Marrying Christopher (48 page)

“And so Christopher just left— without even talking to me?” Her voice had risen to an angry, frantic pitch.

“He left because he wanted to give you a better life.” Lady Cosgrove looked at Marsali imploringly and took her hand. “Mr. Thatcher realized what I already knew— that he cannot provide for you as Mr. Vancer can.”

“Where did he go?” Marsali wrenched her hand from Lady Cosgrove’s and stood. She looked around the room, trying to decide what she must do next. Wherever Christopher was, she must find him.

“I do not know where he went,” Lady Cosgrove said. “When he left that first time, he said he could be found in Virginia on the Thomas plantation. I suppose he went there to search for you.”

“I shall start there,” Marsali said.

“No, Marsali. You cannot,” Charlotte said. “It could be very dangerous for you.”

“What will you tell Mr. Vancer?” Lady Cosgrove asked. “He is expecting to marry you today.”

“He cannot marry her,” Charlotte proclaimed, rising from the bed as well. “She is
already
married. Even you must see that it is impossible for her to marry another.”

“A common-law marriage can be annulled easily enough,” Lady Cosgrove said. “And it is not as if the marriage was ever made official— in any way.”

“None of that matters. And it will not be annulled.” Marsali rushed to the armoire to retrieve her cloak. She threw it over her shoulders as she crossed the room to the dressing table. She opened the top drawer, reaching to the very back to retrieve the tiny, paper-wrapped parcel. When she had taken it from the drawer, she tore it open, then slid Christopher’s ring back on her finger.
Where it belongs. Why did I ever doubt that he was alive? I felt it all along. I knew it.

Charlotte stood before the doorway. “You cannot go to Mr. Thomas’s home. It is no safer now than it was before.”

“The price for my passage has been paid,” Marsali said. “Mr. Vancer showed me the receipt himself, over two months ago. I owe Mr. Thomas nothing.”

“And what of Mr. Vancer, who fulfilled the debt?” Lady Cosgrove asked. “You would repay his kindness by abandoning him at this critical time?”

“We never should have
reached
this critical time had you been honest with us both,” Marsali said, anger shaking her voice. “I regret that he will be hurt, but I
cannot
marry him now.”

“He will lose his fortune
and
suffer public humiliation today,” Lady Cosgrove murmured. “Oh! Whatever have I done?”

Marsali stepped around Charlotte and opened the door. “Somehow I think he would choose both over marriage to a woman who already has a living husband.”

“Indeed I would.” Mr. Vancer stood in the hall just outside her door, his brows pinched and a most stricken expression upon his face. “Forgive me. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but having heard my name mentioned, I paused outside your door and caught the end of your conversation. I gather you are going somewhere— and it is not to our wedding.” He touched the edge of Marsali’s cloak.

“My husband is alive,” she said. “He has even been here— to your home— twice, without our knowledge. Lady Cosgrove at first told him that I was dead and then later convinced him that I was better off with you.”

“But you are not.” Mr. Vancer cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“No,” Marsali whispered and felt terrible for it. “I love him still. I must find him.”

“Of course you must.” He spoke with far more understanding than Marsali felt she deserved. Still, she could not force the worry over Christopher from her mind. He was out there somewhere— hurting. Because of her.

“This is quite the turn of events.” Mr. Vancer brought a hand to his temples and began rubbing. “In less than two hours we were to be at the church. Explaining to our guests shall be bad enough, but now I am left with only one week before the end of the year in which to find a wife. They are not easy to come by, you know.” He gave a harsh laugh.

“I am so very sorry.” Marsali touched his hand lightly. “I did not mean for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you, and I shall find a way to repay every penny you have spent on me.”

“You may have to,” Mr. Vancer said, clearly jesting but with a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I have already made purchases and invested against the inheritance I was to receive. And now I will be unable to pay my creditors back.”

“There is a possible solution,” Lady Cosgrove suggested timidly.

“I think I have had enough of your suggestions,” Mr. Vancer said. “You accuse Marsali of repaying me poorly when you have betrayed the long-standing friendship of our families in such a manner.”

“I did not intend to.” Lady Cosgrove rose from her seat at the edge of the bed and crossed the room to the doorway. “When we arrived, I
did
believe Mr. Thatcher to be dead. And when it was discovered that he was not, I did not know how to tell you— I was afraid for you and your predicament and concerned for Marsali and the otherwise harsh future ahead of her.” Lady Cosgrove had crumpled a bit but straightened before adding, “And I truly believed that Mr. Thatcher had gone away for good.”

“Clearly, he has not,” Mr. Vancer said. “Nor would I, were Miss Abbott my wife.” He blew out a long breath and leaned his head back, looking up, as if seeking inspiration.

“You can still marry today,” Lady Cosgrove said. “Not Marsali, but Charlotte. There is no doubt that her husband is deceased, and she and Marsali are similar in appearance. Why, it is entirely possible that many in the congregation may not notice the difference.”

“Aside from her
name,
” Mr. Vancer said, clearly exasperated. “And I would rather lose a fortune than force a woman to marriage.”

“You would not have to force me,” Charlotte said quietly.

“Charlotte?” Marsali turned to her.

“I would not require much,” Charlotte continued, looking past Marsali to Mr. Vancer. “A roof over our heads and perhaps an education for Alec— when he is older. That is, of course, if you would not mind adopting a child in the bargain.”

“I— would not mind,” Mr. Vancer said. He swallowed thickly. “Are you quite certain? We know very little of each other.”

“I know that you have treated my sister kindly, and I have hope you would regard Alec and me the same.”

“I would,” Mr. Vancer said. “I will. I would be in your debt for so great a favor.”

It sounded as if they were speaking vows already. Marsali looked from one to the other, astonished at this change in circumstance.

“It is all settled, then,” Lady Cosgrove said squaring her shoulders. “Perhaps all will yet be well— for all concerned. Come, Charlotte. You must be readied for your wedding. And, Mr. Vancer, I believe Miss Abbott is in need of a carriage.”

“Yes— please.”
I need Christopher.

“Godspeed, sister.” Charlotte embraced Marsali. “If you insist upon going to Mr. Thomas’s, make the driver wait. I shall give you the name of my employer, and perhaps you can take my place there. They should be happy to have a woman without a child tagging along as she does her work.”

“Thank you,” Marsali said. “I shall write to let you know what has become of me.”

“You will do more than that,” Mr. Vancer said. “You shall have an escort, so your sister and I will not fear for your safety.”

“Thank you for your kindness and understanding,” Marsali said. “If circumstances had been different…”

He smiled sadly. “But they are not, and you must go and find your Mr. Thatcher. I hope that when you do, he realizes how fortunate he is.”

Christopher rose before dawn, ate a hasty breakfast at the inn, and went out to the stables to saddle his newly purchased horse.

“Good morning, Amanda May.” He stroked the mare, and she bent her head, nuzzling his hand. “No treats today,” Christopher said. “But you help me reach Marsali, and I’ll get you a bucket of the finest oats.” He’d named the horse after Captain Gower’s ship in the hope that she— as the voyage had— would bring him good luck in finding Marsali.

He’d bought the horse just last week, after his sisters’ letter had arrived, and with it a bank draft to equal the next five years of the inheritance left them by their grandfather. Neither of his sisters needed the money, and they insisted he was to have it, both to aid in the search for his wife and to start anew in America. In the past he might have argued against such assistance, but the second letter included in the bundle had changed his mind— about everything.

He saddled the mare and climbed up, then left the inn at a brisk speed, eager for the day for the first time in a long time.

He’d lived these past months in a bitter haze, angry at the world and mostly himself for falling prey to the complications of a woman. He hadn’t wanted a wife to begin with, but he’d ended up with one anyway. And then he had lost her, and that had hurt worse than his burns or the wound that had nearly split his scalp. The healing took longer too. Well into the new year he still hadn’t managed it.

But included in the packet from his family had been Marsali’s letter to them— her anguish poured out for him to read personally. What a horrifying experience she’d lived that night of the shipwreck. And she hadn’t forgotten him after all. She had searched for weeks. She had shed tears and mourned and hoped and then finally lost that hope. She had believed him alive as long as she could, until the same deception that had tricked him had convinced her that he was dead.

The road forked, and Christopher stayed to the right. From here he had less than twenty miles to travel. And Marsali would be at the end of those.

If only he had not listened to Lady Cosgrove the night of the ball. He and Marsali could have been together these two months. Instead, she had been working at her sister’s old post in Virginia. Charlotte had taken Marsali’s place at the church and married Mr. Vancer in December.

Christopher had learned all of this from Lady Cosgrove and Charlotte when he had called, one last time, at the Vancer house four days ago. Since then he had traveled over frozen rivers and through bitter cold, eager to get to Marsali as soon as he could.

The miles passed as he lost himself in his thoughts. His gloved hands felt frozen as they gripped the reins, and his new wool cap and coat could not do enough to keep him warm. The winter seemed as fierce as the autumn had been mild.
But spring… Spring will be glorious
. A promise of dreams hoped for— and fulfilled.

The distant sun shone directly overhead when Christopher at last reached the plantation where Marsali worked. He dismounted and tethered his horse to the gate outside, then strode up the walk, his heart pounding.

He knocked at the door and waited, wondering if perhaps Marsali herself would open the door. Instead, an older woman wearing a maid’s uniform greeted him.

Christopher doffed his hat. “Good afternoon to you. I am here to see Miss Abbott.”

The woman’s brows drew together quizzically. “No one here by that name. Are you certain you have the right farm?”

“I am certain.” Christopher’s heart felt as if it had jumped to his throat.
Marsali has to be here.
“Miss Abbott’s sister worked here before her. Her name was Charlotte.”

Understanding dawned on the older woman’s face. “Are you looking for Marsali— Mrs. Thatcher to those who are not well acquainted with her?”

Relief swept through him. “We are well acquainted.” He grinned, while thinking how foolish his mistake and feeling inordinately pleased that Marsali had kept his name. “I am her husband.”

“Land’s sake!” The woman stepped back as if he had jumped out at her. “Come in.” She swept her hand wide, encouraging him to enter. Christopher did, expecting to be shown to a sitting room, as he had when first entering Mr. Thomas’s house. Instead, the woman closed the door, then turned and began walking briskly.

“This way,” she called over her shoulder. “That poor girl has been pining for you since she came here. She put every penny of her wage put into advertisements, asking after you. Every night spent on her knees petitioning the Lord for your return, every morning her pillow wet with tears.”

It hurt to imagine Marsali distraught as the woman described; he understood all too well those exact feelings.

The woman led him down a narrow hall and through a kitchen, then out another door. She paused on the step outside, her breath visible in the crisp air. “It’s wash day. Marsali’s out in the shed.” The woman pointed to a cluster of smaller buildings across the yard. “First one on the left. You’ll find her there.”

Christopher started down the step when she caught his arm. “Be careful not to startle her too much. She’s fragile.”

He nodded, then took off across the frozen ground toward the outbuildings. The one used for washing was nearest the pump and also had a large window, presumably to let in enough light for the work to be done properly. He peered through this and felt his heart catch as he caught sight of Marsali bent over a washtub. Her moves were practiced and efficient, her strokes counted, and the garment turned as he had taught her. He felt regret that she had been forced to such a chore, but also a swell of gratitude that she was not above such work and had chosen this life— and searching for him— over a life of luxury with Mr. Vancer. Marsali was fragile but strong as well, as she had proved to him time and again.