The Stolen Bride (10 page)

He felt an unaccustomed pang of fondness for the very land, an appreciation of its bounty. A sense of pride, perhaps. It was not in himself, for he had nothing to do with this except the luck to be here. That note had been correct in one thing—worthless idleness had marked his life thus far.

From the rise he looked around at the neat patchwork of fields put to crops both golden and green, saw the fat cattle and tubby sheep and the village down near the river, sound, solid, and prosperous. He gave thanks for Chelmly and the others of his sort who worked so hard to make it all so good.

A rabbit bobbed up and raced across the field. Randal lazily raised his gun to take a shot at it, but it was soon gone and he wasn’t displeased. Despite Verderan’s words, he was enjoying the simple pleasures of life too much to want to kill. Looking back to where the rabbit had leapt from the ground he thought he glimpsed a larger shape and his nerves tightened again. He shook his head. Doubtless a fox and he certainly couldn’t shoot a fox.

He wished Sophie was here at such a perfect moment. He’d like to laze back in the shade with her in his arms and enjoy the countryside, share with her his sense of blessedness. But they must wait. He was far too uncertain of his control for such an interlude.

Recollecting himself he glanced at Verderan, but his friend was standing idle, allowing him silence and time with his thoughts. Randal was grateful but he moved on. They should get out of the blazing heat.

Since his betrothal he found himself wishing he was different, someone more like Chelmly—a solid post around which to build a marriage and a family. Despite the fact that they were friends, David had doubts about the wisdom of the marriage. Because they were friends David knew him well and probably had excellent reasons for his concern. Sophie was a darling but she was high-spirited and mischievous—not that he’d have her any other way. Randal was doing his best to be sober and responsible, to assure David that he could keep his sister safe, but it was hard and that was perhaps the most dismaying fact of all. With Sophie nearby the last thing he wanted to be was sober and responsible.

He’d become aware years ago of the first warnings that Sophie was more to him than an adopted sister and he’d ruthlessly suppressed those feelings. He was not the stuff of which good husbands are made and Sophie deserved only the best. He’d been prepared to watch his little flame make her debut and choose a husband, standing guard merely to make sure the man was worthy. He’d never for a moment intended claiming her for himself, even when she’d shown signs of having a silly infatuation for him. He’d cursed himself for the carelessness of that though. He should have known better and kept his distance.

Seeing her in danger from that swine Hever, however, had splintered something in his mind and changed everything. From that moment he had known he could not bear to trust her to anyone else, that he had to cherish and protect her himself. He had not consciously compromised them in her bedroom; he had merely been doing his best to take care of her. As soon as David had walked in, however, he had recognized the situation and taken gladly what fate had given him. Had he been unfair? He would do anything to make her happy. He would become the sort of man she deserved.

As Verderan had predicted, the Stillbeck Woods were a little cooler. In the torpid heat there was no sign of the reported hawks, but the two men wandered over the leaf-molded floor, enjoying the temperature.

Verderan stopped.

“What’s the matter?” Randal asked.

The darker man shrugged uneasily. “A prickling between my shoulder blades. Is this wood haunted?”

Randal looked around more alertly. If Ver felt it too, perhaps it wasn’t just his imagination, this feeling of being watched. “Not to my knowledge,” he said. “It’s very quiet, but that’s doubtless because of the heat and the fact we’ve invaded.” His nerves settled. The woods were totally still. No other creature was so foolish as to be out on such a day. “There’s a stream over here,” he said. “I could do with a drink.”

They found the fast-flowing water, laid their guns against a log, and made their way down the shallow bank. Both men used their hands as cups and drank.

Randal perched on the raised root of a tree and rubbed his damp hands around his neck. “I’m all in favor of fair weather but this is excessive. Might as well be in Italy. I hope it breaks before the wedding.”

Verderan leaned against the trunk of an ash tree. “What are your plans for after you’re wed?” he asked lazily.

“Apart from the obvious, my imagination doesn’t stretch that far,” said Randal drily. Verderan laughed.

“Will you live on your estates?” Verderan asked. “You’ve made the Towers and the London house your base up till now.”

“Fairmeadows will be our home,” said Randal, idly throwing buttercups to float on the stream. “I’ll even have to settle down and manage the place.”

“How very dull,” drawled Verderan.

Randal looked at him. “You manage Maiden Hall.”

“I enjoy being a tyrant and cracking the whip over my wretched serfs.”

Randal laughed. He knew that Verderan’s people did rather well out of him and only worried that one day his luck would fail and he’d lose everything on the roll of the dice.

“What of your military ambitions?” Verderan asked.

“Hopeless unless Chelmly marries. My father takes a fit, literally, whenever the matter is mentioned. It could be the death of him and I daren’t risk that. I suppose if I have a string of boys ... But I doubt I’d want to go off to the wars by then.” Having rid his immediate area of blossoms, he pulled up some grass and cast that upon the stream. “I wouldn’t want to drag Sophie after the drum, anyway. She thinks of it as a great adventure, but she doesn’t realize what it would really be like.”

Randal looked sharply behind Verderan and the other man turned.

“What?”

“I thought I saw something move. There’s no deer hereabouts, though.”

Verderan looked closely at him. “Your nerves are shot to Hades, my friend, and my healthy instinct for dangers is clamoring like a fire bell. Would you mind telling me what is going on?”

After a moment Randal pulled out the letter and passed it over. “It’s utter nonsense,” he said.

Verderan read it. “Can you be sure? Who wishes you ill?”

Randal laughed but looked around carefully. “No one.”

“It could come from a disappointed suitor of Sophie’s,” suggested Verderan.

“They are legion, but none so demented as this.”

“Seriously, Randal. Have you caused anyone to hate you? Have you injured anyone?”

Randal shook his head, but he remembered Edwin Hever. He’d killed him, though, and it had all been covered up, made to look like a suicide, as much for the man’s family as for Randal’s sake. He’d been a villain, but once he was dead there had been no point in dragging his name through the dirt.

Verderan shrugged and returned the letter. “Despite your obvious lily-white innocence, Randal, I feel a pressing need to leave this place and have strong stone walls around me. Come.”

Their sense of danger was alert and they watched the wood carefully as they picked up their guns and retraced their steps. Nothing moved. It was silent. Too silent.

They both breathed easier when they left the woods and were in the open again, though they were not particularly safer if there was any danger. All the way back to the Towers Randal felt as if he had a bull’s-eye pinned to his back and forced himself to ignore the feeling.

If he ever discovered the author of that damned note, he’d kill him.

T
HE NEXT day, the day of the latest picnic arranged by Lord Randal, proved an embarrassment to Beth.

Everyone from Stenby was riding to the old abbey which was the chosen site, but Beth had to admit that she could not ride. She nervously refused to even consider the gentlest slug in the stables while awkwardly aware that she was being difficult.

No one would accept her suggestion that she stay home and so it would seem that the carriage would have to be brought out just for her.

“Well,” said Sir Marius. “Why don’t I drive you in my rig, Mrs. Hawley? If I know anything this is going to be an ambling kind of ride, and in that case I’d rather drive, and I’d appreciate the chance to test it after the repairs.”

She accepted gratefully. It was only later that she wondered if she wanted to be by his side for a whole half hour. When she climbed into his curricle, she wondered if she wanted to be behind his horses. The muscular matched chestnuts had obviously recovered well from the journey north and they champed at their bits and shifted their weight from hoof to hoof as if longing to be off at a gallop. The ground seemed a long way down and Beth clutched at the rail by her hand.

“Nervous, Mrs. Hawley?” drawled the Corinthian as he gave the horses the order to go. “I won’t overturn us.”

“I’m sure you won’t, Sir Marius,” lied Beth gallantly. “I am just unaccustomed to an open carriage other than a simple gig.”

“I’m delighted to be able to enlarge your experience, dear lady. I’m sure we can find other new experiences for you during your stay at Stenby.”

For some reason Beth found nothing to say to that but was conscious of a strange flutter of excitement at the prospect. “Do you know where the picnic is to be held, Sir Marius?” she asked quickly.

“If not, how could I take us there, Mrs. Hawley?”

Why, thought Beth, do I always end up saying something goosish to this man? “I mean, do you know anything about it. Sophie referred to it as the old abbey.”

“So it is,” he said. “There’s not much to it, though. Not like Fountains, for example, or some of the other great ruins. Just some low walls covered by ivy. Very appealing though to the modern taste for the picturesque. And the Gothic.”

There was something in his tone which started the flutter again. “But I thought you had no taste for the Gothic, Sir Marius,” said Beth.

“Oh, I’ve decided it grows on one remarkably. In fact,” he said casually, “I am thinking of making a change in my home along Gothic lines.”

“Really? Pointed windows and battlements?” she asked.

He rumbled a deep chuckle. “Not precisely. Something more internal.”

“Carved woodwork with points and spires,” said Beth sagely. “But I do feel, Sir Marius, that if one already owns a house of character and charm, it is a shame to alter it merely in pursuit of fashion.”

“How true. One day I hope you will tell me if my house has character and charm, dear lady.” Before Beth could make any objection to this, he carried on. “I hope not to have to make substantial changes, however. It is more an addition I contemplate—in the drawing room, and in particular in the master bedroom.”

Beth imagined a huge new bed with cathedral-like carving on headboard and tester. Not to her personal taste but of course it was no concern of hers. She felt the silence called for a comment, however. “I’m sure you know best how to ensure your comfort, Sir Marius.”

“Oh, I do,” he said with a smile. “And I’m most particular and determined when it comes to my comfort in my sleeping quarters.”

Which, Beth thought, was a perfectly unexceptionable thing to say. So why did she feel color heating her cheeks? Since arriving at Stenby not three days ago she seemed to be turning into a different person altogether and her mind was becoming positively flighty.

She quickly raised the subject of Sophie’s letter, as a much less personal topic.

Sir Marius was inclined to discount it, however. “I have to admit that Randal has had his share of devoted females at one time or another. That letter was doubtless the work of one such, driven crazy by jealousy. If David checks the post from now on, there is no need for concern.”

Beth couldn’t help but be reassured. Sir Marius was a very reassuring gentleman. She couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it would be to have a man like Sir Marius to take care of one.... She forced the thought away and kept the conversation determinedly on politics for the rest of the drive. There was plenty to discuss in the increasingly optimistic developments on the continent and the declaration of war on France by Austria. Sir Marius followed her lead tamely enough.

When they arrived at the picnic site, the abbey was as he had described it—often not more than grassy humps with occasional stone walls rising higher. For the rest it was smooth grass well populated by people. Grooms were taking care of horses and other servants were setting out food. About fifty guests strolled around the ruins or down near the river, and sat on rugs laid under the trees. There was a handful of children running around under the supervision of nurses and governesses. Master Delamere, however, was by far the youngest. Beth couldn’t help feel that his mother’s fondness for Stevie’s company, though doubtless admirable, was perhaps unwise.

Even as she walked over to join Jane beneath an oak tree, Beth saw Stevie tugging his nursemaid off toward the river. And Verderan. She sat beside Jane on a rise of ground ideally situated to watching events around them as they sipped appreciatively at chilled sangaree. The afternoon was turning very hot and a cloudless sky offered little hope of relief.

Beth hoped she was not going to develop one of her sick headaches, for she was prone to them in the heat. After being such a problem to transport to the picnic, she would die with mortification to have to be especially taken home again.

Sophie, she saw, was firmly by Randal’s side and it was clear from the way they moved together that he would have it no other way. Though this affair might be less than Sophie would like, it must be a delight to her to be with him for a whole afternoon.

They and some other young people wandered down to the river and began to play ducks and drakes. The stones went skimming across the water with quite remarkable skill. Fascinated, Beth went down to a rise closer to the river to watch.