The Stolen Bride (2 page)

For a fleeting moment the pain of her widowing pulled at Beth. It was so long ago now, that brief marriage to her darling Arthur, that it was ridiculous for grief to bother her. After all, if he were to appear now in the coach, eyes bright with a new challenge, his hair as always escaping whatever style he tried to impose on it, she would surely think him a callow youth at twenty-two. And he would think her a dry old thing at thirty-three.

She returned to the present and looked out of the window as the coach rolled into the small town of Much Wen-lock. It was market day and the High Street was full of stalls and customers.

The groom blew a blast on the horn and the carriage turned under the stone arch into the courtyard of the posting inn. Beth tied on her bonnet, looking forward to a chance to stretch her legs. Perhaps there might also be time for a cup of tea. It had been many hours since lunch and though a hamper of food was provided each day, it could not provide a fresh-brewed pot of tea.

The groom swung open the door and let down the steps.

“We still be a couple of hours from Stenby, ma’am. Mr. Kinnock says you may want to take a break here.”

“I do indeed, Grigson,” said Beth, pulling on her cotton gloves. “Would it be possible for me to stroll about here?”

“Well, I wouldn’t, ma’am,” said the groom seriously as he handed her down. “It’s market day and busylike.”

Beth had to admit the truth of it. Jane had urged her to hire a maid for the journey but that had seemed a great deal of nonsense to Beth. She and the two menservants had got along very well thus far, but now she could have used a companion. Of course Beth was accustomed to going about on her own, but she knew if she attempted it here one of the men would feel obliged to escort her. Doubtless they too needed liquid refreshment.

“Well, at least I can take tea here, I hope,” she said. “I am parched to death.”

“Aye, ma’am,” said the man with a grin. “It’s dusty weather, sure enough. Not bad for the roads, but hard on the throat. I’ll see to it.”

At each stop Grigson had made sure the innkeeper knew the quiet little lady in the plain blue gown and bonnet was the special guest of the Earl of Wraybourne, just in case anyone took it into his head to be insolent. As a consequence, Beth soon found herself in the inn’s best parlor with a steaming pot of tea and a selection of cakes before her.

She sat close to the open window to enjoy the refreshment and was entertained by the bustle around the market stalls offering everything from fish to lace. A woman walked along the street with a live goose in her basket, trailed by two young lads sticky from some sugared treat. The dust from the traffic was rapidly turning their hands and faces brown.

Outside a nearby shop a maidservant on business was pretending not to be interested in the blandishments of a uniformed soldier who wanted to buy her some trinket from a stall.

A very large gentleman came striding down the pavement. There was nothing about him of the rural-quaint—he was all Town Bronze from the curly brimmed beaver on his short dark hair to his gleaming top boots—and that was perhaps what made him stand out. That and his size. Well over six feet and built to match he seemed a giant among mortal men. Such size was off-putting to Beth, who could just reach five feet if she had a heel to her slippers, but the maidservant obviously did not think so. She called something to the colossus as he strode past which made him laugh and had the soldier scowling.

Beth had just recognized the gentleman when Grigson came to say they were ready to be off again. Her poor stiff body protested, but she knew this was the last stage. She did, however, walk around the parlor a few times before emerging, just to remind her legs they had some purpose.

In the busy yard she waited for a loaded stagecoach to pull in before making her way over to the crested carriage. As she approached, a booming voice was heard.

“Kinnock, by God! You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Beth turned to see the colossus approach. The coachman turned from his inspection of the harness and touched his forelock.

“Good day to you, Sir Marius. Be you on your way to Stenby, sir?”

“I am indeed, if I can find the means. My damned rig’s split the axle and there’s no way to fix it today, they tell me.”

Both Grigson and Kinnock looked awkwardly at Beth and she quite understood she had been overlooked. She was accustomed to it.

She stepped out from behind the groom. “Good afternoon, Sir Marius. I am Mrs. Hawley, Jane Wraybourne’s governess. We met at the wedding, though you may not remember it.”

The hand she extended was engulfed in Sir Marius Fletcher’s much larger one. “Of course I remember,” he said, though she was not sure of his veracity. “You are on your way to Stenby, ma’am?”

Beth nodded. “Do I understand you to be in need of transportation?”

“You have it. I’d hire a horse except that only the largest beasts can take me and they have no such available. And no other carriage. You don’t need to think I’ll bother you, ma’am. I’ll happily ride on the box.”

“Of course not,” said Beth, concealing some doubts. The conventional notion that an unmarried lady should not share a closed carriage with a gentleman did not concern her; she considered herself too old for such restrictions. She did wonder, however, whether there was room to share the carriage with this giant. It had seemed very spacious for her alone, but it was difficult to imagine how he would fold himself to fit.

“You must ride inside,” she said firmly despite her misgivings. “For the three of you to crush together on the box would be absurd.”

It was soon arranged. Sir Marius’s baggage was transferred from his curricle to the boot of the coach, his man was given instructions for the care of his equipage, and then the baronet climbed into the coach to take the seat opposite Beth.

It was not as bad as she had imagined, though he did dwarf the compartment.

“I don’t care much for closed carriages,” he said drily as the coach rolled out of the inn yard. “I always feel as if I’m going to put an elbow through the wall.”

She remembered Jane had found this man rather forbidding when they had first met, then had come to call him a friend. Beth could certainly understand the first part. Harsh was the word which came to mind. Like granite. The bones of his jaw and skull were solid beneath the flesh.

She realized she had been staring. “It must certainly be a problem at times, being so large,” she said hastily.

“No more of a problem than being so tiny, ma’am,” he drawled.

Beth sat up straighter. “Well, really, Sir Marius. There is no call for personal remarks.”

There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “It was no more personal than the remark you made about me, dear lady.”

“It was you, as I recall, who began the topic with talk of elbows ...” Beth trailed off as she realized she was arguing, in a rather childish way, with a virtual stranger. “I ... I do beg your pardon,” she stammered, knowing she was turning a fiery red. She was a redhead with very indiscreet skin.

“Now don’t spoil it,” he said with a grin. “I was looking forward to sparring all the way to Stenby.”

“Well, I could not contemplate such a thing, Sir Marius,” Beth said stiffly, regretting her charitable impulse. She didn’t even feel able to remove her bonnet and be comfortable.

He looked at her consideringly and then smiled in a more natural way. “I apologize. It is not good of me to be teasing you when we’re in such a situation.”

For some reason these words only made Beth feel more flustered. “What do you mean, ‘such a situation’?”

He leaned back at his ease. “Why, in a closed carriage, Mrs. Hawley. You can hardly escape me short of risking life and limb by leaping into the road. We’re going a fair speed too. Kinnock must be keen to be home.”

Grasping a safe topic with relief, Beth said, “You must know Stenby well, Sir Marius.”

“Very well. David and I have been friends since we were boys. I’ve spent many a happy summer at the Castle. Is this your first visit there?”

“Yes. Jane invited me during the summer but I felt she and her husband should have time together. Now she has asked me to come and help with Lady Sophie’s wedding.”

“Well, if you were giving them peace and quiet,” said Sir Marius, “you should have taken that minx Sophie out of their orbit. She has a natural antipathy to tranquillity.”

Beth was beginning to understand the large gentleman and did not miss the fondness behind the comment. “Lady Sophie is lively,” she responded, “but she has a kind heart. I’m sure she has done her best not to be a bother to her brother and Jane.”

He raised a quizzical brow. “It’s certain she hasn’t sought their company if Randal’s been available.”

Beth smiled. She remembered Lady Sophie Kyle and Lord Randal Ashby at Jane’s wedding, always together, always smiling, always in some way
connected.
Even though their betrothal had not been officially announced until recently, no one who saw them could be in any doubt as to the state of affairs. “It is only natural for young people in love to want to be together, Sir Marius. And Lady Sophie and Lord Randal are very much in love.”

“Sickening, ain’t it?”

Beth chuckled. “I can quite see you are not of a romantical disposition, Sir Marius, but you should not begrudge your friends their happiness.”

“Why not?” he replied, but with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s spoiled a perfectly good summer. My two closest friends have wasted it on mere women.”

Beth shook her head. “I fear you are a cynic, Sir Marius. One day you too might come to that dreadful fate.”

“Marriage—maybe. Love, never. It ain’t in my disposition.”

Beth felt the conversation was becoming a little too intimate, and in a way she found strangely disconcerting. “Could you tell me a little more about Stenby Castle?” she asked quickly. “Jane has conveyed some of its history in her letters but I have a very unclear picture. Is it truly medieval?”

He settled in his seat and stretched his legs. Beth had to move slightly to ensure her skirt was not in contact with his boots. When she thought of her previous journeys on a crowded stage, her unease with the slightest contact seemed ridiculous.

“That’s difficult to say, Mrs. Hawley,” he replied easily. She knew he had noted her move and was amused. A truly infuriating man. “Most of the external walls date back to at least the fourteenth century but the Kyles haven’t done without their comforts. Arrow slits have become windows, fireplaces have been improved. Walls have been covered with tapestries, paneling, and wallpaper. Apart from the Great Hall, which is hardly used, the house appears very like any gentleman’s seat.” He leaned forward and she hastily leaned back.

He was merely gazing out of the window.

“If you look carefully,” he said, “you can catch your first glimpse of the place through those trees.”

Forgetting her concerns Beth quickly moved forward to share the view.

“Over on that rise,” said Sir Marius close to her ear.

Then Beth saw Stenby Castle in the distance, crenelated gray stone walls softened by greenery and set with glittering windows. As the coach bowled along, she sat and watched the place gradually fall behind a screen of trees. She became aware of Sir Marius’s breath warm on her cheek.

Startled, she turned to face him and surprised a look of enigmatic amusement. She drew back into her seat feeling far more flustered than was reasonable.

“A charming prospect,” she said hurriedly.

“Decidedly,” he drawled. “But not in the common run.”

“Of course not. Most earls do not have castles for their principal seats.”

“Certainly most people prefer the younger, the more fashionable standard of beauty,” he said in a manner she could only take as teasing, though she could not see what there was to joke about.

“Do you think so?” she queried. “I thought there was a decided taste for the Gothic these days.”

“Gothic?” he echoed with a grin. “Do you really think that description fair?”

Beth could not remember ever having been so off-balance. She was used to handling events with calm competence and yet this man, in some way, was making her feel dizzy. He was also talking nonsense.

“I know some people use ‘Gothic’ in a pejorative sense, Sir Marius,” she said sharply, “but surely it can be used more exactly. A medieval castle must have elements of the Gothic.”

“Time will tell,” he drawled. “It certainly promises to be an entertaining visit—” He broke off as the horses were suddenly pulled up.

As soon as the coach stopped he swung open the door. “What’s amiss?”

“Coach off the road, Sir Marius,” said Kinnock. “Grigson’s just gone to see if they need help.”

Sir Marius turned back. “I’ll see what’s going on,” he said and jumped down onto the road.

Not at all unwilling to stretch her legs, Beth followed. He turned back and moved to help her down.

Beth felt a decided reluctance to allow him to swing her to the ground, but it would be a long jump for her and she could hardly order him to let down the steps. Two strong hands nearly spanned her waist, and she was lifted down as if she were a feather. She was used to being small, but this man made her feel positively childlike and she didn’t like it one bit. At least he didn’t linger to tease her again but went straight to the other carriage.

It appeared to be a hired coach, not new or smart. It had apparently lost a wheel on the bend and toppled. The driver was struggling with the panicked horse and Grigson moved quickly to cut the tangled harness. Sir Marius went over to the coach and Beth followed.

“What passengers?” he called out to the driver.

“Just an old biddy. Taking her to Stenby. Be she all right, sir?”

Sir Marius knocked on the bottom of the coach. “Ma’am? Do you need help?”

There was no answer. He pushed at the coach a little to see how stable it was and then hoisted himself onto the side. There was an ominous crack but nothing drastic happened. He looked in through the window.