A Chance Encounter: A rash decision changes their lives forever.

by Buck, Gayle

  “I am one-and-twenty, my lord,” Joan said. A fleeting smile entered her brown eyes. “Quite on the shelf, you see.” Her small attempt at humor earned an appreciative smile from the viscount.

  Lord Humphrey strode across the parlor. Pulling open the door, he set up a bellow for the innkeeper. The man came running, alarmed.

  When the innkeeper learned that his lordship wanted a minister and for what purpose, he was openly astonished. But almost instantly his expression smoothed. “I shall attend to the matter myself immediately, my lord.”

  Lord Humphrey bethought himself of another requirement. “The lady should have an abigail to attend her.”

  The innkeeper bowed. “I shall send up my own daughter at once, my lord.” He left quickly on his errands, having already learned that his illustrious guest was short of temper toward any who dared to offer a few superfluous words.

  When the innkeeper had left, Joan said, “An abigail, my lord? Surely I have no need of such a person.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Chadwick. The woman will share your bedroom tonight and lend you countenance when we drive back to my estates in the morning,” Lord Humphrey said. He regarded her somberly. “I intend to arrange everything within my power to draw some air of respectability about our runaway marriage, in hopes of confounding some of the flurry of scandal that is certain to arise once it is learned that we have wed, and in such a hole-in-the-wall manner.” He smiled at her. “I think that I owe you that much consideration, at least.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Joan did not know what else to say. She felt it was stupid of her not to have foreseen the same difficulties as the viscount. But then he was a member of a much more sophisticated world than was she, she thought. She was indeed grateful to him for considering her feelings and her uncomfortable position.

  The abigail who accompanied the returning innkeeper was a buxom country girl. She was rendered speechless by the singular honor of attending to an actual lady. At the viscount’s sharp critical glance, she bobbed a quick nervous curtsy and went to stand beside her new mistress.

  The innkeeper had the local minister in tow. “I ‘ave explained what is wanted, my lord,” he said.

  “Highly irregular request, sir, if I may humbly say so,” the minister said, his considering gaze going from the viscount’s countenance to that of the young lady seated at the table. He had dealt with more than one runaway couple in his time, but this particular pair appeared somewhat older than had the others. He substantiated that fact with a quiet question.

  There seemed nothing untoward in the relationship between the couple, the gentleman behaving with all solicitous propriety in aiding the lady to her feet. The minister noted that the young woman had a pronounced limp. It spoke well of the young lord’s character for disregarding his intended’s handicap. The minister’s natural doubts were laid to rest, and after assuring himself that the viscount had the proper license, he proceeded with the brief ceremony.

  At the proper time Lord Humphrey pulled the signet ring off his own finger and slipped it onto Joan’s. She had to crook her finger so that the too-large ring did not slide off.

  She was so absorbed by the problem of the ring that she was caught off-guard when the viscount’s lips found hers. The kiss was fleeting, but nevertheless quite unnerving. She was blushing fiercely when he drew back.

  There was an oddly distant look in his gray eyes as he looked down at the woman that he had made his wife. He glanced down at their still-clasped hands and a flicker of warmth crossed his expression. “I shall get you a proper ring when there is time,” he said.

  He turned then to the minister to courteously thank the man for his services and to amply reward him from his purse. The necessary papers were signed by the primary parties and witnessed by the innkeeper and the round-eyed abigail, the latter thinking that she had never seen anything half so romantic.

  Lord Humphrey requested that two bedchambers be made ready.

  The innkeeper’s astonished expression earned the man an icy inquiry from his lordship regarding the facility of his hearing. “Not at all, my lord,” said the innkeeper hastily, keeping to himself his opinion of the gentry’s way of arranging matters. “I’ll attend to the matter myself.”

  Within a few moments, Joan and Lord Humphrey were again alone, the abigail having discreetly retreated into the bedroom directly off the parlor that was to be her ladyship’s.

  Joan and the viscount stared at each other for several long seconds. They neither could think of anything appropriate to say. At last the viscount offered his arm to her, saying that he knew that her ankle must still be giving her pain. “You must be fatigued as well,” he said.

  “Yes,” Joan agreed as she accepted his escort to the door of the bedroom.

  He paused at the door to raise her fingers to his lips. “Good night, my lady,” he said quietly.

  “Good night, my lord,” she said.

  Lord Humphrey waited until his bride had entered the bedroom and the door was softly closed before he turned away. As he crossed the parlor and left it to find his own bedroom, his heavily frowning countenance was lent deep shadows by the guttering fire.

  Chapter Five

  The following morning Joan met Lord Humphrey again in the parlor. It was an awkward moment for both of them. They smiled at each other, tentatively, like the strangers that they were, who had been thrown together by a whim of fate.

  Lord Humphrey spoke first. “Good morning, my lady,” he said diffidently.

  “Good morning, my lord,” said Joan. She wondered curiously what it would be like to address his lordship by his given name, which she had naturally taken note of during the brief ceremony. She supposed that theirs was not to be a conventional marriage, but still it seemed so awkward to continue calling one’s husband ‘his lordship’. But then again, the fact that he was her husband did not seem at all real—rather, some last vestige of her dreaming.

  “I hope that you slept well, my lady,” Lord Humphrey said stiltedly. He mentally cursed himself for his banality. He could not imagine what had come over him, he who was known for his civil tongue and ease of manner.

  “Very well, thank you, my lord.”

  Joan stared at the viscount, who appeared to her inexperienced eyes as elegant and unruffled as if he had just stepped out from under the hands of his valet. His coat was of an excellent cut across his broad shoulders, his shirt was dazzling white beneath his waistcoat, and his buckskin trousers fit tightly about his muscular thighs before smoothing into the tops of his boots. If there were a few creases in the viscount’s coat, if his cravat was a little rumpled from its repeated tying, she did not discern it.

  Joan put a nervous hand up to smooth her hair. She felt frumpish. Her gown was wrinkled from the day before, and though she had washed her face and hands and combed her hair before emerging from the bedroom, she felt unkempt and ungainly, and as unlike a new bride as it was possible to feel.

  They stared at each other for another lengthened moment. Then Lord Humphrey’s ingrained good manners at last took over. He held out his hand to her. “Allow me to seat you, my lady.”

  She shyly put her fingers into his waiting hand. It seemed perfectly natural to accept his lordship’s informal handclasp even though before he had always offered his arm to her. Joan was beginning to understand that several barriers that had marked her position in the world were things of the past.

  Lord Humphrey escorted her the few steps to the table, which had already been laid for breakfast, and seated her. He noticed that she did not rely on his support as heavily as she had done the previous evening. As he took his own place across from her, he said, “How is your ankle this morning, my lady?”

  “It is much improved, my lord. The abigail wrapped it in wet clothes to reduce the swelling,” Joan said. She knew that he could not possibly be interested in such a mundane topic, not when there was so much other to be discussed. She placed her napkin in her lap, a frown pulling her slim brows togethe
r.

  “What is it, my lady? What is troubling you?”

  His quiet question startled her. She looked up quickly. He was regarding her with an alert expression in his fine eyes that she found somewhat disconcerting. The color rose in her face. “I did not know that I was so transparent,” she said.

  Lord Humphrey smiled slightly. “Perhaps my own doubts and uncertainties make you so, ma’am. We have taken a rather odd turn in the road, I think.”

  “Yes. That is it exactly,” Joan said, with some relief that he understood. She looked at him earnestly. “It seemed much the best thing to do, and yet this morning ... My lord, what are we to do now?”

  “Do, my lady? Why, we shall live out the remainder of our lives in a most companionable and respectable manner. Doubtless we shall have a number of progeny along the way and attend a ghastly number of social functions and generally live up to what is expected of us,” he said. He saw that she turned her head away from him and he was instantly ashamed of his own flippancy. “Dash it all,” he exclaimed under his breath.

  But she heard him. Her brown eyes rose quickly to his, then dropped again to her plate and the meager breakfast that she had served herself.

  Lord Humphrey pushed aside his own breakfast untasted, suddenly revolted by the ham and eggs and biscuits that not seconds ago he had been ravenous to taste.

  She gave a small jump at the sudden forceful movement and she sent another fleeting glance up at his face.

  The viscount sighed. “My dear ma’am, it was not my intention to sound so unfeeling. The truth of the matter is, I am very nearly at a standstill in this business. I do not regard the matter of our marriage itself as the stumbling block, but rather the speculation that must arise because of it. I want to get through the business as smoothly and painlessly as possible, but I do not yet see my way clear as to how it can be done.”

  “Scandal,” she breathed, and nodded. “Yes, I understand that. You have married a nobody, all of a sudden and without announcement, when probably everyone has been expecting you to come up to scratch for Miss Ratcliffe for ages. It will look very bad for you, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” agreed Lord Humphrey, regarding her with some sense of surprise. He had not expected her to grasp his unenviable position so readily, nor had he expected her to restrain her anxieties over her own predicament. But, then, perhaps she did not quite fully comprehend the difficulties and discomforts that she must certainly overcome before she was fully accepted as his legitimate wife, he thought. Voicing his reflections, he said, “I have done you nothing but ill turns since I first ran you down in that lane.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You talked a great deal of nonsense, of course, but one thing struck me as particularly penetrating.” She smiled, inviting him to share in her own gentle amusement. “I would not have made a very successful governess. I am too used to having my own freedoms and I fear the charges put upon me in such a situation would have tried my patience most unbearably.”

  “I am glad to have been of some service, at least,” he said, also smiling. But he as quickly sobered. “My lady ... Dash it all, would you object overmuch if I called you Joan? It is deuced awkward as it is without maintaining a false formality.”

  “Not at all, my lord,” Joan said, her heart picking up speed in that ridiculous way it had suddenly started.

  “Good. And I shall be Edward to you, if you please,” he said firmly. She inclined her head in acceptance and they shared another smile, this one more open than the one before. “Right. Since that is settled, we must now decide what our course shall be. I thought last night that I would simply take you back to my estates, accompanied by that dratted abigail, of course; but I see now that won’t quite do.”

  “Won’t it?”

  Lord Humphrey shook his head. “It would seem far more respectable if you were introduced to the household in a less shag-bag manner. The servants will talk regardless, of course, and will pass the tale to members of my parents’ household. I’d rather they talk about something else than your lack of baggage and whatnot.”

  “Oh, I see.” Joan bit her lip. She had not thought of that, though it had not been many minutes earlier that she had longed for a change of dress. “I must write the Percys about my clothes and belongings. I suppose that we could not remain here at the inn until my things arrive?”

  “Decidedly not,” said Lord Humphrey, aghast. “I do not intend to remain in this dismal place a moment longer than necessary.”

  “Well, then, we must go someplace else. I am open to suggestions, my lord, for I am left totally without family and I have no particularly close friends. At least, none that I would wish to trust to this imbroglio,” Joan said. She eyed him hopefully. “Surely you have someone that you may trust? A sister, perhaps, or—”

  “You have hit upon it, Joan,” exclaimed Lord Humphrey.

  He had noticed that she had not made use of his Christian name as he had bade her, but he thought he understood. He was himself experiencing difficulty in adjusting to his status as a married gentleman and the end of his bachelorhood. Already he felt the weight of his new responsibility. It would naturally take time for her to become comfortable with her own changed circumstances. Of course, he had the advantage of her in that he had been prepared that very weekend to wed in any event, he thought with irony.

  “I shall take you to my grandmother,” he said. “Blackhedge Manor is not far from here and I rather suspect that she will be most happy to take us under her wing. She is a wicked old woman, whose greatest pleasure is pricking the pretensions of others, I think.”

  “Shall I like her ladyship?” Joan asked, a faint smile curling her lips. The question that had most readily come to mind was whether the viscount’s grandmother would like her, but one could not ask that, of course.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suspect that you might. She is not given much to airs and talks most readily to nearly everyone. But you shall judge for yourself.” He spoke cheerfully and with a note of affection in his voice.

  Joan realized that he had a real regard for his grandmother, and that heartened her. She had not understood before how very bereft she was feeling. She had only the viscount’s goodwill to rely upon, to guide her and sustain her when she would meet his family, and possibly Miss Ratcliffe.

  She suspected that she would not be allowed to forgo the latter doubtful pleasure if matters were indeed as the viscount had related to her. She had gathered a fair notion of both Miss Ratcliffe’s physical attributes and her character from what the viscount had said of the lady: She was beautiful, arrogant, spoiled, and willful. Joan did not think that she would care for the lady and she knew with certainty that Miss Ratcliffe would despise her.

  Joan had also formed a guarded opinion about the Earl and Countess of Dewesbury. She hoped that the viscount’s inebriation and his natural depression had misled him in explaining his parents to her; otherwise, she had a shrewd notion that her own addition to the family would never be quite accepted.

  As for the viscount’s grandmother, she rather liked what his lordship had said about the lady. She was herself of a quiet and, on occasion, of a retiring nature. Joan had always admired the natural vivacity of others and what she regarded as the admirable quality of social polish. It was something that she had never had a true opportunity to develop.

  As the vicar’s daughter, she had naturally been invited to various neighborhood dinner parties and other social events, but she had always been of a small flock of young ladies and she had not thought that she had stood out in any way. It was for that reason that she had been astonished and humbled that the reigning beauty of the neighborhood had singled her out for particular attention.

  She had thought over the matter for some time before voicing her puzzlement to her father. “I do not understand why Clarissa seems so taken with my company, Papa. She is not near so friendly with the other girls as she is to me,” she had said.

  Her father had regarded her with a gentle smile in his eye
s. “My dear child, I wish that I could say with honesty that this friendship has come your way due solely to your admirable qualities. But I think you to be too intelligent to believe me.”

  Joan had sighed, for her father had but underscored her own suspicions. “Clarissa uses me for a foil and, I think, a diversion for those beaux that she does not wish to encourage.”

  “Yes, child, I fear that is so.”

  “But I do not mind it so very much,” she had said quickly. “I do have such fun when I am with her. Clarissa can dazzle and entertain everyone about her in such a way that I would be most sorry not to be one of her circle.”

  The vicar had frowned slightly. “I hope that you will not be terribly disappointed if her friendship for you proves fickle in the end, child.”

  She had jumped up and kissed him lightly on the top of his balding head as he sat in his favorite chair. “Oh, no, how could I be? I have my eyes open. And I have more faith in Clarissa’s good nature than you appear to have, dear Papa.”

  But Joan had been disappointed, and bitterly so. She had discovered that along with her father’s death had died her own small claims to gentle society. Without guardian, without dower or inheritance, she had become a charge upon the parish and hardly one whom a young lady of pretension wished for as a companion. Her friend Clarissa had made it plain in a not-so-subtle fashion that she was no longer the welcome companion that she had once been.

  Joan also discovered that her assumption that she would have any number of places to choose from in which to reside was false. The vicar had easily been a favorite among the county’s small society and Joan had expected to be able to remain in the neighborhood. She received kindness and sympathy from her father’s parishioners, but none had come forward to offer her a permanent place in their home.

  Times were difficult and the charge of a young woman, who was neither family nor servant, would be a burden on any household. Those whose minds the notion did cross were reluctant to voice their impulse, for once the offer was made, it could not possibly be withdrawn.