The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne (25 page)

“She’ll turn up again, just like the proverbial bad penny.” Danforthe yawned and stretched. “She always does.”

“One of these days she might not,” said James. “You should keep a closer eye on your sister.”

“You haven’t any sisters, have you, Hartley?”

“No.”

Danforthe sprawled in the seat, long legs spread wide, an arrogant sneer on his lips. “Then I think I know more about the matter than you. I’ll reserve the right to handle her anyway I choose.”

“And as she gets older, she’ll grow even more troublesome.” James might not have any experience with sisters, but he knew about difficult women.

“By then she’ll be someone else’s problem, won’t she?”

Danforthe was evidently looking to be rid of his sister as soon as legally possible. He had no time for her. His days and nights were spent in pursuit of pleasure. James knew the young earl kept a tight group of similarly entitled friends—young blades with names like Skip Skiffingham and Sinjun Rothespur. The sort of men he was once himself, before past regret caught up with him and he realized reckless youth couldn’t last forever.

“Once my sister’s safely married and out of the way, she won’t come back again. Good riddance.”

James heard the Robbins girl exhale in disgust. Danforthe must have heard, too, for his gray eyes narrowed, focused across the carriage, and fixed on her face. She slowly and grandly turned her head to watch the ink-black sky through the window of the carriage. Impressed, James hid a little smile behind his gloved hand and feigned a yawn.

“People who don’t know all the circumstances and have not heard them from unbiased lips,” added Danforthe, “shouldn’t be so quick to judge others.”

Another breath—this one a sharp huff—disturbed the cool air around Molly’s mouth, but she kept her gaze on the window.

James looked out on the other side and stared into the night. He hoped they would find Mercy Danforthe in one piece. She might be a plaguing creature, but he couldn’t help feeling responsible for her being in the country in the first place. He hadn’t done anything to encourage her, but it seemed as if she didn’t need much encouragement.

When the carriage pulled up by the common, they saw a stream of torchlight reaching out across the fields. Danforthe climbed down and finally looked worried about his sister. He hadn’t realized, he told James in a low, tense voice, how many folk were out searching for her.

James looked for Ellie, but she was nowhere in view. He saw Rafe with his dog and hurried over to join them.

“We’ll find ’er, mister,” the boy shouted. “I’m going up to the farm to fetch my uncle. He’ll know what to do.”

Affronted by the suggestion that Kane might know how to search better than he would, James puffed out his chest and strode after the boy.

“Don’t want you to get your fine clothes dirty, mister,” the boy chirped over his shoulder when he heard James following.

He’d forgotten he was still in his evening clothes. His grandmother always dined very formally. “Have you seen Miss Vyne?” he called out, quickening his pace to keep up with the boy’s dog as it trundled along, muzzle to the snow, head weaving from side to side, tail wagging violently.

“She went up the lane that way with Bob Robbins, up toward the churchyard. Best keep an eye on her, mister.” Rafe winked and laughed. “She might go missing too.”

James turned off to follow the direction the boy pointed. He could see light ahead—torches moving along by the gray shadow of the church wall and under the lych-gate. That must be her.

***

Despite the coat thrown on in haste over her best frock, Ellie was freezing. She bitterly regretted leaving the cottage without changing into her boots, but she couldn’t run back and change now. She couldn’t think of her own comfort until Mercy was found safe. The girl had been left in her charge, and she’d been negligent. Here she was, wanting a child of her own, and yet she couldn’t look after one, for only a brief time, who wandered into her custody.

Bob Robbins was ahead of her by a few steps. He moved speedily through the gravestones, holding his torch high and bellowing the girl’s name every few seconds. Ellie’s head hurt. She slowed down with a stitch in her side. They ought to go more carefully, she thought. What if Mercy was hiding behind one of the headstones? If they made too much noise coming for her, she could run off again.

Or she could be lying injured somewhere. There were poachers’ traps under hedges in some of the fields. There had been horrific accidents before. Oh, Lord.

Wait…was that her? Her eyes had made out a darker lump against one of the gray headstones, but when she picked her way through the churchyard toward it, the lump suddenly moved, stared at her with gleaming wild eyes, and then scuttled off on four legs. A fox or some other creature. Her heart skipped a beat, and she laughed nervously. Only a fox.

Bob Robbins and his torchlight had streaked onward without her, and Ellie suddenly realized how far she was from the other searchers.

The shouts were distant now, and a chill brushed the back of her neck under the collar of her coat. Tucking her hands under her armpits for added warmth, she walked bravely onward. Her eyes struggled to identify shapes through the thick folds of shadow. She chided herself for those fits of wild imagination that made the skin of her arms prickle. Really, she thought, at her age she should get that under control and not be such a fearful ninny. So she lengthened her stride, determined not to be afraid of the dark.

“Ellie.” A hand clasped around her arm from behind, and her heart leapt into her throat.

“James!”

His face was a mere blur of shadow in the dark. “I came back with Molly and Carver Danforthe.” He tugged her a few steps closer until she could see the gleam of his teeth and the trace of his nose and eyelashes where the snow fell. “I hope you realize the trouble you’ve put me in, Vyne.”

“Trouble?” Her heart thumped against her ribs.

“Because I—” Whatever he planned to say, he changed it at the last moment and tripped over his own words. “Why is he here?”

Her pulse fluttered like damp linen hung up to dry on a breezy wash day. “Who?”

She watched his lips tighten, his eyes narrow. “The count,” he spat. “I saw you with him today.”

“It was not the count.”

“I
know
who he is.”

She stared up at his angry, stern face. “You know…you know who he is?”

“He paid me a visit before we left London.”

Confusion knotted her nerves and her tongue.

“He wanted money from me.”

Of course he did. Ellie knew all hope of a quiet life was gone now that her father had found her. She would simply have to face the truth of her provenance and make the best of it. He might not be the most impressive and loving of fathers, but he was hers. “Since you know who he is, James, you will understand why I cannot turn my back on him. I’m sorry if that makes me unsuitable now.”

His eyes flamed, and his breath clouded around his mouth like the wild manes and tails of angry horses. “Cannot turn your back, or will not?” He spoke in a clipped manner, cold and formal. The old James back again. “He treats you as his lover still, I see. Perhaps I was a fool to believe I had your full attention.”

“Lover?” For a moment she was utterly flummoxed. “He is my father, Hartley. I thought you knew…”

His lips parted to expel a crisp, gray breath. “Your father?” His tone overflowed with disbelief, even disdain. “I thought he was dead before you were born.”

“Apparently, that is not the case.” She was still adjusting to the idea herself, and the uncertainty made her voice quake.

Through narrowed eyes, James glared at her as snowflakes temporarily landed on his lashes and the tip of his fine nose. “You expect me to believe this? It has your usual flair for a well-embellished falsehood. One of those you use to get yourself out of trouble.”

“I assure you he is my father. Unfortunate as it might seem to you.” She gathered her courage to face him boldly, ready to defend herself again by going on the attack. James was not the only one back to his old self. “And he tells me that Lady Ophelia Southwold is in Morecroft.”

His frown deepened. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Have you seen her?”

“I see you try to change the subject, Vyne!”

It smarted that while he felt free to interrogate her about her own father, he avoided questions about both Ophelia’s presence and his admiration for Sophie.

“You demand answers from me, yet I am not entitled to know anything when you rush off to see Sophie or keep company with
your
old lovers?”

She looked up, and it seemed as if ice formed around her vision, giving his shadowy form angry bristles.

“Uneven standards, James. There they are again.”

If looks could kill, she’d be slain where she stood. “You needn’t be associated with us. Don’t fear, James. I have no intention of holding you to our agreement now.”

“We will talk of this later,” he growled, “when Lady Mercy is found.”

The way he spoke, it was as if he blamed her for the girl being lost. Why not? Hartleys blamed Vynes for every ill that befell them, and Vynes did the same to Hartleys.

It was Rafe who found the missing little girl hiding in the hayloft of his uncle’s barn, sulking because she did not want to go home with her brother. She had, apparently, tried to buy Rafe’s silence when he found her, by offering him a large diamond. Rafe took it but turned her in anyway, and then showed the diamond to James.

“You’re the richest feller I know around here, so this must be yours,” the boy said.

“Actually, I’m not the richest,” James replied, impressed by the boy’s honesty in returning the diamond instead of keeping it. “Her brother is the Earl of Everscham and far richer than me. Richer than almost everyone else in the country.”

“I thought she made that up.”

“No. That much is true.”

Thus James got his diamonds back from the young lady, who said she’d taken them only to pay for her journey to Ireland. All the money she’d brought with her on her adventure had been spent at Hodson’s, the village shop. She was, it seemed, something of an impulsive buyer.

“Ireland?” Rafe exclaimed. “Why do you want to go there, pea brain?”

“I want to go as far away as I can,” she snapped. “And raise sheep. So there.”

“Sheep?” The boy burst out laughing. “I pity the bloody sheep.”

James knew he should reprimand his son for cursing, but while he still wondered how to go about it, the moment passed.

“You’ll get a clip ’round the ear from your brother now,” Rafe informed Lady Mercy. “He’s none too happy at being dragged away from his warm fire to look for you this evening.”

“He won’t tell me off.” She stuck her nose in the air. “He daren’t, or I’ll tell everyone all the bad things he does.”

“Shut up, do,” laughed Rafe. “You’re the biggest fibber I ever met.”

“And you’re the rudest peasant I ever met,” she replied tartly and shot him a scowl that would fell a lesser boy.

James watched Rafe stand his ground and tease her again. “Crikey, wench. If I was your brother, I’d spank you too. He has my greatest sympathy.”

Mercy sauntered away across the cobblestones, muttering under her breath. “I’m going back only if he lets me bring Molly, so there.”

Rafe fidgeted at James’s side and then shouted after her, “I can come with you, if you like, and make sure he doesn’t spank you too hard.”

She looked over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue, but James sensed the boy had been in earnest. As she disappeared inside the farmhouse to face her brother’s wrath, Rafe sighed gustily, and a thick lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. “Some girls are awful hard to figure out. Worse even than letters and sums.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He laid a tentative hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about it for a few more years yet, young Rafe.”

The boy looked up at him. “You’re going to marry that Miss Vyne?”

“That was the plan,” he muttered grimly.

“Sophie says if Miss Vyne marries you, she can stop wandering around, causing trouble.”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Will you take her back to Lunnen?”

“Possibly. I am undecided on that score.”

The boy nodded eagerly. “I’ll go to Lunnen one day and make my fortune.”

James hunkered down beside Rafe. In a few more years it wouldn’t be necessary to get down to his level. The boy was tall already for his age. “Perhaps you’d like to come and visit me in London, Rafe.”

His son’s eyes widened, gleaming in the light of the lantern he held. “Can I, mister?”

“Of course. I should like that very much. Whenever you want to come.” On a sudden impulse, he hugged the boy as he himself had never been hugged. It was easy once he started, once he took that first brave move.

“Everything all right, mister?”

He released the startled boy and smiled. “It’s going to be.” But then he remembered Ellie’s angry, pinched face and her lips forming those words he’d dreaded,
I
have
no
intention
of
holding
you
to
our
agreement.
He might have known she’d seek some excuse to wriggle out of this, just as she had done with all her other engagements. His buoyant mood quickly sank.

***

Ellie watched the Earl of Everscham chastising his little sister. Or trying to. The young man was apparently as lackluster at punishing his sister—whatever Lady Mercy had claimed—as he was at keeping an eye on her. He was all bark and no bite.

“Well…” He waved a hand over the girl’s head. “See that you don’t do it again.” He glanced around uneasily and saw Ellie watching. He cleared his throat and tried to sound stern. “These people have been troubled enough.” He fell into a chair by the hearth. “Now I need another damned brandy.”

“I’ll go back to London on one condition,” his little sister announced.

The earl eyed her warily. “What?”

“Molly Robbins must come and be my maid.”

“Molly who?”

“The girl who came to Morecroft to fetch you.”

Ellie saw the earl’s face tighten into a bleak scowl. His long fingers tapped the arm of the chair. “You can’t just pluck a person away from their life and set them down elsewhere.”

“Of course I can. She has nothing to hold her here.”

He sneered. “No, I don’t suppose she has.”

“Her family will be glad of the wage she can send home to them,” Lady Mercy exclaimed.

And Ellie knew that Lady Mercy would be glad of the friendship. Molly could be a steadying influence in the spoiled girl’s life. They could be good for each other.

When James opened the farmhouse door, looking for her, she considered slipping away and hiding, as Lady Mercy had done. But then she gathered her courage and prepared to face him. He’d been outside talking to Rafe for quite some time, neither of them apparently feeling the cold. The boy ran inside, full of excitement about his plans to visit James in “Lunnen.”

“You certainly charmed that boy,” she murmured as she joined him outside. She closed the farmhouse door behind her and stood under the hanging lantern. “I hope it’s more than a passing phase—that you don’t forget about your promise once you get back to your social life in Town.”

He frowned. “Once
we
get back.”

There was a pause. “You know that’s impossible, James. Especially now.” She glanced over her shoulder to be sure they were alone. The fewer people who knew about her real father, the better. She wouldn’t want her deceased mother publicly known as a bigamist, or her half sisters exposed as illegitimate. Thankfully, James had kept her secret, but it would not go unknown for long if Josiah followed them both back to London, where he could cause more trouble. It was evident her father had marked James as an easy purse to prey upon.

“We had an agreement, madam. Now you lecture me about keeping
my
promises to Rafe?” He laughed harshly, his breath visible in the crisp night air. “I haven’t had my five nights with you.”

After the appearance of her father and an evening spent searching for Lady Mercy in the snow, she was exhausted, fragile. She hadn’t the strength for a full-blown quarrel with James, and part of her feared she might be tempted to give in—make love to him again despite the fact that they had no future together. It was all too comfortable in his arms, too easy to stay and let him protect her. But she had never relied on anyone to fight her battles, and she would not start now. She couldn’t pass all her troubles onto James. It wouldn’t be fair, when he’d wanted a simple, uncomplicated, unemotional marriage.

“I paid for your company, madam,” he added, curt.

“You have that ugly necklace back,” she managed, her voice sounding thin, petulant, and silly. “I have nothing else of yours.”

He towered over her, his eyes the color of an angry sea. “Yes you do.” She didn’t know his height, but he was surely much more than six foot in his stockinged feet. In comparison, she felt delicate and tiny for one of the few times in her life.

“Indeed I do not.” What did he accuse her of stealing now?

“There is the small matter of one thousand pounds.”

“One thousand—are you mad?”

“The money I paid before I left London to that man who calls himself your father. In exchange for which, he gave you to me.”

Ellie felt the blood draining from her face, all the way down her body and out through her toes. Her father had sold her like a sow at market. Like a very costly sow. Then he came after her for more money.

“In a sense, I bought you from him.”

She gasped, infuriated by both men—one who used her callously while pretending his interests were fatherly, and the other who thought she could be purchased, like furniture or a new hat.

Shame squeezed her heart until it could barely manage a low pulse.

“So you see, Miss Vyne, now you belong to me.” His words were arrogant. His eyes sparked with anger. Melting snow hung trembling from his hair before it dripped to his shoulders. “I suppose I can overlook everything else you’ve done to me. But you can show me your gratitude later. When we’re alone again, I’ll take the rest of my thousand pounds worth.”

James wanted her because he’d paid for her. How typical that he thought she could be bought. Like everything else in his life.

“Come with me now, and we shall forget this conversation.”

Presumably he meant to forget the truth about her father too. He wanted her to turn away from her own flesh and blood because it was not good enough for him. So how could she ever be? Always the knowledge of her humble stock would be there between them. Chafing.

“Do you remember what you once called me?” she demanded.

He said nothing.

“Ellie Phant. A girl with neither beauty, grace, nor sense.”

James blinked. She saw his pupils expand, making his eyes even darker, his gaze reaching deeper into hers. “That was a very long time ago. We’ve both changed since then.”

“Have we?” She desperately fought her tears. The pain of those words still haunted her. She hadn’t realized how much until she said them aloud.

“Is that why you did this? Vengeance because of some silly, careless comment I once made?”

“I was sixteen and terribly vulnerable.”

“Good God.” He scraped a hand back through his hair, scattering half-melted flakes of snow. “I knew women could hold bitter grudges, but I never realized for how long.”

Her anger soared. “Will you apologize now?”

“If I did, would you put the incident out of your mind? Or will you dredge it up again every time we quarrel?”

“Every time we quarrel?” She laughed sharply. “You assume we’ll have them on a regular schedule.”

“Why not?” Now his voice rose again too, even through gritted teeth. “Why break with tradition? We do it so bloody well.”

“Apologize to me!”

“Will you apologize for the ink moustache?”

“I was ten!”

“Aha! So it’s different for you. I’m to make excuses for
your
immaturity.”

“Ten is not twenty-six.”

Of course he changed the subject then, because he knew he was losing the argument. “So I was right, and you were in this with
him
all along. Taking me for what you could get. Wanting your silly revenge.”

“Silly?” She was trying very hard to hold onto the last shreds of her temper. “It is over, James. It was fun while it lasted.” She squeezed out a breathless laugh. “Thank you for the laughs and the—”

“You, madam, have lost your gumption.”

“I have not!”

“I wagered everything on you, and you fall at the first obstacle.”

How typical that he compared her to a racehorse. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t gamble, if you’re not prepared to lose!”

He pulled her into a kiss just as enraged and wild as the storm she’d watched brewing in his gaze. Hands to his shoulders, she tried pushing away, but his fingers pressed into her arms firmly, his mouth closed over her lips, and he took from her forcefully. Just when she thought he meant to leave her with no breath at all, he let her go. She stumbled against the door, blinking, struggling for air.

“Don’t ever do that again!”

“I want my money’s worth.”

Ellie was livid. All he worried about was his damned money? She slapped his face hard.

He didn’t even flinch. His gaze bore into hers, hard as flint. “You
owe
me.”

“Send me the bill, Hartley.”

“With interest, Vyne.” He spun away and disappeared into the night, leaving her with throbbing lips and a fierce, unremitting bellyache such as she hadn’t experienced since she ate too much cake on her seventh birthday.

It was for the best, Ellie reminded herself.

He was a Hartley; she was a Vyne—well, a Jankyn, actually. It was trouble from the beginning, and they were as bad as each other when it came to indulgence in all the wrong things.