by Joan Smith
"I shouldn't be surprised. I believe she's learned her lesson now."
"I'll see Etherington at once, and we can leave as soon as Isabel returns."
He left, and I poured myself another glass of the paint thinner, which was slightly better than nothing. I was just sipping my wine when the door of the inn burst open and flying footsteps were heard in the hallway. The old hag spoke. "We don't supply girls. You have to bring your own," she informed the customer. Apparently the place was a well-known den of iniquity.
"I'm not here for sex. I've come to commit murder," a man's voice growled. I hardly recognized Lord Paton's usually polite accents, but the timbre of the voice was familiar.
"Don't do it in here," the hag said sharply. "I don't want the constable sniffing around. Take him down to the river. That's a fine place for it. You can throw the corpse in the water and no one will be any the wiser."
Lady DeGrue must have been in touch with Paton, and he'd come to help. I hastened to the doorway. He was just turning from the desk. He saw me, and I watched in astonishment as his face congealed to white ice. I had thought he'd be happy to see he had caught up with us. But of course he had no way of knowing we had rescued Isabel. He was still worried about her, but it was not worry that distorted his features so. It was hatred.
"In here, Paton," I called, trying to behave as normally as the conditions permitted.
He advanced at a stiff stride, as though his knees had turned to wood. His eyes were like burning coals in his white face. Lines were etched deeply from his nose to the edge of his lips, and the lips were thin.
"Are you sure it isn't a case of three being a crowd?" he asked ironically. Those burning eyes never left mine. Why was he behaving so weirdly? Apparently he saw I was alone without looking at the rest of the room, for he asked, "Where's Nesbitt?"
"Just taking care of a little necessary business so we can leave immediately. How did you find us?"
"I was told Gretna Green was the destination. It seemed an illogical choice to me, but that’s what the lady said."
"Why did you find it odd?"
The blood returned to his face all in a tide, till he was nearly the color of a beet. "You've reached the age of consent. You don't have to indulge in a runaway match, to have the nuptials performed over the anvil. He has no intention of marrying you, or he'd have done it in Bath, or Milverton." This was delivered in an angry rush.
"I am not getting married!" I stood, dumbfounded. I had reached the age of consent. He thought I was the runaway—and Mr. Nesbitt my bridegroom! Before I could recover sufficiently to correct him, he lashed out at me again.
"Then the more fool you! If you are to be had for a carte blanche, you would have found me a more pleasing and generous protector."
Protector! So it was only a mistress-ship that occurred to him. A memory of Isabel's tears and accusations came to me, only to be rejected. The sane course would be to correct Paton at once, but I felt a strong urge to hear him go his length. I would use no inferior, feminine wiles to beguile him.
My voice was cold as crystal, and I donned a chilly, uncaring smile. "You have a high opinion of your charms, sir! Neither that shack in the wilds nor a second-hand pair of cream ponies tempted me in the least. As to the charms of your person, I'd sooner live with a hottentot."
A flame leapt in his eyes. "You seemed eager enough to drive out with me in the beginning!"
"Yes, indeed, for as you so cleverly surmised, you had one thing that interested me. All I ever wanted from you was a favorable review in your magazine, and I made no effort to conceal the fact. I wanted that very much, but not enough to have you into the bargain. That lofty journal, of course, is reserved for scholarly gentlemen like Coleridge, who enlighten the world with their dream ravings of magic castles and dead albatrosses. Nor could I hope to compete with such monsters of dissipation as Lord Byron. I am neither foolish nor lecherous enough to merit your literary attention. Whatever induced you to imagine I was interested in any other sort of attention I cannot conceive."
"We reviewed Hannah More too!"
"That sanctimonious old spinster was careful not to tamper with your prejudices, and supported your theory that women's place is in the home, mending your socks!"
"You were eager enough for my friendship, even after the farce of..."
"I should have thought a heavy reader like yourself knows Hope springs eternal in the human breast, milord. While there was a chance you realized a piece of writing ought not to be judged by its cover, but actually read and considered, I continued to see you."
He stiffened up even straighter. "And I would have thought a young lady who is so intimately aware of man's base, rapacious nature and society's conventions would know more than to jeopardize her reputation by such behavior as this. This is even worse than the manner in which you celebrated your father's passing."
"It's none of your affair what I do!"
His nostrils dilated, and his loud voice lowered a notch. "No, but it was when I made the error of haring off after you. I had intended to marry you, you see, in spite of all your self-imposed ineligibility."
It was all I could do to keep from slapping him. It was not a proposal, but even a mention of a proposal ought not to be delivered in such an arrogant, self-consequential way, as though he were offering a crown, or a ticket to heaven.
"A pity you hadn't mentioned it to me sooner, and you would have saved yourself the trip. Marriage to anyone, and most particularly to you, is not a part of my plans."
He stared so hard, I felt he was looking inside my head. Frustration and impatience and anger were all mixed up in that look. "What, exactly, is your plan, Miss Nesbitt? I see no pattern in your behavior, no sane plot, but only the folly of a misguided woman reeling giddily, till she finally succeeds in throwing herself of f a cliff."
"My plot, obviously too convoluted for you to grasp, is to return Isabel to her aunt before anyone discovers she ran off with Lord Ronald. That is why Mr. Nesbitt and I are here."
He looked ready to contradict me, but before I had the pleasure of further discommoding him, Geoffrey and Isabel appeared at the doorway. She wore the chastened air of the lamb gone astray, and Geoffrey the undeniable face of the saviour. Lord Paton was speechless. To forestall his blurting out something to reveal our conversation, I hastened into speech.
I fixed Paton with an imperious eye and announced, "Lord Paton came to help us."
Paton looked relieved. Geoffrey was loud in his thanks, Isabel more muted in her apologies. I said not a word, but enjoyed the little entr'acte immensely. Geoffrey mentioned that Lady DeGrue had suggested asking for Paton's assistance, and Paton did not deny that she had done so.
"I'm sorry I could not have been of some real assistance," he said.
Geoffrey, trying to butter up the nobleman, made a complete jackass of himself. "You were a great help, Lord Paton. We couldn't have done it without you. I'm sure I speak for Isabel and Emma as well when I tell you how delighted we are that you're here."
"But you must not tell anyone!" Isabel cautioned.
Geoffrey gave her a chiding look. "I don't think you need deliver Lord Paton a lesson in chivalry, my dear. He would never do anything to embarrass a lady."
I gave Paton a cool look. "No indeed. I'm sure he has read all about chivalry, and is eager for a chance to put his knowledge into practice. Shall we go?"
"Isabel wants to have a bite before we begin the trip home," Geoffrey said. "Where would you suggest, Lord Paton?"
They settled on the George, where Paton was invited (by Geoffrey) to join us. I was amazed that he accepted. In his position I would rather have driven without food to the edge of the world. Over our meal, Isabel had a second chance to tell of her night's horrors, and Geoffrey to play the stern but loving moral guide. Paton and I took the opportunity of pretending we were not aware of each other's presence at the table. The gentlemen had a private word while they were settling the bill,
and I gave Isabel a Bear Garden jaw about hurting Lady DeGrue.
As we went toward the carriages, Geoffrey said, "You're driving back with Paton, Emma. I've spoken to him. I mean to propose to Isabel on the way home. I ought really to speak to Lady DeGrue first, but under the circumstances, Lord Paton thinks it will not be considered ill bred, as she has shown a marked approval of me."
"She'll be tickled pink, Geoffrey. In a way, I've already spoken to her. I suggested something of the sort, and she was thrilled."
"Really! I shall ask Paton to stand as witness for the nuptials."
He was quite as arrogant as Paton in assuming a positive reply. Paton approached me and said, "Mr. Nesbitt told you of the driving arrangements?"
"Yes."
"Luckily I knew the trip would be a long one, and drove my carriage and team of four. My groom has got us a fresh team for the drive back."
"Good."
He handed me into the carriage. I settled into a corner with a rug over my knees, closed my eyes, and pretended to be asleep. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind, but it was my intention to stay that way till the carriage drew up to Lampards Street. Behind my closed lids there swarmed such a varied array of scenes, it reminded me of Brewster's new toy, the kaleidoscope, with people taking the place of colored glass chips.
Papa was there, and Geoffrey, with Nesbitt Hall hulking in the background. No longer my home, but a place I would visit Isabel and Geoffrey, after their marriage. I would have friends to visit in Bath as well, as Annie and Pepper would settle here, in Mr. Percival's flat. I never did meet Mr. Percival. Perhaps I would call on Mrs. Speers, and deliver her a copy of my gothic novel, after it became a huge success. And of course I must visit Lady DeGrue.
I realized that in this human kaleidoscope, I was the unsettled piece. I would be visiting everyone, but from where? Where would I live? The darkest piece in the set was Lord Paton, and I put off thinking of him till the last. I would not be able to hold my tongue once I started reviewing my grievances and a three-hour argument was more than I was up to. For half an hour the horses clip-clopped hypnotically through the night. My bones became weary and I shifted to relieve the pressure.
"Warm enough?" Paton asked the moment I stirred. His voice, fully alert, told me he had not been resting.
"Yes, thank you," I murmured drowsily.
"Since you are awake, Miss Nesbitt..."
I made a sleepy "Mmmm" sound, designed to discourage conversation.
He ignored it and said, "I want to apologize for what I said at Stroud. I thought you and Nesbitt ... The thing is, you see, I went to Lampards Street to call on you this evening. Mrs. Speers said you and Nesbitt had gone bolting out of the house. She overheard you urging him to go to Gretna Green. She thought he put up some argument. It was my intention to rescue you."
"You should hot have paid any attention to my landlady. She's always bosky by evening."
"She was, but I had her call the servant, and she corroborated it."
I gave off all pretence of being sleepy. "Did they not tell you Miss Potter was with us?"
"No! I don't know—I was in such a state, I wasn't hearing too clearly, but I do remember now that she wasn't in your flat when I broke down the—when I—entered."
"You broke our door!"
"Just the lock!" he assured me. "I'll have it fixed."
"Everyone in the house will have been in our rooms by now, pawing through our belongings," I scolded him. "Why can't you mind your own business? And why were you there anyway?"
"I wanted to see you, to continue discussing rationally what we began to speak of last night."
I listened with interest. "You already had the foolish idea that Geoffrey was trying to bullox me into —"
He cut me off sharply. "I don't mean that! You wanted to iron out the difficulties of your position. I gave it considerable thought, after I left you, and I think you should brazen it out. There is no point pretending your father has been dead a year. Once a young lady inherits a fortune, people suddenly take a keen interest in her origins. Someone will discover he died just weeks before you attacked the Upper Rooms."
"I did not attack them! I attended! Why do you always make me sound a wretch?"
"It was an attack on convention. You should have been in deep mourning. You thought your father had disinherited you, and in retaliation you went on a spree. I think people can understand, and forgive that. I did, when I read your essay, and so did Lady Forrest."
"You told her!" My voice was thin and cutting, like a scalpel.
"On the understanding that she was not to repeat it. I wanted an older and wiser person's opinion. My aunt thinks it will be a nine day's wonder, like Willie Kemp's dance from London to Norwich. Lady DeGrue will make her crew toe the line. She has her own secret, which we are privy to. The greatest problem is that you would have to go into mourning, now that the will is straightened out."
"I intend to. Why do you think I'm wearing this hideous black gown?"
"I thought it was very becoming."
"I look like a witch, and if you think to beguile me with that sort of meaningless compliment, I suggest you stop and let me get back to sleep."
"You weren't sleeping. You were as stiff as a board, and your hands were moving the whole time," he said sharply.
But when he resumed, his tone was softer. "Emma, we have to talk, and we aren't likely to have a better opportunity than this. I admit my first intention toward you did not include marriage. What was I to think, meeting you as I did? I only knew that you were beautiful and intelligent, and I wanted to see a good deal more of you." His hand moved across the space and gripped mine.
"And like a true gentleman, you turned off your mistress," I reminded him.
"I planned to be faithful to my mistress at least. When I learned you were not a—what I—"
"A lightskirt."
"Ahem. Yes, I soon realized I still wanted you—for my wife. I still do, Emma." His body followed his arm across the space, and he sat beside me.
"You had an odd way of showing it!"
His arm stole around my waist, drawing me into his arms. "You called me a lecher."
"You are a lecher."
His breaths invaded my ear, causing a peculiar and highly enjoyable sensation of insanity. "But a faithful lecher who loves you very much." A trail of kisses glided along my chin, leaving fire and tingles in their wake.
I heard light, uneven breaths echo in the carriage, and realized they were my own. My heart pounded with rapid, fierce beats, like a hare's in chase. "A honeymoon, say in Italy and France, would solve the problem of mourning. No one would be observing what you wore, or where you went," he said softly.
"I don't intend to dishonor my father's memory by gallivanting."
"All the better. I'll have you to myself."
His lips found mine, and burned a kiss that was like a brand, marking and sealing me for life. "I can't get married when I'm in mourning—can I?" I asked weakly.
"Geoffrey plans to. A quiet do, with just family in attendance, and a brief announcement in the papers. If there is a little talk, we shan't hear it. And when we return, we'll be living in London, where there will be greater scandals than ours to titillate society."
"London? I should like to meet some other writers!"
He traced my chin with his thumb. "You haven't given me your answer, Emma. Must I resort to bribery—a review in the Quarterly ? We don't usually review question marks, but— "
"But for a question mark with a coronet on top, you might make an exception?"
"Providing it is my coronet!"
"I suspected all along you could do it if you wanted to. You said you had no say in the matter."
"I didn't realize that was my sole attraction at the time. Now I am coming to know you better," he said, but with a teasing smile that still bordered on the arrogant.
"Just so you don't expect me to buy a pig in poke. First I'll read my review, then I shall
decide whether I shall have you."
"Emma! It's all decided."
"Is it, Paton? You must convince me of it."
Like any overbearing man, he tried to convince me by amorous physical violence, and like any ninnyhammer in love, I let him succeed. But I shall still get my review, I promise you! And I shall continue to fight any French philosophy that I see being perpetrated around me as well.
Many hours later, when Isabel was safely returned and the rest of us met at Lampards Street, Geoffrey announced that he would be married within the week, and take his bride to Nesbitt Hall immediately afterward. Paton and I were to be married at his father's estate. He assured me the duke would be so happy to see him settle down he would not mind that the bride wore black.
That evening I re-read my diary, and was amazed at how angry it sounded. I am no Boadicea, nor do I much admire her. I looked her up at the circulating library, and believe she would have done better to bat her eyes at the governor Suetonius and conciliate him, rather than massacre seventy thousand Romans and Britons. There is more than one way to skin a cat. Rome regained what she had captured in any case, Boadicea took poison, and thousands more were killed in the ensuing warfare. She was apparently unaware of the old Roman adage, Love Conquers All.
About the Author
Joan Smith is a graduate of Queen's University in Kingston, Ontario, and the Ontario College of Education. She has taught French and English in high school and English in college. When she began writing, her interest in Jane Austen and Lord Byron led to her first choice of genre, the Regency, which she especially liked for its wit and humor.
She is the author of over a hundred books, including Regencies, many with a background of mystery, for Fawcett and Walker, contemporary mysteries for Berkley, historical mysteries for Fawcett and St. Martin's, romances for Silhouette, along with a few historicals and gothics. She has had books in the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, had one book condensed in a magazine, and has been on Walden's Bestseller list.
Her favorite travel destination is England, where she researches her books. Her hobbies are gardening, painting, sculpture and reading. She is married and has three children. A prolific writer, she is currently working on Regencies and various mysteries at her home in Georgetown, Ontario.
