Sheri Cobb South (20 page)

“I—I can’t think of any other reason to account for your presence,” said Polly, suddenly breathless. “I should think that nothing less saving your cousin from a disastrous marriage would propel you this far north— or do you have business in Scotland as well as London?”

“Did you never think that
you
might be that business? My dear girl, I have been scouring England trying to identify your father so that I might make you an offer in form!”

“And am I to understand by this declaration that he proved worthy of you?” Polly asked.

“I’ll not deny that was my original concern,” Sir Aubrey acknowledged. “But by the time I returned to Brighton, I had made up my mind to marry you no matter who had sired you.”

If Sir Aubrey expected his lady fair to fall into his arms, he had much mistaken his Polly.

“How very big of you, to be sure!” she retorted. “I am overcome with gratitude.”

Up to this point, the viscount had been so afraid that the fatal words might escape his lips that he judged it safest to say nothing at all. Gradually, he assimilated the information that Sir Aubrey had not come at the behest of the marquess, as he had feared, but because he wished to marry Miss Crump himself. Unfortunately, any relief he might have felt at this unexpected turn of events was short-lived. It was one thing to be delivered at the eleventh hour from a marriage which one had discovered was not nearly so desirable as one had originally supposed; it was quite another, however, to have one’s bride stolen at the altar by one’s older and more dashing cousin.

“Now, look here, Cousin Aubrey,” he said, staring bravely down the barrel of the pistol still aimed at his forehead. “Miss Crump is going to marry me!”

“If she does, Sutcliffe, I can assure you that she will be a widow before she is ever a wife,” responded Sir Aubrey.

At this juncture, the parson judged it time to intervene. “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” he said soothingly, “I am sure we can settle this in a calm and reasonable manner. If you will put down your weapon, sir?”

With some reluctance, Sir Aubrey laid aside his arms.

“Now, my dear,” continued the parson, turning his attention to Polly, “which one of these gentlemen do you intend to marry?”

“Be careful ‘ow you answer. Miss Crump,” advised Mr. Brundy, entering the room behind Sir Aubrey. “If I understand Scottish law a-right, declaring your intention to wed before two witnesses is just as binding as if you’d joined ‘ands in St. George’s, ‘anover Square.”

Polly wavered indecisively, studying first one suitor, then the other. Lord Sutcliffe glanced nervously about the room, his eyes wide and frightened in his ridiculously boyish face. Sir Aubrey gave her back look for look, with an intensity in his gaze that she could not begin to interpret.

“You needn’t marry either of them if you don’t want to,” Mr. Brundy said gently.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” demanded Sir Aubrey, incensed.

“Believe me, Aubrey, an unwilling bride can be the very devil,” Mr. Brundy assured him with a reminiscent gleam in his eye.

“But it has not yet been established to my satisfaction that Miss Crump is unwilling,” insisted Sir Aubrey, advancing upon his intended.

“You behold me standing before the parson with another man, and yet you believe that I should prefer to marry you?” cried Polly, outraged. “Oh! You are despicable!”

“And you are adorable,” he replied, taking her in his arms. Any protest she might have uttered was smothered as his lips claimed hers. As on that earlier occasion at the Belmont rout, she raised her arms to push him away, but again they betrayed her, wrapping themselves instead around his neck.

“Now,” he said when he at last released her, “look me in the eye and tell me you love my cousin.”

Up came Polly’s chin. “I’ll have you know I am extremely fond of Lord Sutcliffe!”

‘“Extremely fond’?” Sir Aubrey echoed mockingly.

“He—he has been most kind to me at a time when I was in desperate need—”

“Tell me you love him, Polly,” commanded Sir Aubrey, pinning her with a look.

Polly struggled valiantly, but her determination crumbled under his gray gaze. “I—I cannot! I am sorry. Lord Sutcliffe, and I will always be grateful to you, but I cannot marry you! But,” she added quickly, turning back to Sir Aubrey, “it does not follow that I will marry you instead!”

“Why not?” he persisted.

“Can you not see? Surely the inequality of such a match—”

“I’ve told you it doesn’t matter!”

“Of all the arrogance!” cried Polly. “So long as
you
are prepared to accept
me,
then
my
feelings are of no concern! Perhaps it doesn’t matter to you, but it matters a great deal to me! I will not allow you to wed me in a fit of charity, only to fling my humble origins in my face every time you are out of temper with me!”

“Er, begging your pardon. Miss Crump,” put in Mr. Brundy, clearing his throat, “but the shoe seems to be on the other foot.”

Two pairs of eyes, one light blue, one sea gray, turned to stare at him.

“What do you mean, Ethan?” asked Sir Aubrey.

“There’s a picture ‘anging in the Royal Pavilion that bears an uncanny resemblance to Miss Crump. If I were a betting man, I’d lay you odds she’s a royal by-blow.”

Polly’s eyes grew round with amazement.
“Royal—
?”

Sir Aubrey slapped his hand to his forehead. “The Royal Arms! The Duke of Clarence visited Littledean twenty years ago. I was that close, and never knew it! Ethan, why didn’t you tell me?”

“With all the ‘ullabaloo, it slipped me mind. Besides,” he added with exaggerated innocence, “you said it didn’t matter.”

“Nor does it,” replied the baronet, seizing Polly’s hands and drawing her inexorably closer. “In fact, the only possible obstacle I can perceive would be the discovery that Miss Crump does not love me, and if that is the case, then I am of all men the most to be pitied. For I do love you, Polly. Very, very much.”

This last was delivered with a tenderness she had not heard in his voice before, and she felt the last of her resistance crumble. She tried to extricate her hands from his grasp, only to find they were trembling too violently to obey her wishes. “And if I marry you, you’ll not call me by that ridiculous name, or denigrate my dancing, or—”

“Never again!” vowed Sir Aubrey.

Polly gave him a shaky smile. “What a bouncer! You have bullied me for so long I doubt you could stop even if you tried. Still, I daresay I shall not be utterly defenseless, so long as I make sure there is always a pot of coffee at the ready, and—oh, Aubrey!” Her voice broke on a sob as she was crushed in an embrace which knocked the breath from her body.

The parson heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes heavenward, and turned his prayer book back to the first page of the marriage service.

* * * *

As weddings go, it was a rather shabby affair, certainly unworthy of a Tabor of Tabor Hall and a daughter—even an illegitimate one—of a royal duke, but neither of the principals seemed to mind, or in fact even to notice. The bride requested a room in which she might exchange her gray stuff gown for something a bit more bridal, and was shown into a small bedchamber. She emerged a short time later, having dressed her hair in a more becoming style and arrayed herself in the elegant but sadly crushed green gown she had worn to the Royal Pavilion.

The marriage room, however, was empty save for the cleric and Mr. Brundy, the latter standing beside the window and gazing down into the yard below. Upon Polly’s entrance, he turned to regard her with his singularly sweet smile.

“Aubrey should be back shortly, ‘e’s borrowed a razor and a clean cravat from Lord Sutcliffe.”

“Oh,” said Polly, suddenly shy at finding herself alone with the man she had once claimed was her brother. “I daresay you would be grateful for a shave, yourself.”

He shook his head. “No need to delay the wedding on account of me. I’ve waited this long; I can wait a bit longer.”

She took a deep breath. “Mr. Brundy, there are so many things for which I must beg your pardon that I hardly know where to begin. We—Aubrey and I—have not had an opportunity to discuss such things as pin-money and the like, but I promise to repay you every farthing spent on my behalf—”

Mr. Brundy shook his head. “If it’s your gowns you’re thinking of, consider them a wedding gift from me wife.”

“But not from yourself, Mr. Brundy?”

“No, I intend to give you something different. I promise not to go next or nigh the pair of you for at least three months.” Seeing her bewildered expression, he added, “Aubrey will understand.”

A clean and shaven Sir Aubrey entered the room at that moment with Lord Sutcliffe in his wake, and the ceremony commenced.

“Join right hands, please,” instructed the parson. “Sir, do you have a ring?”

Sir Aubrey reached for his signet ring, but found only bare knuckle. “I had one. Reverend, but I, er, pawned it at Carlisle for a change of horses.”

“You pawned your ring for a change of horses?” echoed Polly in amazement.

“I had no choice. All my money was gone, and it was the only thing of value I had left. I hadn’t pursued you for three days only to let a lack of funds stop me less than twenty miles from my destination!”

“I think,” said Polly with great deliberation, “that that is quite the loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me!”

“I have every intention of spoiling you shamelessly, my love, but I’m afraid it doesn’t help much at the moment,” Sir Aubrey confessed.

“ ‘ere’s your ring, Aubrey,” said Mr. Brundy, reluctantly slipping the gold band from his own finger. “Take good care of it.”

“I say, Ethan, that’s deuced handsome of you!” Sir Aubrey was moved to exclaim.

Mr. Brundy merely shrugged. “ ‘Tis the least I can do for me sister.”

* * * *

The ceremony completed, Sir Aubrey and his bride set out for Inglewood in Lord Sutcliffe’s hired chaise. Finding herself alone with her bridegroom for the first time since the Belmont rout, Polly fell victim to an uncharacteristic shyness.   Studiously avoiding his gaze, she kept her eyes demurely lowered, toying with the borrowed ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“It—it was very good of Mr. Brundy to lend his ring for the ceremony,” she said at last, when the silence grew awkward.

“Ethan is the best of men, as I seem to recall telling you at one point,” he reminded her. “You might have saved us all a great deal of trouble if you had believed me.”

“I am sorry to have been so troublesome,” she said, studying the arrangement of his borrowed cravat with great interest. “Reverend Jennings always deplored my tendency to act without thinking, but now that we are wed, I shall do my best to be a—a conformable wife.”

“Good God!” uttered Sir Aubrey, appalled. “I forbid you to try! If you must know, I find your queer starts oddly enchanting, and I am sure that someday, after we have been married a very long time, I will understand perfectly why, having discovered that you loved me, you elected to elope with my cousin.”

“I would never have done such a thing had my case not been desperate, I assure you!”

“You trusted me that day on the beach, Polly. Did I prove so unworthy a confidante?”

Polly hung her head. “Not at the time. But when you—you kissed me at the Belmont rout only to disappear the very next morning, I thought that I had made a dreadful mistake, that knowing me to be nothing but an insignificant shop girl, you felt you might treat me as you wished.”

Another man might have been offended by so unflattering a portrayal, but Sir Aubrey understood that her mistrust was based on bitter experience. “And so I was not there when you needed me. I shall not soon forgive myself for that, but I cannot be entirely sorry for going to London. I had, er, unfinished business with your Mr. Minchin.”

Polly paled at this revelation. “You met Mr. Minchin? Did you tell him about me? What did he say?”

“Yes, I met Mr. Minchin; yes, I told him I was searching for information concerning you; and no, he didn’t say anything to the purpose.”

“Nothing?
Well, I think that rather poor-spirited of him!”

“Er, as I recall, he was lying insensible on the floor at the time,” confessed Sir Aubrey.

“Aubrey! You
struck
him?” Polly gazed at her husband with a look of such adoration that he felt compelled to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly.

“And while St. George was out slaying dragons for you,” he chided upon the completion of this pleasant exercise, “you were plotting to elope with Sutcliffe!”

“I know it was very wrong of me, but at the time I felt I had no choice,” Polly insisted.   “You see, Lord Sutcliffe had accompanied me on a shopping expedition, and we encountered Mrs. Jennings—I lived in her house after my mother died, and I had no idea she was in Brighton. And when she heard Lord Sutcliffe address me as Miss Crump, she knew it was not my real name, and I was quite certain she would expose me, because that is just the sort of person she is! Believe me, Lord Sutcliffe’s proposal seemed a godsend!”

“As it turns out, I have met your Mrs. Jennings, and a more poisonous female it has never been my misfortune to encounter,” replied Sir Aubrey with feeling. “Making her acquaintance served to explain a great many of your actions of late, my love, but now you may rest easy. Lady Tabor need have no fear of Mrs. Jennings.”

“Aubrey! Has she some hold over your
mother?”

“My dearest goose,
you are
Lady Tabor!” pointed out Sir Aubrey, torn between exasperation and amusement.

“Oh, dear!” cried Polly in some consternation. “I suppose I am!”

“And let me tell you, this is the last name change I intend to tolerate!”

“But Aubrey, what will your mother say?”

“As she should be waiting for us at Inglewood, we shall very soon find out,” he replied complacently as the carriage turned and passed through intricately wrought iron gates. A long, raked gravel drive passed through woods that suddenly fell away, revealing a broad ornamental lake across which glided a pair of graceful white swans. A massive edifice of rose-colored brick was reflected on the mirror-like surface of the water.