Read Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) Online
Authors: Julia Brannan
Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (47 page)
“What did he pay you to do, exactly?” Edwin said. Tom looked nervously over the MP’s shoulder at Richard, who clearly intended the blow he had inflicted to be only one of many.
“He told me he would give me ten guineas if I stopped the coach at the corner of the Strand. He said that I would be doing the lady a favour, as she didn’t really want to marry that homo...Sir Anthony, and that she’d be thankful to me for rescuing her.”
In spite of the gravity of the situation, both Edwin and Beth smiled at the man’s slip of the tongue.
“Did he actually give you the money?” Edwin asked.
“No. And I wouldn’t take it now, sir, honest I wouldn’t. If I’d known the lady was so against the match, I never would have agreed, I swear it.”
“You’re a damned liar!” said Richard, reaching past Edwin and hitting the man neatly in the stomach. “You’ll hang for this, you bastard.”
Beth made a move forward, sickened by the gleeful look on her brother’s face, but Sir Anthony gently restrained her.
“Lord Edward, I assume you intend to dismiss the man?” he asked.
Edward looked at him.
“Good God, man, you think I would employ a man who aids and abets my cousin’s abduction?”
“No, of course not. And some people would say that being dismissed without a character is a punishment in itself. May I suggest that as Elizabeth, and myself as her husband-to-be are the wronged parties here, that we may be the ones to determine what else is to be done with this scoundrel?”
That seemed fair enough, Lord Edward thought. You couldn’t expect a woman to think rationally in these circumstances. They were far too soft. But Sir Anthony had just admitted the man was a scoundrel. He would certainly insist on the full weight of the law being brought to bear on this piece of scum.
“Of course, Sir Anthony,” he said, ignoring Beth. “I leave the matter entirely in your hands.” He actually stepped back out of the way, to emphasise the fact that he was washing his hands of the situation.
Richard, now in sole custody of the man, twisted his arm viciously up his back. Beth looked up at Sir Anthony, waiting to see what he would do before she raised any objections. The sight of her brother’s obvious enjoyment at the pain he was inflicting had made her angry again, lending her new strength. Her legs no longer shook.
Sir Anthony looked down fondly at his fiancée.
“Well, my dear, I think I will leave it to you to determine the fate of this wretch. Call it an early wedding present.” His eyes scrutinised her face. “Use it well.”
She had no idea what he expected her to do, nor did she care.
“Let him go,” she said, looking straight at Richard, who stared back at her incredulously. Tom was standing on tiptoe in an effort to stop his shoulder dislocating, and she saw her brother tighten his grip, forcing his captive’s arm even higher.
“You’re not thinking rationally, Elizabeth,” he said.
“Let him go, Richard,” she repeated.
The siblings locked gazes, the squalid surroundings and spectators fading into the background, eclipsed by their hatred for each other.
“I will do no such thing,” her brother replied. “He deserves to hang for what he’s done to you.”
“Which is nothing compared to what
you
have done to me,
brother
,” she replied, her eyes flashing, her voice ice-cold.
Richard flushed instantly scarlet and he let go of the coachman as though he had the plague. The man sank to his knees, clutching his injured shoulder. Richard raised his foot to kick him, but Beth held her hand up imperiously and he lowered it again. His eyes were blazing with hatred.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at her fiancé.
“My pleasure, my dear,” he replied, twinkling down at her. “Are you hurt, Tom?” he called. “If not, I would suggest that you vacate these premises as quickly as possible.”
The coachman needed no second telling. He got to his feet and stumbled out, still holding his shoulder, stopping briefly as he passed his saviour.
“Thank you,” he said. “I won’t forget this, Miss.” Then he moved on into the shadows and was gone.
Edwin rubbed his hand across his face.
“Well, it’s not what I would have done, Beth,” he said. “But it was very Christian of you.”
“Christian?!” snorted Lord Edward. “Insane, that’s what it was.” He looked at Sir Anthony with derision. “I pity you, sir, if you are going to allow your wife to make all your decisions for you.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to do that, my lord,” Sir Anthony replied affably. “Only the ones which affect her personally.”
“Did you mean what you said?” Beth asked on the way back to the house. She was riding in the coach with Sir Anthony, who had declared that he was so shocked and weakened by his experience that he was on the point of swooning, and could not possibly ride home. Edwin had stated that he would find it amusing to play the part of coachman, and Lord Edward and Richard had ridden off together, still grumbling about the softness of women, and the stupidity of men who allowed them too much leeway.
He did not appear in any immediate danger of swooning at her feet, so after a minute or two she had ventured the question.
“I said a great many things,” he replied. “To which particular words are you referring?”
“When you said you didn’t want Lord Daniel to kill me because it would be tiresome to have to find a new bride.”
“Ah, you misquote me, my dear. What I actually said was that it would be tiresome to have to
seek
a new bride. But in fact I would not seek very far.”
“Why not?” Did he have a stand-in ready, waiting in the wings?
“Because it is you that I want for my wife. If I cannot have you, I will take no other.”
She stared at him, shocked, trying to ascertain his expression, but his face was in shadow, turned away from her as he looked out of the window.
“May I ask you a question?” he asked politely, lowering the blind.
“Of course,” she said.
“What has your brother done to you to make you hate him so much?”
He turned to face her just in time to see the blood suffuse her face, and her eyes take on a hunted look. And then she had mastered herself and her voice when she answered was calm, her expression blank.
“Why, Sir Anthony, he has sold me to you, for a cornet’s commission and some ready cash.”
She expected flowery expressions of denial, a declaration of love perhaps, maybe the threatened swoon.
“And I have bought you, and your dowry, for the price of a cornet’s commission, and some cash,” he replied.
“Yes.”
“Do you then hate me, also?” he asked.
“No,” she answered immediately. “But I hate being part of a society that treats women as commodities, to be sold to the highest bidder. I know that is how it is, and I know all the arguments in favour of it. God knows, I’ve heard them often enough. I accept it. But I do not have to like it.”
“And yet I think...I hope our union will be advantageous to you as well,” he said. She did not reply, but looked away from him. “Do you wish to call off the wedding?” he asked unexpectedly. Her eyes widened with surprise, and she stared at him disbelievingly.
“I am no Lord Daniel,” he said softly, leaning forward and taking her hands in his. “I will not force you to marry me, Elizabeth, neither at swordpoint, nor by any other means.”
Her forehead creased. He was serious, she could tell that. There had been no flowery phrases, no ‘my dear’ at the end of every sentence. She had agreed to marry him because she thought he was blackmailing her into doing so. Now, for the first time, she wondered if she had misjudged him. She felt suddenly exhausted, drained by the evening’s events. She could not make such an important decision now. She
had
to make her decision now. There was no more time. She stared at him, agonised.
“If you wish to avoid the censure of your family,” he continued. “I will tell everyone that I could not possibly face the ordeal of marrying anyone after such a traumatic evening. I will declare that I am quite overcome, and swoon, and suchlike, and take to my bed for a few days, or a week, or however long it takes for you to decide whether you want to marry me or not. If you don’t, you can say it is because you feel only contempt for such a weak specimen of masculinity. No one will blame you, I will make sure of that.”
“You would do that, for me?” she asked.
“Yes, if you wish it. No one will be surprised. Do you wish it?”
She looked down at her hands, engulfed by his much larger ones. He still wore his formal cream calfskin gloves, now scuffed and dirtied by his headlong ride to save her. She considered seriously. Physically he repelled her. His primping and preening, his perfume and make-up were sickening. He was a gossip, and indiscreet. And in spite of his declarations of neutrality, he was a friend of the king she wanted to dethrone.
But he was also kind, considerate, educated and humorous. And he had never offered her violence. Would that change when they were married, and she became his property? She had no way of knowing for sure, but she did not think so. She took her hands from his, and sat back in the seat, as the coach drew to a halt outside the house.
“No, I do not wish it,” she said. He let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding until that moment. “I will marry you tomorrow morning, Sir Anthony.”
“Are you sure? I want you to be certain you have made the right choice of husband.”
“Few things are certain in this life, Sir Anthony,” she smiled, feeling strangely light-hearted now the decision was made. “But one thing I am sure of.”
“And what is that, my dear?” he said, handing her down from the coach.
“You are a far better man than my brother will ever be, sir, and that will suffice, for now,” she replied.
Her light-heartedness was contagious. He tucked her arm in his, and they began to walk towards the house, Edwin bringing up the rear.
“I am glad to hear it, my dear, although I think you may change your mind when I tell you what I fear everyone in the house is now aching to be the first to say.”
“And what is that, sir?” she said, laughingly.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“You did what?!” she said, incredulous.
“Well, it was the fastest way to allow her to draw enough breath to tell me what had happened to you. Although now I fear that my action may have been misinterpreted. Poor Sarah. I cannot imagine what she must think of me.”
Judging by the women now rushing to the door, Beth was certain his fears were justified.
“I would not waste your pity on Sarah. She will dine out on this for weeks. I think we need to save all our sympathy for ourselves.”
They sighed in unison. The night had been long, and was far from over yet.
“May I make one more request of you, Sir Anthony?” Beth asked.
“Of course, my dear Elizabeth.”
“My parents only ever called me Elizabeth when I was in trouble. I hate it. Please, will you call me Beth from now on?”
His lips curved in a smile, unseen by her in the darkness.
“I thought you would never ask,” he replied, and they walked forward as one to face the onslaught.
The Mask Revealed
The Jacobite Chronicles, Book Two
Julia Brannan
Available From
http://www.amazon.com/Mask-Revealed-Jacobite-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B01A755NUE
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mask-Revealed-Jacobite-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B01A755NUE
About the Author
Julia has been a voracious reader since childhood, using books to escape the miseries of a turbulent adolescence. After leaving university with a degree in English Language and Literature, she spent her twenties trying to be a sensible and responsible person, even going so far as to work for the Civil Service. The book escape came in very useful there too.
And then she gave up trying to conform and resolved to spend the rest of her life living as she wanted to, not as others would like her to. She has since had a variety of jobs, including telesales, teaching and gilding and is currently a transcriber, copy editor and proofreader. In her spare time she is still a voracious reader, and enjoys keeping fit and travelling the world. Life hasn’t always been good, but it has rarely been boring. She lives in rural Wales with her cat Constantine, and her wonderful partner sensibly lives four miles away in the next village.
Now she has decided that rather than just escape into other people’s books, she would actually quite like to create some of her own, in the hopes that people will enjoy reading them as much as she does writing them.
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