on hips, a sneer on his lips, he stared down at her. She cowered back into her chair as he said scathingly, “You’ve never had a frazzled nerve in your life! Stop prating nonsense about what you have been through and begin explaining yourself!”

  “Really, Charles!” said her ladyship indignantly. “It was not my fault!”

  “No, it was not her fault,” echoed Emily.

  “It was simply an unfortunate mistake,” his sister informed him. “I completely misunderstood Melanie’s note, and—only imagine!—she was spending the day with Lucinda the whole time!”

  “An importunate mistake,” breathed Emily.

  The severity of Charles’s expression had not lessened, and her ladyship hurried on, “Well, you can have no idea of our surprise when we realized what had happened. And who could guess that we would have that ghastly snow?”

  “Yes, that ghastly snow,” choked out Emily.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Aunt Emily,” cried Elizabeth irritably, “If you can do nothing but echo Lady Langley, then do just be quiet!”

  Looking thoroughly cowed, Emily lapsed into silence.

  “So,” said Charles awfully, “you are going to brazen it out, are you? You aren’t going to admit the fact that the two of you deliberately planned this whole business, eh?”

  Emily moaned.

  Lady Langley tried to look both haughty and hurt. “Charles! How can you think any such thing?”

  “Easily! I only hope you are quite satisfied! Now all that is left for you to do is to convince Elizabeth that it is necessary for her to marry me!”

  “Well, of course we are pleased that you recognize the necessity for a marriage. It is, after all, the only thing you can do, given the circumstances. It cuts me to the quick, however, to find that you suspect I would be pleased that you have been inadvertently placed in such... What did you say?”

  “Yes,” said her brother with perverse satisfaction, “I fancy that’s thrown a spoke in your wheel. I am saying that Elizabeth is so ill-advised as to believe that our marriage is not essential. I have gone my length, trying to talk her round. I leave it to you to convince her, if you can.” And turning on his heel, he strode out, saying, “I shall see you in Laura Place, Margaret.”

  Two pairs of eyes turned upon Elizabeth with a single look of fascinated horror.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “You needn’t look at me like that!” exclaimed Elizabeth, at once set on the defensive. “I have good and sufficient reasons for refusing to marry Charles—for refusing to marry at all!”

  “Oh, Elizabeth!” wailed her aunt tearfully.

  Lady Langley, who had made a fast recovery, smiled benignly and said, “Now, now, my dears. Such a great to-do over nothing. Do sit down, Elizabeth. I am sure you must be quite done up after that fatiguing drive.” She waited until Elizabeth had reluctantly seated herself.

  “Now then,” said her ladyship in a tone to inspire confidence, “what is all this, about your not wishing to marry Charles?”

  Elizabeth, becoming aware that she was nervously pleating the skirt of her gown, quickly smoothed it out, then clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Well, ma’am, it has nothing to do with Charles. Indeed, I... I admire him greatly. But why must we be required to marry against our wishes when we have done nothing wrong?”

  “My dear, would you so dislike being married to my brother?” asked Lady Langley, going straight to the heart of .the matter.

  “Oh, you do not understand!” cried Elizabeth.

  “No, dear, I am afraid I do not.”

  Elizabeth sighed heavily. How to explain without divulging all? She had given Charles a disgust for her; she did not wish his sister to take her in strong dislike. And Aunt Emily would be certain to go off into violent hysterics. Strangely, it did not enter her head to doubt that Charles would keep her secret.

  But she had other, equally valid grounds for refusing Charles’s offer. She would concentrate on those. “Lady Langley,” she said, her brow creased in her effort to make herself understood, “neither Charles nor I have ever wished for marriage. We have both found our lives quite comfortable as they are—or at least as they were,” she interjected bitterly. “And now, because of a set of circumstances for which neither of us is to blame—” her frown became more pronounced as she recalled exactly who was to blame “—and in which neither of us have been guilty of the slightest transgression, well, it is... it is damned unfair!”

  Aunt Emily gasped.

  Lady Langley laughed delightedly. “Oh, my dear, forgive me, but I do find you so refreshing! But to answer your charge—you cannot be so innocent, Elizabeth. Good God! No one was ever promised that life would be fair! Just or not, it is the way of the world. Given a choice. Society will always believe the worst. No doubt it is a means of experiencing vicariously what they secretly long for themselves but are too chicken-livered to act upon. And you may be very sure that you shall be severely punished for their belief that you have enjoyed what they deny to themselves.”

  “Oh, I know that only too well, but there must be some way... I cannot allow Charles to immolate himself upon the pyre of my reputation!”

  Not at all discouraged by this manifestation of concern for Charles, her ladyship declared, “Well, if that is all that is throwing a rub in your way, you may be easy. It is past time that Charles married, and it might just as well be to you as to another female. Better, in fact, for I am quite sure that he bears a fondness for you.”

  “No! I mean...oh! I cannot explain! But why? In God’s name why did you do it?”

  Lady Langley did not pretend to misunderstand, and she attempted to look apologetic. “Well, perhaps we should not have done, although it seemed a very good notion at the time.” Then she added hearteningly, “However, what is done is done, but there is no need to fustigate over it now. My dear, you look worn to flinders. Why don’t you go to your chamber and try to rest? Things are bound to look brighter when you are feeling more the thing.”

  Aunt Emily jumped up from her chair eagerly. “Oh, yes, dear. Let me take you up. A nice rest is just what you need!”

  Lady Langley laid a restraining hand on her friend’s arm and gave a small shake of her head. “I am sure Elizabeth can find her way on her own, Emily. You may see me to the door, for I really must be going.”

  “Oh!” said Emily uncertainly.

  She looked at her friend questioningly, and her ladyship nodded reassuringly.

  Elizabeth, having needed no persuasion, was already leaving the room, unaware of this little by-play, nor did she hear Lady Langley saying, a moment later, “Now then, Em
ily…”

  In the solitude of her bedchamber, Elizabeth lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy over her head with unseeing eyes, while attempting to direct her thoughts into more constructive and less disordered channels. Feeling frustrated, angry and hopelessly dejected all at one and the same time, she was in no state of mind to argue her position rationally. How could she, when she was not at all sure of the rightness or wisdom of the stance she had taken? Perhaps she should give in and marry Charles. But, on the other hand, how could she allow Charles to martyr himself when he was in no way at fault?

  And how could either of them find any happiness in such a marriage? Surely it would be torture to be tied to him as his wife, knowing he felt nothing but contempt for her. And yet, could anything equal the unbearable anguish of never seeing him again?

  It brought a vague but very real physical pain to her chest—not unlike that she had felt when her father had died—to contemplate never again seeing Charles’s warm smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused, or the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was irritated. How could she bear never again hearing the sound of his voice, his laughter or feeling the touch of his hand upon her arm, his finger against her cheek, his lips upon her forehead?

  Oh, damn and blast! thought Elizabeth, angrily wiping at the tears on her face. She was becoming disgustingly maudlin, and it was getting her nowhere. If only she had never met Charles...but, no. Despite all, she could never regret having known him.

  But she could and did regret the actions of her aunt and Lady Langley. If not for them, her life would not now be in such a shambles, and for a time, it made her feel somewhat better to give vent to her feelings by soundly abusing the two women in her mind. But only for a time. Though at present she resented having such a trait of character, she was too fair-minded not to give them credit for having good intentions. It was a pity that apparently no one had ever told them that the road to hell was paved with such things.