The Kidnapped Bride (7 page)

Shrugging, the old man allowed as how there could be little harm in it, and a half hour or so later, he reappeared to take her tray away, followed by the huge black dog. Erebus greeted her enthusiastically, and having been sternly forbidden to indulge in the habits of a lap dog, collapsed with a thud at her feet where he snoozed quite comfortably until Tom came to put him out for the night. He spent much of the following day with her as well, and Sarah enjoyed his companionship. She soon began to talk to him quite as though he were another person. His intelligent eyes would brighten at such attention, and he would cock his mammoth head with a flattering air of interest in all she chose to say to him. For Erebus, at least, the time did not pass slowly.

D
ARCY AND BECK RETURNED
Monday afternoon, and hearing the noise of their arrival, Sarah looked out to see that this time they had come in Darcy’s own phaeton. He jumped down at the front, handing the reins to Beck, who then drove oh around the house. She expected his lordship to come to her immediately, but he did not. Instead, after a long wait, Tom came with a small trunk.

“My lord says as ’ow yer t’ dine with ’im in an hour, miss. ’E sent these.” He dumped the trunk onto the floor and left, taking the dog with him. No key turned in the lock. Sarah stared after them, torn between wanting to find Darcy and hear what had happened and wanting to see what was in the trunk. The trunk won.

She opened it and sat back on her heels with a smile. It was filled with her own things. There were several gowns, a night dress, her riding habit and boots, two lace chemises, and her silver hairbrush. Right on top sat the reticule she had left in the carriage. There were also various ribbons and two pairs of sandals, some scented French soap, a string of varicolored beads, and a pair of white silk mittens. Clearly, except for the reticule, Lizzie had packed the trunk and had tried to include things her mistress might need immediately. She had not thought to send a shawl, so she had not discovered
Emma
, but one of the gowns was for evening wear. Sarah shook it out.

It was a simple dress of white muslin, the type most solidly approved by Aunt Aurelia for young ladies in their first Season. High waisted, it would be worn with a long pink sash, the colored beads, and her pink satin sandals. Maybe she could even contrive to weave a ribbon through her hair. Oh, if he had to bring her a surprise, why had Darcy not thought to bring Lizzie!

The thought had simply never crossed his mind. And, of course, it would never have occurred to her uncle that she might have need of a maidservant. At dinner, Darcy seemed actually apologetic about the oversight but explained that his plan had otherwise gone without a hitch. Lord Hartley had reacted precisely to form. “Furious, of course. Couldn’t expect him to be otherwise. ’Fraid you must prepare yourself for a scold, m’dear. That is, if he ever speaks to you again,” he observed amiably.

“What did he say about the wedding?” Sarah asked. A scold from her uncle was not something she need worry about. A blistering reprimand from her aunt was much more likely, though it was even more probable that neither of them would want to see her again. She gazed now across the table at Darcy. He was dressed in a coat of black superfine, and his well-starched neckcloth was intricately tied and adorned with a pearl stick pin. He might complain of poverty, but he always dressed well, and the phaeton she had seen was a well-made vehicle pulled by a team of highbred, matched bays. His voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Signed the waiver and helped me himself to arrange for the special license. S’pose it was a sense of mischief inspired me to suggest St. George’s.” He paused with a reminiscent gleam in his eye. “’Fraid his lordship nearly went into strong convulsions. Turned red as a turkey cock and gobbled something about the Regent and Lady Jersey, though I had thought that affair long ended.”

Sarah frowned. “You know perfectly well what he meant, sir. The Prince will be displeased as it is not to be invited to my wedding, but to be asked to lend his countenance to a ceremony with this sort of scandal attached to it—well, he wouldn’t, and you know it. As for Lady Jersey, she is forever unsettling Aunt Aurelia’s sensibilities with her long tongue.”

He nodded. “Discovered that m’self. Suggested that your absence from Town might be hushed up or at least that an excuse might be found for it, so as to wrap things up nicely after we’re safely riveted, but that don’t appear possible now. Seems one of the shopkeepers noticed a pretty young lady climb into a shabby hackney coach, and your precious Lizzie burst in upon Lady Hartley bewailing your disappearance and putting forth the notion that you had been abducted by God knows what sort of wild ruffians.” He paused for effect. “You’ll never guess who was paying a morning call at that auspicious moment!”

“Not Lady Jersey!”

“The same,” he assured her in tones of strong amusement. “Silence herself. Puts the cat among the pigeons, don’t it?”

“Oh, no!” Sarah stared at him. How could he think it at all amusing that the very worst gossip in London should know of all this? All London would be talking about her by now, wondering what had happened and speculating the worst. She had not truly realized what shame she would feel until the knowledge that the tattlers were probably discussing her situation in lurid detail was so clearly brought home to her. It didn’t really matter now whether they thought she had eloped or been abducted. Marriage might expiate her shame to some small degree, but it would be a good, long while before she would dare show her face in Town.

Darcy watched her dismay change to resignation. “I stopped in East End on the way back, Sarah. You will no doubt be pleased to know that Mr. Stanley, the parson there, will perform the ceremony tomorrow. Tried to fob me off until Saturday, but when I explained that you are already staying in my house unchaperoned, he put forth the date with alacrity. A prior commitment that he could not break was all that prevented his coming this evening.”

“So I shall not be permitted to take that first step back toward respectability until tomorrow, my lord,” Sarah retorted, her suddenly trembling voice laced with scorn. “How long do you suppose it will be before time mitigates the damage you have done me?” She was astonished to feel tears rising to the surface and looked away, lest he see them. He would be sure to make some sort of apology, and such a comment at this point was likely to cast her into strong hysterics! He did begin to mutter something, but she rallied her spirits enough to glare him to sullen silence.

Their conversation was limited after that, though Darcy did mention meekly that’ the rest of her belongings should arrive sometime after the first of the week by freight wagon. Frigidly, Sarah excused herself when Beck brought in his master’s port, but then she nearly smiled in spite of herself at Darcy’s undisguised sigh of relief. She went straight upstairs to her bedchamber, not surprised that someone soon came to lock her in. Despite his airs and apologies, Darcy would not chance her escaping before the ceremony could take place.

Sarah read for a while, until the evening light faded. Then she lit every candle she could find and proceeded to put her things away. It was not a task to occupy much of her time, so it was still early when she changed to her night dress and crept between the sheets. She had put her book on the night-stand and picked it up now with a guilty glance at the numerous flickering candles. They ought to be extinguished. Eight sconces! How wasteful. Aunt Aurelia would not approve. Sarah grinned. Aunt Aurelia was not here, and if Darcy meant to have her money, the least she could do was prove to be an expensive wife. Let the blasted candles gutter! She turned back to her book and eventually dropped off to sleep.

Her dreams seemed to be filled with somewhat garish marriage ceremonies. She was always the bride, but the groom changed most oddly from moment to moment and dream to dream. First there was Darcy, of course, but he changed almost immediately to a frog who wanted to kiss her, then to a rabbit, then to a clown with a painted face. At one point, she awoke with a vague memory that a camel had been carrying the minister into a tent filled with bullrushes and acorns, but then she dropped off into another dream where the minister was a child and the groom a snake in the grass. It was all very disturbing.

Nevertheless, the next morning dawned bright with sunshine, which made a nice change after several overcast days in a row, and Darcy was in excellent spirits when he came to visit her over her morning chocolate. He was fully dressed in buff breeches, a coat of blue superfine, and a gold Florentine waistcoat. His cravat was well-starched and tied in the intricate Mathematical style that he favored, and his topboots shone like polished obsidian and sported immaculate white uppers. Sarah suddenly had the thought that, though Beck was insolent, obnoxious, and generally impossible, he did seem to know his job. The Earl of Moreland was precise to a pin. He looked at her appraisingly.

“Minister arrives about half past ten, m’dear. That gives you an hour and a half. Would you like a bath?”

Her eyes lit. “Oh, yes! But it is not enough time to wash and dry my hair.”

“Never mind your hair. Looks fine, and you’ll have plenty of time later to wash it. But, if you want a bath I’ll have Tom and Beck bring up a tub.” He left soon after that, and it was not long before Beck and Tom, carrying a huge tub between them, entered the room. Several trips later, the tub was filled with steaming water and she was alone again.

In less than a twinkling, she was soaking in the tub, lathering herself with French scented soap. It was deliciously relaxing. She stayed until the water began to turn cold and then, regretfully, stepped out and dried herself. It was but a few moments work after that to slip on a clean chemise and her white muslin evening gown. It had been washed and pressed since the evening before, and she supposed Beck must have done it. The notion struck her as being an odd one, but she could not imagine either Matty or old Tom doing an acceptable job of it. She adjusted her sash and slipped her feet into the pair of matching satin slippers before turning her attention to her hair.

She had pinned it up in a straggly knot on top of her head for her bath. Now she took out the pins and let the heavy mass fall over her shoulders and down her back. Definitely, her hair missed Lizzie’s attention even more than she did herself.

Lizzie loved Sarah’s hair and cared for it lovingly. At a time when most young ladies cropped and crimped at least their foremost tresses, Lizzie totally approved of her mistress’s luxuriously long, thick mane. She brushed it nightly and washed it with scented water every six days without fail. Her nimble fingers coaxed it into intricate and fascinating styles that were always much admired. Miss Lennox-Matthews’ lovely, honey-bronze hair was nearly her hallmark, but Miss Lennox-Matthews was confounded by the task of managing it herself. She stared now at her reflection in the mirror. Steam from her bath had left becoming little curly wisps around her face, but the rest was dull and tangled. With a sigh, she picked up her brush and dragged it through the thick tresses. It took nearly half an hour to brush it into sufficient order to please Sarah. She wished she could do something with it, however, to keep it away from her face. She was tired of continually having to confine it behind her ears with a ribbon and was still glaring at her reflection when Darcy, after a perfunctory knock, entered to inform her of the parson’s arrival.

“Why such a face, m’dear? You look wonderful.”

“I was wishing my fingers were as clever as Lizzie’s with my hair,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything with it.”

“Suits me to a cow’s thumb,” he said firmly. “Don’t go messing about with it. Told you that before. Come along now. Parson’s waiting.” He gave her a straight look as she moved toward him, and she stopped, puzzled by the expression on his face. Not taking his eyes from hers, he placed both hands on her shoulders. “Look here, Sarah,” he said evenly, “you haven’t got any notions of last-minute rebellion, have you?”

She shook her head. “Have no fear, my lord,” she said quietly. “I have no intention of enacting a Cheltenham tragedy for Mr. Stanley’s benefit. You have quite succeeded in making this ceremony nearly as important to me as it is to yourself.”

Satisfied, he offered her his arm, and they went downstairs. Half an hour afterward, Miss Sarah Lennox-Matthews had become the Countess of Moreland. Darcy insisted upon cracking a bottle to celebrate, and Mrs. Stanley, a small and dapper little white-haired gentleman, was nothing loath, having accepted a handsome recompense for his journey and eyeing with favor the bottle of champagne presented by Beck for his master’s approval.

Beck, too, was invited to join in the toast as were Tom and Matty, who had also stood witness to the ceremony. Sarah could not think Matty really needed the drink and hoped she would not pass out somewhere and forget about their luncheon. Darcy also poured out a small glass for his bride. Sarah really didn’t enjoy the taste of wines and spirits, but it did seem a bit surly to refuse to toast her own wedding. The two gentlemen finished off the bottle, and Darcy invited Mr. Stanley to stay to luncheon. That gentleman accepting with beaming pleasure, they adjourned to the dining parlor, and if the little minister was any the less pleased with his decision after he had partaken of the tasteless meal, he hid his feelings well. Of course, he and Darcy had imbibed a good deal of the grape by then, so Sarah thought it possible that he did not really notice that the food lacked flavor. By half past one, he weaved his way to the front door, bidding the married couple fond best wishes and farewell.

They watched his departure from the doorway, and once he was out of sight, Darcy turned to his bride with an unmistakable air of anticipation. “I shall be leaving at once, my lady, for time is short. Must present the marriage lines to your grandfather’s Mr. Smithers.” He wasted little time, and less than a quarter hour later, he was gone.

No longer confined to her room, Sarah thought at first that it would be fun to explore the old house, but she soon gave it up as a lonely, dreary prospect. Upstairs, several of the rooms had beds and one or two even possessed a chest or a chair, but everything was under Holland covers, and many of the rooms were entirely devoid of furnishings. The only one besides Sarah’s own that could be considered truly habitable was Darcy’s.