The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance)

by Anne Gracie

  Flynn found some rope and swiftly tied the man’s hands and feet. “What are you going to do with him?”

  Freddy gave a careless shrug, ignoring the pain as he did so. “We have several choices, but the best is that he will hang for bringing girls into England and selling them to a brothel against their will.”

  “Girls?” Max repeated.

  Freddy nodded. “Turns out it wasn’t the first time he’d played that filthy trick.” He turned to Flynn. “I suspect you’ll find a dozen other crimes he’s committed—certainly his expression when I first confronted him suggested he was expecting quite different accusations. I’m certain he’s been cheating you, Flynn. Check the records, talk to the crew—you’ll find all the evidence we need to hang him, I’m sure. Pity you can’t hang a man more than once.”

  “We could try,” Max growled.

  “It might be entertaining,” Flynn said with a cold smile.

  “It might,” Freddy agreed. “But I have it in mind to leave him to the tender mercies of British justice.”

  Max nodded. “Imprisonment, trial and hanging.”

  “Exactly.”

  At that point the door flew open again. Freddy stared. Lady Beatrice’s giant footman? What the hell was he doing here? Two slightly smaller but still large footmen in livery followed him in. The cabin was getting decidedly crowded.

  Max was the first to speak. “William? What is it?”

  William bowed. “Lady Beatrice’s compliments, m’lord, but she thought Mr. Monkton-Coombes might need some help.”

  “She what?” Freddy exclaimed. “How the devil could she possibly know that? She doesn’t even know I’m in London.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but Miss Damaris told her.”

  “Miss Damaris? But she’s in Devon, at Davenham Hall.”

  “I’m sorry to contradict you, sir, but her and Miss Abb—I mean, Lady Davenham”—he grinned at Max—“are with Lady Beatrice in Berkeley Square at this very moment.”

  “Good God, she must have traveled all night,” Freddy exclaimed. “She’ll be sick as a dog.”

  William continued, “Miss Damaris was in a devil of a state, sir, fretting about you being killed, but it looks like she needn’t have worr—”

  But Freddy had gone, closely followed by Max.

  William cast a knowledgeable eye over the unconscious Sloane. “Looks like we missed a first-rate mill,” he said wistfully. “Shame we arrived too late to help.”

  “You can help now,” Flynn told him. “Take this piece of rubbish to Bow Street with the compliments of Mr. Mon—no, with the compliments of Lord Davenham and myself—and tell them to hold him pending charges. Capital charges.”

  William grinned. “Very good, sir.”

  • • •

  “Wearing a hole in my parquetry floors won’t make him get here any sooner,” Lady Beatrice grumbled.

  “William left here an hour ago,” Damaris said, continuing to pace. “Something’s gone wrong, I just know it has.”

  At that moment the front doorbell rang. Damaris flew down the stairs and reached the last step as Freddy stepped inside.

  And, oh, the state of him. His face was covered in rising bruises, scrapes and cuts; his nose looked crooked, with dried blood still crusting it; and one eye was purple and so swollen that it was the barest slit.

  He took a few limping steps forward, gave her a lopsided grin and opened his arms.

  She flew into his embrace. “Oh, Freddy, Freddy, I’ve been so worried. I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. You shouldn’t have gone after him, and, oh, look how he’s hurt you. Are you very badly injured? Should we get a doctor?” She examined his injuries worriedly. “Oh, your eye, it looks so painful. What can I do? Oh, you foolish, foolish man, going after him. I tried to find you, to stop you, but I couldn’t find the docks. I’ve been almost out of my mind with worry. I thought he’d kill you! I was certain of it. I thought I’d lost you forever.” And she burst into tears.

  “Hush, hush, my poor girl, I’m perfectly all right, as you can see.” He bent to kiss her then pulled back as his split lip started to bleed again. “Oops, sorry.”

  “Your poor, poor face.” She blotted the blood gently with a handkerchief. “Does it hurt dreadfully?”

  “Have I lost my good looks, then?” He tried to grin and winced instead.

  “It’s nothing to joke about,” she told him severely. “You could have been killed.” She felt sick just thinking about it.

  She wanted to hug him and smother him with kisses. She also wanted to strangle him, standing there with that foolish crooked grin, so battered and so cocky. And so beautiful and dear.

  “Freddy Monkton-Coombes, while I’m delighted to see you in one piece—or as near as—if you’re going to bleed, you can do it in private and not all over my front hall,” Lady Beatrice said dryly. “Featherby, put our battered friend in the green bedchamber; provide my niece with hot water, bandages, unguents and whatever else she requires and then leave them alone to get on with it.”

  “You could have phrased that better, Aunt Bea,” said Max, who had entered more quietly, but to no less of a welcome from Abby. “Get on with it?”

  “Good day to you, Max. I am glad to see you at least don’t look like an escapee from the morgue. As for getting on with it,” she added with a mischievous gleam, “I phrase things as I see them. Now, come up here and tell me about your honeymoon. Featherby, bring champagne to the drawing room.” She glanced again at Freddy, limping slowly up the stairs with Damaris wedged under his armpit, helping him. “Mr. Monkton-Coombes will have brandy.”

  “Thank you, Lady Beatrice,” Freddy murmured as he passed her on the stairs. He winked at the old lady and she gave him a brisk, approving nod in return.

  • • •

  The bed in the green bedchamber was wide and soft. Damaris helped Freddy to it. He gave a little sigh of relief as he sank onto it. Damaris sat with him. She couldn’t seem to stop touching him, to assure herself he was alive. Safe. Battered, but safe.

  Featherby supervised as a series of maids brought hot water, bowls, cloths, bandages and every kind of plaster known to man. He poured them each a brandy, leaving the decanter on a tray beside the bed. Freddy sipped it gingerly, wincing slightly as the liquor stung his cut lip.

  “Will that be all, miss?”

  “Thank you, Featherby,” Damaris said, and the butler left, closing the door carefully behind him.

  “Thank God,” Freddy said, and with a groan he sank sideways on the bed, taking Damaris down with him.

  “Are your injuries very bad? Should I fetch a doctor?”

  “No, I just need some tender loving care.” He slipped a hand behind her neck and very carefully kissed her. “Mmm, you taste of ginger.”

  She eased back. “Sorry, I chewed rather a lot of it on the way here.” She wanted to rain kisses all over him, but she feared hurting him.

  “So it’s true? You came in Max’s traveling carriage?” She nodded and his arm tightened around her. “You foolish girl, whatever possessed you to come all that way in a closed carriage? You must have felt wretched.”

  “I felt wretched because I was worried sick about you,” she retorted. “What madness possessed you to go after Sloane, Freddy?”

  “He needed to be dealt with.”

  “Yes, but not by you. Not like this.” She fetched the hot water, dipped a cloth in it and very gently started tending his injuries. He lay supine, watching her face as she fussed over him.

  “I beat him, you know,” he said after a while. “Beat him in a fair fight—as fair as a swine like that could understand. Gave him the thrashing he deserved.” He closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face.

  “You shouldn’t have even tried,” she told him, trying to sound severe, but failing, largely because there was a lump in her throat. Sla
ying dragons. Lady Beatrice was right. “What if you’d been killed?”

  He gave a slow half smile. “This”—he indicated his face with a vague gesture—“is nothing to what he looks like. He’s in prison now. Won’t ever bother you again. So now you can marry me.”

  She took a deep breath. “Are you sure, Freddy?”

  One bright blue eye opened. The other tried to open and failed. “What do you mean, am I sure?”

  She moistened her lips anxiously. “You don’t have to marry me.”

  He frowned. “Don’t I?”

  She swallowed. Have faith, Damaris. “I made a promise to God, you see, on the way here in the carriage. I promised that if He kept you safe, I would give you up.”

  He sat up and stared at her a moment, glaring at her out of his one good eye. “Well, what sort of a stupid promise was that? What if I don’t want to be given up, dammit? Promise to God.” He snorted. “No wonder I’m a Buddhist.”

  “You are not.”

  “I swear I will be if you keep making stupid promises to God.”

  She thought of the fight he’d just had, how he must have felt meeting Captain Sloane, knowing what she’d done with him in that very cabin. “Are you certain, Freddy? You could marry anyone you wanted. Any fresh young society girl. Untouched. Pure.”

  He gripped her by the shoulders. “I don’t want a fresh young society girl. I want a wife who is also my friend as well as my lover, a woman who has already been tested by life and is the stronger and more admirable for it, strong and good and pure—”

  “Pure?” she choked out.

  “Yes, pure. Pure of heart. A girl with a heart that is pure and untouched.”

  She looked away, blinking back tears.

  He captured her hands in his. His voice deepened. “Or perhaps your heart has been a little touched, dare I hope, by a worthless fellow who knows a gentleman should never press a lady, but who can’t help it.”

  “Can’t help what?” she whispered.

  “Hoping that you care for me. Praying, actually.”

  There was a long silence. She met his gaze for just a moment, but though her eyes shimmered with tears he saw something that made him catch his breath.

  “Of course I care for you, you foolish, wonderful man. More than care for you. I love you.”

  His pulse leaped and he caught her to him. “I’ve been seven different kinds of fool not to tell you sooner, haven’t I?”

  “Tell me what?” She shouldn’t care; she knew he’d gone out to slay dragons for her, that he’d shown it to her in so many ways. But she wanted the words, ached for the words.

  He stared at her in surprise, then gave a short laugh. “Ridiculous, isn’t it, that I am so skilled in the many ways of making love, and yet when it comes to the real thing—the one, true thing—I am a bumbling fool. I suppose because it matters so much.”

  “The one, true thing?” she breathed.

  He gave her a rueful look. “And here I am blabbering on, drowning you with hundreds of words when I only need three.”

  She trembled in his arms as she waited, breathless. Have faith, Damaris, have faith.

  And then he gave her the words she had so longed to hear. “I love you, Damaris Tait, Damaris Chance, Damaris-by-any-other-name-will-smell-as-sweet. And I want to marry you, and be your husband, your lover, your friend, and the father of your children. And that’s the reason—the only reason—I want to marry you. Because I love you.” He kissed her, and then couldn’t help saying it again, because suddenly it was so easy to say—“I love you, Damaris. So marry me and make me the happiest of men.”

  “Oh, yes, Freddy, yes.” And as she kissed him, he rolled her slowly back into the bed, the better to demonstrate his love.

  • • •

  “Well?” Lady Beatrice asked softly.

  Featherby nodded. “They’re asleep on the bed, m’lady.”

  “Good, toss a blanket over them and let them sleep. They’re both worn out. Apart from all the drama, with all this dashing about the country, neither one of them will have slept in days.” The old lady grinned. “And then they’ll be thoroughly compromised—under my roof—so let them try to wriggle out of that! I’ve had enough of their foolish shilly-shallying. If ever two people were made for each other . . .” She snorted as she stumped away on her cane.

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.”

  —JANE AUSTEN, PERSUASION

  Freddy paced restlessly about the room, picking things up and putting them down. “I suppose it has to come to us all, in the end—getting married, I mean.”

  “Mm-hm.” Max finished tying his neck cloth.

  “The old ball and chain.”

  “That’s right.” Max gave the neck cloth arrangement a critical look.

  “Never thought it would happen to me.” Freddy picked up a ruby tiepin and perused it.

  “But you changed your mind.”

  “No, fate intervened, in the form of a flood that stranded us for two nights alone. After that, of course, I had to marry the girl.”

  “Naturally, you being the soul of honor in such matters,” Max agreed sardonically.

  “Well, yes, I—” Freddy broke off, frowning. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

  “That’s right.” Max carefully inserted a ruby pin in one of the folds of his neck cloth. “You’re a fraud, Monkton-Coombes.”

  “A fraud?” Freddy repeated with as much indignation as he could muster.

  “Mm-hm.” Max adjusted the pin. “You can’t wait to get married.”

  Freddy tried but failed to keep the smile from his face.

  Max saw it and nodded. “Thought so. You fell for her the first time you saw her, that day I tricked you into entering Aunt Bea’s drawing room. You stood there staring for fully half a minute, your jaw hanging.”

  “Can you blame me? There she was, sitting on a chaise longue, looking at me with those big brown eyes.” Freddy sighed.

  “Who, my aunt?”

  “Damaris, you fool. And bang!”

  “The coup de foudre?”

  “The coup de foudre,” Freddy agreed. “Never believed in it until then. But one glance and I was done for.”

  “For a long time I thought you were avoiding the girl for all you were worth.”

  “A man has his dignity,” Freddy said obscurely. “Took me the devil’s own cunning to reel her in, I should say. You have no idea of the stratagems I had to resort to, the places I had to go. Potteries!”

  Max, in the process of donning his coat, slewed around to stare. “Potteries?”

  “Potteries,” Freddy affirmed. “Damaris is the stubbornest little creature.”

  Max decided not to pursue the pottery question. “But you got her in the end.”

  “I did,” Freddy said with satisfaction. He looked at Max and frowned. “Or I will, as soon as you’ve finished primping in front of that looking glass. Dammit, Max, I don’t want to be late for my own wedding. Can’t you dress any faster?”

  • • •

  “Oh, Daisy, it’s beautiful.” Damaris gazed, misty eyed, into the looking glass. Abby, Jane, Daisy and Lady Beatrice and several maids were gathered in Damaris’s bedchamber, helping Damaris dress for her wedding.

  Freddy had applied for a special license the day after he’d fought the captain, and had it not been for Lady Beatrice’s interference, he would have married Damaris a bare three days later.

  Lady Beatrice had pointed out the flaw in that plan with an acid tongue. “By all means, if you wish to give the gossipmongers enough fodder to suggest it took a good thrashing to force you into wedlock, go ahead. I’m sure Damaris won’t mind being known as the female who finally t
rapped you.”

  As a tactic it was masterly. It was too close to the bone not to succeed.

  Nettled, Freddy had set the date for ten days hence and had taken himself out of town—he didn’t tell Damaris where—to wait impatiently for his injuries—the visible ones, at least—to heal.

  And now her wedding day had come.

  The dress Daisy had made for her was quite the loveliest dress Damaris had ever worn. Made of heavy cream silk, tied at the high waist with a blue satin ribbon, it flowed around her limbs like warm water, caressing them subtly.

  With a square-cut neck framing her face, it suited her, Damaris had to admit. And if it left quite a bit of her chest exposed, well, that was all the rage, and she had every intention of being as fashionable as Freddy.

  The trouble was . . .

  “Neck looks a bit bare,” Lady Beatrice said, frowning. “Dammit, I should have bought you some pearls or something. Or prompted Freddy to buy you pearls for your bride gift.”

  “But I love what he gave me,” Damaris said, picking up the cream silk velvet cloak Freddy had sent her three days earlier and rubbing her cheek against its thick softness. It was warm and elegant and luxuriant and ridiculously impractical, for which she loved it all the more. The hood was edged with soft white fur. For my lovely winter bride, to keep her warm when I can’t, his note had said.

  “Yes, yes, it’s very nice, but your neck is so bare.”

  “You could wear my necklace,” Abby said, reaching to undo the diamond and pearl necklace Max had given her for her bride gift.

  “No!” said four voices at the same time.

  “Your wedding necklace is special and just for you,” Damaris said firmly. “I don’t think my neck looks too bare at all. I think it shows off Daisy’s clever design beautifully.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door. “Come,” Lady Beatrice said.

  Featherby entered, carrying an oblong white leather box on a tray. He beamed at Damaris. “From Mr. Freddy.”

  There was a card attached. She took her time opening it. She wanted to savor every moment of this day. On the card was written in Freddy’s hand: I’m told this makes an auspicious gift for a very special bride.