A Simple Lady (5 page)

The girl stood silently before him, biting her lower lip, staring up at him with widened eyes. It occurred to Kenrick finally that she had been just as surprised as he by their collision, and she had obviously been much more frightened.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, reaching to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, which was bare and soft and decidedly chilly.

The girl flinched but did not move away. “Yes, my l-l-lord,” she murmured softly.

“Have you been looking for me?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“I’ve been searching for you also.” He tried then to imbue his tone with humor, hoping the girl would relax a bit. She was standing as still and stiff as a statue. “I fear we have each been flitting from folly to gazebo and back again, missing each other in a comedy of errors that would have rivaled Shakespeare’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

The girl’s eyes widened even more as she listened, her dazed expression confusing Kenrick momentarily. Then he realized that he had carelessly alluded to a literary work no simpleton could be expected to recognize. Furious with himself, Kenrick opened his mouth to explain and then closed it again when he saw that the girl was smiling as though she had understood.

“Yes,” she said simply. Then, after drawing a deep breath, “Thank you for coming. I wished to explain to you that I am not really—”

“Elizabeth, are you out here?”

Neither Kenrick nor Elizabeth had been aware of the front door opening. As they simultaneously turned toward the portico, both noted with gasps of dismay that Elizabeth’s mother and father had stepped out into the night. The earl carried a brightly burning lantern, holding it out in front of him. Kenrick and Elizabeth were immediately imprisoned in its light.

“Elizabeth!” the countess called out, her strident tone imbued with horror. “I am surprised at you. And you, my lord! Could you not have waited until tomorrow night to claim a husband’s rights?”

“Now, now,” the earl said to his wife in a soothing tone. Holding the lantern in front of him, he descended the front steps and paused beside Elizabeth. His gaze swept over her, from her badly mussed hair to her displaced shawl to the marquess’s hand, which still rested on her bare shoulder. The smirk on his face was echoed in his tone as he addressed his wife. “Now don’t start cutting up stiff, my dear. Boys will be boys, you know. This wouldn’t be the first time a wedding night had been anticipated.”

The Marquess of Kenrick, who had not been called a boy in more than fifteen years, tightened his lips, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin, even as he jerked his hand away from Elizabeth’s shoulder as though her skin had suddenly seared him.

The countess stalked to her husband’s side, fury clear on her square face. “You forget, my lord, that your daughter screamed. I would like to know the reason why.”

Elizabeth’s father instantly turned sober. “A good point, my dear,” he murmured before addressing Elizabeth. “What’s been going on out here?” he demanded.

Elizabeth, who visibly shrank, as though she wanted nothing so much as to slip back into the shadows and disappear forever, instead took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Nothing, P-P-Papa,” she said. “I was m-m-merely startled, that’s all.”

“Startled by what?” the countess demanded.

Elizabeth opened her mouth and immediately closed it again, apparently realizing that even had she been an orator of the highest order, she could never have explained the events leading up to her scream. She merely bowed her head.

“There now,” the earl said, a hefty measure of complacency coloring his tone. “Obviously the girl don’t want to talk about it. It was probably as she said—nothing. A moth flitting in front of her face or a shadow cast by the moon. Of course, had she been with anyone other than her betrothed, the case would be different. As it is…” He shrugged and turned to smile at his future son-in-law.

“Well, Kenrick, I must say I am rather surprised at your impatience. But a father cannot complain too stringently when his daughter has slipped out to meet the man she will be marrying in less than twenty-four hours. However, I do think it is time you returned to the inn. We shall see you at the church in the morning. Come inside now, Elizabeth.”

After one brief glance toward the marquess—a glance that caught his eye and left him frowning in puzzlement—Elizabeth slowly turned. Drooping as sadly as the dew-soaked lace trailing behind her gown, she followed her parents into the house.

Only when the door had closed behind his future wife and in-laws did Kenrick begin trudging back toward the grove of trees where he had left Solomon. He still did not know why Lady Elizabeth had asked him to meet her that evening. It hardly mattered now. After all, even should she swear she did not wish to marry him, circumstances had left them with no other choice. He had compromised her as surely as if he had done more than briefly touch her on the shoulder.

Ten minutes later, while wearily pulling himself into the saddle, it occurred to Kenrick that the events of that evening had been rather peculiar. If Lady Elizabeth had first gone to the gazebo as he had supposed, how had they missed each other when she in turn visited the folly and he went in search of the gazebo? She could not have gone around the back of the house. He had investigated that option and found an impenetrable mass of briars there.

Could it be that the earl, fearing Kenrick might withdraw from their agreement, had arranged this farce to guarantee the wedding would go on? Surely not, for Lady Elizabeth would have had to be actively involved in such a conspiracy, and, Elizabeth, he was certain, did not possess the intellectual capacity for carrying out such a charade.

Of course, she might inadvertently have mentioned their proposed meeting to her parents. If so, Kenrick was convinced, the earl and countess would have been more than willing to devise a plot based on that information.

Unfortunately, such speculations were useless, Kenrick finally admitted to himself while he guided Solomon out of the woods and onto the road leading back to the inn. Whatever the circumstances, the results were the same. The only thing that could now save him from tomorrow morning’s wedding ceremony would be his own death.

Which, if one were optimistic, was not entirely out of the question. Perhaps even now his cousin’s hired assassin was hidden somewhere along this lonely stretch of road, waiting to put a bullet through his head. But the way his luck had been running, Kenrick concluded with a morose sigh, the blasted man would probably miss again.

Chapter Five

The vicar had begun reading the marriage lines. The Marquess of Kenrick, standing stiffly at the front of the church, glanced down at the young woman beside him. Dressed in a too-large satin gown spotted with age, Lady Elizabeth appeared fragile beneath its antique bulk. Her face was far whiter than the yellowed veil that fell from a turban-like headdress perched precariously on top of her brown curls, and her slender fingers clutched too tightly the small prayer book she carried in both hands. That she was frightened seemed apparent, and Kenrick could not decide who deserved horsewhipping the most—himself for ever agreeing to marry Lady Elizabeth or her parents for being so eager to rid themselves of her.

His only consolation on this sun-drenched and depressing morning was his hope that he might actually be doing Lady Elizabeth a favor. After all, while the house he was providing for her was small, it was in good repair, unlike her father’s pathetic estate. And it would be clean. He would see to that. He would have to visit there occasionally to ensure that the servants did not take advantage of Elizabeth’s disability and shirk their duties, but they would soon learn that their mistress must be treated with respect, even if she was not aware of the difference.

The marquess almost smiled. Yes, perhaps some good might come from this unfortunate marriage after all. He would not only provide the physical comforts for his pitiable wife, but he would also try to befriend her. He would spend some time—perhaps as much as a week or two a year—visiting with her to assure himself of her well-being. Undoubtedly she would soon come to look upon him as her rescuer from the unenviable conditions in which she had been raised. With a silent sigh of relief, Kenrick glanced down at his bride with a lightened heart, feeling more in charity with himself than he had done since first agreeing to this marriage.

* * *

Elizabeth would not have believed it possible, but she was actually beginning to enjoy her wedding day. Perhaps it was time she derived some pleasure from the circumstances, she decided defiantly. After all, she had tried her best to prevent this ceremony. She had attempted to tell the marquess that she was not the person he thought her to be, but her efforts had earned her only a severe scolding from her parents the night before when they had discovered her outside with Kenrick.

Her mother, especially, had been incensed, raving for a half hour about Elizabeth’s stupidity, perversity, and lack of a sense of propriety. Elizabeth had endured the chastisement with a bowed head. Even had she been able to speak coherently, she knew she did not dare try to explain that she had wanted to tell Kenrick she was not simpleminded. Nothing, she was aware, would so quickly convince her parents she was a candidate for Bedlam.

After Elizabeth was finally allowed to retire, she had lain awake for hours, replaying the evening’s events in her mind. It was strange, she concluded just before sleep claimed her, that of all her experiences that night, the one that lingered most persistently in her memory was that of the tingling sensation that had swept her body while the marquess’s hand rested upon her bare skin.

The morning brought only more discord and frenetic activity. Mattie had taken one look at her charge’s eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and clamped her lips tightly shut, obviously biting back the warnings she had so carefully rehearsed. Still, her distress was obvious in her every stilted move as she hurried to help Elizabeth bathe and dress. The countess, arriving in Elizabeth’s chamber five minutes before they were to leave for the church, had taken one look at the ancient satin gown her daughter had unearthed from a trunk in the attic and demanded to know why she had selected something so unsuitable.

She had her reasons, of course, for ignoring the half dozen or so very pretty gowns hanging in her closet, reasons she doubted her parents would understand. Even so, for once goaded beyond her fears, she clenched her teeth and responded to her mother’s question.

“Perhaps, madam, I must wear this musty old thing because my parents have not seen fit, even once, to provide so much as a shilling to go toward clothing their only child.”

The countess started, almost as though the canopied bed had suddenly reared up and roared. She turned and hastily retreated, glancing back uneasily as she closed the door behind her.

Elizabeth’s brief flare of temper faded quickly, to be replaced by a dread that was greater than any she had ever known. She gnawed on her lower lip as she descended the stairs to the entrance hall where her parents awaited her. Her father was scowling, as usual, but the countess, Elizabeth noted, seemed incapable of meeting her daughter’s gaze. Once or twice, however, as they sat across from each other in the carriage, Elizabeth looked up to find her mother regarding her with a puzzled expression in her eyes.

Only as they approached the church did Elizabeth’s spirits begin to lighten. The churchyard was filled with equipages of all sorts—curricles, gigs, farm carts, and single horses. Obviously the word of Elizabeth’s upcoming nuptials had spread quickly in the small community, and her friends were turning out to see her wed.

Elizabeth sat mutely on her side of the coach while her mother and father voiced their shock over the number of vehicles in the churchyard. She could not help but reflect that if either had ever associated with their neighbors, they would have been aware of the impossibility of keeping a secret in the country. They would also have known that their daughter was an active participant in local affairs and was well liked by everyone in the neighborhood. For many years, Elizabeth’s neighbors, in addition to appreciating her ready smile and innate kindness, had also admired her fortitude in dealing with the unconscionable neglect of her parents.

A few minutes later as Elizabeth walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, each of her old friends looked up at her, smiling their encouragement. Seated in a front pew were Squire Wilson and his family, who had treated Elizabeth as though she were their own kin, providing her not only with clothing but also with opportunities to go to assemblies and even on a short visit to London last year.

Sitting further back in the church, his hat clutched firmly in his lap, was Wilmot Wythecombe, the farmer who had allowed Elizabeth to tutor his children in exchange for the eggs, cheese, and milk she had needed to help keep herself and the servants fed.

Across the aisle from Farmer Wythecombe were the spinster sisters, Agatha and Emily Tattersmall, who had invited Elizabeth into their home to teach her to play the pianoforte and to embroider, accomplishments they felt were essential for the daughter of a peer.

Elizabeth blinked back tears as she looked into the faces of her friends. In addition to their affection, she also found understanding in their proud smiles, for even as they gaped at her near-rotten gown, she knew that each of them intuitively understood and silently applauded her reasons for wearing it. The Earl of Ravingate’s daughter would not allow her father to give her away in clothing he had not provided for her.

“Do you, Elizabeth Evangeline Ashford, take this man…”

The sound of her own name reminded Elizabeth that she had a role to perform in the present ceremonies. Risking a sideways glance at her groom, she could not suppress a flash of regret for having chosen such an unattractive ensemble for her wedding. Under any circumstances, Kenrick would have been considered handsome. Taller than average, he was both lean and muscular, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and well-shaped limbs. His even features bore no trace of the fop. On the contrary, they strongly hinted of the marquess’s descent from Norman warriors, as evidenced in his proud stance, piercing gray eyes, and squared jaw. Complementing these features were a straight nose and dark, straight eyebrows, which combined to produce an aspect that most ladies found as enticing as it was exciting.