The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  His confident, kind manner and words reassured Amanda, and she did not pull free even though she noticed Theo frowning disapprovingly as they walked away.

  There were hushed whispers and muted exclamations as they approached the crowd. Soon a natural division occurred as people stood to the side and allowed Amanda and John to pass through. A pathway was formed leading directly to the newlyweds and their immediate family. Amanda did not enjoy such a conspicuous arrival, but she supposed they did present a rather queer picture.

  Not only were they strangers, but they were obviously of a different class and unlikely to be invited guests. She was draped from head to toe in black mourning attire. John looked just as odd, as he was hatless and sported a large bandage round his head. Indeed, they looked very much out of place.

  Dressed in white muslin, with a halo of ivy in her hair, the pretty bride looked up from the bouquet of field flowers she’d buried her nose in and stared at John and Amanda. Her groom was shaking hands and having a hearty laugh with an older gentleman who, judging by the striking physical resemblance between them, must have been his father: they were both tall and thin with sunburned faces, big noses, and large Adam’s apples.

  The bride nudged her groom, and suddenly everyone’s attention was on Amanda and John.

  John produced a charming smile and addressed himself to the groom. “How do you do, sir?”

  “How do you do?” the groom returned politely but with a puzzled expression.

  “I see congratulations are in order,” John continued.

  “That’s right, sir,” broke in the rough, deep-timbered voice of a swarthy, black-bearded, muscular man standing to the bride’s right. “ ‘Tis a happy occasion, and we’re all as merry as the birds in May. But what, sir, kin we do fer you and yer missus?”

  John did not correct the gentleman’s mistake in assuming Amanda was his wife. She supposed it wasn’t important in the present circumstances, and she did not really mind it, anyway. She was beginning to appreciate the benefits of a male escort on a long trip. And it was much better to go along with the honest blunder than to try to make awkward explanations.

  “We’re on our way to Arundel, but our front left wheel has a cracked felloe. We dare not drive it further in such a condition, so we’re naturally looking for the wheelwright. We are greatly dismayed to have disrupted your happy occasion, but could you point out the good fellow? We shall be prodigiously glad to make his acquaintance.”

  By the way the man beamed at John, Amanda was sure they’d be face-to-face with the wheelwright in no time at all. She was correct.

  “You’re lookin’ at the good fellow right now, sir,” said the man, giving his loosely tied cravat a straightening tug. “I’m the wheelwright of this ‘ere town of Patching and proud of it.”

  “Delightful,” said John, his smile widening with satisfaction. “Can we drag you away from the festivities for a bit, then? It should only take a little while to repair the wheel, then we’ll be off and out of your way.”

  “ ‘Fraid that’s impossible, sir,” said the wheelwright, his smile collapsing into a grave frown.

  John suppressed his justifiable surprise and simply asked, “Why so, sir?”

  In a slightly truculent voice, as if he were anticipating an argument, the wheelwright said, “Because I’m the bride’s father and the provider of the feast we’re about to partake of. Ye don’t imagine I’m about to miss out on me own daughter’s weddin’ party, do ye?”

  While Amanda was aggrieved and mystified by her continued bad luck, John chewed his lip consideringly. “You have a point, sir,” he conceded, then continued with utmost politeness, “How long do you think it will be before you can leave the festivities and attend to our wheel?”

  The wheelwright was so surprised and pleased by such a reasonable and courteous attitude from an obvious aristocrat, his smile returned full-force. “Give me an hour or two, sir. Then I’ll be much obliged to mend your wheel … and for free, too!”

  “Giving away your services won’t be necessary,” John assured him. “But while we wait, can you recommend where my wife and I and our servants might procure refreshment?”

  “There’s nothin’ open in the village, sir,” the wheelwright answered apologetically.

  “I was afraid of that,” said John. “But never mind. We shall simply await you in the yonder grove. Just let us know when—”

  “Nonsense, sir,” said the burly fellow with an expansive and congenial smile. “Seein’ as how you’re bein’ so patient and understandin’ of a man’s natural wish t’ eat with ’is new-married daughter, I’d like t’ repay the favor. Join us for the wedding feast! Your servants are welcome, too.”

  John glanced down at Amanda, gauging her reaction to the suggestion. But Amanda hardly knew how to react. She was definitely hungry, and she had no compunction about rubbing elbows with the yeomanry and tradesmen of Patching, but she couldn’t help but think her and John’s presence would put a damper on things.

  She got up on tiptoe and voiced her reservations in a whisper directed at John’s ear. “Wouldn’t we be intruding?”

  But the wheelwright had bent near to catch the soft-spoken words and firmly disputed such an idea. “There’s plenty of food and spirits, madam, and plenty of jolly company, as well. We’re a friendly lot and are more than willing, on this happy occasion, to share our simple fare.”

  The invitation was issued with much kindness and in a charming, courtly manner Amanda found irresistible. Just as she opened her mouth to accept, however, she remembered that she probably ought to defer to her “husband’s” wishes. She glanced up at John and saw that he wanted to stay, too. Without exchanging a word, they each understood the feelings of the other and turned to face the wheelwright.

  “We’d be delighted to join your party,” John said.

  “And we’d be honored t’ have ye,” said the wheelwright, extending his large, calloused hand for a robust shake. “I’m Richard Clarke.”

  “I’m John Darlington, Lord Thornfield,” replied John, without a bit of confusion or blink of an eye. He made an elegant gesture in Amanda’s direction. “And, as you know already, this is my lovely wife, Lady Thornfield.”

  A few eyes goggled at the mention of lord and lady, but Richard Clarke, with gracious composure and pardonable pride, introduced the rest of his large family, the groom’s family, and even a few people standing in the general vicinity. Amanda’s head was swimming with names, but she nodded and smiled and tried to remember them all.

  Presently Richard decided that it was time to start the festivities and, with his plump wife on his arm, began to lead the way to wherever it was the wedding reception was to take place. Amanda and John were immediately swallowed up and pressed along with the crowd across the grassy lawn.

  Amanda was too far back to see, but as they progressed toward the street, she could hear a carriage tearing down the road at breakneck speed. It passed just before the wedding party reached the road and kept them waiting at the edge till the cloud of dust settled. Amanda sighed and envied the driver of the fast-moving equipage, wishing her own carriage were just as sound and headed just as quickly in the direction of Thorney Island.

  They crossed the narrow street amid excited chatter and faces wreathed with smiles in anticipation of the upcoming fun. The festive mood was infectious, and Amanda began to reason away her worries about Thorney Island. After all, what could she do at present to change the situation? They were stuck in Patching till the wheel was mended, and it would not be mended till the wheelwright had celebrated the marriage of his daughter. So, as John had advised her to do, she might as well enjoy the moment.

  The very idea of forgetting her troubles for a while was intoxicating to Amanda. The thought of such freedom put a spring in her step, and she was fairly skipping alongside John by the time they reached their destination. Stealing a peek at her pretend spouse, she noticed that John looked as cheerful as she did. Amanda felt a fluttering sensation
in the vicinity of her heart. She was proud and excited to be thought of as this man’s wife. For an hour or two she would allow herself to enjoy the masquerade.

  The wedding party was to be held in a huge bam that had been swept and scrubbed till the wood walls and floors looked new. Sweet, fresh hay had been scattered on the floor along with a little sawdust in preparation for dancing. The rafters were hung with flowers and vines, and every comer of the bam was artfully arranged with pumpkins and sprays of long-stemmed sunflowers and pussy willow. Bales of hay were arranged in groups here and there to be used for seats.

  At the far end of the bam were rough-hewn tables and a hodgepodge of unmatched chairs borrowed, no doubt, from every house in Patching. Ham, chicken, pheasant, rabbit, and mutton, all roasted to a crisp, succulent brown; bowls full of every variety of vegetable from the garden; breads and biscuits; and cheese, pastries, and cakes covered the tables from end to end.

  There was a general scramble as everyone found a place to sit, with Richard saving seats for Amanda and John at the table of the bride and groom. But Amanda suddenly remembered Theo and Harley and Joe, and asked John if he would go back to the grove and fetch them.

  “Certainly, my darling,” John replied like a dutiful husband but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He had made good his playful threat to use the intimate endearment she’d scolded him for using the day before. But what could she do? thought Amanda. It was perfectly natural for married couples to use endearments.

  As John walked away, Amanda admired his straight, tall figure and decided that she’d allow him to call her “my darling” as much as he pleased in the next short hour or two. It was rather pleasant. And since they were only pretending, what harm could it do?

  John returned with Theo and the others, and directly after a quick prayer fervently offered in the booming baritone of Richard Clarke, everyone commenced eating with a relish.

  “Here, my darling,” said John, filling a large tumbler half-full with a dark red beverage. “Try this. Richard tells me it’s his own special recipe.”

  “What is it?” asked Amanda, eyeing the drink with suspicion.

  “It’s a sweet elderberry wine,” he answered, taking a long sip from his own tumbler.

  Amanda frowned at him. “Do you think you should be drinking spirits so soon after your concussion?”

  “Nonsense,” scoffed John with a laugh. “This can hardly be classed in the category of spirits. Why, even the little children are drinking a slightly watered-down version of it. Even you might feel perfectly safe in indulging yourself a little.”

  Amanda debated and, as she had never drank wine in her life, was about to pass up the experience when John leaned very close and whispered in her ear, “Indulging yourself is something you never do. Aren’t I right, Miss Darlington?”

  He was perfectly right, but Amanda had no intention of telling him so. “I indulge myself regularly, sir,” she informed him frostily.

  “What with?” he taunted her. “An extra shaving of sugar in your tea? Or perhaps you let your chamomile blend steep a little longer now and then? A strong cup of tea is very dangerous indeed, Miss Darlington! The extra stimulant might keep you up past nine!”

  Amanda was quite flustered. Her parents had never allowed fermented drinks in the house, and she had accepted the practice as a safe, sensible one, even though she knew many people drank wine and other similar beverages moderately and without becoming drunken regulars at the local pub.

  She wasn’t sure about John, though. He’d been drunk as a sailor the night he’d wandered into the path of her horses, and she was a little wary of how he’d handle Richard Clarke’s elderberry wine.

  “You are a poor one to try to advise me that a little indulgence is desirable. Obviously you indulge too much or you’d still have your memory,” she informed him with a disdainful sniff.

  “Well, my darling,” said John, not the least offended by Amanda’s snippity speech, “I had much rather take the risk of indulging a little too much now and then than to never enjoy myself. How spare and dull and dry one’s life would be without a little risk, eh?”

  Amanda knew exactly how spare and dull and dry one’s life could be without a little risk because her life was a perfect example. It was a gloomy reflection.

  “Wandering into the path of galloping horses is an extreme case,” John continued in a contemplative tone. “Although I don’t remember, of course, I feel fairly sure that I’ve never been that drunk or that thoughtless before.” His brows furrowed. “There was something unique about the circumstances of that night.”

  “I think so, too,” Amanda agreed, but when she would have engaged in continued speculation, John dismissed the subject with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

  “Never fear, Miss Darlington,” he assured her with a rakish grin and in a confiding voice no one else could hear. “I have no intentions of becoming inebriated with elderberry wine. Since I’m determined to be so dreadfully good, why don’t you consent to be just a little bit bad. Taste it, Miss Darlington. If you fall into a drunken stupor, I promise not to compromise you.”

  “You are really too ridiculous, John,” Amanda chided him in an attempt to appear amused and unconcerned by his remarks. “I won’t be goaded by you into drinking this wine, but when Mr. Clarke decides to toast his daughter, I shall certainly join in most willingly.”

  As if he were in cahoots with John, Richard Clarke decided at that moment to raise his glass to the happiness, health, prosperity, and fruitfulness of the recent union between his daughter and her swain. But not all at once. Each was a different toast. And by the time he was through, his daughter’s face was nearly as rosy as the wine itself. The toast for “fruitfulness” produced the most colorful blush of all.

  As for Amanda, she was sure her cheeks were as pink as the bride’s. But not from embarrassment … from the wine. Far surpassing the stimulating properties of tea, wine seemed to be able to warm one from the roots of one’s hair to the tips of one’s toes. Amanda could now appreciate why people drank spirits on cold nights. Indeed, after the fourth toast and in a giddy state of mind, she could understand its appeal even on the warmest day in June.

  Trying to prove she was no milquetoast, she had taken two or three hearty gulps with each toast, nearly choking on the first one but stoically showing a brave front even though her eyes watered and her throat burned. But after the second toast she had become quite used to the potent properties of the wine and could down it with ease. After the third and fourth toast, she was quite relaxed.

  Jack wondered if he’d gone too far by teasing Miss Darlington about the wine. He supposed she occasionally drank a weak ratafia at social functions or took a delicate sip or two of sherry or claret after dinner. But by the way she’d gulped down Richard Clarke’s elderberry wine, it was obvious she never drank and was drinking now only on a dare. His dare. And by the glowing, giggly look of her, she was well on her way to becoming thoroughly foxed.

  While Miss Darlington chatted animatedly with a deaf, elderly woman to her left, Jack took away what was left of her wine. If she drank the rest of it and compromised her dignity in front of all these people, she might regret it till her dying day. Jack was not prepared to allow her to take that sort of risk, no matter how cavalier he was about his own risk-taking.

  Presently she turned and seemed to be looking about for her tumbler, but Jack diverted her attention to the fiddle player who had propped himself in a comer on a bale of hay and was doing some preliminary plucking, scratching, and tuning.

  Jack leaned close to Miss Darlington and whispered, “Since—as I just bragged to the nervous groom—we’ve been married for several years, I should already know this about you, my darling. But refresh my memory, won’t you? Do you like to dance?”

  By now the fiddle player had struck up a lively jig, and half the townspeople were hopping and prancing in the middle of the room. The spectators turned their chairs to get a better view. Amanda avidly watched t
he performances—which were done with enthusiasm if not with skill or grace—her eyes dancing, her lips smiling, and her toes tapping.

  Without taking her gaze away from the dancers, Miss Darlington said, “I love watching others dance. I always thought I would enjoy dancing, too, but I don’t remember feeling much enjoyment during the few times I danced in London when I had my coming out.”

  “But in London you were dancing with strangers, were you not?”

  “Yes. I never got very well acquainted with anyone, you know. Especially men. I was too shy.”

  “But you know me extremely well, Miss Darlington,” Jack suggested, hoping to catch her eye and drive home that point with a teasing leer.

  “You’re quite wrong, John,” Miss Darlington said, still keeping her delighted gaze fastened on the dancers. “I may have nursed you through a fever, but I know absolutely nothing about you.” She turned then, a tiny furrow appearing in her otherwise smooth brow. “But I think I like that most about you.”

  Jack was genuinely puzzled. “What do you like most about me?”

  “Your anonymity,” she said with a faint, almost coy, smile.

  He raised his brows. “Why is that?”

  She leaned her head to the side and seemed to ponder. “I suppose because it allows me to be less reserved.”

  Jack’s brows rose even higher. “In the last two days, I don’t know how you could have been more reserved, Miss Darlington!”

  “Oh, but I’m usually much more reserved,” she assured him.

  “Indeed!”

  “But that’s beginning to change. A recent event in my life has led me to believe that it is more important to act on feelings than to allow our actions to be totally regulated by certain rules that have been drilled into us since birth.”