The Bashful Bride

by Vanessa Riley

  Her heart thumped at the thought of staying alone with him unmarried. Being on the road, they had a mission to keep them focused. What would happen between them if they stopped? What if one of Papa’s business associates saw? What if they were caught? Ester would be shamed. “Can’t we go farther?”

  This time he stretched an arm. “I’ll try, but we are going to have to stop at some point.”

  “Bex, are you prepared for the difficulties we’ll face at coaching inns outside of London? Faces like mine are less seen. It could be more difficult to secure two rooms.” She emphasized the need for two rooms because they weren’t married yet, and he may not be fully aware of the issues presented with traveling together.

  “You don’t have to be alarmed. I intend to take two rooms until we are married.”

  She wanted to smile at him, but he stared ahead.

  “Miss Croome, there is a flint in my pocket. Can you get it and light the lantern? It’s going to get darker before we get to a coaching inn.”

  She did as he said but couldn’t find it.

  “My coat pocket, Miss Croome. I’ve no pockets at my thigh.”

  She lifted her hands as if they’d caught fire, and he laughed so hard the phaeton swerved.

  “You are a treasure, Miss Croome. Will you always be this nervous about me?” He reached into his jacket pocket and grabbed matchsticks and flint. “Here.”

  “Probably.”

  Taking them from his palm, she lifted the lantern from the floor and lit it.

  The light showed that Bex chuckled even as he yawned.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you stay awake. Can we recite lines?”

  Bex stuck his hand out to her. “That will only tire my voice. Would you mind pulling off this glove? My knuckles are starting to sting.”

  With great care, she slid the worn leather off his fingers. His hand seemed swollen; one knuckle looked cut. “What happened, Bex?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “Bex. Have you been in a fight?”

  “A small one.”

  Without a thought, she tucked his hurt hand against her chest, cradling it as if it were a babe. “Who did this? Are you much hurt?”

  He tugged at his hand but then stopped. He must have become resigned to let her keep it. “Well, your drunk came back to say a few more words to me after you left.”

  “He said something dreadful, and you decided to do more fisticuffs.”

  He leaned closer. “Miss Croome, you might want to be careful where you hold my hand. Your party gown has a thin lace up top, not enough to keep my fingers from wandering. You truly should have changed into something sturdier, particularly when you are concerned about two rooms.”

  Flinching from her thoughtlessness, she released him. “I brought a carriage dress, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

  His dark rich laughter surrounded her, and it took at least another minute before his hand moved. “It was a small fight. A few punches.”

  “You could have been hurt. Bex, those kinds of men don’t play fair.”

  “What do you mean, those kinds of people?”

  He didn’t know what he’d face with her as his wife. She folded her arms. “The loud ones, the ones who think it is their right to say whatever mean thing they think. Don’t they know we just want to be let alone?”

  Bex put a hand upon hers. “I won’t allow him to disrespect you, Miss Croome. And I’m not one to walk away from injustice. I’m big enough now… If I turn my eyes away, who will help? Who will make things right?”

  Could she admire the man more? What a pleasure it was to know that he wasn’t just handsome with a voice as sweet as honey, but he was kind and forthright—everything she ever wanted. “Making things right—is that why you are so passionate about abolition?”

  As if he was startled, his palm flew away, back to the reins. “Yes… Yes. If no one says anything, the practice will continue.”

  “Your voice, Bex, as lovely as it is—you think your lone arguments will be enough?”

  “It was enough for you, a prim and proper miss, to accompany a stranger at night on a long and dark road.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes, but it was probably too dark for him to see her displeasure. “It’s not as though I took off with a highwayman. Just London’s most famous actor.”

  “Well, some say the price of admission to the Covent Theatre is highway robbery.”

  “Bex, don’t even joke about that. Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil, she says it’s not safe on the road at night. She says highwaymen or thieves could lurk in the shadows.”

  “Things can be dangerous, but that is why I’m careful. I’m careful in London, too.”

  “You’re not being serious, Bex. I know of families whose loved ones never came home because they upset the wrong person. My uncle never came home, just his battered coat. He upset the wrong man. Abolition upsets a great number of people. Bex, why does it have to be you leading the fight?”

  “Because.” His voice lowered as he sat up straight, as if a hot poker had touched him. “It just is. We’ll keep going as long as we can, but why don’t you settle in. We’ll be at a coaching inn before you know it. I’ll get us two rooms. We aren’t married yet.”

  She’d upset him. When they’d stopped at the warehouse, it felt as if she’d passed some sort of test, but now she’d failed one. She didn’t care. His safety was important to her. She folded her arms about her. “Arthur Bex shouldn’t be engaging in common street fights, no matter what someone says about me. You’ll have to learn that. It’s what we all learn, even my father. It’s the price of the freedoms we do get to enjoy.”

  “It’s not right, Miss Croome, and I won’t allow anyone to disrespect my wife.”

  It was an admirable thought, but that was the difference between them. “You were born with no boundaries, and you have the right to question the world, even pound through doors. I don’t have that right. No one that looks like me does. And if we have children, the brown ones won’t be able to, either.”

  “It’s still wrong, but I do like that you’re thinking of our children.” His humor had returned, and his voice held a sultry tone, one that made the hair on her neck curl with anticipation.

  Adjusting her skirt about her slippers, she refused to be distracted by his charm. This was for his safety. “You know I speak the truth, Bex. Even Fitzwilliam-Cecil has to be more careful, and he’s the son of a peer.”

  “I know, Miss Croome, but I must do something to change the world. I owe it to you and those future children you don’t want to talk about.”

  He was teasing her, and she wanted to box his ears. Yet, she couldn’t help but admire his conviction. Nonetheless, words meant nothing in the face of brutes or bullets. Ester was better at holding her peace in public than in private. Bex probably never had to live so carefully. What if this was too much for him, having to learn to act not only on the stage, but in public with his Blackamoor wife?

  Chapter Eight

  ON THE ROAD AGAIN

  Arthur stormed out of the Bear Claw Inn. His hands shook but there was no one to punch. The innkeeper actually offered him some choice advice about bringing his fancy to his inn.

  A fancy.

  Referring to Miss Croome by the crude American term for an enslaved mistress. Miss Croome was no loose woman. She was enslaved by no one.

  He trudged to the stables where she waited on his phaeton as the horses were changed. Had he known about the prejudice of the innkeeper, he would’ve tried to make it farther and dusted the dirt of this place from his boots. How would he tell her?

  From the threshold of the stable, he saw her clutching her bag in her lap as if she feared it would be taken. He wiped his face with a handkerchief from his pocket. Injustice, complications, sharing bad news—all had a way of making him perspire.

  He walked to the phaeton. The glow of the stable lamp showed on her face. Her lips were pinched, her grip on the bag, deathlike. The girl sat in fear.
He didn’t need to wipe his brow anymore. That sense of injustice had turned to sadness. Time to act, acting for her benefit, so she’d know the world he was drawing her into would be safe. He’d make it that way for her. “Miss Croome. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

  Her eyes went wide as she looked up. “You look happy. Does that mean you rented two rooms without any problems? You were right. I’m fretful. I have to learn to trust more.”

  Wrenching at his neck, he took the reins from the groom and tossed him a coin, then climbed aboard.

  “What? We’re not staying?”

  A quick tug and a click of his tongue made the phaeton start to move. “No. We’re not. The place is subpar, and I began to think we’ve not made enough progress.”

  “But you were tired? You said we’d get a few hours of sleep then start fresh in the morning.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Bex?”

  Looking for an excuse other than the obvious, he scanned the sky. The scant bit of clouds seemed far, far away. “Red sky at night, a sailor’s delight.”

  “What Bex? What did you say?”

  “Nothing, just an old poem came into my head.” He wanted to punch at his skull for letting a kind thought about the man who had raised him after his parents died enter his head. His uncle had been a monster even if he had been nice to Arthur.

  He glanced at Miss Croome, prim and proper with her blue dress with its sheer netting. She was fancy, not a fancy, and not chattel, as his uncle and his ilk would claim.

  “Bex, I can tell you are trying to protect me, but if you can’t be honest with me about the inn, what type of marriage can we have?”

  She was right. Not just about the inn, but about his past. But how could he tell her now, miles from her home? What a lout he’d appear to be. So far from London, Miss Croome wouldn’t be able to be affronted, slap him silly, and leave him like the countess had done when she was mad. “I’d like more miles between us and Nineteen Fournier. Then you could catch a coach back to London if you feel we can’t make a good marriage.”

  Her lips became an O-shape. “I’m not changing my mind about us. I’m a little nervous. Since we stopped, I have the odd feeling we are being watched. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  He pushed the brim of his hat back a little. It felt weighty on his tired neck. “You must not be used to long travel.”

  “The Fitzwilliam-Cecils live outside of town. That is about as far as I typically go. And this trip will take us about two or more days? I’ve never been this far, not without Papa.”

  Her hand shook as she wrapped her arms around her bag, and she squeezed it tight like a found lost puppy.

  His gut twisted up. Didn’t she know he’d protect her with his life? No. Maybe she didn’t. “Miss Croome.” He made his voice deeper. “You have nothing to fear. You’re with me, my wife-to-be. No harm will find you.”

  Her grip didn’t loosen so she must not be convinced.

  “How long before we stop again?”

  He counted the hours on his fingers. “With fresh horses, we can go another four hours. It will be morning before we stop again.”

  “Morning? Did you want to make more progress because you think we are in danger of being caught or because the last coaching inn wouldn’t rent you rooms?”

  He nodded, not that she could see in the low light. “Yes, Miss Croome. I had trouble at the last inn. The keeper and I exchanged some choice words, but no rooms for us.”

  She didn’t respond.

  He heard nothing but the knocking of hooves.

  “You mean for me, Bex. No room for me.”

  Now it was Bex’s turn for silence, for what could he say to make it better? He’d been denied services, even humanity, because of his testimony against his uncle. Things hadn’t gotten better until he’d left Liverpool and changed his name. By wedding Arthur, Miss Croome’s name would change, but not her lovely face.

  “Travel outside of London is different.” Her voice was low and steady. “Very different, Bex.”

  “Nothing ever goes smoothly. I think you’ve led a bit of a sheltered life.”

  “You make that sound bad, Bex. It just means someone thought enough of me to protect me.”

  Their acquaintance, talking and sharing, was less than a day, but he already knew he wanted to banish her fears. He took her hand in his, felt the strong coursing of her blood within her pulse. “Well, now you have me to protect you. I’ll get you safely to Scotland.”

  “It’s possible we could be caught. Papa has a barouche with two teams. They are fast.”

  “Two pairs, aye. Miss Croome, not staying at a coaching inn is actually helping us. We’ll make it.”

  With her free hand, she drummed her nails on the seat, then offered a laugh. “They’ll be slowed checking every inn. They won’t know we were denied. Won’t catch us sleeping…in a bed? Maybe we won’t be caught. Maybe?”

  Her voice diminished, and it brought new humor to his tired lungs. “For a woman set on eloping at five past midnight, you seem very unsure of the success of our plans.” He yawned. “Would it be so wrong to be found in bed, our separate beds, sleeping?”

  “Yes. We are alone, unchaperoned. It will be hard for anyone to believe that an actor was respectful, or a prodigal daughter wasn’t promiscuous. Oh, maybe we should practice what we say when we are caught. We’ll have to convince them to not shoot you and to let us still marry.”

  “Shoot? What?”

  “Yes, Bex, we’ll need to have a convincing speech.”

  She avoided his question, but since there were many questions he wouldn’t talk about—such as his horrid connections—he didn’t press, but he wondered if she could withstand the scrutiny of their marriage by reporters like Phineas?

  Miss Croome sighed. “Papa has a temper. What if he shoots you, whether you’re sleeping in a bed or not? No speech will fix that.”

  “Being shot is sort of hard to fix.” Arthur didn’t like the fear he heard in her voice. His inability to convince the innkeeper of her humanity had shaken her faith. He slowed the horses, looking for a safe place to pull over. “We can’t go on like this.”

  “What are you doing, Bex? We have to keep going.”

  “No, we don’t. I can’t have a wife who is nervous of her shadow, one who’s not sure that I can protect her. Today, we had problems because of an ignorant innkeeper; tomorrow a milliner might abstain from making your prim bonnets. If you really think your father will shoot me because I won’t be able to convince him otherwise, then I won’t think any less of you if you decide we should turn back. It will be full daylight when I drop you at Nineteen Fournier.”

  She folded her arms. The drumming of her slipper grew louder. “I wouldn’t have you drop me there and shame my Mama, but at the Fitzwilliam-Cecil’s. That’s cowardly, but it would spare Mama some humiliation. She’s delicate, and my father would force my marriage to someone probably even worse than the Jordans. Bex, I don’t want to quit. We can’t stop now.”

  “We didn’t even try to get your parents’ approval, Miss Croome. I’d hate to be missing sleep right now when your parents could have been reasoned with.”

  “Papa wouldn’t accept you unless you had ships or something to add to his wealth.

  “Ships?” It was good that it was still dark. Maybe in the low lantern light, she’d miss Arthur choking on her words. He tugged off his remaining glove and swiped at his neck. “I don’t have ships.”

  “And Mama wouldn’t accept you at all because—”

  “Because what? Because I’m an actor?”

  Her voice lowered. “Because you’re not Blackamoor.”

  His race was a concern? Stunned, he almost dropped the reins. His profession and class, maybe, but never had he thought his skin would be an objection. Finding a safe spot on the side of the road, he stopped his phaeton. “So, an actor, who’s not one of you, has stolen the fabric princess. That is how you put it over tea. I’ve accomplished more than I thought.”

  “Don
’t be so smug. You’re not what my parents would expect, any more than I was what you expected when you saw the lilac in my palm—my olive palm. I know Miss Burghley’s advertisement did not mention race.”

  “You had on gloves, Miss Croome.”

  “You know what I mean, Bex.”

  “I was stunned at the reply being from a Blackamoor. My first thought was that you were part of an elaborate ploy, a Blackamoor and abolitionist. Very rich. When I discovered you were serious, I noted how charming you were, compared to the other advertisements I’d answered. Then I noted that glorious figure you keep trying to cover up. I am very attracted to you, despite our differences.”

  “You’re attracted to me?” She stopped fidgeting with her shawl and sat up straight. “You haven’t said that before.”

  She couldn’t tell that he was soundly entranced by her, and that made him like her more. “A modest, beautiful woman is a blessing as a wife. Let’s take a walk.”

  “But you said we need more distance.”

  He jumped down and came around to her side. “You need to stretch, too.” His outstretched hand remained lonely, so he shoved it to his side. “We should clear the air. Get a few things settled.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can’t do this with you still up there.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her up from the bench.

  Her arms scrambled about his neck as if she feared falling, but Arthur never let anything that he thought was his go away. The way she’d felt in his arms as she jumped to him from that window, and now with his palms encircling her waist, hers snug about his neck, he could easily think of Ester Croome as his. “I have you. You don’t have to be uneasy.”

  He lowered her to the ground but didn’t move his hands. She didn’t seem to mind, either, for she didn’t swat at his fingers as she had over tea at the White Horse Cellar Inn. “See. Much better. No stiff limbs.”

  “You are wonderfully tall.” She released him and stood directly under the lantern attached to his phaeton. The light shone in her toasty, topaz eyes.