The Runaway Duchess

by Jillian Eaton

  She truly was marrying a stranger. A stranger she knew absolutely nothing about. Why, she did not even know what he did for work! Some sort of business, she assumed, but what sort and with whom? She should have asked more questions, but there had not been any time. Now she was bound to the man beside her for all eternity, and she knew little more than his name – and not even his middle one, at that!

  “Smile,” Gavin demanded tightly. “You look like a frightened little mouse.”

  A frightened little mouse? Charlotte drew back her shoulders. No more than a few minutes into their marriage and her new husband was insulting her already! The nerve. Ignoring his command, she frowned so fiercely little grooves appeared in the corners of her mouth and concentrated all of her attention on the priest who was flipping through his thick ledger for a clean page they could sign.

  Gavin made his signature first. His handwriting was small and bold with none of the finesse Charlotte’s looping scrawl embodied.

  Tabitha and the other witness came forward to sign their names as well. The priest blessed them, Gavin pressed a cold, emotionless kiss to her cheek, and the ceremony was over.

  As Charlotte walked out of the blacksmith’s shop she was a bit disappointed to discover she did not feel any different. Certainly she did not feel married, not even a little bit, and she wondered if Gavin felt the same. Shading her eyes against the late morning sun she stopped beside the carriage and turned to face him while Tabitha busied herself elsewhere. “We are married, then.”

  Gavin stood stiffly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his gray trousers and his jaw set. He had donned a cravat for the wedding, but he tugged at it now, unwinding the crisp white cloth and leaving it to dangle carelessly over one shoulder. “We are,” he agreed.

  Of its own accord Charlotte’s thumb tucked inwards and ran across her wedding ring, spinning it round and round. She did a quick study of their surroundings, taking a moment to note and appreciate the quiet simplicity of Gretna Green, so different from the loud, constant chaos of London.

  The sky was a clear blue; the sun warm against the back of her neck. She stepped into the wavering shadow cast by the carriage and leaned against one massive wheel, giving her travel weary body a momentary respite.

  “I take it your journey here was uneventful?” Gavin asked.

  He was so formal, Charlotte thought distastefully. So rigid.

  She knew they did not know each other very well – or, in truth, at all – but did he have to act as though they had never kissed in a dark study or gazed into each others eyes on a balcony? “It was fine,” she said. “Quite long, but fine.”

  “Good. That is good.”

  Silence fell between them, heavy and straining. Charlotte looked at the sky. Gavin pinned his gaze to the ground. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Charlotte’s eyelids grew heavy. She blinked and shook her head, fighting back a yawn.

  “Are you tired?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Quite. I was not able to sleep very well in the carriage.”

  “I have reserved two rooms at the inn.” He lifted his arm and pointed past her. Following the direction of his finger Charlotte saw a stone building with a thatched roof and a crooked wooden sign that read: Stone Pig Tavern.

  Her brow creased. “Two rooms? But… but aren’t we returning to London today?” With the rush to get out of the city she had admittedly not given much thought to the journey back into the city, and staying overnight at an inn with Gavin had most certainly never crossed her mind. Perhaps it should have, as traveling from Gretna Green to London in one day was beyond the realm of possibility, unless her new husband managed to procure a carriage with wings.

  “The horses are tired. They need the rest, and by all appearances so do you. We will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  There was a lot of time between now and dawn, Charlotte thought with a mild surge of panic. And Gavin had made it a point to mention two rooms. Did that mean one was for him and the other for her and Tabitha? Or was the first for Tabitha and the second for them? Did he intend to claim his husbandly rights tonight? And if he did, would she be ready?

  “You’ve gone pale as a sheet,” Gavin observed.

  “I… I… I…” Her mouth opened and closed, but the right words refused to come out. Embarrassed at her lack of coherency, she forced herself to take a deep breath and tried again. “I rather thought… That is, even though we are now technically married… Perhaps, er, well I think we can both agree that we hardly know each other and before we, er, take part in matters best left to the bedroom—”

  “Matters best left to the bedroom?”

  Was he laughing at her? No, surely not. It was a trick of the light that made it appear as though his eyes were gleaming with amusement, for surely he would never laugh when she was attempting to discuss such a serious topic. “Yes, I think it would be best if we took our time to get to know each other before we, er, that is to say…”

  “Partake in matters best left to the bedroom?” he offered, and this time there was no mistaking his grin for anything other than exactly what it was.

  “You are laughing at me!” Charlotte cried. She stomped the heel of her boot into the ground and crossed her arms. “You are impossible.”

  “So I have been told. Calm yourself,” he drawled. “I have no intention of doing anything with you that would require a bedroom.”

  Charlotte blinked. “You – you do not?”

  “I do not. As I made clear from the beginning, I was in need of a lady wife. You required a different husband. That was the bargain we agreed upon, nothing more, nothing less. There is no need for us to know each other more than we do now, intimately or otherwise.” He rubbed his chin, and even though a grin still lingered on his lips his eyes had gone cold. “In fact, I think it would be a complete waste of time.”

  Even though her feet were planted firmly beneath her, Charlotte felt as though she were suddenly treading upon very uneven ground. “A complete waste of time? But… we are married now.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  Gavin did not want to be intimate with her. He did not even want to get to know her. Where was his emotion? His feelings? She certainly did not expect him to profess his undying love for her on day one of their marriage, but surely some hint of sentiment was not unwarranted, especially given their passionate, albeit brief, history together.

  Could he have kissed her like a man starving and not felt anything?

  Perhaps.

  Perhaps he kissed women like that all of the time and she was but one more in a long line who now just so happened to be his wife. If that was the case then it was better she come to terms with it now rather than later and dispose of any affections she felt for him that would cause her heart ache in the future.

  Loving someone who returned your love was the definition of bliss. Loving someone more than they loved you was the epitome of misery. It was a lesson she learned at an early age by watching her parents interact with each other.

  Her father had curried Bettina’s favor until the day he died, begging for affection with every word he spoke and every gesture he made. As a child she thought it romantic and sweet and harmless. Now, faced with the cold slap of rejection, she knew it was none of those things.

  “Very well.” Lifting her chin she met his gaze without flinching, having stood up to her mother enough times to know how to stare a bully in the eye. “And may I ask if you will be returning in the same carriage as Tabitha and I?”

  “Yes. Did you think I would travel separately?”

  She shrugged. “It seems I do not know what you think, nor do I care to.” There, she thought with an inward toss of her head, let him make what he wants of that. “Please have my traveling trunk delivered to the inn, if you would be so kind.”

  His eyes narrowing, Gavin gave a short, clipped nod.

  “I will see you in the morning, then.” Gathering her skirts she turned to go. His sudden grip on her arm detained her. “Yes?” sh
e asked coldly.

  He stared at her for several moments, his gray eyes dark as storm clouds, before he released her arm as abruptly as he had taken it. “Do not be late tomorrow. We will be leaving at first light.”

  “Yes, you said that already. Is there anything else?”

  “I… No.” He shook his head. “No, there is nothing else.”

  Pinching her lips tightly together so as not to shout something at him she would soundly regret later, Charlotte spun on her heel and walked briskly away without once looking back.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As Gavin watched Charlotte march away, he cursed himself for a fool ten times over. He had not handled that well. Bloody hell, he had not handled any of it well. In the end, he supposed it did not matter. She was now his wife and the knife of tension that had been wedged in his back since the night of the masquerade ball finally eased.

  It felt as though he had been living on pins and needles for the last three days while he waited to see if Charlotte would be true to her word. He could have hardly blamed her if she wasn’t. After all, he imagined he was not what a lady of the ton dreamed of one day marrying. But she had been true, and they were now husband and wife in the eyes of God and country.

  Returning to the blacksmith’s shop he handed the priest a bag of coins to pay for services rendered and waited, jaw clenched with impatience, for the older man to count them out one by tedious one.

  “It’s all here then,” he said at last. Smiling, he tucked the bag inside his robes and rested his hands on the enormous chunk of limestone that served as his pulpit. “She’s a great beauty, yer wife.”

  His thoughts elsewhere, Gavin nodded absently.

  “Full of sass and vinegar as well, I would imagine, given that red hair of hers. I wouldn’t be surprised a bit if she had a healthy dose of Scots blood in her.”

  Given the ease with which Charlotte’s temper could flare, Gavin wouldn’t be surprised either. He made a noncommittal grunt of agreement and waited for the priest to dismiss him – even he was not so bold as to walk out on a servant of God – but it seemed the old man was just warming up.

  “You know,” he began, pulling back his sleeves and leaning forward onto his pale, bony forearms, “there are three types of couples who come through those doors.”

  “Are there?” Gavin said dismissively.

  “Aye. The young ones, so foolish is love they still have stars in their eyes. Only half of them make it through the ceremony, ye know. More like as not their parents arrive and oh” – his eyebrows shot up – “you have never seen a person more enraged than a mother come to collect her wayward daughter. Why, last week there was a girl, pretty enough I suppose if ye like the blonds, who was on the run with her sweetheart. A nice enough lad, he was, but more of the working sort than lord of the manor, if ye understand my meaning.”

  Gavin certainly did, more than the priest realized. “She was a lady and he was a commoner.”

  “As common as they come, that one, although he had a strong back and good will aboot him.”

  The priest’s accent, Gavin noted, was becoming more and more pronounced with every word he spoke. Resigning himself to the fact that this was going to take much longer than expected, he pulled over a wooden chair from the other side of the room and settled into it, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Get on with it then. I don’t have all day.”

  “Dinna rush me, lad. Patience is a virtue you would do well to learn, especially with that wife of yours. Now, as I was saying, there are three types who make the long journey to Gretna Green. The boy and his lady love were one. The next is—”

  “Wait,” Gavin interrupted with a frown. “What happened to them?”

  The priest blinked owlishly. “The young sweethearts?”

  “Yes,” he bit out. Was the old man daft?

  “Oh, well now, the girl’s parents came rushing in to save the day. The boy scampered off with his tail between his legs and she was whisked off to London quick as a wink. I imagine she will be married off to this lord or that, but ‘tis a fool’s errand to believe another man will put the same smile on her face as that young boy did. Pity.” He folded his hands together and made a tsking sound. “But that is the risk one takes when you run away with your heads so high in the clouds you canna see the ground beneath you. Now, the second kind of couple is always in the biggest rush.” Grinning ear to ear, the priest stepped to the side of the pulpit and made a show of rubbing his stomach. “Those are always the opposite of the first. The lass is in tears, the lad is yelling, and it is the parents who drag them here, not the other way around. I charge twice as much for those,” he confided with a wink.

  “And the third?” Gavin asked. Not that he cared. He was merely hurrying the priest along. Yes, that was it.

  “Aye, the third.” Sobering, the priest stepped back behind his pulpit. “Those types of couples are the rarest. I do not see them very often, but when I do it warms me heart every time. They are the ones in love, ye see. Deep down to the bone in love, even though half of them have yet to realize it, more the pity for them. Tell me, lad, if ye dinna mind: for which of the three did you come to our fair village to marry your red haired lass?”

  Taking an instant dislike to the knowing smile on the priest’s face, even though he didn’t know the exact reason why, Gavin stiffened in his chair and said, “I do not love Charlotte if that is what you are implying, nor is she expecting. Our marriage is a business arrangement that benefits us both. Nothing more, nothing less.” How many times, he thought irritably, would he have to keep repeating the same thing? Was it so unusual for two people to come together in such a way? Could a husband and wife not exist in harmony without everyone shoving love down their bloody throats?

  “A business arrangement,” the priest repeated. His expression was solemn, but there was an undeniable twinkle in his warm brown eyes. “That is a very practical way for ye to go about it, I suppose.”

  “To go about what?” Gavin said shortly.

  “Why, to go about getting the lass you love to marry ye. Does she know? Oo, she does not!” the priest hooted when Gavin scowled and stood up. “Good luck to ye then. You’re going tae need it with that one!”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about, old man,” Gavin growled over his shoulder before he stormed from the shop.

  The priest’s laughter followed him out.

  The skies opened at dawn and rain, not sun, greeted Charlotte when she woke. For a moment she remained absolutely still, blinking slowly up at the ceiling as she allowed the events of the past three days to play through her mind. The masquerade. The agreement with Gavin. Fleeing London. The wedding.

  The wedding.

  With a gasp she lifted her left hand to make sure she had not dreamed the entire thing, but the evidence of her decision was right there. It glinted mockingly in the dim light and Charlotte bit her lip as she pulled the ring off and held it up for closer inspection.

  It really was a simple piece of jewelry. She wondered if it was truly gold or copper covered in gold paint. Did it matter? No, she decided before she slipped the band back on her finger and sat up. It did not. After all, the ring was just a symbol. A symbol of the eternal bond that now connected her to Gavin Graystone for all eternity. A man she knew less about now than before she married him.

  She had come away from their first encounter thinking of him as a man of passion. His very touch had set her on fire and even now she trembled from the memory of his fingers sliding across her flesh… Of his mouth pressing against her neck… Of his tongue – stop it, she ordered herself sternly.

  In that one moment Gavin may have ignited her body and soul, but beneath that glossy charm was a man cold as stone with feelings for nothing and no one.

  It was better this way, she consoled herself. Better to know now where she stood rather than let herself be swept up in the fanciful imaginings of lust and love. After all, it was not Gavin’s
fault he felt nothing for her. He had been honest from the beginning; she was the one who hoped for something that did not – could not – exist. He was a cold man, but he was not a cruel one, and if she were given the choice between Crane and Gavin a thousand times over she would make the same decision every time.

  In the gloomy light of day the facts still remained: they were married, he was her husband, and she would have to learn to be satisfied with that and nothing more. Still, she could not stop her mind from imagining what it would have been like to marry someone she loved and who loved her in return.

  What it would feel like to fall asleep in their arms every night and wake up beside them every morning. What it would mean to stroll hand in hand through the park, gazing into each other’s eyes. What it would be like to sit in front of the hearth at night telling stories to their beautiful children.

  Aghast at the sudden tears that flooded her eyes, Charlotte wiped them hastily away and stood up to ready her things for travel.

  There was not much to collect, and as she moved around the small room she was careful to keep her steps light so as not to wake a still sleeping Tabitha. Dressing herself in the same pale green muslin dress she had worn the day before (and the day before that, and the day before there) she managed to grimace only slightly when great puffs of dusts flew up in the air as the dress settled into place over her undergarments.

  When she was home she would soak in a tub for a week, for surely it would take that long to peel the layers of grime from her skin. The inn had been unable to bring up hot water for a bath – not that it would have made much of a difference since there was no tub – and she and Tabitha had been forced to settle with bathing their faces and arms in a shallow tin basin.

  Yesterday her hair had been somewhat manageable. This morning it was little more than a mass of wilted ringlets around her face. Forgoing a neat coiffure she braided it in a long tail down the middle of her back and jammed a hat over her head.