A Most Unsuitable Bride

by Jane Toombs

  A man strides to her bed, a man who is somehow familiar, stripping the quilt away. She shivers in the chill of the night, she trembles from fear. Attempting to elude him, she discovers herself unable to move. A sensation of being wrapped in a blanket. Strong arms lifting her and carrying her across the room.

  They descend the back stairs, a single candle throwing grotesque shadows on the walls. They pause in front of a door, the door swings open, snow covers the ground, the December night is cold. Voices whisper, a horse nickers, two men, one lifting her onto the horse, the arms of the other encircling her waist, a low voice urging the horse forward, they ride slowly, at a walk.

  Climbing, the moon a ghostly circle overhead, their pace quickening now to a trot, trees looming darkly in the distance, moonlight silvering the heath, the cold air ever so slowly rousing her from her lethargy.

  She drew in slow deep breaths, her mind clearing, realizing suddenly that this was no nightmare. She actually had been abducted and was now a prisoner, being carried on horseback in the arms of her captor. Who was he? Deirdre turned to stare into his face.

  "Edward,” she gasped, fear slithering through her body to gather in a hard coil in her stomach. Her head throbbed at the same time bile rose to her mouth, forcing her to swallow to keep from gagging, dizziness making it impossible to twist free of his grasp.

  "I mean you no harm, Deirdre,” Edward said. “Be patient, we are almost there, and when we arrive I intend to explain everything."

  Her terror waned and mingled with anger. How dare Edward abduct her! She wanted to strike out at him, to hurt him, but her arms and legs felt leaden. She must wait, she cautioned herself as she tried to think more clearly, her chance to escape would come, it must come; until then she would let him think she was helpless.

  He slowed the horse to a walk again, riding along a dark path between trees and into a forest glade. She stared across the glade in bewilderment. Ahead of them, light shining through a slit at one side of the door, was a cottage, the same woodman's cottage where she and Clive had sheltered only two days before.

  With a shiver, she recalled her dream. “You saw us,” she said without thinking. “You were watching us from under the trees."

  "I did follow you,” Edward admitted, “you must have seen me."

  He swung from the horse, reached up to lift Deirdre down and, carrying her in his arms, walked to the cottage and opened the door. Once they were inside she saw, to her surprise, a lamp glowing on a table, several chairs, the bench sitting in a corner and a fire blazing in the grate. Where had the furniture come from?

  Edward led her to a chair facing the fire. Once he had seated her, he returned to the door, most likely, she thought, to leave the cottage to tend his horse. Deirdre glanced at the two windows, seeking a way to escape, only to find them boarded over. She looked again at Edward who stood in the doorway talking to someone outside. Nodding, he closed the door and returned to stand over her.

  "I mean you no harm, Deirdre,” he assured her for the second time.

  She refused to look at him.

  "I brought these for you.” He knelt to place something near her feet and when she looked down she saw a pair of slippers on the bare ground. Her slippers. After hesitating, she put them on. If she found a chance to escape, bare feet would be a hindrance.

  "Would you like tea?” he asked. “I believe it was Sidney Smith who rightly said, ‘A man who wants to make his way in life should always carry a boiling kettle.’ Tea has been, I believe, a great civilizing influence on the English.” When she made no reply other than to glare at him in a speaking way, he fastened the handle of a kettle on a hook over the fire. She noticed a teapot, two cups and two saucers on a table near the hearth.

  "What I did tonight,” he said, “I did for you. At the gallery I promised to make amends for my boorish behavior and now you witness that atonement."

  Not for the first time, she wondered if Edward had taken leave of his senses. Or were his actions the result of a night spent carousing? He did not, however, give any indication of being intoxicated. Perhaps something had happened to him in Canada during his time with the wild Indians. Had he suffered an injury? Or had the loss of a loved one so unsettled him that he had been unable to recover his equilibrium?

  He dropped to one knee in front of her, causing her to edge away to avoid his touch. “What greater risk could I take in your behalf than to put my life in jeopardy to insure your happiness?"

  His question startled her and she stared at him in confusion. He was looking up at her beseechingly, appearing completely sober and certainly not wild-eyed. But she had no notion in what guises insanity might show itself nor did she know how best to behave when confronted by an insane man. As, she decided, Edward most certainly was.

  "From the expression on your face,” Edward said, “you undoubtedly believe you are confronted by a man ready for admittance to Bedlam. I assure you, Deirdre, such is not the case. You see before you a man who has never been more sane than he is at this moment."

  She shook her head in disbelief, but still said nothing. She would not, she told herself, give way to fear but instead would harbor her strength and wait for the first opportunity to flee.

  "You may not believe me,” Edward persisted, “but the idea of bringing you here actually originated with you, Deirdre, although not the rather unconventional manner by which you came."

  Now she was convinced he must be moonstruck, a victim of lunacy. Although so far he had given no indication of wanting to harm her in any way, she had no assurance this would last. Probably one should try to remain calm in the presence of a lunatic, hoping to soothe him. Would talking to him help?

  Edward stood and walked to the fire where he stared at the kettle. “Will this water never boil?” he asked, more to himself than to Deirdre.

  Turning to her, he said, “I recently enjoyed a tête-à-tête with Phoebe in our gazebo in town, a rather intimate conversation, I might add, during which she mentioned how you encouraged Alcida to leave town to accompany you in your rather precipitous flight to the country. Since our thoughts, yours and mine, tend to follow similar paths, it became clear to me—"

  "They do not follow similar paths,” Deirdre said emphatically, her annoyance making her forget her resolution not to upset Edward in any way.

  "You, Deirdre, would make Chadbourne a most unsuitable bride. As you will agree if you but give some serious thought to the matter. You and I, on the other hand, are as alike as the two peas in the pod."

  "We are nothing alike, nothing at all."

  "It became clear to me at once,” he went on, ignoring her interruption, “the plan you had in mind. You would induce Alcida to leave London and thus force a bereft Dr. Leicester to face the grim prospect of life in the remote isles of the West Indies without her amiable and consoling presence.” He looked sharply at her. “I dare you to deny the truth of what I say."

  "Something of the sort may have crossed my mind,” she admitted.

  "Crossed your mind. Ha! You gave the matter considerable thought and planned the scheme in detail before you convinced Alcida, a young and pliable miss, to fall in with your plans."

  Momentarily losing her fear of him in the heat of defending her actions, Deirdre snapped, “Her absence did bring Vincent dashing to her bedside."

  "Leaving you, Deirdre, I suspect, rather proud of the success of your little stratagem. Deirdre Darrington, matchmaker. Ah, at last,” he said when the kettle began hissing.

  Edward used a folded cloth to protect his gloved hand as he gingerly lifted the kettle from its hook. “You must have noted,” he said over his shoulder, “how you have influenced me for the better since today I offer you tea rather than champagne. With your help, I might one day become completely reformed.” He poured boiling water into the teapot, walked to a corner of the cottage where he emptied it on the floor, then produced a packet from his pocket and shook tea into the pot. After adding boiling water, he said, “I hope you like Souchong
as much as I do."

  "I do not want tea,” she told him. “Or anything at all from you, sir."

  Edward shrugged. “Then, alas, as soon as the tea steeps, I shall have to take mine alone.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I at once realized, of course, that your situation bore many resemblances to that of Alcida's with one notable exception—Dr. Leicester had not become betrothed to another while Chadbourne, foolish to a fault, had somehow managed to do so."

  Her anger grew. “Clive is far from foolish."

  "He happens to be not only foolish, but twice foolish.” He poured himself a cup of tea, glanced questioningly at her and, when she frowned and shook her head, raised the cup to his lips. “Foolish the first time because he asked for Phoebe's hand, twice foolish for not realizing his error and extricating himself from his predicament."

  "Clive,” she said coldly, “happens to be a gentlemen and gentlemen behave with honor. Unlike certain others."

  "There are many times when the dishonorable course is preferable to the honorable.” Edward sipped his tea, grimaced and said, “I did forget one thing. The sugar, I do prefer sugar in my tea."

  "How long do you intend to keep me here against my will?” Deirdre demanded.

  "Not long at all.” He drew a watch from his pocket and opened the lid. “The time now is ten past seven. You should be home by nine if all goes well.” He closed the watch and returned it to his pocket.

  "Once I saw how alike your situation was to Alcida's, I formed my plan to spirit you away from your home just as you enticed Alcida to journey here from London. Recognizing you might not come willingly, I had to resort to rather primitive methods for which I apologize."

  "I would never go anywhere willingly with you!"

  "I understand your reluctance even though it pains me and, more importantly, is not in your own best interest.” He poured tea into the second cup. “In the event you change your mind,” he said.

  "I shall never change my mind where you are concerned. Never."

  "I have found that firmness of purpose should be applauded, but plain stubbornness is often evidence of immaturity. At times, Deirdre, you tend to be exceedingly stubborn."

  "And you, sir, you are—” She shook her head, so furious she was unable to conjure up a fitting epithet to describe him.

  "Let me describe to you what I did,” he said. “I sent Cunningham, after disguising him by furnishing him with a patch over one eye, to your friend Chadbourne, to make an offer to reveal a dastardly plot against your person in return for a relatively small sum of money. The bribe was necessary because I find that men value what they are compelled to pay for more than what they receive for free. Despite his being somewhat tight-fisted, I expect Chadbourne handed over the money and, with Cunningham serving as his one-eyed guide, is now on his way, post-haste, to this very spot to effect your rescue. He will undoubtedly be armed and, as you can see, I am not, and so, if my timing is even slightly amiss and I tarry here too long chatting with you, he will shoot me down in cold blood. As I said before, I have put my life at risk for you, Deirdre, a fact which you may not appreciate now but, I hope, will in the future."

  She stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. Did he actually intend her to believe what he was telling her? Evidently he did.

  Edward set aside his cup of tea. “In the beginning, I decided you would make too many demands on me if you accepted an offer on my part for your hand in marriage. I have, however, changed my mind. Since our time here is short, I must, perforce, be blunt and eschew the flowery language I would normally use in a situation such as this.” He drew in a deep breath. “Will you, Deirdre, consent to marry me?"

  She stared at him. “Is this another jape?"

  "Not at all. You would, I have become convinced, make me an admirable wife. If you accept, Deirdre, I offer you in return as much constancy as I am capable of. You might believe my main desire is to see you the mistress of Harmon Hall, but that is not the case. I offer you a life not of tedium but of travel to the four corners of the globe, a life full to overflowing with surprises and adventure."

  She shook her head. “Whatever you offer, I would have to say no since I love Clive,"

  "Did I mention love as a requirement? Is there anyone left nowadays who considers love a prerequisite to marriage? Love is over-rated, a word society uses to describe the veneer disguising passion. Love is of the moment; I offer you a lifetime of devotion."

  "I do not want your devotion."

  "You are stubborn,” Edward said sadly. “I can picture you in a few years’ time living a life of infinite boredom with Clive who is, unfortunately for him, a third son. He may well become a remittance man exiled to some remote corner of the Empire while you, Deirdre, will be dandling a babe, your fifth in as many years, on your knee."

  "I love Clive,” she said again.

  Edward shrugged. “Which makes him, despite his many shortcomings, a most fortunate gentleman who should be arriving here within the hour.” He took his watch from his pocket and flipped open the lid. “Damnation!” he cried, shaking it. “The watch must have stopped, it still gives the time as ten minutes past seven."

  Edward looked up at the sound of a nickering horse. Thrusting the watch into his pocket, he strode to a boarded window and peered through a crack. “It appears I am for it. Chadbourne has arrived carrying a pistol and with a most unforgiving look on his face."

  CHAPTER 20

  "I had planned to leave you here in the cottage,” Edward told Deirdre, “and, to insure your well-being, remain hidden in the trees until Chadbourne made his appearance. Then I would ride off, leaving the two lovers, the rescuer and the rescued, reunited. Now, if I attempt to leave, I fear Chadbourne will shoot before he asks questions."

  "You should have carefully considered the risks,” Deirdre said coldly, “before you embarked on such a hare-brained scheme."

  Again Edward peered through the slit between the boards. “I see he intends to approach the cottage with caution, as well he should. Perhaps he fears I shall greet him with a fusillade of bullets. I expect I shall have to make a run for it before he comes much closer."

  Deirdre, her heart softening toward him—Edward, though misguided, had done this for her, after all, and Clive in his anger might very well shoot him—glanced around the cottage at the single door, the two boarded-up windows, the fire crackling in the grate and the lamp on the table. She had no wish to have Edward wounded or killed, but she saw no way for him to leave the cottage except by the only door. And Clive waited for him there.

  All at once she remembered her dream of the twisted ash, of Edward watching her from among the trees, of entering the abandoned cottage and then being enveloped in a raging fire. Her dreams, however, did not determine her fate, they were mere signposts toward the future, hints of what might happen in the future as the result of what had already happened in the past. What actually did occur, she realized, depended on her and her alone. She was the master of her own fate.

  "Is it somehow possible for you to make your escape through the rear window?” she asked.

  Edward crossed the cottage to the second window. “Cunningham did his work well, as he always does,” he said, testing the boards with his hand, “but the boards are nailed on from the outside. I could climb on a chair and kick them loose, I suppose, but Chadbourne would surely hear the commotion and be waiting for me once I dropped to the ground."

  "Clive might not be,” she said, “if I set the cottage on fire first."

  He raised his eyebrows and then nodded thoughtfully. “Thus making Chadbourne rush inside to save you while I make my escape unnoticed. Ah, Deirdre, a clever plan, one I would have come up with myself after a few more moments. It saddens me to think you prefer to waste your talents on someone not worthy of you."

  Throwing off the blanket, she left the chair, blew out the lamp and sluiced the oil from the lamp's reservoir on the front wall of the cottage. At the same time, Edward hurriedly removed two brands from th
e fire, using one to set the wall ablaze before holding both aloft until crackling flames started creeping across the bottom of the thatch roof. Placing a chair beneath the rear window, he climbed on it and kicked at the boards with his booted heel. The nails screeched as though in protest. He kicked again and two of the boards swung outward.

  Edward put one leg on the sill only to hesitate and draw back. He leaped down from the chair and strode to Deirdre who was peering through the slit at Clive. Grasping her by the shoulder, Edward spun her around, held her by the arms and, as she gasped in surprise, kissed her quickly but firmly on the mouth.

  Still holding her, he gazed at her for a long moment, shook his head and then released her to climb onto the chair and clamber through the window. She turned from watching him in time to see the door to the cottage swing inward as Clive burst into the room with a pistol in his hand. The fire crackled around and above her, she felt the heat of the flames and began to cough from the acrid smoke.

  Clive paused just inside the doorway to glance around him before striding to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked. When she nodded, he demanded, “Where is he, where is Edward?"

  Trying to look dazed and frightened, Deirdre hesitated as long as she dared before nodding toward the shattered window. Clive ran to the gaping opening, blinked as he gazed out into the brightness of sun on snow, raising his pistol only to lower it to his side. Deirdre heard hoofbeats in the distance.

  Hurrying to Deirdre's side, Clive thrust the pistol into a pocket of his coat before gathering her into his arms and carrying her from the burning cottage. Once outside, he strode to the edge of the trees where he turned and, with Deirdre still in his arms, they looked back at the flames licking along the cottage walls and leaping from the thatch on the roof.

  "His life is forfeit,” Clive said.