Once Again a Bride (25 page)

“This is Mrs. Finlay,” Ethan said as she served the others. “Ma’am, this is Lucy, and… Miss Charlotte.” The woman nodded. Lucy dropped a small curtsy. Then, for a while, there was silence as the three of them drank their soup. The peace of the place started to spread through Charlotte, and her eyelids drooped. She swayed in the hard chair and wondered if she might ask to lie down.

The door rattled, then boomed under a pounding fist. Charlotte jerked and spilled the last of her soup on her knee. Ethan leapt to stand before the panels.

“Aunt Sarah! Open up!”

Their hostess sprang to her feet and quickly unbarred the door. A young man, barely more than a boy, stumbled through and pushed it closed behind him. Panting as if he’d been running, with a bloody scrape on his cheek, he slumped against it. He looked exhausted and afraid, and a razor-sharp scythe dangled from one of his hands. “Jim!” Sarah Finlay cried. “What’s happened to you?”

“We got down to Butterley all right,” he said. “But there weren’t nothing at the ironworks but the factory agent and some constables. Only a few men, but nobody dared face them down. Just like always, them as is on top stays there. Nothing’s changed. The rest headed for Ripley, but I’d had enough. I ran back cross-country and nearly broke a leg in the dark.”

“You did right,” said his aunt.

He looked up and noticed the others. The scythe came up. “Who’s that?”

“Just some folks getting away from all these… troubles.” Mrs. Finlay had taken up a damp cloth; gently, she swabbed his face.

“You let them in?” He squinted at Charlotte, taking in all the details of her bedraggled state, then examined Ethan, who topped him by a good six inches.

“Of course I did, Jim.”

“That one’s quality. Why should we lift a finger to help quality when they live high off our sweat?”

“That’s not the way I see it.” His aunt finished cleaning off his cheek. “Not so bad. Just a scratch,” she decided.

The sound of hoofbeats approached outside. Jim’s eyes widened, and in an instant he was across the room, one arm around Charlotte’s neck, the tip of the scythe at her throat. “Make a sound, and I swear I’ll cut you,” he whispered. Ethan took a step, and the boy glared at him. “I’ll do it!”

“Jim!”

“Quiet,” he hissed to his aunt. “If soldiers followed me from Butterley I’m for the gallows and no mistake.”

Sarah Finlay wrung her hands, distressed, uncertain. “You’ll not hurt anyone in my house,” she whispered.

Slowly, the hoofbeats passed by and faded. When all had been silent for several minutes, Jim’s grip relaxed. The scythe fell away. Ethan lunged and twisted it from the lad’s grasp. “We’ll have no more talk of cutting,” he said grimly. “You sit over there in the corner and keep still.”

Lucy ran to Charlotte, exclaiming over a few drops of blood shining red at her throat. “I’m all right,” Charlotte said. It was no more than half a lie.

***

Alec rode slowly on through the darkness. South Wingfield had been quiet, buttoned up tight, and he hadn’t wanted to knock on any doors, alarming people for no cause. The action had clearly passed on south, beyond his reach at the moment. He slumped in the saddle, rubbed tired eyes, and regretted this side excursion. The momentum of these endless days had carried him out of his way, when all he cared about now was Charlotte. He knew he could ride the roads and fields all night and never find her, but to give up was unthinkable. He would travel in expanding circles in the tangle of lanes surrounding around the Danforth house, and when day came he would continue. He would never stop until she was safe—and in his arms.

Through the slant of early morning light, the cart rattled along a narrow lane. The June day was cool, the sky a transparent blue; birdsong filled the hedges. There was no sign, in this serene landscape, of the previous night’s troubles, except that the roads were empty. Ethan held the reins; Lucy sat between him and Charlotte, the three of them squeezed close on the narrow seat. Awkwardness had descended upon them with the new day—the barrier between servant and master recalled—and they traveled mostly in silence.

“How far is it?” asked Charlotte after a while.

“Matter of half an hour or so,” Ethan replied.

She nodded thanks for the information and fell back to wondering what Alec would say when she showed up at his country home. He could not blame her when he heard what had happened. But after what had passed between them, he might not welcome her either. She had argued briefly for going to the stagecoach stop instead and had hit a surprising stubbornness in Ethan that first annoyed, then impressed her. She could see that he was right. Lucy was exhausted. She was exhausted. They had slept very little during the remainder of last night, and they needed rest before making the long journey back to London. But was Alec’s house the place for that? And what other choice had she? She had no money for an inn, or a stagecoach ticket, for that matter.

They turned from the lane onto a larger road, and the horse moved a bit faster. At least she no longer wore her ruined evening dress or looked as if she’d been dragged backward through a hedgerow. Lucy had been clever enough to pack her a fresh gown, and she and Ethan had carried their luggage along with them in the cart. The thought of showing up at Alec’s home the way she’d looked last night… well, it was unthinkable. She would have
walked
back to town rather than do that.

With a clatter of hooves and wheels, a post chaise rounded the curve ahead of them. Ethan pulled over as far as he could to let the grander equipage pass. It had nearly done so when a man’s voice called, “Stop!” Edward Danforth’s head showed at the carriage window, moving past them as the driver reined in his team.

“What are you doing here?” said Charlotte and Edward at the same moment.

“I came after you, damn it,” added Edward. “Unnecessarily, I see.”

They eyed each other. Edward’s hair stood up in tufts, and his finely tailored coat was crushed and wrinkled. He looked wildly irritated, and as if he had slept in the chaise. “Are you all right?” he said.

Charlotte nodded. There was either nothing to say, or too much.

“My… mother?”

“I left her at your house.”

“Did you?” Edward surveyed her warily. He started to speak, hesitated, then said, “I’ve been driving in circles around the damned countryside all night trying to get there. Up one lane, down another. Can’t go this way, there’s trouble; can’t go that way, there’s soldiers. Can’t see to drive, have to stop by the roadside until it’s light, for God’s sake. Maddening.”

“We all have our difficulties,” replied Charlotte drily.

“Ah… yes. I am sorry.” Edward looked away.

For his drunken advances? For not noticing his mother’s unbalanced state? Charlotte decided it didn’t matter. “You will have to do something about her…”

“I know!” The thought seemed to anger as much as oppress him. “I am on my way to do so.”

“There is more… involved than you know.” She couldn’t tell him everything she had discovered here on the public highway, even if she could order her thoughts clearly enough.

Edward looked wary, then defeated. “Is there? How… delightful. I suppose I shall have to hear every sordid detail.”

Charlotte simply nodded, holding his eyes in a long look.

“That bad, is it? Where are you going… Alec’s?” She nodded again. “Then I shall have the… I can’t say pleasure of seeing you there. But I will call.” His jaw hardened. He turned to the driver of the chaise. “Move on!”

The post chaise edged past them and speeded up. Ethan slapped the reins, and their own horse leaned into the traces. None of them spoke. Lady Isabella’s actions and fate were not matters they could comfortably discuss.

***

Morning found Alec frustrated, anxious, and forced to admit the futility of his search. He was tired out; more importantly, his horse was exhausted. He could not drive it any harder. Simply getting home would be as much as the animal could manage. And they would have to go slowly, at that. Once there, he could call out his entire staff to comb the countryside for Charlotte. He could alert his neighbors. God knows what he would tell them, but he’d think of something. She had to be found. His heart contracted again at thoughts of what might have happened to her. He would do what he had to do. There had been plenty of wild stories out of his house in his grandparents’ day, he thought with a grimace. He’d vowed there would never be more. But he saw no other choice.

***

The first person Ethan saw when he drove the cart into the stable yard of the Wylde estate was his father. He stood in the middle of the cobbled space, arms akimbo, tall and scowling. It needed only this, Ethan thought. After the grueling journey and the uncomfortable night, now he was in for a tongue-lashing right in front of Lucy, along with the usual smirking stablemen he’d known since he was a lad. He straightened on the cart seat. He wasn’t going to stand for it. The time had come; he’d avoided it for too long.

He pulled up and threw the reins to one of the grooms. Jumping down, he helped first Lucy, then her mistress to the ground. “Hello, Dad,” he said.

“What the devil do you think you’re…?”

“This is Mrs. Charlotte Wylde.” As he had known it would, the presence of gentry cut his father off. “And Miss Lucy Bowman.” Lucy deserved just as much respect, in his eyes. “They’re tired out and need to rest.”

He watched his father throttle back his temper. His mother had told him what a long fight it had been for Dad to be able to control his quick anger. He admired that, when he wasn’t wondering why he seemed to benefit so little from the effort. “Best take them inside then,” the older man said. “But see you come right back and speak to me.”

Ethan nodded and turned away, only to be faced with a new dilemma. By rights, Miss Charlotte should go to the front door, but… to perdition with the proprieties. The back door was right here, not around the house a hundred feet away. He guided the two women inside and along the corridor toward the front entry. Hobbs the steward would be in charge, with most of the senior staff in London for the Season, but he wasn’t about to go to his offices, with his brother Sam sitting there and goggling at him and reporting it all to Dad. If he could find Sally Thorpe… they were friends; she’d help. As a senior housemaid, she could… But his luck had plumb run out. Alice Ramsay came bustling out of the kitchen after them. “Ethan Trask, what are you doing here?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to be in London with the family. And who’s this, then? Why are you trailing two females, uninvited, into the house?”

Alice got above herself at the least excuse. She imagined she was assistant housekeeper, when everyone knew she was just another parlor maid. “This is Mrs. Charlotte Wylde,” he replied, playing his strongest card. “Relative of Sir Alexander’s… come for…” For an instant his mind went blank. “Come for a visit,” he finished.

Alice had an unerring instinct for a weak excuse. “A visit? With Mrs. Cole and the girls in town? Nobody visits at this time of the year.”

Why didn’t Miss Charlotte say something, Ethan wondered desperately? Alice would hear quality in her voice and pipe down. But she just stood there looking mortified. Lucy was flushed and staring at the floor. He couldn’t bear it. “We can’t leave Mrs. Wylde standing this way. Fetch some tea to the morning room, Alice.”

“Don’t you be giving me orders, Ethan Trask. I’ve half a mind to send for your mother.” A small scared sound came from Lucy.

“Just go and tell Sir Alexander we’re here!” He didn’t want his mother brought into this just now, before he had a chance to explain some things. “He’ll tell you all’s well.”

“Well, I can’t, can I?” Alice gave him a triumphant smile. “He’s been gone all night, no one knows where. Everyone’s that worried, with hooligans roaming the countryside and him out trying to stop trouble, and maybe getting shot dead for his pains.”

This time the sound came from Miss Charlotte. Ethan began to feel unfairly harassed. He hadn’t planned beyond this point. Here was Lucy’s mistress rescued. He was supposed to be a hero in Lucy’s eyes, and instead he was standing in a hallway being mocked by Alice Ramsay. He’d never liked her, by God. “Come along,” he said, and herded his charges on to the morning room. He sat them there, ignoring the nervous looks they gave him, and strode back to the kitchen, Alice trailing him like a foxhound on the scent. “Tea and some… scones or something to the morning room,” he told a kitchen maid.

“You’ve no right…” began Alice.

“Relative of Sir Alexander’s,” he interrupted. “He’ll be right glad to see her when he gets back.” He fled before anyone could argue—only to bump into his father outside the kitchen door.

“There you are.” He grasped Ethan’s arm and urged him outside again. “You will tell me what’s going on, my lad. I can’t believe you deserted your post…”

“No, no, the family sent me up here.” Miss Lizzy would back him up, Ethan was sure. But would it make any difference, her being a child?

“Sent you for what? You’re not making any sense. And who is this Mrs. Charlotte Wylde? I don’t know of any family by that name.”

“She’s Mr. Henry Wylde’s widow.”

“Oh, that one?” As always, gossip had passed from the servants in town to those in the country. It went faster than the mail, it seemed sometimes. “
She’s
not what I expected. But what’s she doing here?” He frowned. “And… they said you came rushing in yesterday, with
one
young woman, near to stole a cart…”

“I
borrowed
it. It’s back safe and sound, isn’t it? And Greylock, too?”

“Went haring off somewhere,” his father continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “out all night, and now you’re back with
two
females and not a word of explanation for any of it.”

Ethan slumped with fatigue and uncertainty. Lucy wouldn’t want him telling tales about her mistress. And his dad never listened to him anyway. What was he supposed to say? “There’s been some… trouble… with Lady Isabella. I… I reckon Sir Alexander will clear it up when he gets back.”

“Huh.” His father eyed him. “She’s always been good at trouble.”

He paused, and Ethan dared to hope he could escape for now. He wanted to find his mother, explain as best he could, and enlist her help. She’d know what to do about Lucy.

“What’s this nonsense about you taking old Elkins’s place?”

His hopes came crashing down. Of course this talk had to come when he was worn out and worried. But this was his dream. He had to fight for it. “I’m going to. We’ll… I’ll be moving into his cottage as soon as he goes. It’s all settled with Sir Alexander.” Ethan had gotten the final word on this from the steward soon after he asked for the post.

“And this is what you mean to do with your life?” burst from his father.

“Yes, sir, it is. I’m determined on it. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a lad.”

His father glared at him. Ethan stood straighter and met his eyes, steady and determined though his throat was dry. After what seemed an endless time, the older man blew out a harsh breath. “Seems you’re certain about it.”

“I am. Never more certain about anything.” With an effort, Ethan kept his gaze resolute.

“Well, then.” The fire in his father’s eyes slowly banked. “That’s pretty much all I ever wanted to hear from you. Some kind of purpose. Some fight for what you want.”

Ethan couldn’t believe it. “You… it’s all right then?”

“It was your fecklessness drove me distracted, son. If you’ve found the work you want to do, that you
care
about doing, then I’m glad for it.”

Weak with relief, he went to find his mother.

***

Lucy sat on the silken armchair and clenched her folded hands in her lap. It was just as she’d feared it would be all along. The staff peering at them and wondering how they came to be arriving with Ethan on their own, and no proper explanation to give them—because there wasn’t one. She’d have liked to blame Ethan for bumbling his words. But what was he to say?
She
couldn’t think of a lie that covered the circumstances. And anyway, she didn’t want to be the cause of him lying to his family and friends.

She’d done something wildly improper, traveling alone with him all this way. She’d felt she had to do it, that she couldn’t bear to wait in London not knowing what had become of her mistress. She wasn’t sorry! Well, she was, but… they’d found Miss Charlotte. All right, maybe Ethan could have done that on his own. Or maybe not. She’d picked the direction they turned right before they came upon her. He said it made sense to go the other way. They’d have missed her then, left her to the mercy of those men with pikes. Who knows what they might have done to her? It would have been worse for Miss Charlotte to be in this house alone amongst strangers, too. Only now Lucy had to face the consequences. Ethan’s mother was somewhere about; he might bring her through the door at any moment. The idea made her cringe.

Lucy wasn’t used to disapproval. All her life she’d worked hard, tried to learn all she could, gotten along with most folks—well, not that wretched lot in
his
house, but most others. And here she was about to meet the one person whose respect she’d most like to have—if the future Ethan had promised came to be, that is—and she was afraid to look her in the eye. Was she the sort of woman who’d understand Lucy’s choice? Ethan’s father was stiff-necked and particular, by all accounts. Wouldn’t his mother be the same? Lucy had worried they’d look down on her as a mere farm laborer’s daughter; she’d never imagined they’d have cause to doubt her personal respectability. How could Ethan have left her to face this all alone? Where had he gone? And what was he telling people? Surely he wouldn’t mention their attachment without speaking to her first? Only he might. And then wouldn’t the other servants stare? What if… oh… what if his mother marched right in to object, when she hadn’t said a word to Miss Charlotte about Ethan?