Stealing the Bride (23 page)

“I hardly think the lady would kill her own betrothed,” Diana said, rather defensively to Temple’s ears.

The lady shook her head. “The ruin of money, I tell you.”

Temple nodded in agreement, only to find Diana shooting him a hot glance. “Is there more?” he asked, doing his best to ignore her murderous gaze. If he wasn’t careful, Mrs. Maguire would be adding his name to the list of Diana’s alleged victims. “I can’t imagine why this young lady hasn’t been apprehended.”

Mrs. Maguire edged closer to him, having found an eager audience. “From what I heard just this morning, she’s a sly, wicked thing.”

“Indeed!” Temple said. “How so?”

“They almost had her in Buxton not but a few days ago. But she used her wiles to escape.”

“Wiles?” he asked, feigning an innocence that sent Diana into a choking fit.

Mrs. Maguire shot her an annoyed look for interrupting her tale.

“Dust from the road,” Temple explained.

“The well is out back,” Mrs. Maguire told her. “Go fetch yerself a drink.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Diana muttered through gritted teeth. “Pray, do go on.”

“Where was I?” Mrs. Maguire asked.

“Wiles,” Temple and Diana said at the same time.

“Ah, yes. As I was saying, this gel used her wiles to escape the authorities in Buxton when she…when she”—the lady shot a glance over at her son, who wasn’t paying them any heed, but still she leaned forward and whispered—“went naked to a fancy assembly.”

“Wha-a-at?” Diana sputtered. “I never—”

“—heard such a thing,” Temple said, finishing her outraged response, and placing his arm around her protectively, as if he were shielding her from such shocking information.

In truth, he gave her a warning squeeze, and she heeded his advice by keeping any further protests to herself.

Their benefactress shook her head. “I never heard such a thing either. But it’s the honest truth, it is. I had it from a peddler just this morning.”

“A fine source, I would estimate,” Temple said.

“He is, he is indeed,” Mrs. Maguire replied.

To this, her son muttered something under his breath about “idle tongues.”

They ignored him, and Mrs. Maguire retook her audience with the next of the heiress’s adventures.

“After this heiress gave the good people of Buxton such a turn, she went on to force a seamstress, at gunpoint mind you, to make her a new wardrobe, one of them
trousseaus
, I hear tell about. French nonsense, to be sure. Just the same, the poor seamstress has been in a fit of vapors ever since.”

“Utter nonsense,” Diana muttered.

Mrs. Maguire missed the point of Diana’s words, saying, “Isn’t it though? New clothes because ye’re getting wed. Let me tell you, if yer old ones were good enough to catch him, they should be good enough to keep him.”

“You’re a sensible woman, Mrs. Maguire,” Temple told her.

“Well, thank you, sir,” she said, preening under his praise. “Some folks don’t see that,” she said, shooting a gaze at her son.

“Amazing,” Temple said. “Don’t you think so?” he asked Diana, giving her a squeeze.

She wiggled out of his embrace, and began smoothing her rumpled cloak. “Yes, quite so,” she managed to reply. “Now about this heiress, you were saying she gained a new set of clothes, but what sort of man is this she’s gone to such lengths to share her misdeeds with? Perhaps it is his evil influence that has led her to this life of discontent.”

The lady snapped her fingers. “I knew you were a smart one the moment I saw you. That was my first thought exactly. This fellow was to blame for all of it, but sadly that isn’t true.”

Temple shot a knowing look at Diana. But his superiority didn’t last too long.

“You’d expect that it would be all his fault, her fall into disgrace, but from what I heard from the peddler, her latest betrothed is nothing but one of those town fellows, a regular idler.” Mrs. Maguire tapped her finger to her skull as if she were checking a melon in the marketplace. “Daft upstairs, if you know what I mean. Hasn’t got the wits to tie his own laces, let alone mastermind half these capers. Obviously this gel found herself a cabbage-head for a groom so she can gain her inheritance without the hindrance of some smart fellow stealing what’s rightfully hers.”

“Mrs. Maguire,” Diana said, beaming from ear to ear, “that sounds like the closest thing to the truth I’ve heard in ages.”

Diana paced across the short expanse of Mrs. Maguire’s garden. Temple sat on the bench before her, his brows creased into a worried line.

The lady had gone to see that her son didn’t spill the milk down the cellar steps, “like he’s done the last two times,” she said.

They were alone now that Elton had driven on to the wheelwright’s, and they sat trying to come up with a plan in the face of the additional information that the talkative lady had provided.

“The two lords she spoke of must be Penham and Nettlestone,” Diana said aloud. “Who else would want to set up a trap to stop us?”

Temple glanced at her, his eyes widening.

“Yes, well, and the authorities from Geddington,” she added. “But to set up roadblocks between here and Penrith, that seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“You heard Mrs. Maguire, you’re worth twenty thousand a year, it would make a man do just about anything to have such a bride.”

Diana glanced heavenward and sighed. “Such an exaggeration. Twenty thousand a year. Really! ’Tis only fifteen.”

“Fifteen thousand?” Temple sputtered. “Why, even that’s a fortune.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Diana said.

“And here I thought you were only worth two, maybe three thousand a year. But fifteen? If I were Penham and Nettlestone, I’d have a net spread from here to the border to make sure you didn’t slip through my grasp.” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“There has got to be another way around Penrith, Temple. If we could just slip past these roadblocks, then we’d gain ourselves enough time to cross the border.” She knelt before him. “Do you really believe that my answers lay in Scotland?”

“Yes. I have a cousin there. He’s done some work for Pymm, and his knowledge of the clans and their secrets is astounding.” He nodded toward the high fells surrounding the town. “But unless we can grow wings and fly, there is no other way to Penrith but along the roads on which Penham and Nettlestone, and most likely Marden, have their eyes and ears firmly placed.”

Diana wasn’t listening to the rest of what he was saying, for the first part of his statement had tripped something in the back of her mind.

Grow wings and fly.
She’d heard those words before.

“Grow wings and fly,” she repeated. “Temple, that’s it! That’s exactly how we’ll slip past them.” She rose up and kissed him and then raced over to the wagon. Flinging open her valise, she caught up her guidebook, frantically thumbing through it until she got to the passages she recalled reading not a few days earlier.

“No, not that,” Temple groaned. “I’ll be as addlepated as Mrs. Maguire contends I am if I have to listen to any more of that drivel.”

“This is hardly drivel,” she told him. “And for once you are going to listen.”

B
y nightfall, Temple knew he should have stuck to his original plan and grown wings.

It would have been more practical.

“I can’t imagine where we went wrong,” Diana said, chewing on a slice of bread from the loaf that Mrs. Maguire had given them to save them from “starving of their own folly.”

Their folly, as Temple was starting to call it as well, had been to take a route that hadn’t been used in centuries. Diana’s infamous Billingsworth had sent them up into the fells of Cumbria with a paragraph that began:

He shook his head. Since he was now wanted for a spate of crimes in half the counties between London and Ambleside, Temple decided to count himself amongst the outlaws in Billingsworth’s description, rather than the other category of High Street wayfarers.

According to the guidebook, High Street would lead them twenty miles from Ambleside, up over the peaks and back down onto the far side of Penrith. And most importantly, past all the traps set to catch them.

For truly, who would ever think that Lady Diana Fordham and the luxury-loving Marquis of Templeton would even consider crossing such a stretch of open country on foot?

So they decided to set out on in just that fashion while Elton drove the newly repaired berline through the traps that awaited them on the road. If he failed to make it past Nettlestone and Penham, a notion that left Elton highly insulted, they would hire a chaise and four and make a final mad dash for Scotland.

The usually loquacious Billingsworth had offered a sketchy set of directions on how to follow the legendary Roman road that they had traveled faithfully until the weather had turned from a bright sunny day into something that resembled a January tempest.

The clouds gathered quickly overhead and then unleashed a torrent of rain. The pleasant enough path immediately turned into a slick, treacherous track, and it was then that Temple decided they should set out cross-country in hopes of finding a farmhouse or other form of shelter.

Diana had wanted to stay on Billingsworth’s course, convinced that another hour would see them into Penrith.

Another hour, Temple surmised, would see them both drowned.

Three hours after his assertion that shelter would be better sought by leaving the trail, they stumbled, drenched and exhausted, upon a small stone cottage. The ceiling, what was left of it, let in rain in spots, and one wall was partially collapsed, but the fireplace still worked, and he’d been able to get a blaze going in it.

“Mr. Billingsworth’s guidebook has been so accurate thus far, I find it impossible to believe he failed us now.” She glanced over at Temple, her gaze filled with accusations.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked her. “That you were right and I was wrong?”

She nodded. “That would be a good start. I found the directions quite clear.” Opening the book, she held it up for him to see, reading aloud, “‘Once you get past the ruins at the brook, you need to follow the track precisely.’” Pausing, she glanced up at him. “I doubt Mr. Billingsworth wrote the word ‘precisely’ with the intention of his readers taking shortcuts.” She set the book aside and took another bite of bread.

“If we hadn’t gone off course, we’d probably still be out there,” he offered in his defense, though even to his own ears his argument sounded rather hollow.

For some reason, when Diana looked at him, he didn’t want to appear anything but the hero he saw reflected in her eyes.

And heroes definitely didn’t leave ladies stranded in the middle of the Cumbria wilds. Then again, heroes probably didn’t entertain the thoughts that Diana’s wild array of fair curls and the pink of her lips had him considering.

“Truly this isn’t so bad,” he said, waving his hand at their shelter, a decrepit cottage that had most likely been abandoned since the Black Plague, if the cobwebs and dust were any indication.

Diana stared at him, her lips pinched together. Instead of offering a tart reply, she cast a significant glance about their surroundings, as if she were silently comparing them to the comfy inn and fine meal they would be sharing right now if it hadn’t been for his “shortcut.”

“Considering my financial state, this may well be the best I can afford at the present,” he joked, hoping to tease a smile from her lips.

Her mouth didn’t even twitch with a hint of amusement. Instead she tossed a piece of bread toward Tully.

Tully let out a sharp bark and then deftly caught the offering in midair. The cheeky little mutt whirled around a few times on his back legs, as if dancing for his supper.

Diana laughed and tossed the dog another piece.

Oh, for him she laughs
, he thought. Outdone by a dog of indiscriminate breeding.

Temple shot a glare down at the beastly mongrel. “By the way, who invited you along?”

Tully growled his reply, then planted himself in front of Diana, resting his heads on his paws.

“I don’t think he realizes the importance of an invitation,” Diana said. “Rather like your friend Stewie.” Her mouth might still be set in a steady line, but at least her eyes were sparkling with a bit of humor.

He reached for a slice of bread. “Then Tully is a good lesson indeed. I shall make it a rule never to feed Stewie. Elton would probably quit if the fellow wouldn’t go home.”

Diana laughed at this, and Temple smiled. He loved to hear her laugh.

When he went to take a bite of bread, he felt a delicate scratching on his knee. When he glanced down, a pair of soulful eyes gazed up at him, begging for a morsel.

Diana was once again occupied with Billingsworth, so he slipped the dog a piece of his meal.

“I saw that,” she said, not even bothering to look up. “What will Elton say about your new dog?”

“Oh no, I think Tully is all yours,” he told her.

Trying to get rid of the dog had truly been like having Stewie back in their midst. When Diana and Temple had started down the road in Ambleside, the little dog had dashed after them, trotting along at the hem of Diana’s skirt as if he’d always been at her side.

No matter how they tried to shoo him back, Tully was of one mind. He was going with them whether they liked it or not.

Diana had been delighted. Mr. Maguire’s wry grin suggested the farmer was only too thrilled to be rid of the mutt. And Mrs. Maguire bestowed upon them a bone to take along for the little fellow.

“You do have a way of attracting the most endearing champions.” Temple cocked his head and eyed the dog. “Who does he remind you of? Nettlestone or Penham? I think with those crooked teeth, he’s a dead-on ringer for Penham.”

Diana laughed. “Oh, stop it. Tully is much more handsome than Lord Harry.”

“Now, now. The day isn’t over, you could still be the gentleman’s bride yet. It wouldn’t do for your bridegroom to know he came in second to that ugly mutt.”

Tully growled.

She shook her head. “I have no intention of marrying Lord Harry. Or that infuriating Nettlesome, either.”

Temple wasn’t done. He rather liked vexing her. It brought her color up, and right now her cheeks were a lively shade. “Why shouldn’t you marry one of them? Your father approves of the match, so you won’t run the risk of disinheritance.”

She leveled her gaze on him. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t care about the money?”

“Oh, you’d care if you had to make do without it.” Of this, Temple knew only too well. For a man it was an easy thing, to set aside pride and honor and all that, but for someone like Diana, raised in the luxurious world her immensely rich father could provide, it would be a tremendous hardship.

Then she said something that rather stopped him.

“Have I cared the last few days? Do I appear to care right now?”

Temple opened his mouth to reply, to offer a hundred different instances when she’d protested the method and means of their travels. Like being rousted from bed at an ungodly hour, tossed out a window, riding practically naked across the countryside. Not to mention the sporadic meals, sleeping in hayricks, and being the subject of a malicious tide of gossip.

She should be complaining about the state of her tattered and dirty hem, her lack of a maid, a chaperone, a proper cup of tea. Her slippers, sensible though they were, would be ruined by the time they reached Penrith. Between them they hadn’t the coins for a decent room, let alone a good meal—having spent most of her money on new clothes and posting fees to get to Danvers Hall.

She was miles from a decent bed, a hot meal, or even the vaguest form of shelter, and had yet to utter a complaint other than a few well-earned comments about his “shortcut.”

No, in truth, he realized he didn’t know the Diana before him. All his images of her perfect innocence had been chipped away in the last few days. And in their place he found an enticingly different woman.

Her blond hair, instead of being bound in the latest modish yet restrained fashion or covered with a bonnet, tumbled free in lazy, tempting tendrils from a haphazard chignon. Her cheeks and lips were pinked from the fresh air and a hint of sun.

She’d taken off her wet stockings and sodden slippers, and her bare toes wiggled before the fire in the hearth.

The patronesses of Almack’s and all the other arbiters of fashion and manners back in London would be horrified at her natural state.

Temple would never be able to look at her again without remembering how she looked this night—like the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And it tore at his heart that he was about to lose her.

If only…

He drove his heart back into those lonely reaches and did his best to ignore the way his feelings for her were starting to overtake his carefully measured reason.

“You’ll have to marry someone,” he said, doing his best to steer the topic back to the most important issue—and ignoring the fact that Elton had said the exact same thing to him earlier in the day. “You can’t return to London unwed.”

Her brow rose into a regal arch. “And whyever not?”

“Your father announced to White’s that you’d eloped with Cordell. He might as well have taken out an advertisement in the
Morning Post
with the headline:
My daughter is utterly ruined
.”

“Have you forgotten, the viscount is no longer with us. That ought to stave off the worst of it,” she said.

Temple groaned. “He was murdered, Diana. It isn’t like he fell off his horse in a drunken stupor. The man was shot in cold blood.”

She pursed her lips. “I didn’t kill him. That honor is yours until you can prove otherwise.”

He hung his head in his hands. She could jest all she wanted, but this was a terrible muddle.

“And besides,” she said, “I was never alone with Cordell. Mrs. Foston can attest to that. The only man I’ve been alone with is
you
.”

Yes, he was well aware they were alone. Too alone.

He glanced up at her. “I don’t think anyone is going to look upon Tully there as a suitable chaperone. No matter how much he sets up growling. The only way to save yourself from complete ruination is to be wed. You must see that?”

She didn’t appear to be listening. She stared into the flames with a gleam in her eye that seemed to Temple to be nothing more than a harbinger of trouble.

“Ruined,” she was saying under her breath and with such pride. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Most decidedly,” he told her.

Her lips curved into a smile, and she sat up a little straighter.

Well, she needn’t look so proud of herself.

“Haven’t you a care for your reputation?” he asked.

“None.”

Temple wanted to argue the matter with her, but in truth, he’d always been a little envious of Diana’s disregard for Society. Her status as the Earl of Lamden’s daughter offered her some margin for eccentricity, and as such, she had pushed the restraints of her position to the limits time and time again.

And then it struck him. “You’ve done all this not to
get
married, but to keep from being married. And I don’t mean this ridiculous elopement with Cordell, but that scene at Almack’s the Season before last, and the incident on Rotten Row last summer.”

She looked at him as if he’d just discovered how to add pence together.

But it made no sense. Of course she wanted to be wed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been betrothed.

“You accepted Colin’s offer,” he pointed out.

Diana tossed the rest of her piece of bread to Tully. “I would never have been in the position to accept Colin’s proposal if it hadn’t been for you.” Her words trembled with a bevy of emotions.

In the fireplace, a piece of wood snapped and cracked. Smoke caught in a down draft blew into the room.

Something about the old cottage, lost in time as it was, pulled up their past, wrenching it to life as gaping as the holes in the roof, as tempestuous as the storm outside.

The question he’d studiously avoided asking her for all these years came issuing past his lips as if pulled by forces unknown.

“Why, Diana? Why did you agree to marry my cousin?”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. He could see that she had an answer ready to spill out, an accusation really, but something held her back.

“If you don’t want to say—” he began.

“Oh no,” she said. “I’m more than happy to tell you. It’s just that you’ve never asked.”

“Perhaps I didn’t want to hear your reply.”

“And now?”

He braced himself. “Go ahead.”

“I only agreed to marry Lord Danvers because you were so changed when I came up to London for my Season.”

As he’d always suspected. “So you thought to punish me?”

Her answer surprised him.

“No, I don’t think I thought that at all. In truth, he reminded me of you. Not the Temple I found in London, but you, the man I fell in love with in Sussex. Honorable, brave, steadfast.”