The Waltzing Widow/Smith (16 page)

Lucy and Mrs. Percy exchanged questioning looks while each considered the desirability of this scheme.

Lucy imagined Lord Avedon arriving at the door and hearing she had gone to Canterbury with Mr. Carlton. That would show him she was not sitting cooling her heels while he vacillated. The chaperon’s thoughts were equally selfish. She did not at all relish that long drive, and if she sent along one of her own trusted footmen, the bishop could find no fault with her guardianship. Mr. Carlton was a gentleman of unexceptionable breeding and reputation. He would certainly never do anything to jeopardize the reputation of a lady.

“You could return with your uncle,” Miss Percy said encouragingly to her niece.

“Do come with me,” Morton urged. “The trip will be a bore if I have to go alone. My team of bloods will get us there in two hours, just a nice outing.”

“Very well,” Lucy said.

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Carlton,” Mrs. Percy added, with genuine feeling. “You must come to dinner while the bishop is here. We want to entertain him and have only a small circle of friends to call on as yet.”

Morton rose and began making his bows. “You will have no trouble getting your noble neighbors to that dinner,” he said, and laughed in a way that Mrs. Percy found peculiar till she remembered that Lady Sara’s husband was a deacon. Perhaps the families were churchy. “Shall we say nine tomorrow morning, Lucy?”

‘That’s fine. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“And now I shall rattle home before that storm breaks,” Mr. Carlton said, and left.

The storm did not break for another half hour. Plenty of time for Avedon to call, but he did not. Lucy was irritable over dinner. A long afternoon dragged along endlessly, with the rain first streaming, then sliding down the windowpanes. Lucy spent half the evening at the window, monitoring the rain and the lighted windows of Chenely, visible up on the hill. It was only half a mile away. Why did he not come?

Mrs. Percy was more gainfully employed making up a list of invitations for the bishop’s dinner party. Now that the whole truth was out, there was no problem about inviting anyone she wished. “Two from Chenely and three from Milhaven,” she said to Lucy’s back. “With ourselves and the bishop, that makes eight. I would like to have ten. The local vicar and his woman, perhaps ...”

“We’ll not invite anyone from Chenely,” Lucy said mulishly.

Mrs. Percy’s pencil hovered over the names, but she did not strike them off her list.

After passing a restless and troubled night, Lord Avedon was up at dawn, pacing the house and watching the clock’s hands drag slowly toward ten, the earliest hour he felt he could decently call at Rose Cottage. At nine o’clock he thought nine-thirty was not too early, and at ten past nine he decided nine-fifteen was not straining the bounds of propriety. As it would take him more than five minutes to get there, he had his mount saddled up immediately and went ripping down the road. He avoided the meadow, as he did not wish to arrive splattered in mud.

It was twenty minutes after nine when he tapped on the door and waited. Higgs answered promptly and said affably, “Good morning, milord. That was quite a downpour we had last night.”

“It certainly was. Is Mrs. Percy up yet, Higgs?”

“Hours ago.” Higgs smiled.

“I would like to speak to her for a moment, if you please.”

“I’m afraid you’ve missed her, milord. She drove off with Mr. Carlton.”

Avedon’s eyebrows drew together in a quick frown. “Mr. Carlton—at this hour?”

“Yes, milord.”

“When will she be back?”

“Not soon. They’ve gone to Canterbury.” Lord Avedon looked so stunned that Higgs added a word of explanation. “To meet the bishop,” he said.

Driven off
with Morton to Canterbury to meet a bishop—it suggested only one thing to Avedon. A special marriage license. “Are you sure?” he asked. As soon as the foolish question was out, he wished he could disown both it and the desperate voice in which it was spoken.

Strangely the question threw Higgs into doubt. There had been many unusual goings-on over the past weeks. Remembering to call Miss Percy Mrs. Percy, and vice versa. “It’s what I was told, your lordship,” he replied uncertainly.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Avedon left and went to his mount, which he had tethered in front of the house. With his mind in a state of chaos, he took the reins and walked down toward the road, trying to make sense of it. It was soon pitifully clear. Lucy had accepted an offer from Morton. They were in such a rush to be married that they could not wait for the banns to be called. They had gone to the bishop for a license. Archbishop it would be, if they went to Canterbury. Odd Lucy hadn’t applied to Norris, but Canterbury was closer, of course.

He rubbed his jaw. He had read something in the journals recently about Archbishop Manners-Button being at his Lambeth Palace seat in London—some episcopal conference. Perhaps one of his diocesan bishops was handling cathedral affairs. Despondency sat like a cloak on his shoulders. He felt as if the sun had fallen into the sea, and he would never see it again. Lucy married to Morton. It was infamous. He wouldn’t allow it.

When he realized what folly his mind was wandering into, he clenched his jaw and pulled himself back to reality. He was curious to learn all the details of the match, and the place to do it was obviously Milhaven. He clambered onto his mount and dug his heels in till the great gelding was galloping down the road. Trees and houses and fields of cattle rushed past unseen. In his mind Avedon was wildly contriving some means by which he could oust Morton in Lucy’s affections in the short few days he had left.

How had he been so insane as to let Morton win her? Why had he not come down off his high horse and told her he loved her? He had sensed that she had some interest in him from the first meeting. Oh, nothing obvious, she was too proud for that. But there had been a tension when they were together, a quickening of the air, a hastier beating of the heart. A man knew when a lady was interested in him.

And what had he done to fan this flame? He had followed his first cool reception on the High Street by making her life a living hell. He had torn up her road, offered her a carte blanche, gone into her home reviling and chastising her. And to add the final, infamous insult, he had called her a liar and a conniver. Good God, he’d be fortunate if Morton didn’t demand satisfaction.

Before long the brick walls of Milhaven appeared, and he put his mount over a fence, angling across a meadow to shorten his path. He didn’t bother knocking on the door but just flung it open and pounced in. Tony was sitting in the saloon with his legs stretched out straight in front of him. He was dressed for riding, in buckskins and topboots, and held a crop, which he occasionally tapped on the floor while waiting for his mount to be ready.

“Avedon, what the deuce brings you here?” he demanded, looking up in surprise. His pale face wore a sulky expression.

“I came to discover what you can tell me about Morton and Mrs. Percy,” he answered.

“He’s gone to Canterbury on business,” Tony replied in a dull way. “You need not fear she’s trapped him, Uncle. Aunt Sal told us all about her. Morton was out of reason cross. I’m sure if Lucy was letting on she was married to Captain Percy, there is some good reason for it.”

“There is no call to take that condescending tone. She
was
married to him,” Avedon said sharply.

“Aunt Sal told us it was all a hum.”

“We were mistaken.” A feeling of disquiet grew in Avedon.

“I knew it all along,” Bigelow declared triumphantly. “Haven’t I been telling you you misjudged Mrs. Percy?” He paused a moment and added with a sly look. “But Morton don’t know about it, and he’s jaunted off to Canterbury.” He rose and began straightening his jacket. “Do you know, Uncle, it’s such a jolly fine day that I’m going out for a ride. Perhaps to the village,” he added, for he wished to get to Rose Cottage unaccompanied, to resume the flirtation before Morton returned.

Undeceived, his uncle said, “She’s not at home. She went to Canterbury with Morton.”

“He wouldn’t have invited her,” Bigelow said. “He had some pretty sharp things to say about Lucy.”

Avedon’s feeling of disquiet began swelling to anxiety. “I tell you, she went with him. I’ve been at Rose Cottage.” He drew a long breath and announced, “Higgs told me they’d gone to get a marriage license.”

“Rubbish! Marriage is the last thing he had in his mind.” They exchanged a look of dawning suspicion. “Good God!” Bigelow exclaimed. “You don’t think he’s—no, it cannot be an abduction. Her chaperon must be with them. She wasn’t at Rose Cottage, was she?”

“I didn’t see her. If Morton isn’t arranging a wedding—well, it is pretty clear what he
does
have in mind.” Avedon strode purposefully toward the door.

“Wait for me!” Bigelow shouted, and ran after him. There was a nervous delay while Bigelow’s mount was brought around to the front. “I’m just going to take a nip up to Morton’s room and see if he left us a note.”

“He’s not a runaway schoolboy,” Avedon said, but Tony ran off.

When he returned he announced, “If he was getting married, he would have worn his best jacket. He didn’t. It’s hanging in the closet. And furthermore, he didn’t take his prayer book with him.”

“He doesn’t need his best jacket to get a license,” Avedon pointed out.

“He has no intention of marrying her. He’s seducing her.”

This possibility was enough to fire both gentlemen to a new pitch of wrath against Morton Carlton. “I know just when he hatched this whole scheme,” Bigelow said through thin lips. “As soon as Sal left yesterday afternoon, he had that old mare of his saddled up and went posting off. That’s when he went to Rose Cottage and fed Lucy this Banbury tale about getting a marriage license. That was to con her into going off with him.”

“Perhaps she convinced him of the truth,” Avedon said uncertainly.

“Why didn’t he tell us last night, then, when he returned from Rose Cottage? Not a word did he say, but only sat there grinning like a jackal. Now we know why.”

Avedon listened intently. “We’ll stop at Rose Cottage and see if Miss Percy went with them,” he decided.

“And if she did?”

Avedon came to a frowning pause. Morton was not a savage after all. If Miss Percy was with them, then the affair was respectable, and it would be obtrusive for him to go pelting after them. When he finally spoke, it was not about Miss Percy. “I wonder what time they left,” he said.

“He was gone before I came down. We’ll ask Higgs.”

They knew even before they reached Rose Cottage that Miss Percy had not accompanied her charge. Through the trees along the side of the road they caught a glimpse of her sunbonnet in the back garden. Avedon disliked to throw the poor soul into alarm. He rode around to the rear and worded his query discreetly.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, trying to force a smile. “I hear your charge has gone to Canterbury.”

“Oh, good morning, Lord Avedon—Tony. Yes, she has gone off with Mr. Carlton—to meet the bishop, you know. Higgs told me you were here earlier.” She assumed Carlton had told the family the true story by now.

“Yes, at what time did they leave?”

“They wanted an early start. They left around nine.”

Avedon pulled out his watch. It was a few minutes past ten. God, they’d never overtake them. “Thank you,” he said, and turned his mount around.

Mrs. Percy smiled softly to herself. Avedon wasn’t too happy about that. Very likely Lucy had only accepted Carlton’s escort to rouse a little jealousy. She expected to see Avedon again before sunset.

“How fast can that jade move?” Avedon asked his nephew.

“Jade? I’ll have you know my blood can outrun anything on four legs. She can go fast enough to beat Carlton’s tired old hacks to Canterbury, even with an hour’s lead.”

They both dug in their heels and galloped down the road to Canterbury, while mud from last night’s downpour splattered in all directions. Their pace left little time for conversation but did not stop their wild imaginings of Lucy at the mercy of an accomplished womanizer. To that extent their imaginations rode in tandem. From there Tony’s veered off into wild and unlikely rescue scenes involving swords and guns, neither of which he or Mr. Carlton carried with them.

Avedon’s daydreams were hardly more realistic, except that they involved fists. He wanted the satisfaction of physically pummeling Carlton’s handsome face with his own fists, after which a grateful and repentant Lucy would throw herself on his bosom. As the miles flew by, more practical considerations rose up to disturb his fantasies. He should have told Sal or someone where he was going. Tony hadn’t left any message, either.

After the first unrestrained gallop, they had to slow the pace for the horses’ sake, and conversation was possible. “What if it ain’t Canterbury they’re headed to at all?” Bigelow asked. “It could be a ruse, Uncle.”

“He told her Canterbury. He’d have to head in that direction, or she’d suspect something amiss. We know it isn’t Gretna Green in any case, for you don’t need a special license there. I should think it is marriage. They definitely went to see a bishop, according to Miss Percy.”

“He might think she was bamming him.” But no more likely destination occurred to Bigelow, and he accepted his uncle’s word. “Where in Canterbury do you think they’d go?”

Avedon had no more idea than his nephew. “We’ll drive down the High Street, check out the inns, the banks of the Stour, the area around the cathedral,” he replied, as these were where tourists might expect to be found.

“Shouldn’t we go to the cathedral first?”

“If they’re at the cathedral, then Lucy isn’t in danger. They’re getting a marriage license. It’s the inns we have to worry about.” It occurred to him that this was a highly unsatisfactory plan. They weren’t even sure Canterbury was their destination.

“We’d make better time if we split up,” Bigelow suggested. “But we’ll need a meeting place. How about the Rose, in High Street? That is where Papa always stayed.”