The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne

by Jayne Fresina

  They had to climb out before the carriage could be righted. Having helped Lady Mercy out first, Ellie took her turn and stepped backward, looking down to ensure she missed the puddle. But while her left boot was still suspended in the air, searching for a dry spot, she was seized by two strong arms and lifted bodily from the carriage.

  James carried her easily, his expression earnest, his gaze directly ahead.

  “It was quite all right,” she said. “I could manage.”

  “I must take care of you, madam. It is my job to take care of you.”

  “Oh, dear. I must be heavy, Smallwick.”

  “Light as a feather, madam,” he grunted.

  She could feel how wet and cold he was, even through her own layers. He limped, yet gallantly carried her onward with only a few straining gasps.

  Ellie ventured to lighten the mood. “I shouldn’t have eaten all that supper last night. If I’d have known you’d have to carry me today, I would have starved.”

  He was very solemn, his gaze focused on their destination—the drier patch of road. “Would it have made a great difference, madam? One supper?”

  “Yes,” she replied crossly.

  “What a pity it is then, madam, you had that extra pudding last night.”

  She glared at him. “And how do you know I had an extra pudding last night?”

  He blinked innocently. “I guessed madam. It seems inevitable. Most women have so little willpower.”

  “If I was on my own two good feet, Smallwick, I could admonish you severely for that remark.”

  “Then I had better not set you down again, madam.”

  “Won’t you get dreadfully tired?”

  “Keeping you in my arms, madam? Where you can’t do any harm to me, but I can do anything I please to you?” His lips twitched. “I don’t believe tired is the word for it. Rather something completely opposite. Even now I feel the blood surging with vitality into certain organs.”

  Ellie was amused and outraged in equal measure. “Smallwick, whoever was responsible for your training, I cannot help thinking they were a trifle lax.”

  “You find me inefficient, madam?”

  “No.” She studied the slope of his fine aquiline nose. “But your manner lacks a certain…for want of a better word…decorum.”

  The sound of horses approaching at a steady pace made them all turn and look. A grand coach-and-four pulled alongside their stricken vessel. A face looked out.

  James did not set her down, despite her whispered urging. He kept her in his arms, holding her firmly to his chest.

  “Miss Vyne! Is that you, my dear? Goodness gracious, it has been many years. What has happened here? Are you harmed?”

  From her lounging pose in James’s sturdy arms, she replied, “Lord Shale. How pleasant to see you,” trying to sound normal. “It is just a little accident. No one was badly hurt.”

  Lord Shale was a portly, affable gentleman, one of her father’s closest friends and a frequent visitor to Lark Hollow when she was young.

  “My son, Trenton, is with me—you will remember Trenton.” A thin-faced young man looked out over his shoulder and managed a slight nod in her direction, before immediately retreating to the warmth of the carriage.

  Oh yes, she remembered Trenton Shale—a spoiled, sly, whining boy who once ate all the eggs she’d collected at the Easter hunt, stealing them out of her basket when her back was turned. Having eaten them all, he then promptly vomited on her gown, an incident for which he was never punished. He was a wretched, awful child, and although younger than Ellie, she was forced to “entertain” him whenever he came to the house with his father. Somehow her sisters escaped the onerous task. As, just like their father, they avoided anything unpleasant that must be done.

  “Please do say you will join us,” Lord Shale continued. “We can see you safely delivered to your destination.”

  The rain fell heavily, but there was more still to come, for the clouds above sagged like the hammocks of particularly corpulent sailors. The temperature had dropped rapidly. James was drenched, his hat lost, his hair flat to his brow, but he now plowed onward, sloshing through the deep puddle. When he finally reached dry ground, he set her down at last, his hands lingering only a little longer than necessary. No one noticed but her.

  Grieves trotted over and whispered in her ear. “Take him with you, madam. I’ll see to the carriage and fetch Dr. Salt as soon as we get to Morecroft.”

  Turning to Lord Shale, she smiled brightly. “If you have room for Smallwick and my young charge, Lady Mercy Danforthe, I should indeed accept your offer, sir.”

  Lord Shale’s lidded gaze swept warily over the tall form of the man beside her. “Smallwick?”

  She decided it was best to pretend he belonged to her, which, in a way, he did. For five nights. “He has a service to protect my luggage.”

  “But my man will see to that, Miss Vyne.”

  “No, no, sir. Smallwick is the only one I can trust with anything of mine.”

  Lord Shale’s grooms looked at James with sheer envy. He smiled back menacingly, a leashed tiger guarding his property.

  “I’m getting wet, and I don’t like it.” Lady Mercy marched to the Shales’ carriage with no further ado and yanked the door open. The offer could not very well be withdrawn now, even if it had been meant only for Ellie.

  Grieves helped Smallwick secure her broken trunk and Lady Mercy’s much neater luggage to the Shales’ carriage. Ellie stepped up, holding the door with one hand.

  “Move over, Trenton,” Lord Shale exclaimed. “Make room for dear Miss Vyne.”

  “Come up, Smallwick,” she called out, “you must sit by me.”

  Behind her, the Shales mildly protested, but she was adamant that the servant join them inside where it was dry. James had gone through enough, and she didn’t want him hurt again. “But, madam, I should—”

  She raised her voice to a haughty pitch. “Smallwick, I insist. Don’t make me angry. Inside the carriage.”

  He licked his lips, eyes wickedly amused. “I wouldn’t want you angry, madam.”

  “I’m quite sure you do not.”

  James climbed in, bent double to fit through the door, and then squeezed his large frame into the narrow space beside Ellie. “Thank you, madam.”

  She was now wedged firmly between James and the spindly body of Trenton Shale. Across the carriage, Lord Shale fought for space with Lady Mercy, who insisted on riding with her box of “necessities” on the seat between them.

  “Don’t crush my gown,” she warned the elderly gentleman. “It is best branched velvet, so mind you don’t sit on it. You’re so fat you’d likely crush the pile right out of it.” She looked around the interior, her small nose in the air. “This is a very small carriage.”

  “It doesn’t generally have so many people in it,” Lord Shale replied, shooting James another wary glance.

  “And it smells like sawdust and tobacco,” the girl added. “How unfortunate that my lavender sachet is in my other trunk.” She glowered at Trenton from beneath heavy copper ringlets that remained unflattened by a solid night’s sleep. “Someone has stepped in something. If I did not have a strong constitution, I should be sick.”

  Being so close to James, his thigh pressed to hers, his hand almost touching her leg, Ellie had allowed her mind to wander. Now she drew it back again, although it was a tortuous effort. “We are going only so far as my aunt in Sydney Dovedale, Lord Shale. We shall not trouble you for long.”

  “My dear young lady, it is no trouble. It was most fortuitous that we should be passing and see you. It was Trenton whose sharp eyes recognized you, my dear, and he insisted we stop at once. Did you not, Trenton?”

  His son sighed out a disinterested, “Yes, Father.”

  Trenton Shale hadn’t changed much, she noted. He was just taller and thinner, as if someone had stretched him out on a rack. If only, she mused dryly, her mind gleefully composing the image of her own hands turning the wheel.
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  “Doesn’t Miss Vyne’s beauty quite brighten the dismal weather, Trenton?” his father prompted, tapping his cane on the floor of the carriage. “I daresay you’ve seldom seen such prettiness. In winter it is a blessed sight. Like spring bloom at last. A snowdrop peeking through the slurry.”

  “Yes. Quite,” came the begrudging reply.

  Ellie somehow kept a disciplined countenance at the idea of herself as a delicate snowdrop, but maintaining a straight face was made even more trying in the next moment.

  “I don’t consider her pretty at all,” Lady Mercy grumbled, swinging her feet. “Faces like hers are two a penny on any high street. In fact, I think she is quite plain. Her lips are uneven, and there is nothing distinctive about her nose whatsoever. She is all legs and bosom.”

  A brutal assessment, but an honest one. Ellie could hardly disagree with a word of it. Her nose had indeed been a dreadful letdown ever since she first realized the importance of owning a good one. She felt James shaking with stifled laughter beside her. Mr. Grieves was right, she thought with a huff; his manservant needed a good thrashing to improve his behavior.

  “Smallwick,” she whispered, “I do hope you’re not perspiring on my gown.”

  “I shall cease all sweating at once, madam.”

  Ignoring the interruption, Lord Shale continued, “But what could have prompted you to travel in winter weather, Miss Vyne? No emergency, I hope?”

  “Not at all, sir. I simply decided to visit my aunt in the country for the Christmas season. London has grown very dull.”

  “Without you gracing the streets of the town, Miss Vyne, I daresay it is even less lively. Now we know you shall not be there, Trenton will certainly be in no hurry to return. He will very probably urge me to stay in the country as long as possible in the hopes of your pretty face cheering his day again.”

  She raised her brows at this awkwardly excessive flattery. Lord Shale kept looking at his son expectantly, but Trenton did not play along. Arms folded, he glowered through the window. On her other side, James fidgeted, trying to stretch out his legs in the cramped space.

  “How very odd, Miss Vyne,” said Lord Shale, “that you should have a manservant. Most unwed young ladies—”

  “It was quite by accident that he came into my hands, and now I should be quite lost without him.”

  James stilled, his fingers spread over one muddied knee, their tips touching her damp coat.

  “I heartily recommend a male servant to all my lady friends,” she added.

  After a moment’s pause, Lord Shale forced a vexed laugh and shook his finger at her. “You always were a joker, Miss Vyne. Now I see you look to shock me, young lady. Tsk, tsk! Someone, Miss Vyne, ought to look out for you. Indeed they should.” He must have hit his son’s foot with the end of his cane, for Trenton shifted sideways and became very red. Young Master Shale was pretty rather than handsome, but his unpleasant attitude made him appear sallow faced and pinch lipped most of the time.

  On her other side, Smallwick growled low, “I look after Miss Vyne.”

  He was pressed so close to her that she felt the words rumble through his body and into hers. It started the heavy, wanton heat again, stirring it up inside her.

  Lord Shale glowered at James, clearly annoyed and perturbed that a servant should speak without being spoken to.

  She felt James’s thigh shift, and the hard muscle reminded her of what happened last night—before the accident. Afraid of blushing, she quickly shook off the pleasant memory. “In truth, I have always looked after myself,” she said, directing her words at Lord Shale as if the man beside her had never spoken.

  “Yes.” The elderly gentleman shook his head sorrowfully. “And see how that has turned out.”

  Tension in the carriage was palpable, thick enough to bite, and with her handsome manservant beside her, it was increasingly difficult to say or do anything very sensible that might lessen the strain. Continued breathing was challenge enough.

  “Never mind that now,” Lord Shale added eventually, brightening up, resting both hands on the silver head of his cane. “We shall put you to rights. Shall we not, Trenton?”

  His son looked terrified at the prospect.

  She wondered vaguely why all these men thought she needed putting to rights. But she liked James Hartley’s method of tackling the job far better than any other. Hopefully he would resume, once he got his memory back. It was not right at all, taking advantage of a servant. Even if he was being deliciously noble and delightfully saucy. And holding his breath each time she moved her leg against his.

  Ellie Vyne, she admonished herself severely, you are an irredeemable hussy.

  She’d known this sad fact for a long time, but never had it been so evident as it was in the presence of the very confused, terribly naughty, insubordinate manservant. If only she had a Smallwick completely at her disposal on a permanent basis. She wondered idly how much it might cost to keep one.

  Chapter 12

  The Shales’ carriage rolled around the village common and drew to a smooth halt beside her aunt’s garden gate. Ellie looked out with intense relief. Throughout their journey she’d feared Lady Mercy Danforthe might give James’s identity away. A parade of coy glances had warned Ellie that the child expected something in return for her silence.

  Now, at last, their painful journey was over.

  Ellie leapt out of the carriage, not waiting for assistance to lower the step. “Thank you for the ride, and please, do not get out, your lordship. It is wretched cold.”

  Lady Mercy skipped down after her, looking around with superior interest, while James once again struggled with their trunks.

  “We ride on to the Red Lion Inn in Morecroft, Miss Vyne,” Lord Shale told her through the window. “I shall hope to see you again while we are in the county.”

  She agreed, falsely, that she hoped the same.

  James tugged her broken trunk from the back of the carriage and let it fall loudly to the path, apparently having had enough of that bulky, unpredictable weight.

  As the carriage wheels crunched slowly away, she turned to find the door opening a crack, her aunt peering out cautiously through small, round spectacles.

  “Ellie! Can it be? My dear girl—to travel in this weather!”

  “I came to look after you, Aunt Lizzie!” She beamed and embraced the lady with such enthusiasm that she almost knocked the lace cap off her head. Delighted to find her aunt looking quite rosy cheeked and not at all as ill as she’d expected, Ellie gave her a warm hug and lifted her off her small feet in the process.

  “But this is most…unexpected.” Back on her own feet, her aunt looked at the tattered traveling trunk on the path behind Ellie. “You should have warned…I mean to say, you should have told me you were coming. I had not…” Moving upward, her poor eyesight must finally have discovered the tall, crumpled, wet fellow with muddied knees. Her jaw fell slack. She pointed one shaky finger. “Is that—?”

  “Aunt Lizzie, this is Smallwick. A manservant.”

  James bowed politely from the waist, hands hanging at his sides.

  Still her aunt stared, and her pale lips worked loosely. “Smallwick?”

  His breeches were very tight, leaving little to a lady’s imagination. It seemed Ellie’s proximity in Lord Shale’s carriage had caused James a most unfortunate reaction, which, had his breeches been slightly looser fitting, would not have been so apparent. Smallwick by name, she mused, not by nature.

  “He is on loan to me,” she explained quickly, “for my safety. We were all traveling in the same carriage, you see, and there was an accident. His master, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Grieves, thought I should have an escort for the rest of my journey, and he will come later to retrieve Smallwick.”

  “Saints preserve us,” her aunt gasped, “it is most strange that he should look so much like—”

  “Aunt Lizzie, your front door is wide open and letting in all the cold air!”

  At once her aun
t was all apologies for keeping them out on the path. “You had better come in and get warm. What am I thinking to keep you all standing out here?”

  Smallwick grabbed the broken handle of her trunk and dragged it over the doorstep, while her aunt held the door open, fretting now about the terrible weather and Ellie’s idea to travel in it. Finally Lady Mercy was noticed. She stood on the path, hands in her muff and shoulders huddled against the cold, looking rather woebegone. Like lost luggage.

  “This is Lady Mercy,” Ellie explained. “She is also being collected in a day or so. I’m sorry to burden you, Aunt Lizzie, but I couldn’t very well leave her behind at the scene of the accident.”

  “What sort of place is this?” the young lady demanded. “Don’t you have a footman to open the door?”

  “Goodness no, my lady,” Aunt Lizzie replied. “Only me. I’m afraid I must suffice.”

  Surrounded at once by the familiar and the beloved, Ellie looked around the narrow hall. Nothing ever seemed to change about her aunt’s house. “I thought to surprise you!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms around the lady for yet another joyous embrace. She knew she should have written, but as was often the case with Ellie, there was barely time from decision to application of the deed, and in all likelihood she would have arrived before her letter. “Is it not wonderful that I can stay for Christmas this year?”

  “My dear girl…of course…quite wonderful, as you say. Goodness, yes indeed. What a shock you have given me. I mean to say—surprise! Surprise—yes—that is the proper word, so it is. Coming all this way by yourself…and not a word…but I daresay I shall recover.”

  Ellie removed her coat and bonnet and hooked them up by the door. She pushed by James and hurried into the parlor to greet her aunt’s parakeet, making sure everything there was exactly as it should be, unchanged for the last twenty-seven years. Lady Mercy followed her, perusing the cottage as if it was an exhibit at a museum and inquiring if there was anything to eat.