An Unlikely Countess (15 page)

Like this one. But this one followed on disaster.

She made herself move away slightly and look at him. “What’s to happen now?”

“I’m to accompany you back to Tallbridge’s house.”

From where she’d traveled here like a prisoner being taken to the gallows.

“He has bars on all his lower windows,” she said.

“Then you’ll be safe there. Come.”

He’d misunderstood her comment. Last night, last sleepless night, she’d thought of running away, but she’d seen no way to escape from an upper window, and the lower ones were covered by ornamental but very solid grilles. She’d been told that the front and back doors were set with alarms that would alert the house if they were opened in the night, from inside or out. By intent or not, she’d been imprisoned as securely as anyone in jail.

And now she was to be returned, and she still didn’t know her fate. There’d been talk of a marriage, but that had been a ploy. Cate Burgoyne didn’t want to marry her, and she didn’t want to marry him.

Not really.

He was a stranger, and a wild, violent, irresponsible stranger.

But what, oh, what was to become of her? Draydale had ruined her; Aaron would wash his hands of her. . . .

She saw that she still wore Draydale’s diamond ring on her second finger. She slipped it off, wanting to throw it away, but she put it in a pocket.

Cate Burgoyne led her out of the vestry and into a small room next door, which had an outside door. Fresh air and the sight of grass and trees brought her back to earth, but that was no improvement. People stood in groups nearby, hungry for more of the drama.

“Smile,” he said.

She did her best.

Tallbridge’s coach rolled up, quickly stripped of its bridal decorations. Cate opened the door and handed her in. Tallbridge was already there, graciously taking the backward seat. When they turned onto the street, the watchers pushed closer, eyes sharp like birds looking for worms.

“Do you want me to lower the blinds?” Cate Burgoyne asked.

“No. It might imply that we’re guilty or ashamed.”

“Brava.” He took her hand and kissed it.

Tallbridge was watching in that falcon-eyed way he had. It was probably important that he believe their romantic story for now. She tried to play her part, but she felt apart from everything, as if this weren’t happening to her, or she weren’t here. She looked down at the hand Cate held. There was a speck of blood on the ruffle of his shirt cuff.

Despite the violence and drink, she’d cherished memories of Cate Burgoyne, but he could have no such poignant memories of her. Whatever had brought him to Darlington, to the church, to his foolish intervention in her affairs, it hadn’t been romantic thoughts about her.

What was to become of her?

Draydale had said that vile thing, branding her a harlot.

He’d certainly pawed at her and tried to do more, but she hadn’t allowed him to. Why would anyone believe her chastity, however, especially when her supposed returned beloved rejected her?

No one in Darlington would receive her, and soon word would spread throughout the gentry of the north. If Aaron allowed her to remain under his roof, it would be as a shamed, poor relation scarcely able to leave the house.

Perhaps running a dame school in White Rose Yard would be her only hope.

She moved her hand slightly, so it brushed over her garter, where a knife was attached. It was the knife she’d threatened Cate with so long ago. She’d made a sheath so she could wear it to her wedding.

It had largely been symbolic, but it had also represented her desperate last resort. She’d dreaded her wedding night, and instinct had made her dread the daytime too. She’d gleaned what she could about Draydale’s second wife, the weak and sickly one. She’d not been weak and sickly when she’d married him.

If things became too vile, she would kill herself.

Perhaps that was the way out now.

“We’re here, my dear.”

He was right. The carriage had arrived at Tallbridge House, a handsome three-story house on Houndgate.

Tallbridge left first, going into the house.

Cate climbed out and turned to help her down.

She stepped out, but saw that there were people in the street here too, staring and whispering. Were they just wondering, or had the dreadful story already reached here?

She put her hand in his.

He kissed it, smiling into her eyes.

Lovers worthy of the troubadours, reunited against all hope. For a moment, it provided a shield. She gave him the widest smile she could, but hurried into the house and breathed only when the door closed behind her.

Mistress Pollock immediately embraced her. “Oh, you poor dear! Such a terrible scene. So
violent
!”

Tallbridge said, “You can set out for Durham now, Burgoyne. I can provide a horse.”

“Durham?” Prudence asked, freeing herself. He was to flee her side so soon?

“To the bishop for a license,” Cate said.

“License?” She looked between the men. “We can’t actually marry.”

“On the contrary,” Tallbridge said, “you must.”

“I’m anxious to have you under my protection,” Cate said.

“But . . .”

He kissed her hand again. “Trust me. All will be well.” He turned to Tallbridge. “I have my own horse, thank you, sir. At the Talbot.”

Where her wedding breakfast awaited. What would become of that? There was something in Shakespeare about baked meats. That was the funeral baked meats making the wedding breakfast, though. Could it work the other way around?

Alack, here, in ordinary circumstances again, she couldn’t imagine slitting her own throat, or whatever one did with a small knife to end life.

Catesby Burgoyne looked at her and frowned slightly. “If I send for my horse to be brought here, we’ll have a little more time together, my dear. We have much to say to each other.”

Yes, indeed they did. She didn’t understand anything.

Tallbridge sent a footman to the Talbot and then indicated a reception room. “Would you like refreshments sent to you there?”

Prudence wanted brandy, but she could hardly ask for it, so she declined anything. She found herself alone with Cate, feeling slightly sick. She sat on the settee because her legs felt weak.

He sat beside her. “Would you have preferred the marriage to go ahead?”

She stared at him. “To Draydale. Never!”

“Then why commit yourself to it?”

She heard the question, the doubt. “He
lied
. We did
not
anticipate the wedding.”

“Then why go through with it?”

“You sound like an inquisitor. Because I saw no choice! Not then, at least. Earlier, yes, but how easy is it to see the end when we set our feet upon a path?”

“Not easy at all,” he agreed. “But there must have been other suitors.”

“None.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She glared into his cool eyes. “Should I appreciate the flattery, or take umbrage at the implication that I’m lying? No other man offered for me. I had no choice but a return to poverty. I should have chosen that.”

“Your brother would have been so cruel?”

“No.” She sighed. “But he has little money of his own, and Susan would have seen no reason to support me in comfort. I’d have been a poor relation, dependent for everything, obliged to be eternally
grateful.”
She shook her head. “I am justly served, but we’ll have no more talk of marriage. Nothing requires you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of my pride.”

“Except my honor.”

“Your honor?”

“I’m your devoted lover, remember, declared so before witnesses? If I ride away, that brands me the lowest sort of dastard.”

“Then why
do
this? Why rush in to rescue me again?”

“Are you claiming to regret it? That you’d rather be Mistress Draydale now?”

“Yes! No.” She rose to her feet, hands to her face. “But I wish I were back in White Rose Yard.”

“Truly?”

She turned to see him standing, smiling. “Oh! You . . . you
man
! I’m sure all’s easy for you. You’ve even fallen into some property without a twitch of work.”

“True. But I’m willing to share it with you.”

“No, no. There’s no need for pretense here. We hardly know each other.”

“We’ve spent little time together, but I feel I know you remarkably well. I can understand that you don’t want to marry me, but I think you must.”

“Nonsense,” she said, but somewhere inside a foolish part whimpered a protest. It wasn’t only protection from scandal and Draydale—it was that connection again, that sense of closeness that defied the logic of time spent in each other’s company.

He went to the window. “My horse has arrived. My journey to Durham and back will take the best part of the day. Perhaps one of us will find an escape, but in case not I need the date of your birth and, I think, the full names of your parents.”

In the midst of great problems, she was suddenly uncomfortable with admitting her age. “I was born on the twenty-sixth day of September, 1739. My father was Aaron Youlgrave, and my mother Joan Wright.”

“It’s only fair to share the same information. I was born on the fourth day of February, 1739. My father was Sebastian Burgoyne, and my mother Flavia Catesby.”

The very names spoke of different worlds. He should marry a Flavia, a Lydia, an Augusta, rather than a Prudence.

“Will you be safe here?” he asked.

“Bars on all the windows,” she reminded him.

“But danger could come in through the doors. I doubt your disappointed groom is in a state to invade, but he might use others to seek revenge.”

She suddenly saw Draydale’s face just before he’d hit her, purple with rage, fury in his eyes. The air turned thin and darkness crept in from the edges of her vision.

His arm came around her. “Prudence!”

He swept her up into his arms and carried her out of the room, calling for directions.

She tried to protest. “Truly, there’s no need. . .”

But Mistress Pollock twittered instructions and he carried her like a child up the stairs into the room she’d used last night, the room she’d paced last night. She was settled on the bed, up against pillows fussed into place by Mistress Pollock, who was uttering an endless string of, “Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. . . .”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not usually so feeble.”

“It’s been a day to test Boadicea.”

“
You’re
not in a half faint.”

He seemed to find that amusing. “My sincere apologies, but my ordeal wasn’t as great. Prudence, if you truly want me to stay . . .”

“Stay here!” Mistress Pollock gasped. “Sir, there will be no more scandal.”

She harried him out of the room, calling, “Carrie! Carrie!” as if for reinforcements.

Prudence collapsed back against the pillows, but a scrunch warned her of her hat. She fumbled for the pins, pulled them out, and spun the thing across the room to hit the wall. Flowers fell off.

If Cate Burgoyne took the opportunity to ride away, never to return, she wouldn’t blame him. But what then would become of her?

Mistress Pollock bustled back, her elderly maid at her side. “Oh, your hat! Never you mind, dear, stop those tears. . . .”

She was crying?

“We’ll soon have you comfortable and then you can rest. Such a day, such a day, and it hardly past noon!”

 

Cate returned downstairs and asked to speak to Tallbridge again in the reception room. When the man came, Cate shut the door. “You will not allow Draydale in this house while I’m away.”

“I dislike your tone, sir, but I’m sure he’s in no state for visits.”

“There’s also your daughter. I don’t want Prudence harangued.”

“You wish me to forbid my daughter to visit her home? Really, sir . . . But if you insist, she will not come here today.”

Cate softened his manner, because unfortunately he’d realized he’d have to ask a favor of the man.

“I’m obliged to you, sir, and regret any inconvenience. I’m naturally anxious for my bride’s comfort.”

“Of course, of course. Completely understandable.”

There was no choice for it. “There is the matter of transportation.”

“Transportation?” Tallbridge raised a brow, and there might even have been the hint of a smirk on his lips. It was probably a skill of a merchant to know when someone needed something.

“I’ll need a coach to take Prudence and her luggage to my home. I’m not short of funds, but I am short of cash. I began my journey yesterday with no expectation of such complexities.”

“Do you go far?” Tallbridge asked.

It was a reasonable question, and Cate had prepared for it with a half-truth. “I thought to take my wife first to my family home.”

“To Keynings? A famously handsome house. I’m sure Prudence will enjoy it. Pray allow me to lend you my coach and servants, Burgoyne. It will be an honor.”

Oh, yes, Tallbridge was definitely eager for connection to an earl. Cate had hoped for money, however. If he used Tallbridge’s coach, the driver and groom would learn the truth when they arrived at Keynings.

So be it. It couldn’t be concealed for long.

But ’struth, he hadn’t told his bride! How would she react to the knowledge that marriage to him would make her a countess? Some would think it a prize, but he knew better. His sudden elevation to earl was proving to be hell, and he was accustomed to that world.

No need to tell her yet. Some way out might occur to him.

Cate thanked Tallbridge for his generosity and went out to where Oakapple waited. He mounted, seeking any other matter that needed immediate attention. He should send a message to Keynings to prepare everyone, but he wouldn’t. There might be time for someone to hotfoot it here to raise objections at the wedding. Twice in two days would definitely be too much.