Kathryn Caskie (33 page)

“Young lovers always take the Great North Road,” Aunt Viola said. “Quickest way to Gretna Green and a swift wedding. No doubt you can catch her up if you take the town carriage
now.”

“I seriously doubt that. If Jenny is to be believed, my sister left at least an hour ago.”

Aunt Letitia caught Eliza’s head and hugged it to her pillowy bosom, nearly smothering her. “But you will
try,
for us, won’t you, dear?”

Eliza struggled free and took a deep breath.

“If you will not go after her, Eliza, then Sister and I shall.” Aunt Letitia stared at Eliza, challenging her silence.

“No!
Goodness no. If anyone is getting into the carriage, I suppose it will have to be me,” Eliza told them as she started back to her bedchamber. But she would not be taking the Great North Road.

What good would it do her to chase down Grace? She would never catch her before they wed, for they would certainly exchange vows the moment they reached Gretna Green. All she would end up doing is interrupting the happy couple in their marriage bed.
Heaven forbid.
Well, she was not about to do that.

No, she would be heading east, for the docks—and on the evening tide, she would set sail for Italy.

She had planned on leaving anyway, and this Gretna Green folly provided as good a chance as any to do just that.

“Brilliant, dear,” Aunt Letitia said as she followed her. “Here, take my purse. You’ll need money for lodging and the sort. While you are gone, Sister and I shall prepare your costume for your return.”

“Costume?” Eliza’s eyes rounded. “Really, Auntie, I have no need for a costume.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Aunt Letitia cooed. “If Grace is planning to attend the masquerade, then we all shall stand with her. We are united in purpose. Rule One, remember?”

“You do not suppose Grace would truly go to the ball after her humiliation at Lady Cowper’s rout,” Aunt Viola chimed after Letitia.

Lifting a brow, Aunt Letitia nodded. “I do indeed. I’d say our Grace is made of stronger bones than we know.” She looked at Eliza, then at her sister. “Good for her, I say. We should all take a cue from young Grace.”

“We do already have our vouchers,” Aunt Viola remembered aloud.

“Yes, we do, Sister. Therefore we shall all attend the masquerade at Almack’s,
en force,
and prove to the ton that their wicked gossip has not conquered us.”

“Hear, hear!” Aunt Viola hooted. “Besides, the queen is rumored to be in attendance.” Then, no doubt in response to some secret signal from her sister, Aunt Viola instantly sealed her lips and said not another word on the subject.

This struck Eliza as queer, and she detected the beginnings of another strategy. But, since she did not truly plan to attend the masquerade, for she would be sunning herself in Italy in two week’s time, she let the comment pass unchallenged.

“How will you … I mean
we
even pass through the door?” Eliza asked. “One of the patronesses, Lady Cowper to be more precise, is sure to bar our entry to the establishment. It is a private affair.”

Lifting her brow, Aunt Letitia circled her eyes with her index finger. “The ball is a
masquerade,
my dear.”

Eliza chuckled at Letitia’s demonstration and found herself already missing her peculiar little aunts.

Magnus paced the length of the cramped sacristy as his uncle checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Just a bit late, ‘tis all,” Pender assured him, his fidgeting conveying his own nervousness. “You know the ladies. Want to look their best on their wedding day.”

“Aye, I know,” Magnus replied, but the comment did nothing to assuage his nervousness—not that she would not come—but that she
would
after all.

“Calm yourself, Somerton.” Pender reached out and caught Magnus’s shoulder, stopping him midstride. “She’ll be here soon enough and your financial woes will be a worry of the past.”

Magnus looked up at Pender before turning away and opening the door a finger’s width.

The congregation, likely having grown weary of waiting on the church steps for the bride and groom, had come inside the chapel and taken their pews. The hiss of whispers rushed toward the altar as the Peacock’s friends and family joined the congregation for the ceremony.

The morn was warm and the church was rapidly heating with the day. Silver filigree vinaigrettes made their appearance under the noses of the old, reviving senses, yet ripening the scent of the crowd twofold.

Just then, the vicar opened the outer doors, and leaving them both ajar, charged down the center aisle and ducked into the sacristy.

"My lord. I do apologize that you must learn of this from me ...” The vicar twisted his thinly skinned fingers nervously around his ruddy knuckles.

“What is it?” Pender stepped forward. “Something wrong?”

“Please, do continue,” Magnus urged. Could it be Caroline was not coming this morn?
Lord above, let it be so.

“Oh, there is no gentle way to make this known to you.” The vicar swallowed deeply, then looked into Magnus’s eyes. “Miss Peacock, I fear, cannot marry you this day, kind sir.”

“What?” Pender yelped. “Why in hell not?”

Magnus’s heart began to pound with joyous anticipation as the vicar, visibly shocked at Pender’s words, continued.

“It seems she is already married to a Mr. George Dabney, a baronette’s son. Ran off last night and did the deed at first light by special license. Dreadful that she left you standing this way. Just
dreadful.
Only learned the news moments ago.”

Magnus clasped the vicar’s hand and pumped it wildly. Then, overcome with relief, he lifted the astonished little man off the floor in a heartfelt embrace and danced him around in a wide circle, like a well-loved rag doll.

“Thank you! Thank you for telling me, kind sir.” He dropped the vicar to his feet and raced from the sacristy with an elated hoot and holler, grinning like a madman as he dashed down the aisle, past the astonished congregation and out the doors.

He had to find Eliza. He would ask her to marry him this very day, Hawksmoor be damned. And this time, he wasna taking nay for an answer.

Rule Twenty

Engagement is often predicated by deception.

Though winded and disheveled from his harried ride through Mayfair, Magnus had finally arrived at Hanover Square. He leapt from his mount and looped his leather reins through the hitching post, then bounded up the steep stairs to the Featherton’s front door.

He was
free.
Free of the Peacocks. Free, now, to claim Eliza as his own—if only he could convince her to cry off from Hawksmoor and to wear
his
ring instead.

And by God he would. He was far too close to let anything bar his way now.

Pausing to collect himself, Magnus groped inside his pocket until he felt the reassuring presence of the special license which he’d secured at Doctor’s Commons only an hour ago.

Everything had been arranged. He and Eliza were legally licensed to marry. All she need do was consent and he would whisk her before the agreeable old vicar who awaited his word.

Deep within his chest, Magnus’s heart pumped madly as he twice slammed the brass knocker to its rest. But a full minute passed and Edgar still had not responded to his knock.

Lucifer’s stones! Could it be that the family was not at home? Magnus leaned his ear closer to the door and listened.

From the ruckus inside, this clearly was not the case. On the other side of the door, cabinets slammed. Heels clicked on the entry hall’s marble floor, nearing then receding, and the shrill calls of the Featherton sisters ricocheted from one end of the house to the other.

Then, quite suddenly, the door swung open and tall, stoic Edgar stood before him.

Magnus struggled to retain his composure, but there was no concealing what he felt, for he was near bursting with excitement. Lurching forward, Magnus slapped his hands to Edgar’s cheeks and smacked a kiss on the unsuspecting old man’s shining pate.

“Edgar, my man. Is this not the most joyous day?” he expounded.

Edgar stared back at him, utterly aghast.

“I’ve come to call upon Miss Merriweather, if ye please.” Magnus knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help himself. At the sounds of light footfall, he glanced down the passageway and glimpsed Lady Viola as she shot through the hall and ducked into the music room.

Edgar cleared his throat and as if by command, Lady Letitia, walking stick held before her like a sword, hurried through the parlor doorway. Her eyes were wide and her left hand waved frantically in the air as she cut across the passage and disappeared into the library.

“Good lord, Edgar. Is something amiss?” Magnus asked, “Or are the ladies simply playing hide and seek?”

Edgar hesitated, then released his grip on the door and nervously shoved his fingers through the wild white wings of hair at the sides of his head. “Well, my lord, I don’t quite know how to answer, for you see …”

At that moment, Lady Letitia darted out of the book room and caught sight of Magnus. She halted midstride. “Oh, Lord Somerton, how very good to see you. But heavens, you will not believe what has happened! Just wait until you hear this.”

Lady Letitia pumped her thick arms, sending both her chins jiggling, as she charged toward him.
“The gel’s done it.
Gone off and eloped with Hawksmoor. Not a word to us, mind you. Just ran off a short while ago, lickety split. All the way to Scotland no less.”

Magnus’s heart seized in his chest. “Eliza?”

“Headed up the Great North Road to Gretna Green,” Lady Letitia murmured as she looked into his eyes. “What a scandal this will cause!”

“Forgive me, my lady, but on this point I must be
completely
clear—
Eliza
is headed to Gretna Green?” Magnus asked.

“Yes, yes. Eliza is off to Gretna Green,” Lady Letitia repeated. “Am I not making myself heard?”

“Perfectly.”

Just then, Aunt Viola scuttled up the passage, her walking stick twitching up at Magnus like a divining rod. “Oh, good day, Lord Somerton.”

Though his head felt light from the blow of the elopement news, Magnus bowed in greeting.

None of this could be happening. Everything had been going so well. He even had the damned license.

Lady Viola brushed the invisible dust from her palm onto her skirt then lifted her hand to Magnus as she gifted him with a hostess’s smile. She glanced at Lady Letitia and spoke through her still smiling teeth, as if she believed if her lips did not move Magnus wouldn’t hear her. “Have you told him about the elopement?”

“Aye,” Magnus interrupted. “Yer sister just informed me of it.” Mayhap there was still time yet. Time to stop this nonsense. There must be.

“Whatever shall we do?” Lady Viola asked him, her countenance pulsing with anxiety.

“Perhaps
I
might be of some assistance in persuading her to return home,” Magnus offered. “However, to do so, I shall require more information.”

“Oh, my lord, we would be most grateful for your guiding hand. Mayhap you can persuade the pair to reconsider elopement. For I own, no matter the circumstance, a wedding must be conducted properly … else tongues will wag. Can’t have that now,” she replied.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Magnus looked from one Featherton sister to the other. “Time, however, is of the essence, ladies, so will ye tell me how long ago Eliza left?”

Lady Viola looked quizzically at her sister. Then, after receiving an affirmative nod, she returned her gaze to Magnus.

“Eliza
left only an hour ago … wait, maybe two.”

“I shall ride after her directly.” Both aunts smiled broadly at him as he turned and rushed out the door.

“You best hurry for she has quite a lead,” Letitia called after him.

Moments later, Magnus was atop his steed, laying crop to muscled flank, as he set off for the Great North Road. He would stop Eliza from making this grave mistake.

If Eliza Merriweather married anyone this day, it would be he. And no one else.

As Lord Somerton turned the corner, heading in the direction of Oxford Street, Letitia signaled for Edgar to close the door. She clapped her hands excitedly and turned to her sister with a grin. “How fortunate you saw him through the window.”

Viola laid her hand to her chest. “My heart is still pounding. What do you think, Letitia? Have we succeeded?”

Letitia chuckled softly. “I do indeed, Sister. In truth, after our impromptu performance, I would not be the least surprised if we hear of
two
Merriweather weddings in Gretna Green.”

“Though, in case we are mistaken in our assumptions,” Viola hesitantly added, “we really ought to locate the rule book. Now, where do you suppose Eliza has hidden it?”

Letitia chewed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, she seems to favor the high shelves in the library. Clever gel. Knows neither of us can abide heights.”

Then, Letitia’s gaze shifted to Edgar with clear intent, making the poor man reticent to meet her eye.

“But you, dear sir, have no fear of the climbing ladder,” she said, with a leading edge. “Perhaps
you
will climb up and have a look for the rule book?”

Edgar cringed noticeably, but he did not falter. “Jolly good idea, ma’am,” he croaked.

The moist air heated and dried, and morning faded into noon as Magnus galloped relentlessly up the Great North Road. He passed a handkerchief over his eyes, rubbing away the gritty dust lodged in their corners and squinted ahead at the golden spirals of earth billowing up in the distance. Could it be?
Aye, a carriage.

He cut his crop down along his steed’s sweaty flank to begin his pursuit and was quickly able to overtake the carriage.

Though the coachman followed Magnus’s fierce command and had drawn the carriage to a full halt, the cab still rocked violently and lusty groans emanated from within.

Images of Hawksmoor clumsily groping at Eliza’s pale skin flashed angrily in Magnus’s mind as he tore open the carriage door. But when he poked his head inside the cab, intent on throttling the man, Magnus was startled to find himself looking into the barrel end of a pistol trained on his nose.