Alissa Baxter (31 page)

They took sculls across the river, to enter by the water-gate. Alexandra, who had never before visited the famous gardens, would at any other time have been delighted at the fairy-tale sight that met her eyes. However, the thought of her upcoming meeting with Lady Barrington dominated her thoughts, and she was unable to appreciate the beautiful gardens, which were laid out in groves and colonnades, and lit by thousands of lamps, some of which were suspended in elegant festoons between the pillars of the colonnades. She felt obliged to make some comment about her surroundings, however, when Lady Beauchamp inquired of her whether she found the grounds to her liking. “They’re charming, Grandmama, absolutely charming,” she murmured in response.

Sir Charles escorted his guests to the Rotunda where a concert was about to be given. Alexandra, who had never been particularly fond of music, paid very little attention to the concert and would not have been able to recall any of the pieces performed had anyone seen fit to inquire of her how she had enjoyed it. She came out of her doldrums, however, when, after the first act of the concert was completed, the bell rang and people flooded into the Rotunda. She inquired of Sir Charles, who was seated beside her, what had drawn the crowd. “They have come to witness the Grand Cascade, Miss Grantham. It is an amazingly lifelike rural scene, done in miniature. But — you will see,” he responded, when the dark curtain began to arise.

Alexandra was entranced with the spectacle that met her eyes. The Grand Cascade consisted of a miniature moat where water, running down a cascade and water mill, caused a succession of coaches, wagons and other vehicles to move in a lifelike manner. Alexandra thought that the attention to detail was amazing, and smiled in pleasure when she heard the rushing waters and the sound of the wheels moving.

Sir Charles suggested at that moment that they might prefer to partake of supper instead of waiting to hear the second part of the concert. This being agreed to, their small party left the Rotunda, and strolled down one of the lighted colonnades past a spacious Pavilion, lined with mirrors, to the supper-box that Sir Charles had hired for their accommodation. The box overlooked the principle grove, a little way from a large kiosk where an orchestra was playing lovely melodies. Alexandra noted with pleasure the pretty coloured lights that adorned the kiosk, and the magnificent fountains that gushed forth water, and wished, regretfully, that she could have visited the pleasure gardens when she was in a better frame of mind to appreciate her surroundings. As it was, she found it difficult to think beyond the dangerous position in which she was about to place herself. Alexandra placed her hand on her reticule and, feeling the reassuring butt of her pistol through the soft material, sent up a silent prayer that she would not have to use the weapon this evening.

Alexandra nibbled on the wafer-thin shavings of ham that the Garden was famous for, and tasted a little of the rack-punch, but she found it impossible to do justice to the meal that Sir Charles had carefully ordered, merely toying with food on her plate. Sir Charles, eyeing her with a worried frown in his eyes, asked her if she found the meal to her satisfaction. Alexandra, surprised to find herself under observation, forced a smile to her pale lips, and murmured quickly, “The food is delicious, Sir Charles. Only, I am suffering slightly from the headache, and I regret that my appetite has quite deserted me.”

Sir Charles smiled, and said quietly, “I’m sorry to hear that, my dear. I hope that you will soon feel more the thing. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

Alexandra nodded, and sipped the cool liquid which helped to revive her a little. Suddenly she was aware of a strange sensation of being watched, and looking across at the line of boxes opposite theirs, she stiffened abruptly when her eyes locked with those of Sir Jason Morecombe’s. The baronet nodded his head and smiled loathsomely at her, before turning away to speak to a member of his party. Alexandra sat in frozen shock as she realised that she may have been quite incorrect in thinking that Lady Barrington had written the letters to her. Her mind a whirl of confused thoughts, Alexandra tried to make sense of Sir Jason’s presence in the Gardens. Perhaps it was only coincidence that the baronet had decided this night, of all nights, to visit Vauxhall Gardens, she thought hopefully. But, he had smiled so knowingly at her just now, almost as if they were conspirators in some abhorrent affair.
He
must have written the letters to her, she realised suddenly. Probably as some kind of wicked jest. How amusing he must have found it when she had come to him, asking him to reason with Lady Barrington, she thought grimly. Well she was prepared for him. At half past eleven, she would confront him, pistol in hand, and demand an explanation from him for his conduct.

At ten minutes past eleven, Alexandra was trying to think up an appropriate excuse she could put forward that would enable her to leave the supper-box alone when, to her relief, Sir Charles suggested that they all depart the box to see the Fireworks. They made their way to the part of the grounds that commanded the best position for the firework display and Alexandra, momentarily forgetting her troubles, stared in fascination at the flaming rockets that soared upwards and burst into fragmented, colourful lights above them. An enormous Catherine-wheel lit the sky after that and, regretfully remembering her secret assignation, Alexandra decided that now, when everyone was gazing up at the Wheel in rapt admiration, would be an appropriate time to slip away. Emily was standing beside her, and she briefly squeezed her friend’s hand before hurrying away from the group.

She was uncertain where the Long Walk was situated, and stopped to ask a friendly looking woman the way. The woman, although obviously surprised that a well-bred young lady was wandering around alone, nonetheless directed her where to go. Alexandra trod quickly up the Long Walk, thankful that the Walk, which was lit by dozens of coloured lamps, appeared to be deserted. She supposed that most people were either still at supper, or watching the fireworks. She passed one or two young bucks who ogled her, and one rakish-looking gentleman stepped forward to say something to her, but Alexandra frowned so ferociously at him that he backed away and wisely decided to pursue easier game.

Alexandra eventually reached the end of the Walk, and saw a small structure there that she assumed to be the Grecian Temple. It was lit with coloured lamps, and with the moon’s silver rays illumining it, the Temple was a remarkably pretty sight. Alexandra, however, found herself unable to appreciate it. For her, this building was only associated with danger and evil. She shivered a little as she paused before the few shallow steps that led up to the Temple and removed her small pistol from her reticule. Feeling somewhat braver now that she held the gun in her hand, she trod quietly up the steps and entered the Temple, looking apprehensively around her.

Hearing a footfall behind her, Alexandra spun around, her pistol held at the ready. She never quite knew how it happened but the gun, which was at one moment held securely in her hands, was suddenly knocked from her grasp. She stared in frozen horror as a huge man, wearing what appeared to be a dusty frieze-coat and a battered hat, advanced quickly towards her and held her arms at her side, while his partner, a youth, gagged her and efficiently bound her wrists and ankles. Belatedly, Alexandra began to struggle but her efforts were to no avail. The man in the frieze-coat merely picked her up as if she weighed nothing and, chuckling in an evil manner, said softly, “You’re coming with me, my pretty!” before carrying her away from the Grecian Temple down one of the deserted winding walks that led to the land-entrance.

As they left Vauxhall Gardens, Alexandra caught a glimpse of several carriages that were awaiting their owners at the entrance. She hoped frantically that someone would step forward and stop her attempted abduction, but knew that no one had seen them when she was bundled into a travelling chaise and the door was shut firmly behind her. The equipage began to move forward immediately, and Alexandra, lying on the seat of the carriage like a trussed up hare, angrily realised that she had walked straight into the trap that Sir Jason had prepared for her.

But the man who moved over to her a few moments later and untied her wrists and ankles, and then removed the gag from her mouth, was not Sir Jason. Alexandra blinked in surprise as she stared up at her abductor, “You!” she said softly. “You vile, despicable, contemptible cad!”

“Now, now, my dear,” Edward Ponsonby admonished with a titter. “That is certainly no way to speak to your affianced husband. You must treat me with the respect I deserve. It is, after all, your wifely duty.”

“What are you talking about ?” Alexandra asked warily, but she feared very much that she already knew the answer to her question.

Her fears were confirmed when Mr Ponsonby said with obvious satisfaction, “We are off to Gretna Green, my dear, where we are to be wed.”

Alexandra looked across at her kidnapper with an icy expression on her face. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle of the past few days fitted together neatly in her mind, creating a picture that was far from pretty. Alexandra said slowly, “
You
wrote me those threatening letters, Mr Ponsonby. You deliberately led me to believe that my brother’s life was in danger so that I would not become betrothed to the Duke of Stanford...”

Mr Ponsonby tittered. “A master stroke, was it not? I did not believe that Stanford actually intended proposing matrimony to you until the evening of the Ashton’s ball. However, the realisation was borne in upon me then that the
ton
believed the announcement of your betrothal to him to be imminent. Naturally, I could not allow such a state of affairs to continue. It is far easier to kidnap the unattached Miss Alexandra Grantham, than the future Duchess of Stanford, if you take my meaning? So, I set my plans in motion, and...”

“Succeeded in abducting me — fool that I am. Your actions are not only despicable, Mr Ponsonby, but cowardly as well!” Alexandra said scornfully. “An honourable man would never attempt to rescue himself from his financial embarrassments by abducting a woman in order to marry her for her fortune!”

“Careful now, my dear. Do bear in mind that you are speaking to your future husband,” Mr Ponsonby said pompously. “Besides,” he continued, “It is not only your considerable fortune that I desire, but yourself as well. You must know, Miss Grantham, that you are considered to be a very beautiful woman.”

Alexandra gritted her teeth, and her hand itched to slap the satisfied smile off her abductor’s face. She realised, however, that it would be foolish to do so. At the moment she was totally within Mr Ponsonby’s power. A thought occurred to her, and turning her head to look at him again, she inquired, “How do you know the details of my daily life so intimately, Mr Ponsonby? You knew that Sir Charles had invited my grandmother and me to Vauxhall Gardens, even though I had not mentioned the invitation to any of my acquaintances.”

Mr Ponsonby straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest, reminding Alexandra forcefully of an extremely vain peacock she had once seen parading around the grounds of her grandmother’s country estate. Unfortunately he was not as well feathered, she noted, as her eyes skimmed over Mr Ponsonby’s poorly tied cravat, and the puce coat he wore that clashed hideously with his complexion. She would rather starve than marry such a sartorially inelegant idiot, she thought acidly as Mr Ponsonby said, “My dear young lady, I am a man of remarkable powers. Many of my acquaintances do not credit me with genius, but that is because they do not know me well enough.” Smiling in satisfaction, he continued, “A footman working in my household is engaged to be married to one of your grandmother’s parlour maids. It was simplicity itself for me to gain access to the information that I needed for my purposes.”

“Your nefarious purposes,” Alexandra said coolly. After a pause, she continued, “Has it not occurred to you, Mr Ponsonby, that you cannot force me to marry you? You can carry me across the border to Gretna Green, but you cannot coerce me into saying any wedding vows.”

“But, my dear Miss Grantham, think of the unfortunate consequences if you do not consent to marry me! You cannot come back to England unwed, after being alone with a man for several days. Mothers will drag their daughters across the street when they see you approaching them because you will be a fallen woman. So you see, my dear,” he finished complacently, “You have no other alternative but to agree to become my wife and enjoy the position of remarkable consequence in Society that holding that title will bring you.”

Alexandra looked at Mr Ponsonby in disbelief, stunned by the conceit of the man. She recognized, however, the truth of what he had said about coming back from Scotland unwed. She could not return to England unmarried, and expect to be welcomed into any London drawing-room again. No Society hostess of good standing would invite a ruined woman into her home. Her position would be untenable. Mr Ponsonby was a conceited prig, Alexandra thought grimly, but he was cognizant, as she was, of the rules of the
ton
and she had to admit that he had played a very clever hand indeed by abducting her in this manner in order to flee with her across the border. Alexandra bit her lip as she contemplated her dangerous predicament. The only possible thing that she could do, if she hoped to avoid social ruin, was escape from her captor tonight. But, as yet, she had absolutely no idea how she could accomplish this. If only she still had her pistol, she mused. The thought of her lost weapon made Alexandra think of something else, and her heart began to pound in relief when she looked to the side of the coach and, in the dim light, caught sight of a holster which contained a pistol. Admittedly the pistol looked large and clumsy, but it was still a weapon, she thought exultantly. If she could somehow contrive to get her hands on it, she would be able to escape from her abductor.

Alexandra jumped when Mr Ponsonby, who had observed the direction of her gaze, said smugly, “The pistol is not loaded, Miss Grantham. I am most surprised that a young lady — and my future wife at that — would even contemplate such violence! Really, my dear, you should pay more attention to the dictums of propriety.”