Sheri Cobb South (21 page)

“Oh, how magnificent!” exclaimed Polly, leaning forward to stare out the window. “What is it?”

“It is the Marquess of Inglewood’s principal seat, and my mother’s childhood home.”

“Oh, dear!” uttered Polly in faltering tones.

Seeing his bride’s awe-stricken expression give way to one of sheer terror, he was driven by some demon of mischief to add, “Had you married Lord Sutcliffe, you would have been mistress of it someday. As it is, I fear you are doomed to disappointment, for Tabor Hall is not nearly so imposing.”

“And your mother is there now?”

Sir Aubrey nodded. “Along with Lord Inglewood.”

“She will not be pleased to discover you are married.”

“Nonsense! She has been after me to marry for years. She should be delighted that I have finally followed her excellent advice.”

“You may be sure she expected you to marry someone like Lady Helen!”

“Ethan might have had something to say about that,” Sir Aubrey replied as the carriage rolled to a stop. In the next instant, the postilion opened the door and put down the step.

“Aubrey, I can’t!” Polly whispered, panic-stricken, shrinking back against the squabs.

“Yes, you can,” Sir Aubrey replied gently but firmly. He assisted his bride to alight, then drew her hand through his arm and gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, my love, the blood royal flows in your veins, and I will be there to support you through the ordeal.”

Royal blood or no, Polly felt distinctly inferior as she and Sir Aubrey were admitted by a stately butler and informed that Lord Inglewood and Lady Tabor awaited them in the Green Saloon. As they climbed a broad curved staircase, Polly’s fingers clenched convulsively on her husband’s sleeve. At the top of the stairs, the sounds of voices emanating from a room halfway down the corridor gave her to understand that this was their destination, and so she was unsurprised when Sir Aubrey paused outside this chamber, disengaged her hand from his sleeve, and went forward to greet his mother.

“Good afternoon, Mama, Inglewood,” he said, nodding to the marquess and then bending to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I have someone I should like you to meet. Allow me to present—my wife.”

He turned to the door and held out an imperious hand. Polly took a steadying breath, then advanced tentatively to place her hand in his. Smiling his approval, Sir Aubrey raised her hand to his lips.

“Well, young lady, you seem to have led my son a pretty dance,” observed the dowager.

Polly, bobbing a shy curtsy, could not agree. “Oh, no, my lady,” she demurred. “Aubrey will be the first to tell you that my dancing is not pretty at all.”

“Aubrey is an idiot,” stated his fond parent. “Am I to understand that you love him anyway?”

“Yes,” replied Polly—quite unnecessarily, in fact, for as she glanced up at her husband, her answer was readily visible in her glowing eyes. “Oh, yes!”

“Then that is all I could wish for,” Lady Tabor said, and folded her daughter-in-law in a fond embrace.

“My felicitations to you both upon your marriage,” said Lord Inglewood, bowing over Polly’s hand. “I do trust, Aubrey, that you managed to bring it off without shooting my son?”

“Barely, sir, but yes,” his nephew assured him. “When last I saw him, Sutcliffe was alive and well.”

“And where, pray, is he now?”  The marquess’s tone suggested that Lord Sutcliffe would not enjoy the reunion.

“He should be arriving shortly in my phaeton. I allowed him to drive it in exchange for his bride, his razor, and a clean cravat. Now you know what a high value I place on you, my love,” he added as an aside to Polly. “I don’t surrender the ribbons of my phaeton to just anyone.”

A commotion in the hall below heralded the arrival of Lord Sutcliffe, and a few moments later the viscount entered the room, accompanied by Mr. Brundy.

“Well, Sutcliffe, I trust you were able to keep it out of the ditch?” asked Sir Aubrey.

“Oh, Lord yes!” answered the viscount cheerfully. “You taught me to drive, didn’t you? I say, Papa, Cousin Aubrey’s high-perch phaeton is something like! Could I have—?” Lord Sutcliffe saw his father regarding him with a stony countenance and, too late, remembered his disgrace. “Er, that is, I—”

“Sutcliffe,” the marquess began, choosing each word with care, “although every young man falls into scrapes from time to time, I have always considered myself most fortunate in my heir—until now.”

“Oh, pray do not be too hard on Lord Sutcliffe,” beseeched Polly. “The idea to elope was mine, not his. Lord Sutcliffe acted entirely through chivalry, and his behavior was always that of a gentleman. If anyone is deserving of censure, my lord, it is I. I know I have been very foolish—Aubrey says so, anyway,” she added, darting a warm glance at her husband.

At this juncture Lady Tabor, noticing that her daughter-in-law was looking worn to the bone, insisted that she take a seat. “Now, do tell us, Polly,
why,
if you loved my son, did you ask Sutcliffe to elope with you?”

Thus called upon, Polly was obliged to repeat the whole tale, from the time she first read
The Lost Heir
and conceived what she now saw as a ridiculously naive plan to find her father. Her narrative encompassed her ill-fated stint in Mr. Minchin’s shop and subsequent termination, and the chance remark which led her to Mr. Brundy. His entrance into the plot reminded her that she still wore his ring, and she digressed momentarily to restore it to its rightful owner with her heartfelt thanks. Having done this, she recounted her entrance into Society under Lady Helen’s patronage, blushed over Lord Camfield’s misinterpreted courtship, skipped over the Belmont rout altogether, curiously enough, and finally described her harrowing encounter with Mrs. Jennings.

“My dear child,” said Lady Tabor, deeply moved, “I only wish I had known! I could have told you who your father was the moment I first set eyes on you.”

“You knew?” Sir Aubrey and his bride spoke almost as one.

“All of Brighton knows—at least all of those old enough to remember the royal dukes in their youth. You have much the look of the royal family about you, my dear. I realize that hardly seems a compliment these days, but they were all very handsome as young men. Depend upon it, many people saw the resemblance. I daresay that is why Camfield courted you so assiduously. Certainly it is why you were taken to Society’s bosom with so few questions asked.”

“But I thought—Lady Helen—” Polly stammered.

“To be sure, Lady Helen is much admired, and rightfully so,” concurred Lady Tabor, “but her patronage alone is not enough to make up for a lack of pedigree, and to be perfectly blunt, her stock has fallen considerably since her marriage.”

“And ‘ere I was feeling sadly neglected, me lady,” put in Mr. Brundy. “You’ve made me feel right at ‘ome, you ‘ave.”

“You flatter yourself,” Lady Tabor assured him. “No weaver was
ever
at home at Inglewood. You are welcome to stay the night, but then we shall require a favor of you, Mr. Brundy. When you return to Brighton, I wonder if you would be good enough to send a notice to the newspapers announcing the engagement of Miss Crump to Sir Aubrey Tabor, along with the information that the pair, in company with Lady Tabor, the Marquess of Inglewood, and Viscount Sutcliffe, have removed to Inglewood, where the wedding will take place.”

“But Mama, the wedding has already taken place,” pointed out Sir Aubrey.

“A hole-and-corner affair at Gretna Green!” said her ladyship with a snort of derision. “No, Aubrey, you are going to post the banns and marry in church, like Christians! Polly will want some time to purchase her bride-clothes, and I daresay you will insist upon having Mr. Brundy to stand up with you, if Lady Helen is up to travelling in her condition—”

“What condition?” asked Mr. Brundy, galvanized to attention.

“Post the banns?” echoed Sir Aubrey. “But Mama, that would take three weeks!”

“Then I suppose you had best see the vicar as soon as possible,” replied the dowager.

“What condition?” asked Mr. Brundy again.

“Oh, no, I will not!” insisted Sir Aubrey. “In three weeks’ time, I intend to be firmly ensconced at Tabor Hall with my wife!”

“If your mama wishes you to be married at Inglewood, Aubrey, then I will not marry you anywhere else,” Polly informed him.

“You are already married to me, my girl, and I intend to make very sure you don’t forget it!” retorted Sir Aubrey.

“Oh, no you will not!” his mother interrupted, sparing Polly’s blushes. “A fine thing it would look if your heir were to come along eight months after the ceremony!”

“But, Mama, we are legally wed!”

“If you care anything for your wife’s reputation, Aubrey, you will not want the news of her elopement to reach the ears of the
ton.
Therefore, you will conduct yourselves as a betrothed couple until the banns are read.”

“What condition?!”
demanded Mr. Brundy in a voice that would not be ignored.

“Lady Helen was a bit out of sorts on the morning of my departure, but I am sure she is quite all right,” Lady Tabor assured him, having recollected a bit too late that Mr. Brundy was not yet aware of his wife’s interesting malady. “Still, I have no doubt you are eager to get back to her.”

“Aye, that I am,” he agreed. “So much so that I think I’ll decline your offer of ‘ospitality. If I set out at once, I should be able to cover fifty miles before sundown.”

A short time later, he took his leave, having been fortified with his first full meal in three days. In his pockets were sufficient funds to redeem Sir Aubrey’s signet ring, watch, fob, and cravat-pin; in his ears, Lady Tabor’s instructions for having the nuptial pair’s belongings sent to Inglewood. Having delivered herself of these, Lady Tabor had borne Polly off to settle her in one of the guest bedchambers—one, Sir Aubrey noted ruefully, which would require that he tiptoe past his mother’s room like a green youth trysting with a chambermaid, should he dare to attempt a midnight visit to his wife. Deprived of his bride, at least for the nonce, he walked with Mr. Brundy as far as the front stoop.

“I’ll say this for you, Aubrey, you don’t do a thing ‘alfway,” said Mr. Brundy. “When I asked you to get ‘er out of me ‘ouse, I never expected you to take ‘er into your own.”

“What are friends for?” asked Sir Aubrey with a modest shrug. “Having seen me married over the anvil, so to speak, would you find it redundant to stand up with me in church?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Mr. Brundy assured him.

“And I daresay Polly will want Lady Helen to attend her, so buy her a new bonnet or something, if you can spare a guinea or two.”

Mr. Brundy nodded. “I think I can manage. You might do the same for your mum, you know. You were afraid she’d go off in an apoplexy, but it looks like she’s taken your wife to ‘er bosom.”

“Which is more than I’ll be allowed to do over the next three weeks, if Mama has anything to say to the matter,” added Sir Aubrey with a grimace. “Ethan, since there are no words to thank you for your part in all this, I won’t insult you by making the attempt. Nor will I detain you any longer, knowing—believe me, I know now!—how eager you are to get back to Lady Helen. I ask only that at some point over the next three weeks, while you are honeymooning with Lady Helen in blissful solitude, you will think of me with pity.”

Mr. Brundy grinned and shook his head. “Sorry, Aubrey, but I’m going to be too busy,” he said, and loped down the steps to the waiting carriage.

Epilogue

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. SEXTUS PROPERTIUS,
Elegies

In a lamplit drawing room on the Marine Parade, Lady Helen sat alone before an inlaid card table solving a complicated Patience—a misnomer if ever there was one, she reflected restlessly. Her husband had been gone for more than a se’ennight, and during that time she’d had no word of his whereabouts, nothing at all since the night he had kissed her goodbye and set out with Sir Aubrey in search of Miss Crump. Her only consolation was that, if he were truly lying dead in a ditch, she should have received word of it long ere now.

The clock over the mantle chimed midnight, and Lady Helen sighed. Was this the other side of being in love, this feeling of being not quite whole unless the loved one were there? Another day was over, another day in which he had not come home. Perhaps tomorrow would be the one. In the meantime, she had the baby’s well-being to think of, as well as her own. She stacked up the cards and was about to replace them in the box when a slight sound near the door caught her attention. She looked up and saw her husband leaning wearily against the doorframe.

“Ethan!” She leaped to her feet, knocking over the card table and scattering the cards she had just stacked. She crossed the room in scant seconds, and threw herself into Mr. Brundy’s open arms.

“Ethan, I’ve missed you so! Did you find Polly? Is she married? Good heavens, you look dreadful!”

Except, of course, that he did not. To be sure, his clothing was certainly the worse for wear, and his chin bore a week’s growth of beard, but the result was a certain rakish air that was not without appeal. Looking at him, she felt a stirring deep inside, one that had nothing to do with the child—his child—growing in her womb.

“I’ve missed you, too, ‘elen, and yes, we found Polly, yes, she’s married, and you’re ‘ardly in prime twig yourself.” This last was delivered in a slightly accusatory tone, and he took her chin in his hand and tipped it up, surveying with displeasure her pale face and shadowed eyes. “Lady Tabor tells me you’ve been ill.”

“Only in the mornings, darling, and it soon passes,” she assured him. “But tell me everything! Polly is married, then? How is Sir Aubrey taking it?”

In spite of his avowed refusal, Mr. Brundy thought of his friend’s three-week delay and pitied him. ‘“e’s bearing up about as well as can be expected.”

“Oh, dear! And I had hoped—Ethan, do you think she will be happy as a viscountess?”

He shook his head. “Not a chance, love. She’ll ‘ave to settle for being Lady Tabor of Tabor Hall.”

Lady Helen’s green eyes flew open wide, as her husband had known they would. “But you said she was married!”