The Stolen Bride (14 page)

Then she looked at Verderan and found him dabbing at his scratched cheek with his handkerchief. The look he gave her was not friendly.

“Well,” she said, smothering guilt, “you shouldn’t have bullied me like that.” Before he could reply she turned to the child’s mother. “What caused the commotion in the first place?” she asked.

“Someone fired some shots off near the cattle stalls,” the woman said angrily. “That’s what. Heard tell someone got hurt. I dunno what the world’s coming to. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s French spies!”

Shots? All Sophie’s unease returned. She knew it made no sense, but she would not know a moment’s peace until she saw Randal hale and hearty. Ignoring an angry exclamation from Verderan, she turned and ran toward the stalls, searching the crowd. She couldn’t see Randal anywhere.

Verderan grabbed at her arm, catching only the short sleeve. “Sophie, for God’s sake!”

Randal. Randal was the injured one. She broke free, ignoring the sharp rip, and ran frantically through the crowd, calling his name. She was buffeted by fat paunches and bony elbows, assailed by smells of sweat and ale and spicy meat. Everyone seemed to be shouting or laughing. How could anyone laugh?

She saw her brother and screamed his name. He turned, searching for her and she pushed forward. A sudden movement of the crowd showed her David standing over a body and Jane kneeling there in the dust ministering to somebody. Beth and Sir Marius stood nearby also looking down with concern. Then the crowd shut again in front of her.

Terror made Sophie careless of everything. She fought her way by people, pushing and kicking, screaming, “Let me by! Let me by!” She lost her bonnet and felt her chemisette half dragged from her shoulder.

She landed breathless against David.

“Sophie, what on earth’s the matter?”

She looked down. The body at his feet was that of an older man, conscious but looking sorry for himself. How could she ever have thought it was Randal?

Her heart was pounding, she felt sick and dizzy and clutched his supporting arm even as Beth Hawley came over, full of concern. What an utter fool she had made of herself. As Beth took her in her arms, Sophie looked at David to explain and found he was looking death at Piers Verderan. Verderan had stopped long enough to retrieve her bonnet and was knocking the dirt off it, seemingly unaware of his danger. The bloody scratch was clearly visible on his cheek.

Sophie hastily dragooned her wits into order and grabbed her brother’s sleeve to snare his attention. “I wasn’t running from him,” she said. “I heard someone was injured. I thought it was Randal. I don’t know why.”

David relaxed slightly and looked at her. “Randal?” he said. “He’s nimble enough to avoid a cow. He’s off looking for you. Here he is.”

Sophie turned quickly. Even with David’s words her fear had lingered until now, until she saw Randal safe. As he took her hands she sensed Randal had felt the same dread. His startled glance made her aware that her bodice was hanging loose at one shoulder and her chemisette was disordered. She was perilously close to revealing all. She was immensely grateful when Beth Hawley draped her light shawl over her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” Randal asked. “I thought I saw you in the crowd.” He flashed a guarded look at Verderan and Sophie knew even he was suspicious about how she had got into such a state.

“Verderan took care of me as you predicted,” she assured him. She tightened her hands on his, letting the knowledge that he was safe seep into her and drive out that terrible panic. For the first time Sophie wondered how she would cope with being a soldier’s wife. How could she endure seeing him ride off into battle?

“You look upset all the same,” he said.

“I was frightened for you,” she confessed.

“For me? Why?”

“I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “Do take care of yourself, Randal.”

His lips twitched in a wry smile. “I thought you wanted a life of high adventure, minx.”

Sophie swallowed her anxiety. Despite her fears, she must never tie him down to the safe paths. “Of course I do,” she lied firmly. “I won’t mind any danger as long as we’re together. What happened here?”

“Fireworks in the cow byre,” he explained, “and this poor gentleman didn’t move quickly enough. He’s banged his head and cracked a few ribs. We’re just arranging to get him to his home.”

Sophie became aware of yelps and howls from within the crude barn and looked a question at him. He grinned. “I suspect a pair of young hellions won’t sit for a week. Have you had enough rustic excitement, Sophie? I think it’s time we took our leave.”

Verderan came over and gave her bonnet to Randal and again Randal looked at him thoughtfully. Sophie saw the coldly furious look the Dark Angel gave her and bit her lip. What could she say? If everyone was suspicious despite her assurance, it was because of his dubious reputation.

B
ECAUSE OF the heat, that evening the Stenby party ate on the west terrace of the Castle, joined by Randal and Verderan. Dusk was falling and lamps were set around to give extra light. There was potted shrimp and salad, grouse from Scotland and lamb from Wales, rabbits shot by Sir Marius, and a fine pike caught that morning by Frederick. For dessert there were custards and ices and the earl’s favorite damson pie.

There were wines to drink, but in the heat the most popular refreshment was effervescent lemon.

Sophie sat by Randal on her best behavior, planning her strategy. Tonight, one way or another, she was going to get him alone and push him a little further. She had set the stage by asking her brother’s secretary, Walter Carby, to arrange a treasure hunt for after supper. If Randal could arrange events to suit himself, so could she.

It was hard to sit still with anticipation bubbling inside her more fiercely than the juice in her glass. It was almost impossible to eat. She tried hard, though, for Randal was sure to notice a poor appetite and be suspicious. It wasn’t as if she really doubted him, she thought, aware of every breath he took beside her, of the warmth of his body so close to hers.... It was that she had to be sure if she was to have any peace of mind.

It was like waiting for an expected letter. It wasn’t enough to know it was coming—it had to be received. Lost in her plans she was quite oblivious to the others.

Not so Beth who was aware of the tension between Lord Randal and Mr. Verderan all, no doubt, because of Sophie’s antics. For all that he hadn’t seemed to pay attention, Lord Randal had been tight as a strung bow during Sophie’s absence that afternoon with Mr. Verderan and her return so disheveled, no matter how reasonable the explanation, had hardly helped matters.

After all the excitement was over, Beth had seen him and Verderan go apart. It hadn’t been a heated discussion—that was not the style of either man—but Beth had seen the one cold glance Verderan had shot at Sophie afterward. She wouldn’t have crossed the man now for a fortune.

After the meal Sophie announced her entertainment. It was agreed to enthusiastically and she went off to check matters. Everyone else wandered about informally, waiting for the event to begin. Beth definitely wanted to avoid Lord Randal and Mr. Verderan, but Jane and her husband were having a tête-à-tête near the fish pond and Frederick Kyle had gone off to assist Sophie. Beth found herself with Sir Marius, aware this was entirely too much to her liking.

Everyone had displayed their fairings on a table and they went off to admire the spoils. Sir Marius inspected the crocheted jacket Beth had won in a lottery when she had merely been attempting a charitable donation to the alms-houses.

“It must have been Lord Randal’s Spanish coin,” she said, and at his query, she explained.

“Fancy him giving up that piece,” he remarked. “But look at the rewards. You will look charmingly in it, dear lady.” Despite his attempts, his lips were twitching with amusement.

“It was the top prize,” she reminded him, “and it is very fine work.”

“Wonderful,” he agreed. “The way those ... er ... pink ruffles have been worked down the front ...”

“Very clever,” she said firmly.

“Perhaps you should put it on so we can judge the better,” he suggested blandly.

Beth tightened her lips. “It would hardly go with the green of my gown,” she said.

“Do you think not?” he queried. “But there is some green in it.”

Beth gave in and chuckled. There was everything in it. The spencer was a coat of many colors with ruffles down the front and roses worked on top of the cuffs. It was dreadful.

“I intend it as a gift for my sister-in-law,” she said firmly.

“Lucky lady,” he said with a cough. “But if we are establishing a tradition of passing on our fairings, I think I will gift you with these,” he said and took up some handkerchiefs. They were fine Indian cotton exquisitely embroidered white on white and edged with tatted lace.

“Sir Marius, I couldn’t possibly accept,” she protested. A gift of handkerchiefs was not outrageous, but it was his tone of voice that was sending warnings to her brain. “They are too beautiful,” she said firmly.

“You mustn’t put your value so low,” he said teasingly. “Anyone worthy of that jacket ...”

“But the jacket is for my sister-in-law,” said Beth sharply. He could surely have no interest in her and yet ... Did he think because she was a widow she was of lax morals?

“A gift of handkerchiefs is hardly an assault on your virtue, Mrs. Hawley,” he retorted. “To imply otherwise is to insult me.”

He was genuinely angry. “Oh, good heavens,” said Beth in distress, looking away. “I am making a fine botch of everything. There will scarcely be a person left willing to talk to me.”

His large hand came over hers. “What have you been about, my dear?” he asked gently.

They were virtually alone on the terrace now. Aware of that endearment and his hand warm on hers, Beth looked up at him doubtfully.

He frowned. “I do wish you would stop looking at me as if I were an ogre, Mrs. Hawley.”

“Aren’t you?” she asked and then could have bitten her tongue off. She leapt to her feet. “Oh, I never realized how unnatural we were at Carne Abbey. Never meeting strangers, certainly not gentlemen. I am full of admiration for Jane for surviving her Season. Here I am, plunged into Society and going from one catastrophe to another!”

“Hardly that,” he said comfortably, drawing her back down beside him. “You did very well with Verderan, as it happens, but that was three-quarters luck. I wouldn’t try it again. Especially not now.”

“He’s in one of his tempers, isn’t he?” she asked. After being largely silent throughout the meal, the Dark Angel had gone to stand alone on the far end of the terrace.

“Not precisely,” Sir Marius said. “He hasn’t smashed anything yet.”

Beth looked at the solitary figure with impatience. “A man his age should have more control.”

“I didn’t say he didn’t
want
to smash something, dear lady. So who else have you offended? I suppose it must be Randal.”

Beth nodded. “‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread ...’” Then she looked down at Verderan and a laugh escaped. “That could almost be a very poor pun.”

Sir Marius winced at the thought. “Let us change it to Shakespeare then. ‘The world is grown so bad that wrens make prey where eagles fear to perch.’ I think the birds fit well.”

“A wren?” Beth queried, rather hurt.

“A charming, gentle bird, said to bring leaves to cover those benighted in the forest. Yes, dear lady, I see you as a wren. You deserve some credit for trying to talk sense to Randal. It’s more than anyone else has been brave enough to do.”

“He’s the son of a duke,” Beth said in despair, “and I ... Well, he said I was encroaching and it was all too terribly true.” She put her hands up to her flaming cheeks. “Why can I not learn to mind my own business?”

He pulled her hands gently down. “You care,” he said simply. “If he gave you his doubloon it was probably for that very reason. Among the great there are all too few who really care, my dear. Don’t stop.”

She looked up at him and something moved in the world, everything shifted and changed. Her senses became heightened and she could hear a cricket and a distant nightingale; could smell the musky evening perfumes from a nearby flower bed. “I’m going to get a crick in my neck,” she said helplessly.

He laughed but she never found out what he would have said to that because Sophie bounced out onto the terrace. “We’re all ready!” she announced.

“We’re to go in three teams,” said Sophie, “each with a list of things to collect.” She looked around at the scattered people—Beth and Marius up at one end of the terrace; Jane and David by the pond just beingjoined by Frederick; Randal near her by the door. “I think we’ve pretty well established our teams. Verderan, you had better come with Randal and me.”

There was a heartbeat during which everyone seemed to hold their breath, but then the Dark Angel sauntered across to her. “Of course,” he said and took one of the lists. “Saltpeter?” he queried drily. “Do you really think you need extra explosive power?”

There was a flush on Sophie’s cheeks when she came over to give Beth the list for her and Sir Marius. Her and Sir Marius! Beth realized and looked up at him.

“We’re bound to win,” he said with a twinkle. “I can reach the high places while you do the low.”

Beth surrendered to moon madness. She hadn’t felt like this for so many years. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt like this before. With Arthur there had been none of this danger and excitement, the thrill of the forbidden. Nothing lasting could come of this but, goodness, it was fun. She resolutely put the unholy triad of Sophie, Randal, and Verderan out of her head. She and Sir Marius went off across the dusky garden to find a rose hip, the first item on their list.

 

Jane looked away from Sophie and the two men and up at her husband. “Do you think ... ?”