Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  He kissed her again. “Tomorrow?”

  She laughed breathlessly at his eagerness. “I hardly see how! But as soon as it can be arranged, yes. Perhaps Mr. Grant could marry us.”

  “Perhaps,” Javan said, kissing her lips and then her forehead. “Perhaps. Good night, my love.”

  “Good night,” she said, so enchanted that she had to reach up and kiss him again.

  Her mother’s door further along the passage opened and Eliza looked out and saw them. Her mouth opened in shock.

  “Good night,” Caroline gasped and whisked herself inside her own room. As she leaned her back against the closed door, Marjorie and Rosa blinked at her in surprise. She could hear Javan’s soft laughter and his footsteps as he ran back downstairs, no doubt to join Richard in finishing off the brandy.

  *

  When she woke in the morning, her arm didn’t feel quite so sore, perhaps because she was so happy that she couldn’t stop smiling. She could still feel Javan’s kisses on her lips. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. Never, since the day she’d discovered Theo’s betrayal, had she expected to find this kind of happiness. And what she felt for Javan felt so much more than that ignorant, girlish love. More intense and overwhelming, as if she’d never stop falling and never wanted to. It was almost…frightening, because she couldn’t control it and yet, she was delighted to follow where it led.

  Marjorie insisted on her staying in bed to eat breakfast, which was no hardship since Peter and Rosa accompanied the maid with her breakfast tray. They sat on her bed while she ate, happily munching the pieces she allowed them. Rosa seemed to have found a new purpose in looking after the younger Peter, who gazed at her with awe a lot of the time.

  Smiling, Marjorie left Caroline at the children’s mercy and went downstairs to breakfast. Eliza wandered in a little later and also sat on the bed to tell her about her life in recent months, Peter’s illness, and her stay in Edinburgh.

  After a little, the restless children moved away, pointing and giggling at things they could see out of the window. Eventually, they ran off to play.

  “So,” Eliza said, fixing Caroline with a clear stare. “You and Mr. Javan Benedict. Your employer, Caroline. You are playing with fire.”

  “I know.”

  “You are the governess.” Eliza rammed the point home with genuine concern. “Caro, he will not care for you. He is a hard man and will simply break your heart and cast you aside. I could not bear that for you again.”

  She had never before admitted that her marriage had hurt Caroline. Once, this would have mattered a lot more. As it was, Caroline felt touched by her sister’s concern.

  “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “It isn’t as bad as it appears.”

  “Caro, you were kissing him!”

  “I know. But I’m going to marry him.”

  “Does he know?” Eliza asked cynically. “Because I don’t think much of anyone’s chances getting him to do anything he has not chosen!”

  “I believe he has.”

  Eliza’s eyes widened. “Truly?” she said doubtfully. “Have you told Mama this?”

  “No, there has been no time. But you are not hurrying home today, are you?”

  “I don’t know. Originally, we were coming to you on the other side of the border. It would be lovely to stay here for another day and night, but you know how money is.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Benedict intends to take care of all of that.”

  A frown puckered her brow. “Is he very wealthy?”

  “I don’t actually know,” Caroline said in surprise.

  Eliza laughed and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, Caro, you are ridiculous!”

  Eliza left when Marjorie returned to help her dress and pin her hair.

  “Not so severe today,” Marjorie suggested as Caroline brushed her hair back tightly as usual. “You’re not working, you know! More like you styled it for Lady Tamar’s rout.” She took the brush from Caroline, rolling and pinning her hair to her own satisfaction. “Much prettier. Although, to be sure, you always look lovely.”

  “I do?” Caroline said, startled.

  “If one cares to look,” Marjorie said vaguely. “Now, are you feeling strong enough? Shall we go down to the coffee room?”

  Caroline agreed to this plan. Her heart beat faster, only because of the possibility that Javan was already there. Just being with him made her happy.

  At the foot of the stairs, she encountered her mother, and Marjorie relinquished her, hurrying into the coffee room as if she had something important to do. It was sweet the way everyone seemed to assume she could not walk unaided. After all, it was her arm, not her leg, which had been injured.

  However, she was content to take her mother’s arm.

  “You’re looking very well,” her mother murmured as they walked together. “Despite all the excitement, to call it no worse. You are happy at Haven Hall?”

  Surprised by the anxiety in her mother’s voice, she smiled reassuringly. “Yes, I am. I own I was devastated to leave Braithwaite Castle, but somehow, Haven Hall, though much less…convenient, has become my home.” She squeezed her mother’s arm. “We have much to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do,” her mother agreed, walking with her into the coffee room and closing the door.

  Caroline blinked because not only Javan but everyone else was there already—Marjorie, Rosa, Peter, Eliza, Richard, Williams, and even Killer Miller—most of them sitting not at tables but in chairs set out in a clear space before the fire. Archie the innkeeper was there too, facing them, while his wife and one of the inn servants skulked more in the background.

  Javan advanced to meet Caroline. She met his gaze with bewilderment. He offered his arm but her mother hung on to Caroline’s hand.

  “He says you’ve agreed to marry him,” her mother blurted. “Before I give my blessing, I need to know it’s what you want. I won’t have you pushed into anything for any reason.”

  Caroline swallowed, distracted by the intensity of Javan’s eyes. “Yes, it’s what I want…” Suspicion, realization, began to dawn and her eyes widened. “Now?” she squeaked.

  “Why not?” Javan countered. “Archie there has the same rights as the Gretna blacksmith to marry us under Scots law.”

  She stared at him, the enormity of this step crushing her. Although she wanted it with all her heart, she hadn’t imagined it would be quite so soon.

  “I thought it might be more comfortable returning to Blackhaven already married, than putting you through another engagement which is bound to set tongues wagging.”

  “Another engagement?” her mother repeated, startled. “Who were you engaged to before?”

  “Richard,” Javan said impatiently.

  Caroline regarded him with fascination. “And you imagine my leaving Blackhaven engaged to one cousin and returning there married to the other will not cause comment?”

  A quick grin passed over Javan’s face and vanished. “Richard believes he can just tell everyone they were mistaken and that you were always engaged to me. Personally, I don’t see that it’s anyone’s business but ours. We can be married here, now, or we can go home and ask Grant to marry us whenever you like.”

  She glanced from him to her mother and the rest of the company and realized that of course this was right. Her mother and Eliza and Peter were here. She was happy. Everyone was happy.

  Slowly, she took her hand from her mother’s arm and laid it on Javan’s. She smiled up at him. “Here and now is perfect,” she said huskily, and the wave of joy in his face seemed to be all she could ever need.

  *

  Even in her wildest, most romantic, youthful dreams, Caroline had never imagined being married by an innkeeper in his coffee room. The morning passed in a blissful daze. Her hand was placed in Javan’s, they made promises, and before the law and God, she was his. Mrs. Javan Benedict.

  Rosa was silently delirious and kept hugging both of them. Mrs. Archie provided a wonderful spread, more luncheon than weddi
ng breakfast, and Archie rooted out a few bottles of champagne that he’d never had cause to use before. Caroline felt she would burst with happiness.

  And yet, it was a relief to escape for a little and just walk with Javan in the woods beyond the inn. His company both soothed and energized her, and it was unbearably sweet to pause in the shade of a tree and exchange kisses in the sharp, autumn-scented air, while the birds sang above them and the human voices were all distant.

  “I do love you,” she whispered.

  “I hope you always will.” It was light and gentle, and yet behind it, she recognized a genuine fear. If his first wife had ever loved him, it hadn’t been for long.

  But she would not bring that specter to her marriage. She merely kissed him and resolved to banish this shadow along with all the others.

  His body grew harder, more urgent, pinning her to the tree as he ravished her mouth and throat with kisses, his hands on her hips to hold her where he wanted her.

  “Do you know, my wife,” he said unsteadily, “that Richard told me he would stay away from our chamber until well after midnight?”

  The heat of her arousal seemed to flame. Words stuck in her throat. Having lived so long in the country, she was aware of the mechanics of procreation and linked it with some astonishment to the thrilling if unspecific desires she felt in Javan’s arms. The thought of spending time in his bed, of pleasing him in this way both excited and scared her. But there was no way she would ever refuse him, and it had little to do with “duty”.

  “Do you want to go there, now?” she whispered.

  “Oh yes,” he said fervently, bringing his open mouth down on hers, caressing her tongue with his.

  He seemed to wrench his mouth free and rested his forehead on hers, easing his body apart from hers until there was a sliver of air between them. “But I won’t take you until you’re well enough, until we have time and space to enjoy each other. For you, there should be more than a hurried fumble, at least the first time.”

  She swallowed, wondering if there was relief among the flood of disappointment. “It is a long time until midnight,” she pointed out. “And I feel very well. My arm barely hurts at all.”

  He smiled and kissed her at the same time. “You are a liar, and I love you for it. But I will be good for just a little longer.”

  Perhaps, if it hadn’t been for the obvious betrayal of his body, and his devastating kisses, she might have been hurt. As it was, she couldn’t quite understand how it was possible to be so enchanted and so frustrated at the same time.

  And so, she spent her wedding night with her new stepdaughter and sister-in-law. And in the morning, she bade farewell to her mother and sister and little Peter, who were invited to Haven Hall for Christmas, and began the journey home to Blackhaven.

  Chapter Nineteen

  While awaiting the return of Killer Miller to claim the other half of his fee, Marcus Swayle enjoyed himself spreading the word about Caroline Grey’s disappearance. Not that he gave any impression of watching Haven Hall or its occupants. He preferred to ask people if they had seen Miss Grey, then exclaim with worry when they hadn’t. He would then enquire, with obvious suspicion, about Colonel Javan Benedict.

  Many people in Blackhaven did not seem to be aware of Benedict’s former rank. Clearly, the blackguard was trying hard not to be connected to the Colonel Benedict of the late scandal. Swayle was happy to enlighten them as to that connection and reiterate the colonel’s brutality to himself and to his wife.

  “We truly thought he was dead,” he said frequently. “And I have to say my poor, innocent Louisa had cause to wish he was. When we married, we believed we had a right to happiness. But he defeated both of us by returning. That I could not save her will haunt me forever… But I cannot bear that others might suffer as we did. It is my belief that poor Miss Grey is in terrible danger. And as for the child, whom I love as my own…”

  He was slightly miffed that more people didn’t react with sympathy and shock. The devil was in it that Lord and Lady Tamar and the vicar, damn them, seemed to have taken Benedict up. And the dullards in Blackhaven obviously took their cues from them. But they would see, they would all see, when Caroline Grey was found dead and Javan Benedict the clear culprit. With luck, this would turn even Richard against him before he hanged.

  By the third day after Miller’s departure, Swale began to get restive. The task must have been proving harder than they had assumed, but Swayle had faith in the villain to earn his fee in the end. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer. He didn’t want to think the matter was getting out of his control, which was a suspicion when he spoke to Mrs. Winslow in the pump room, on the day of the assembly room ball.

  “I suppose you have not seen Miss Grey from the hall?” he began, as usual.

  “I believe they are all away,” Mrs. Winslow replied unexpectedly.

  “All?” he repeated, startled.

  “Indeed. Dear Lady Tamar tells me that there are only servants at the hall right now.”

  “Then…little Rosa is not there? Or Miss Benedict?”

  “None of them,” Mrs. Winslow averred.

  “My God,” Swayle said uneasily. “Has he fled?”

  Mrs. Winslow laughed. “What an odd word! I believe the servants expect them all back soon.”

  “I pray you may be right,” Swayle said sorrowfully and took his leave.

  This was annoying. He had hoped to have the whole matter done and dusted by this time, so that he could soak up all the town’s horror and disgust at Benedict during the assembly ball. He’d planned to bask in the glow of people’s appreciation of his knowledge and perspicacity. And perhaps even, in the moment of his fame, encounter an heiress. Or a wealthy widow. He was not fussy.

  Still, the subscription ball was a great place to intensify the rumors, and if news of the death could only get there tonight, why that would be even better. But he scarcely allowed himself to hope for such a splendid outcome.

  Instead, he made the most of what he did have and arrived at the assembly rooms impeccably dressed as always. And although he took his walking cane, he did not lean on it as heavily. Which meant he could dance with the charming and the wealthy women he had already picked out.

  He was just returning a very young lady to her guardians when a stir at the ballroom door attracted his attention. And not just his. The way everyone turned and stared at Javan Benedict spoke volumes for the success of Swayle’s whispering campaign. Unfortunately, after one breathless moment of triumph, Swayle recognized his female companion as Miss Grey.

  Oh, she wore a rather beautiful new gown of rose silk, and someone had given her pearls to wind around her throat, but it was undoubtedly Caroline Grey.

  “Colonel and Mrs. Benedict,” the major-domo announced, and Swayle had to close his teeth on his furious oath. Still smiling, he made civil conversation with his partner’s family and moved about the ballroom, desperate to find out what this meant for his plans. But damn it, he couldn’t even say she had been forced into it, for happiness shone from her like a beacon.

  Gone was the severe frump of a governess. In her place, had come a beautiful, fashionable, and confident young matron, more than fit to be shown off on any man’s arm. Any man except Benedict, that is. As the couple moved into the room, Lady Tamar went forward to embrace her family’s old governess. From all over the room came well-wishers and congratulatory back-slappers.

  Rage began to surge within Swayle, for it was as if all his hard work, all his rumor mongering and all the seeds of suspicion he’d sown, had been for nothing. Not only had Javan so obviously not killed her, he’d married her. No one seemed to care either that she’d left engaged to a different Benedict, and that included Richard himself, who sauntered in behind the couple, as proud as if he’d made the match himself. Which he might have, Swayle supposed. Only, where the devil was Miller? What on earth had he been doing for the last five days?

  “What a distinguished couple they make,” said a f
emale voice fondly beside him. Mrs. Grant, who gave herself such airs as though she were some great lady instead of a country vicar’s wife. “It seems your fears were quite unfounded, Mr. Swayle.”

  “I’m glad if that is so,” he said at once. “But I’ll be happier when I discover what has happened to my little Rosa.”

  “Oh, she’s very well and very excited to have a new mother. And of course, she got to meet some new family in Scotland.”

  “Family in Scotland?” Swayle repeated, trying not to stare at her. She was so beautiful in her dark, languid way, that in any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed her company. Right now, he had the horrid feeling she was torturing him.

  “Of course. They all went north to meet Caroline’s—Mrs. Benedict’s—family. And married while they were there. Isn’t it delightful?”

  “Charming,” Swayle said, sickened. “I shall be happiest if he treats her better than he did my Louisa.”

  Mrs. Grant smiled directly into his eyes. “Well, he will no longer be fighting abroad, so there will certainly be no opportunity for some scoundrel to move into his house, take his wife, and abuse his daughter.” And without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and walked away.

  Stunned by this rumor-reversal, it took him a moment to leap after her and actually seize her arm. “Mrs. Grant, I cannot allow you to repeat such thorough calumny. If this is what Benedict is saying…”

  “Not Benedict,” said Benedict himself, materializing at his side. “Rosa.”

  The blood sang in his ears. Benedict had always affected him this way, even before he’d kicked him literally out of his house. There was something harsh and inflexible about him, something that simply made Swayle feel small and less of a man. But right now, there was more at stake than Swayle’s manliness. After all this time, Rosa had accused him.

  In many ways, it would have been a blessed relief to faint and give himself time to think, to find a way out of this. But Benedict’s hard, violent eyes seemed to hold him upright. He couldn’t even pretend. Instead, he blurted, “Rosa has spoken?”