by Nikki Poppen
On her right sat Audrey St. ClairMaddox, who’d left her home in New York and risked her career as a pianist to become Camberly’s wife. On her left, Stella Carrington had risked everything in the opposite direction. She’d been born the daughter of an earl, destined from an early age to make an important marriage to another great house. Instead, she had given up her right to a title when she’d married Lionel, a rich American without one. There were those who thought she’d chosen poorly. But one could not doubt the rightness of her choice when one saw the obvious affection she and Lionel felt for one another. Those that supported Stella’s marriage were quick to remind the opposition that a daughter of an earl would always be a daughter of an earl no matter whom she married, and that their children would be the grandchildren of an earl regardless of their father’s antecedents.
Marianne knew it would not be easy for her as Alasdair’s countess. But the presence of Stella and Audrey reminded her that it could be done and that it was worth being done.
A starting gun went off and the boats on the line leapt to life, sails jerking to catch the wind. This would be the first of many races. The regatta lasted nearly a week and all types of boats would race by class.
Marianne put her binoculars to her eyes again to catch a last glimpse of Alasdair before the boat was lost to sight. The race was a long one and she didn’t expect to see the boat again until after lunch. Some of the yachts had posted themselves out farther in the water to trail the sailboats, but her group had opted to save that for another day. Today there was a market set up in town to take advantage of the presence of so many noble guests. They were going shopping. Marianne was looking forward to strolling the colorful booths with Audrey and Stella. Her parents and Lionel were staying behind.
Once the boats were lost to sight, the three women gathered up their parasols and reticules. The market was set up near the piers to catch the most foot traffic. The women admired the booths, pausing to buy a few small trinkets and souvenirs that commemorated the event. Marianne bought a program that resembled a playbill, listing all the boats, the races, and the dates of sailing.
Stella stopped at one booth to look at some Frenchmilled soap. The crowd was especially thick here, and Audrey and Marianne stood back a little way from the booth to avoid the brunt of it. That was when it happened.
A knot of men crashed through the crowd quite suddenly, reeling as if drunk. Marianne saw Audrey step out of the way, but one of them ran into her anyway, causing her to stagger backward. Audrey might have fallen if a passing gentleman hadn’t stopped to catch her. Marianne had been about to dart forward, toward her friend, when she felt something hard jab into her side.
That was when she realized that the reeling group of men now effectively obscured Audrey from her sight. If she couldn’t see Audrey, then Audrey couldn’t see her.
“Come with me, Miss Addison, so that no harm is done,” a low voice spoke roughly in her ear.
She twisted to look at the man but she did not recognize him. “No, you don’t know me. The boss wouldn’t be that stupid, miss” The man jabbed the hard object into her ribs again. “Come along”
Marianne drew a deep steadying breath. The hard object felt like the barrel of a small gun. She knew a moment’s panic as her mind tried to focus on the improbable: she was being marched out of the market, in plain sight of hundreds, by a man with a covert gun. She was being kidnapped and no one suspected a thing.
Her mind quickly ran over her options. Should she try his mettle and scream? Would he really shoot her, especially since he’d made it clear that he worked for someone else? Probably he wouldn’t shoot her, but she did worry that he might not hesitate to shoot someone else who attempted to come to her aid.
Her captor roughly pushed her along the emptier side streets. Marianne focused on remembering directions as they twisted away from the narrow High Street that defined the main part of town.
“You can look all you like, miss,” the man said gruffly. “The boss won’t be keeping you here long enough for it to matter.”
Marianne’s spirits sank. That explained why there hadn’t been an attempt to blindfold her once they’d cleared the crowd. The good news was that at least no one was planning on killing her, just moving her. She should be thankful.
They reached a doorway in a decrepit-looking building and he shoved her inside. The interior stank of mildew, mold, and other smells Marianne didn’t care to put a name to. Perhaps it was better for those scents to go unrecognized.
“Come in, my dear.” A man stood at the shuttered window where the only pieces of furniture in the room were placed: a rickety table and two equally rickety chairs.
The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Marianne let her eyes adjust to the dim room. “Have a seat, Miss Addison. The chair’s clean even if it looks a bit unstable. I promise it won’t collapse.”
Marianne stepped near the table simply to get a closer look at the man. A frisson of fear shot through her as she recognized his features. Lord Brantley. He had never seemed particularly wholesome to her even in the best of lights the few times she’d seen him, but today in the grim interior of this room, he appeared positively evil. A sneer marked his face as he swept her a mockingly gallant bow, his eyes cold with calculation.
“No one saw you, I trust?” he asked his henchman.
The man gave a malevolent grin. “No, it worked just like you said, boss”
“Very good. That means we have plenty of time to discuss your situation, Miss Addison.”
Marianne said nothing as he sat down across from her, spearing her with a gaze that made her skin crawl, his intentions obvious and revolting.
“I hear congratulations are in order on your forthcoming nuptials. I am glad to say that those will proceed, but perhaps your groom will be … a bit changed. Of course, that’s all up to you.
“I have a boat waiting for us in a quiet cove where we won’t be detected by the racers. That boat will convey us to Ryde, a small village down the coast where we can be married later today. I have a special license of course”
Marianne met his gaze steadily, steeling herself not to flinch at his proposition. “Why would I marry you when I have a perfectly good groom of my own picked out?”
“I am assuming you would prefer Pennington to live, or have I misjudged your affections?” Brantley inquired with an air of feigned innocence. “It’s very simple, my dear. I have men waiting for Pennington when he returns to port. They have been instructed to either see to his demise or to deliver the message that you have chosen another. Which will it be?”
“You know very well that you’ve offered me no choice at all,” Marianne returned coldly. All she could buy herself and Alasdair was time. She had no misguided naivete causing her to believe that her decision would avert the potential for bloodshed. Brantley was mad with revenge; she could see it in the intensity of his cold eyes. Her choice could merely prevent Alasdair from being taken unawares. At least now, he would be prepared and forewarned about the intentions of his foe. But a fight was coming-it was inevitable.
Alasdair jumped down to the pier and threw the last mooring rope, firmly anchoring their schooner to the dock. Camberly clambered down behind him, slapping him on the back. “Good sailing today”
“Second isn’t too bad. At least the Kaiser finished third. That’ll keep Bertie happy for another year,” Alasdair joked. “Those American boats are getting faster every year. The boat that beat us picked up the wind like nothing I’ve ever seen”
They walked to the Addison boat in good humor, talking over the day’s race. Alasdair put a sudden hand on Camberly’s arms. “Wait, something seems odd” They both stopped and studied the deck of the yacht.
“They should be outside, watching for us. The boat appears empty” A quick lurch of fear spurred Alasdair on. Marianne should be waving a flag-she should have been on deck cheering him on as he came into port. He took the steps two at a time, Camberly close behind.
They found the gro
up gathered inside the cabin. Audrey rose and came to them immediately, her face chalky. “Marianne is gone. I fear it’s a kidnapping. She disappeared in the marketplace”
Alasdair sat down hard in the closest chair. “Brantley is behind this.” He regretted his choice of means to expose Brantley’s blackmail. Instead of thwarting Brantley and destroying the rest of his ammunition, Alasdair felt he’d merely provided tinder to start a bigger fire. Now Marianne was at physical risk. She was somewhere alone with the bastard right now. He hoped she had the good sense to be scared instead of being bold and forthright. Brantley would not stand for that and it would make her lot worse.
Audrey related the events in the market, recounting the rowdy men that had separated them in the street. It definitely sounded planned. The act itself wasn’t all that complicated, but timing made all the difference. Brantley hadn’t needed an intricate plot because he’d known that Alasdair would be out to sea all day. Alasdair had no idea where to track them. Was Brantley hiding out in the city somewhere, waiting for the crowds to die down before he risked leaving Cowes with her? Had he slipped out of town already? If so, it would have had to be by boat. The Isle of Wight was a literal island. If by boat, which way had they gone? Had he headed back to England or had he headed through the Channel for France? Worse, perhaps he’d gone by land, deeper into the countryside of the isle?
Alasdair and the others talked through the grim options. He wanted to discard the last notion, that Brantley had taken her inland, but Camberly was hesitant. “Before we can discard any alternatives, we need to think about what Brantley’s goals are.”
“He wants to win that blasted wager at White’s by disgracing her, but even more than that, he wants to get back at me for stealing what he felt was his heiress,” Alasdair said dully.
A knock sounded on the cabin door. One of the deckhands entered. “An invitation has arrived” He passed a salver to Camberly, who was closest to the door.
“An invitation? How odd,” Stella said curiously.
Camberly opened it and passed it Alasdair. “Not so odd, considering the circumstances.”
Alasdair grimaced. “It seems we are invited to a wedding in Ryde. We have our answer. He means to marry her.”
“He’s even given us a time for the ceremony,” Camberly pointed out. “He means to marry her and he means for you to see him do it.”
Alasdair swallowed hard. The implication of the invitation wasn’t lost on him. “Get a map. How far is Ryde?”
Lionel produced a map and spread it on the table. Alasdair made a quick calculation. “It will be quicker to sail down the coast than to go overland.”
“The winds are coming up-we noticed it the last leg of the race,” Camberly cautioned.
Alasdair shook his head. “I know, but we’ll never get there in time by land and it would mean having to find horses to rent in a crowded town. It’s got to be the boat”
Even with the wind picking up, the Addisons’ steamer would make good time, he told himself. The Addison boat had all the latest advancements available. This boat was their best chance to rescue Marianne. The alternative was unfathomable.
“Do you think the guests will make it?” Brantley asked under the veneer of polite conversation. He flipped open his pocket watch. “Twenty minutes to go, my dear.” They sat in the front pews of a rustic church in the village of Ryde, having made the journey that afternoon in a boat.
Marianne said nothing. She continued to stare straight ahead and maintain her silence. Alasdair would come, but then what? He couldn’t very well bring any authorities with him. This was a private quarrel and it would be dealt with in a private manner. But would Alasdair come in time? Brantley had constantly reminded her that, guests or not, the wedding would take place. He’d even forced her to put on a frothy confection of a wedding dress he’d had on board the rented craft. The dress was cheap and clearly secondhand. Marianne could detect the smell of the previous owner’s stale perfume. Neither she nor Brantley smelled particularly fresh in their wedding attire. He reeked of old cigar smoke and Marianne missed the clean scent of Alasdair’s herbs and lavender.
The only time she’d spoken since their arrival in Ryde had been to protest her unwillingness to the vicar, who hadn’t taken her pleas seriously against the money Brantley had pressed in his palm.
“It will be better this way, my dear,” Brantley said. “You know next to nothing about being a countess. You’d never have been good enough-his mother would have seen to that” He let out an exaggerated breath. “You’re actually lucky to escape that harridan for a mother-in-law. My parents are both deceased, so there’s no one to bother you. You’ll find that I am easy to live with as long as I have money.”
He snapped open the watch again and Marianne fought the urge to look at the back door of the chapel. She would not let him see how unnerved she was becoming. “Five minutes. Close enough. I guess it will just be the two of us” He stood up and smoothed his trousers. “Perhaps he didn’t love you as much as you thought. It’s better to find out this way instead of after marrying him. At least with me, there are no illusions, no pretenses.”
The vicar took his place at the front of the church. “You have witnesses?”
“Yes,” Brantley said confidently. “I have my man there” He gestured to the man who’d removed Marianne from the marketplace, his gun still lodged inside his jacket where it had remained all afternoon as a form of subtle encouragement. Two others who had crewed the boat sat facing the back door, on alert in case the “guests” arrived.
Marianne rose and tried again: “Vicar, I do not wish to marry him.”
“Silence,” Brantley barked at her, his grip on her arm hurtful.
Marianne was bolder this time. “You can’t shoot me-there’s no money in it. There’s no one else to shoot here that I care about,” she railed. “Are you going to have your men shoot one another? They’ve been awful to me so go ahead-I won’t stop you. When Alasdair arrives there won’t be anyone for you to hide behind.” She knew a moment’s victory. There was nothing he could say to that.
“Start the ceremony, Vicar,” Brantley growled, one of his henchmen waving a gun when the vicar would have wavered, upon finally having discovered his conscience. While Marianne didn’t have a care over who was shot, he certainly did, especially when it came to his own head. The gun held plenty of influence for him.
Brantley yanked Marianne up to the altar steps, and whatever surreal quality the afternoon possessed evaporated. Fear came to her for the first time. She was going to end up married to Brantley. Alasdair wasn’t going to arrive in time.
“The short version please,” Brantley demanded, but she heard him only dimly because he was in the periphery of her thoughts. Her other thoughts were on Alasdair. At least he was alive. She’d done this to keep him from being shot down on the pier. She had no doubts that Brantley would have seen it done.
Soon it would be too late. The vicar had arrived at the moment when they exchanged their own pledges. Marianne refused. “I won’t do it. I won’t say the words.”
Brantley scoffed. “You might as well say them. You’re ruined already if it hasn’t escaped your attention. You’ve been alone with a man, a man with whom you’ve eloped. You will not be able to go back and reclaim your reputation after you’ve been with me. There would always be doubt” It was the meanest thing he’d said to her all afternoon. From telling her how unsuitable she was to be a countess, to how likely it was that she would fail miserably to please Alasdair, this was the meanest by far.
“Perhaps he knows it already and that is why he hasn’t come,” Brantley hissed. “I can always have him shot. It doesn’t have to be today. But you can save him, dear. He will be my wedding gift to you.”
“I can think of a better wedding gift.” A familiar voice came from the back of the church. Marianne knew an achingly sweet relief. She turned to see Alasdair, and Camberly, and Lionel, and a few men she didn’t know crowding the small church, weap
ons pointed at the two men who had been acting as guards.
Alasdair advanced on Brantley, anger emanating from every pore. Marianne made a surreptitious move away from Brantley, but she wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed for her and pulled her close, finding a small gun of his own in his coat pocket.
“Stay where you are, Pennington. She’s my hostage, my surety for my freedom. She comes with me. I’ll release her when I am in France”
“No,” Alasdair answered evenly. “Your surety is that she is released to me and you may get on your boat and sail to France never to return. I have it on good authority from the prince himself that those are the best odds you’ll see for some time. You’re not welcome in England anymore.”
Marianne could feel Brantley weighing the options available to him. She could feel his resignation, the tenseness of his body easing as he let her go, giving her a vicious thrust toward Alasdair.
A cry erupted from the back. “Get down! He’s going to shoot!” It was Lionel. Marianne reacted immediately, feeling Alasdair on top of her, covering her protectively with his large form. A gun fired, sounding more like a cannon from somewhere in the tiny church. Marianne heard herself scream. Alasdair pressed down on her more firmly, giving her his strength.
“It’s all right,” Lionel called out, waving his long rifle. “I’ve only clipped him.”
Marianne felt Alasdair lift himself off her. “Are you all right?” He helped her gain her feet.
She was shaking now, realizing how close it had all come to being over. “I think so” But she took the opportunity to sink back into Alasdair’s strong embrace.
Lionel strode with Camberly to the front of the church where Brantley clutched his shoulder. “We’ll see to him and get him escorted to the boat. The others will disperse the rabble.” Lionel jerked his Winchester at the hired men.
Marianne let Alasdair guide her from the church. “You came,” Marianne said simply.
