The Bashful Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  Could picture a lifetime of that.

  She trembled, half wanting to snuggle closer. “When my father figures out what has occurred, he will give chase.”

  “Then let’s hope he doesn’t figure out things for a good while. Our destination and marriage are days away. This phaeton will only go so fast, but we’ll make it. We will.”

  She closed her eyes and hoped he’d speak a little more. His voice outweighed the growing fear of her father’s wrath. One thing was worse than not eloping, that was being caught in the middle, with no marriage and no hope of stopping one’s name from being forever linked to scandal.

  Chapter Seven

  REGRETS AND CHANCES

  The phaeton moved steadily along White Chapel Road heading to Gracechurch Street, the easiest route of escape from Nineteen Fournier, but close enough to turn back around. His bride-to-be looked like she was ready to leap off or grow sick. He reached a hand out to her, and she startled. “Are you all right, Miss Croome?”

  “Yes. I just don’t believe…I did it.”

  He took his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her again. Fashionable bonnet, expensive gown, revealing a figure that was pleasing…very pleasing.

  Pity she was hiding under a billowing shawl.

  More of a pity was the sad expression gracing her face. Her gaze was that of a lost rabbit, and he felt unsure of his plans again. “I can turn the phaeton around, Miss Croome. I don’t want you doing something you’re not ready for.”

  She fiddled with her gloves. “Of course, I’m ready. Would I have leaped into your arms if I wasn’t?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know you well, Miss Croome, but I want to know you better. I’d love to know you better.”

  By the time they hit Gracechurch Street, street lighting had become more prevalent. The scattering of lamps brightened the farther they went from her neighborhood, probably highlighting the transition from coal-fired posts to gas. Yet, nothing matched the glow of the torches the link boys had lit around Nineteen Fournier. It could have easily rivaled what they had outside Covent Garden or The Theatre Royal the night of a play.

  The Croome townhouse had seemed quite large, larger than he’d expected. The house could’ve easily been located in Mayfair, like the ball he’d accompanied the countess to after his first run as Romeo in Romeo and Juliet.

  He hadn’t expected that the Croomes were that well-off. “You said you were the fabric princess. My lifestyle will seem very meager compared to your family’s, Miss Croome.”

  “Is your life happy, Bex? That’s what I want.”

  Another point for Miss Croome, but did she truly understand the differences in their stations? Unease rolled again in his gut. He pulled on the reins, slowing the horses. “Do your parents give parties often?”

  “Yes, every few months. This is the second since the king’s passing. It was so strange to see the dark armbands, and so many dark colored and gray gowns at the first one. It was good to see people in a little more color again.”

  She liked parties? Half a point deduction. Absent everything else, he’d just run off with a rich girl, one who might hate his little life. His stomach soured at the thought of her reacting like the countess, sneering at the gifts he bought, belittling his offerings—the pearls not big enough, perfume not fine enough, clothes not created by the right mantua-maker. Hard-earned money wasted had proven difficult for a frugal man.

  He adjusted his hold on the reins, again slowing the horses. “Many think the life of an actor is wild, with extravagance every night. I don’t live like that.”

  She didn’t look up at him. Maybe her glove was more interesting.

  “Mama likes her parties.” Miss Croome’s voice, low-toned and sweet, rose. “Papa likes to be showy. He even hired more servants, just to make the evening seem bigger. I don’t think it necessary, but it makes them happy.”

  He needed to make things clear before they left London so his fiancée wouldn’t react like the countess. “Miss Croome, I have no servants. My household is just me.”

  “Not one?”

  Full point deduction. His gut soured more. “Not even a man-of-all-work.”

  “Oh.”

  She might not mind his profession, but maybe she did not understand his lack of a fortune. His reservations slammed his middle like opening night, except with sledgehammers in place of butterflies. He swiped at his chin. “Miss Croome, we don’t have to do this. I could return you to the party that you left. You could walk back in through the front door. It’s only been about thirty minutes of travel.”

  Fumbling with her folded hands, she shifted her gloved fingers in her lap. “No. That wouldn’t do. Mama might not have cut into her cake. I won’t have eyes on me, ruining her moment.”

  “It’s a poor beginning if you can’t look at me when I’m telling you I understand my situation might be a little less than you bargained.”

  She wrapped her arms about her, further obscuring the outline he’d admired. “Bex, I’m a shy person. And I’ve never done anything like this. And the shame I’ll cause my family, if… I’ve never, ever done something like this.”

  Shame was a terrible thing, a stain that wouldn’t go away, like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth’s stained hands. He needed to make Miss Croome laugh. He needed to laugh to not think about shame. “Well, this would be my first elopement, too, Miss Croome.”

  “I’ve never, ever gone against what my parents wanted. Never, Bex. I suppose it is different for men.”

  He tightened his hands on the reins. “My parents died when I was very young. But I had to go against my guardian once. It wasn’t easy.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Croome’s face fully. Half hidden by long lashes, shadowed topaz eyes reflected the sparkle of the gaslights. She liked him, but what would it cost for her to trust him? And what price was he comfortable paying?

  She spun in her seat as they approached a few of the warehouses lining Lower Thames Street. “Bex, this is Papa’s warehouse. Can you slop for a moment?”

  “We are supposed to be fleeing, Miss Croome. Are you changing your mind?”

  “This is it. The home I grew up in. I haven’t been back in years.” She leaned over, her hand atop his and tugged on the leather strap. “Please stop the carriage.”

  Curiosity outweighing caution, he stopped the phaeton in front of a large stone building with boarded-up windows. “Is it abandoned?”

  “No. Papa doesn’t like people looking in. I was born in the small rooms at the top. I lived here until age fifteen.”

  The way she said it, “until age fifteen” sounded wistful, but how could that be in this section of town? Wealthy folks didn’t stay here. Maybe she wasn’t a spoiled little rich girl. It felt wrong to be proceeding without knowing more. He leaped out, came to her side, and held a hand up to her. “Come down, Miss Croome. “

  “I just wanted to see it. We can keep going.”

  “You wanted to see this place until I came for you. Do I make you nervous, or are you having doubts? Maybe I’m having doubts too.”

  “What?” She took his hand and came down. The lady was small in height, coming up to the middle of his chest. “Bex, I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not a wealthy man, Miss Croome. I have rooms in Cheapside.”

  “You are allowed to lease in Cheapside? Papa couldn’t.”

  He knew what she meant. Her father’s means didn’t open all doors. His race surely kept many closed.

  Arthur fisted his hand. The injustice whipped through him. He knew a portion of what that felt like when his name, the one given to him at birth, made doors slam, made grown men curse that he’d been born. He forced his fingers to unclench and rubbed at his neck. “I live by actor benefit nights based on the success of my plays. I am a saver, very frugal, but even all my savings cannot compare to the home I took you from. Now you say you lived here above a warehouse. Are you ready to live this simply again, with no servants?”

  “Bex,
you don’t misunderstand. I love the house at Nineteen Fournier. I’m fond of Mrs. Fitterwall and Clancy, the best housekeeper and butler I’ve ever known. I love my frilly room with the softest linens, and the chance to have a warm bath with lilac soap anytime I want.” She pointed to the roof of the warehouse. “But I also loved living here. Life was simpler. It was honest. It was true.”

  She clasped his hand and took him to the door. “Papa has an office on the main level, but we lived in two rooms upstairs.”

  Compelled to look at her beginnings, he pried at the door, but it was locked. “There’s no entering here.” He slipped betwixt her and the doorway. “You liked living here.”

  “My parents worked hard and built a business. They fiercely loved and protected our family. My sister Ruth and I laughed so hard in our small room, peeking through the floorboards at the workers below. I miss those times, but I’m not afraid of building a new life with you, Bex.”

  Concerns starting to subside, he took her hand in his. Her shimmering cream gloves in his worn, tanned-leather ones looked different, but no different than if he’d taken the countess’s palm. “It’s good not to be afraid.”

  On the vacant street, he twirled her to the long horn sound of a barge sailing up the Thames. The air had that sour smell of waste, nothing like the freshness of the sea in Liverpool, yet the sounds of the boats—that was the noise he missed most—the noise he couldn’t quite forget. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Miss Croome. I want your trust.”

  He stopped when they walked under a streetlamp. “Did I mention how lovely you are, and how inappropriately dressed for travel?”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  She held his gaze as he unwrapped her shawl and saw the glitter of the silver, like angel wings, swirling above her light blue dress. “Very inappropriate. Very beautiful. I’m glad to dance with you under this streetlight.”

  She looked back toward the warehouse, then at him. “Life was simpler here. My family was whole. Yes, I’d love to live like that again in a house filled with honesty. We are both coming to this marriage with nothing to hide. That is what I am most thankful for.”

  At that moment, there was nothing he’d rather give, but he was hiding something so awful, it would ruin this marriage as much as it had ruined his life. “That’s an awfully big promise. I don’t know—”

  “Shhh.” She giggled. “I’ve been in love with your voice so long, but I need you to be quiet and listen. The Croomes didn’t always have money. I remember being hungry, but I also remember being happy. The fact you care enough to consider my feelings, speaks volumes about your character. I want to get to know you, Bex, and I want nothing more than to be a good wife to you. Have no doubts about that.”

  The shy girl had a palm upon his lapel, and it blew away his internal scoring. The street lighting on her face revealed a hint of snow-white teeth between plump lips that had become a great deal more fascinating. “Now, let’s continue, Mr. Bex. Help me back in the carriage.”

  He wanted to stay in that moment, examining her mouth a little longer, but that wasn’t wise. “We are supposed to be eloping. I guess we should continue.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her back to the platform.

  Again, he noticed she was firm in all the right places that his hands could attest to and not cross a boundary. “Yes, ma’am,” was all he could muster. His thoughts were divergent, dashing between failing her trust and what would it take to win her love, love beyond theater infatuation. “Let’s keep going.”

  Pushing his top hat down, he climbed aboard and sat beside her. His conscience wouldn’t let him make the horses go. He couldn’t be completely honest, so he put the reins down. “I think I should turn the phaeton around. You could tell your parents that we just took a drive by the river. They will be angered that we did so without a chaperone. Then perhaps they’ll allow me to court you the right way. We could take more time to get to know each other.”

  She took up the reins, put them in his hands, and kept her fingers on his, trying to force him to flick his wrist and make the phaeton move. “I can’t go back. People will see me returning with you. Unchaperoned. I’ll be shamed. My mama won’t be able to lift her head. No there’s no sneaking back into Nineteen Fournier. Let’s go, Bex. I’m ready for our new life.”

  Nothing would make his horses move without a firm hand. “Miss Croome, I’m not sure that you and I are ready. We haven’t been alone that long. We could—”

  “Then why did you come to Nineteen Fournier, Bex? If you’ve changed your mind, you didn’t have to arrive and raise my hopes. I didn’t have to risk my reputation for you to quit now.”

  “I came because I said I would. I am a man of my word.”

  She gripped his lapel and leaned up. “That is what I want. Not the money or the servants, but a man of his word. I want someone who I can count upon to be honest and faithful. So unless you have decided you can’t be that type of man for me, I suggest we head to Gretna, because I know I can be that type of woman for you.”

  “I like a brave woman, Miss Croome. I’m a little older, maybe a little wiser. We’ve reached the point of no turning back. There could be things that we learn of each other that will make you unhappy. I don’t want you ever to be unhappy about choosing me.”

  “Bex, you have changed your mind.” She released him and covered herself in her shawl. “You’re the famous Arthur Bex. You’ve decided you are not interested in marrying me, a Blackamoor bride. I’m not a desperate woman. There are easier marriages. One of the same race as you would be easier for you.”

  That was what she thought the hesitation was. Yes, he was white, and she wasn’t, but she was also pure and devoid of scandal. He wasn’t. His uncle had done so many atrocities to people who looked like her, but he couldn’t risk saying it aloud.

  He bent and lit the small lantern and held it up to his face. “Ester Croome, I want to marry you, but I can tell you are the type of woman who is used to more and deserves more. I want you to be happy with your choice—that is all. He put the lamp on the seat and slipped a glove off, then put his bare hand upon her face. The glow of the light exposed tears which he flicked away. “There’s nothing about you that is deterring me, only my wish to be assured that this is the best path for you.”

  “You are the best, Bex. I know that more than ever because you are so caring about me—a stranger.” She put her moist lips together and blew out the lantern. “Now drive us. Let’s get as far from the past as possible. I want our future.”

  Being away from the past was what he’d become good at. Maybe his secrets would stay buried, and he could live his life with a woman who seemed to believe only the good about him. With a nod, he pulled on the reins and started the horses moving. “The rest was good for the horse team. I think I can get them to a greater speed. I want to be far from the past, too. You can be brave when you want to be, Miss Croome. I see that.”

  “When I have to, Bex, when I have to.”

  He could feel her smiling at him, but he couldn’t turn and confirm. He couldn’t risk Miss Croome guessing he wasn’t being fully honest. Marrying her would finally be a way to close off his past, to have a new family. They just had to make it to Gretna without being caught.

  …

  When she felt the phaeton move at a faster speed, Ester took an easier breath. If Bex had sought to measure her resolve, he must have found it sufficient. It was good to know that he felt strongly enough about her welfare that he refused to leave without assurances.

  Having no servants did frighten her a little, more than she’d let on. Her hair could be very temperamental to style, easy to tangle, because it wasn’t straight like her mother’s locks. Yet, Mama had made due for years without Clancy and Mrs. Fitterwall. Surely Ester could.

  And she was scared of being caught and being shamed as a woman of loose morals. Frederica was flighty but respectable, and folks still always talked about her.

  No. No getting caught. No shame
. Just a marriage to the man of her dreams.

  Ester looked at Bex, so big and tall in his seat. His shadowed profile seemed so filled with fortitude. Maybe someday, he’d be as sure about Ester as she was about him.

  Yes, she had no doubts. He had come for her on time and had caught her in his big strong arms, the same strong arms that seemed as if they wanted to embrace her for a kiss under the streetlamp. Did Bex want to kiss her? What would that be like?

  In an hour or two they made it beyond the city. The clear night sky showing above the trees showcased stars that twinkled like seed pearls in a fancy veil, like the one she’d drawn for Frederica. She patted her bag that sat near her feet, feeling the heavy board cover of her sketchbook. In the daylight, maybe she could work on a new dress, something special for her bonbon friend.

  “When do you think your parents will notice your absence, Miss Croome.”

  “It must be at least two in the morning. The party at my parents may have just ended. Papa will think I was pouting when I did not appear to stand by my mother to cut her cake. Seeing me absent probably made Papa furious. Good.”

  “Hmm. You want him to be more furious?”

  She didn’t want to tell Bex all the sordid details, but she had to say something. “He disappointed me most cruelly with his deceit and then arranged a marriage without my consent.”

  “So, I’ll be your first act of revenge? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Is it so wrong to expect your father to be honest and true?”

  Bex cleared his throat as he turned onto a darker path. “No, that is reasonable. I didn’t have to worry too much about that. My father was a vicar, and I think honesty was a requirement of the position.”

  “My butler, Clancy, might have assumed from my packed bag that I left with my friend, Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil. Maybe you and I will be wed before my parents discover I’ve run away.”

  Bex yawned, fully and loud. It was the third one he’d released, but this one he did not fight to hide. “We’ll stop soon to change horses. I hadn’t planned on eloping today. My schedule was a busy one. Perhaps, we can spend the night at a coaching inn. Then start again at first light.”