The Notorious Bridegroom (2 page)

Her contemplation was cut short when she heard Sally’s peals of glee as they spun around and around. Thankfully, Patience’s charger was wooden, given her fear of horses. But after a few more revolutions, she was ready to exchange her seat for solid ground, while Sally protested her ride had ended much too soon.

The earl stood ready to help them down from the platform, a package tucked under his arm. He plucked Sally down first, then reached for Patience, who tensed, feeling his sinewy hands about her waist. The heat of his touch ignited a strange warmth in her belly and a flush across her cheeks. She did not have to look up to know he watched her as she clung to his hard forearms in an effort to regain her balance.

Finally, when able to stand without his assistance—he seemed oddly reluctant to let her go—she told him succinctly, “Sir, the next time, I will advise you if I wish to take a ride.” She must remember to keep her wits about her, and her feet firmly planted on the ground when dealing with the man.

“Mrs. Grundy, I sincerely hope you do,” he returned pleasantly.

The gleam in his eyes confused her, and she quickly looked away, finding her bonnet needed adjustment again.

“Oh, that was fun! Shall we try again?” Sally cried, as she spun in circles, her arms flung out as if to fly.

“No, little lady, we shall find your aunt,” Patience stated firmly.

Her authoritative tone brought the child to a slow halt. A grin suddenly lit Sally’s face as she spied another amusement. “A puppet show! Let’s see the puppets!” She grabbed the earl’s hand and began to pull him in the direction of the little curtained box where a group of children were laughing at the antics of
Simple and Master Simon,
a comedy about a hopeless servant and his hard-to-please master.

Patience sighed and reluctantly followed her companions, suddenly suspicious that both Sally and the earl enjoyed themselves at her expense. She saw the earl purchase the child an orange from a merchant, but declined when one was offered to her.

“Really, Mrs. Grundy, that disapproving look on your face surprises me. Do you not like to see your daughter, your
stepdaughter
enjoy herself?”

Startled, she blinked up at the earl, standing a little too close for her own peace of mind. She swallowed. Hard. “Yes, I only worry about finding her aunt. And it is growing quite late. Surely we must be keeping you from something or someone?” She watched his guarded expression carefully.

He pulled out his watch. “Yes, I am due to meet someone. But they shall wait.” He returned the watch to his pocket and leaned idly on his cane, seeming to mask his predatory nature. “I believe you are unfamiliar to Winchelsea. Where is home?”

Alert, she replied, “A good two-day journey from here, my lord.”

Watching the performance, he asked her, “And what brings you to Winchelsea? A new position? A suitor?”

Patience turned to stare at his hard profile, then quickly focused on the show when he glanced her way.
Think quickly. I must think quickly.
“Ah, visiting. Yes, visiting my cousin for a short while.”

Preventing anything further along this line of inquisition, she smiled brightly. “And where is the woman for your arm?” Her question edged in flirtation, hoping to distract him. She observed him intently, waiting for his answer.

When he shifted his stance to face her, his smile almost charmed her. “Madam, fate has not seen fit to provide me with a wife, and I must take my pleasure like this evening when it is afforded me.”

Patience blushed, wondering if he lingered a little too long over the word “pleasure.” She remarked hurriedly, “You seem to enjoy children, you must wish for your own.”

His blue gaze grew deeper as he gave her an amusing smile. “First a wife, then children. Are you quite sure this is not some kind of proposal, Mrs. Grundy?”

Horrified at his pronouncement, albeit in jest, she clasped her hands to her now-scarlet face. “My lord, I intended no such liberty.”

He laughed at her expression, then, as if he remembered something, said softly, “I almost wish—”

Sally interjected, “Please, I want to see the tigers and unicorns and…and ponies!” as they left the puppets for the Wild Beast show.

Wearily, Patience told her, “Ponies, my dear girl, are not wild beasts, and I do not believe there are any unicorns around here.”

“Where’ve ye been, Sally?” a thunderous voice commanded from high above.

Startled, they looked up to find a tiny woman clad in a sparkling bright-red dress climbing down the ladder from a tightrope. She hurried over to Sally, who stood subdued by Patience’s side.

“Where ye been? Answer me! Ye should ha’ been back over an hour ago,” the woman scolded, with a jerk on the child’s thin arm.

At first, Patience could only stare at the scarlet-clad woman who must be Sally’s aunt. An acrobat? Small wonder they could not find her on the ground.

Lord Londringham stepped forward. “Madam, we have been searching for you for some time. Do not be harsh with the child. She only wanted to enjoy the fair.” His interce-dence acted like cold water on a fire, and the aunt’s anger slowly died.

The little woman stared in surprise at the earl. “Sir, I do beg ye pardon. I hope me gel hasn’t caused trouble.”

The whiny voice grated on Patience’s frazzled nerves, and she told Sally’s aunt, “Little Sally was no trouble at all. We were only concerned we would be unable to find you.”

“Well, ye did, and I’m much obliged. I’ll take care of her now,” her aunt ordered, giving a second glance to the gentleman in front of her.

Quiet during the reunion with her aunt, Sally now gazed up at Lord Londringham. “I never had near so much fun before. Thank ye, Mr. Long, for the orange and the rides and the puppets and everythin’.” Her voice floated sweetly up to him.

Patience watched as the earl knelt stiffly beside the little girl. “You are welcome, child, and I did not forget. For you.” He offered her the brown-wrapped package he carried under his arm.

The child eagerly ripped open the paper and discovered a pretty wooden doll dressed as a shepherdess, with long flaxen hair, rosy cheeks, and holding a tiny crooked staff.

Sally looked in awe at her present and then at the earl. “Oh, thank ye, sir. I’ll take good care of her.” Her small face turned pale, and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

The earl nodded and rose to a stand, his eyes unwavering on Patience.

Hesitantly, Sally approached Patience, who sank to her knees. “I’m sorry about pretendin’ ye was me mama. I did want the doll. I guess I wanted a mama too. I hope yer not too mad.”

Patience smiled at the child’s honesty. “I am not mad, but lying is seldom rewarded, except perhaps this time.”

Sally nodded before smudging a shy kiss on Patience’s cheek.

“C’mon. Ye be ’nuff trouble for three children.”

The woman’s brusque coldness chilled Patience’s warm heart. She wished that there was something more she could do for the child.

When the woman would have dragged Sally off, Patience called, “Please wait.” She quickly slipped the earl’s coat from her shoulders and offered it to him with a short nod. “I must go. Thank you for your kindness. I know Sally truly enjoyed herself.”

She turned to leave, but a firm hand on her thin sleeve prevented her. “And Mrs. Grundy? Did she enjoy herself as well?”

His face again in the shadows, somehow she felt her answer to be important to him.

“Of course. You…you proved an amusing as well as considerate companion.” She thought her praise high, in view of the circumstances.

His smile widened to a grin. “I suppose the same can be said for Gulliver.”

“Gulliver?” She knew she should not have asked.

“My dog.”

While studying her flushed face, he raised her hand and softly kissed her glove, his warmth penetrating through to her skin.

“
Mrs.
Grundy, you do interest me, a great deal. I’m confident that we will meet again,” he told her and bid her good evening with a touch to his beaver hat.

Patience froze looking after him. His sentiments seemed ominous. Perhaps they would meet again, right before he was hung for treason.

Sally interrupted her troubling thoughts, tugging on her hand for attention. Looking at Sally’s aunt’s suspicious countenance, Patience was aware she needed to explain a few things to the little woman. A few bob, and she gained the aunt’s silence.

After matters were finally remedied, and Bella had taken Sally home, Patience could search for Colette. Since most of the fairgoers had wandered into the night, only a small handful of people remained near the dying bonfire. To her relief, she soon found Colette at the square, looking for her too. They strolled back to their lodgings, along with the rest of a tired crowd. Patience could only hope her disguise as a still-room maid in Lord Londringham’s house would hold up to scrutiny after this night.

Back at Paddock Green, Bryce lay awake for a long time reflecting on the sweet countenance of one Mrs. Grundy. He knew Grundy was not her last name. Who could she be? He wished he had inquired as to the cousin’s surname.

The bright flames of the bonfire around Mrs. Grundy had created a vivid aura against her soft brown hair. He remembered the tiger-lights sparkling in her lovely hazel eyes, and the warm look she unknowingly had sent him when he had given the child a new doll. He rose from the bed to walk over to the chair where he had laid his coat. He could still smell her lavender perfume on it. And a faint odor of peppermint.

The lark awakened him outside his window with the morning light pouring onto his bed in uneven lines. He had not slept this deeply in months, and it took him a few minutes to realize the cause.

No nightmares. It was because of her. Mrs. Grundy. He knew little about her, but sure as the world held hope and regrets, he would find her again. Unfortunately, he had to find his stepbrother’s murderer before he could enjoy her tempting pleasure.

A man of middle years with a long, thin face, Viscount Carstairs slowly drained the last drops of beer from his tankard and contemplated the inside of the familiar Bear’s Wit tavern with half-masted eyes, yet again wishing for a good fellow to whom he could boast of his ingenious plan. But this late on the starless and windy night, anyone still awake was no doubt about the Devil’s work. He grinned at the thought. He wanted to crow that by tomorrow morning he would be rich and a long way from England.

“We need to talk.” The soft-spoken voice startled the older man, not yet in his cups.

The viscount looked up suspiciously to spy his young cousin. The lone candle on the table flickered, briefly lighting the pale, drawn face of the young man, obviously wearied from a long journey. “Rupert, my boy. What do you here? Did you not get my note? You are wanted for treason. It is not safe for you,” he told him under his breath. Then Carstairs smelled it: the odor of the hunted. “You look all in. Beer will straighten your back.”

A quick shout brought the innkeeper and another tankard. When he protested about wanting to close for the night, the viscount silenced him with a few more coins in the man’s pocket.

Rupert took a long drain from his cup before he replied in an undertone, “I know. I have spent the last two days avoiding a press-gang who wanted to throw me on a blockade ship and the constable’s men who seek to hang me. I do not remember my last meal or soft bed. Please, you have got to help me.” He paused. “I’m tired of running.”

His weary brown eyes unmistakably betrayed fear and hunger of a man no longer a boy. Worry lines had replaced laugh lines in the young man’s suddenly old face. He took another draught of the watered-down liquid before him. “Tell me, Peter, why in bloody hell does the constable believe
I
am selling secrets to the French?”

Carstairs narrowed his eyes as the boy settled uncomfortably onto the hard chair. He chose his next words carefully. “I was as shocked as you when I heard the news. Perhaps you met some untrustworthy chaps during your stay with me, and they gave your name to the constable in order to save their own.”

Rupert’s eyes widened in dismay. “But I was with
you.
The only blokes I met were
your
friends.”

“Yes, and I am afraid even I do not trust everyone within my acquaintance. I did try on your behalf to defend you. I told the constable you were only my relative come for a visit, and being of true English stock could not possibly be guilty of treason.” He raised his hands and shrugged. “But alas, he maintains he has proof of greater conviction than the weight of my words.”

Rupert, resting his head in his hands, looked up to catch his cousin’s last words. “Proof? What proof?” he sputtered.

Carstairs heaved a sigh. He needed more time to think. “Rupert, listen to me. Your running away from the authorities only convinces them of your guilt. Stay tonight with me and tomorrow we will visit my solicitor. I am sure he will find a way out of this coil, he’s very clever.”

“But what about Lord Londringham? Have they not caught him yet? You told me he is the man they seek.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately, Londringham is still unfamiliar with the inside of a gaol. He has been very clever, that man, clever enough to cover his tracks.”

“I suppose an earl is better at eluding justice than a mere baronet’s brother.”

“Come now, not so gloomy. We shall take you home and let Mrs. Keene make up a bed for you. Tomorrow, we will see to everything.” The viscount rose and started toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “My horse is outside, you can ride behind me.”

Rupert caught up with him, his step livelier with restored optimism. “Thank you, Cousin, for your kindness. I am sorry to be such a nuisance. You see, the family is in a state over me, especially my sister.”

“Naturally. Let us discuss this more tomorrow.”

When they arrived back at Loganmoor, Carstairs’s estate, the housekeeper gave him a filling repast and then led the exhausted young man to his bed.

Alone in his study, the viscount’s smile faded and annoyance hardened his rough countenance. Rupert’s reappearance proved a lump in the pudding, but would not disrupt his neatly arranged plans to be on a ship for America in the morning.

Assuring himself of his deft handling of his young cousin’s affairs, he began to gather his important papers to take with him. And the Devil took his due.

The new morning dawned bright for Rupert. Confident that his troubles would soon be over, he whistled as he dressed, eager to grab his fate by the tail. He trotted down the stairs, aware of the household sounds of clanging pots, clinking silver, and servants’ voices—the normal morning routine.

On his way to breakfast, he noticed that the French doors leading from the viscount’s study to the balcony were open, and he ventured inside. The smile drained from his lips as he viewed the study in shock: papers strewn on the floor, books toppled from their shelves, a disaster.

Then he saw him. Lord Carstairs lay face-down on the floor, dried blood staining the Oriental carpet beneath his body. Rupert knelt down and rolled the prone figure over, confirming what he already knew. The vacant death stare told the gruesome story.

Horrified, he rose and continued to stare at the body, shaking his head. Who had killed his cousin, and why? Would he be next? Now he had no one to help him.

“Murderer!” screamed the housemaid.

In deep thought, he didn’t realize anyone was nearby. He frowned, looking at the young girl before he stumbled toward her, holding out his hand, but she threw up her hands and ran shrieking for help. Soon footsteps and anxious voices echoed in the hall.

After quickly considering his options, Rupert decided to flee and plan his defense from a safer distance than prison. He ran through the balcony archway onto the garden steps. Barely pausing, he bent to retrieve a shoe buckle glistening in the early dew, then raced out into the mist-dampened morning.

The carriage tilted and swayed over the bumpy, dusty road from Winchelsea. On their trip to Paddock Green, their new place of employment, Colette and Patience discussed Patience’s plan.

Colette shook her head in resignation. “I still cannot understand why you believe the earl is responsible for your brother’s plight.”

Patience studied the Sussex landscape of rolling hills in distraction before looking over at her friend and tucking a loose strand of hair back under her mobcap.

“Both my brother and our cousin Lord Carstairs are convinced it is the earl who is selling information to French agents, and that he has informed against Rupert to throw suspicion from himself. Our cousin says even the constable has his men watching the earl.”

Colette pounced on Patience’s remark. “There, you see. If the constable’s men have yet to convict the earl, why ever do you believe you can succeed where they have failed?”

“Perhaps because I have more at stake,” she replied softly.

“This could be very dangerous.”

Patience nodded. “I know,” and added more cheerily, “I feel so fortunate that I met you on the post chaise. It has been nice to have a friend to confide in. Without your entrée into his household, I would still be thinking of some way to have the earl arrested.” She still marveled her luck in meeting a young woman her age traveling from Storrington to Winchelsea. With their dark brown hair and hazel eyes, many of the other passengers thought them sisters.

Colette replied in her lilting French accent. “I hope we both do not live to regret your masquerade as a still-room maid. You, the sister of a baronet.” She waved her hand. “La, you English girls are much more adventurous than we French counterparts. I am happy being a simple lady’s maid to the countess.”

Shrugging, Patience returned to watching out the window, and wondered what the next few days or months would bring. The carriage rocked past workers planting in the fields and foot travelers on their journey home from the fair. Ripened to nature’s glory, the spring splendor of the countryside unraveled along the ribbon of road bedecked with new grass and budding trees.

Even the brilliant landscape could not help Patience forget her purpose. But for the horrible picture of Rupert swinging from Tyburn, she would have had the carriage turn around and head back to Winchelsea. Palms moist, she smoothed down her apron over her light gray dress, presuming it would be suitable for her position as a still-room maid. The mobcap and spectacles she hoped would prove a fine disguise from the earl, especially after their unexpected meeting last night.

At last, the post chaise creaked through massive iron gates, signaling the journey’s near end. Patience stared out the window, her mouth agape. Majestic sycamore trees stood along both sides of the carriageway in welcome. The newly green-carpeted lawns stretched for miles in early-spring beauty dotted with a sprinkling of mischievous dandelions.

When their carriage bumped over the stone bridge and she saw Paddock Green, fear returned to mock her courage and moisten her brow. Approaching from the east, the house of gray stone loomed on the horizon, dark and imposing, its castle spires nobly reaching toward the sky. She surmised grimly that the house had probably been designed to suit a king but more likely entertained n’er-do-wells, thieves, and homeless spirits, given the earl’s rumored cohorts.

Upon closer view, Patience saw the stone turrets and gargoyles, perched ready to pounce on curious travelers, intrigued architects, or new servants. The tracery on the windows, the lacy parapets, and the unguarded battlements led her to wonder if the earl hid a mad wife behind the dormer attic windows. Her whimsy was no doubt attributable to Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. Certainly Paddock Green, with its Gothic structure amidst a verdant panorama, created a dramatic setting for the mysterious man who played dangerous games and bought dolls for little girls.

Left at the servants’ entrance, Colette and Patience waited an answer to their knock. A thin, older woman, who had seen the glory of her days past, opened the door wearing an unpleasant frown making her features even less attractive. A cap placed carelessly on her head held fewer gray strands than had initially been arranged. A greasy dirty apron belied her position as the cook, and her face told a tale of having known more regrets than smiles, given her wizened look.

She stared sullenly at the young women before allowing them entrance into the kitchen, a cavernous room with a long pine worktable occupying the place of honor in the center. Since no windows lined the stone walls, the skylight granted the kitchen its only illumination. Sweet bread smells scented the stifling air.

The woman shuffled around them and muttered, “Ye must be the still-room maid and lady’s maid. We were told to expect ye. The one what’s the lady’s maid is to go to the first floor to meet the countess. There’s the steps. The other is to see Mrs. Knockersmith, our housekeeper, in her rooms.”

The cook returned to kneading bread with nary a glance in their direction again.

Colette gathered her belongings and headed for the stairs while Patience waited to be shown to the housekeeper. At the far end of the table, Patience noticed a young boy with large brown eyes in a small round face, whose thick brown hair needed a good brushing. He was dressed in mussied livery, and half-heartedly plucking a chicken and blowing the feathers in the air.

“Lem, show the still-room maid Mrs. Knockersmith’s quarters,” the cook instructed over her shoulder.

The little boy stared suspiciously at Patience before he shrugged, then rose to head out the far door, not waiting for her to follow him.

Patience met her new overseer, Mrs. Knockersmith, a kindly woman in her sixth or seventh decade, in the housekeeper’s rooms where they discussed Patience’s duties and uniform. Afterward, the little footboy showed her to her small attic bedroom. Alone again, wondering how Colette fared, Patience sat on one of the narrow beds and bit her lip in contemplation. She had no idea what to expect when she saw the earl again. How long would she need to play this part?

With a long sigh, she soon returned to the kitchen in a uniform that had once belonged to another maid, which, unfortunately, fit as well as a squirrel would fit in a snakeskin. The bodice pulled across her bosom and the drab dress hung a few inches from the floor. Obviously the previous owner of this uniform must have been a flat-bosomed midget. Patience knew she would need to use a needle and thread to save her dignity, when she had the time.

Hiding her shaking hands in her pockets, she found her lucky onyx and rubbed it. It usually brought her good luck. Her throat dry, she would have given her shoes for a cool glass of water. Would she pass muster?

Mrs. Knockersmith met her in the kitchen where she showed Patience to the distilling room and the pantry. Patience then spent the better part of the day distilling simple waters by placing plants in the cold still to dry them, capturing their fine-flavored spirits. A tedious process for not a large return, but it kept her too busy to think about what her next step would be. As she worked, a light mint scent filled the air.

Later that night, lying in bed and rubbing her sore arms, Patience thought about how to get into the earl’s study. That seemed the likeliest place to start.

The next morning when Patience arrived in the kitchen, she saw no signs of Mrs. Knockersmith, only Mr. Gibbs, the butler, whom she had met at the Mop Fair. He held his hand in a bucket on the table, swearing under his breath.

“You, girl. The earl needs his tea, and I’ve just burned my hand. Go deliver it,” he ordered, indicating the tray on the nearby table. “When you are finished, return to the kitchen.”

Patience widened her eyes, then frowned. This could be her chance, but she hadn’t been hired to serve. Would she make a muck of it?
Steady, girl.
“Of course, Mr. Gibbs. Ah, one moment. Where is the earl’s study?” She offered a game smile.

Irritatedly he directed her toward the back of the house, and she headed to the lion’s den, the china cups and saucers chinking in her wake. As she approached the closed doors, she winked three times for luck, straightened her shoulders, and knocked loudly.