The Stolen Bride (11 page)

Most of the young ladies lacked the skill, but some were not averse to learning, especially as their swains had to encircle their bodies to show them the correct flick of the wrist. Sophie, perhaps to her disappointment, needed no such lessons. She was holding her own with Randal, Verderan, and another young man called Tring.

“Care to chance your arm?” said a voice close to her ear and Beth started around to see Sir Marius behind her. “I’d be pleased to instruct you.”

“I’d need to see your talent first, sir,” said Beth. Then realized that could be seen as a challenge, and one with a forfeit attached.

She heard the conversations, applause, and small splashes as she looked nervously into those fine eyes. Then he smiled and looked away. “You’ve caught me out. ‘Fraid it’s not one of my skills. Some lack of flexibility in the wrist, or so they tell me. Same reason I’m no great hand with a sword.”

“I’m too old anyway for such things,” she said.

“Nonsense,” he replied, almost angrily.

Sophie was about to attempt another spin when a small figure dashed by her legs, knocked her to the ground, and flung a tiny wooden horse out onto the water.

For a two-year-old the action wasn’t at all bad. Unfortunately, Stevie’s follow-through was too good and he threw himself into the water to lie there facedown, half submerged.

It was as if everything were slowed down. The careless nursemaid set up a screech; Beth began to run forward but she was a fair distance away; Randal went straight to Sophie, who was already sitting up and looking cross. It was Verderan who walked into the shallow water and picked Master Delamere up by the back of his cambric dress.

He looked at the still child and gave him a hard slap on his padded behind. Stevie immediately screamed. The erring nursemaid came running up red-faced and had the damp bundle dropped in her arms, presumably with a caustic comment, for she went even redder. Chloe and Justin hurried over to add to the mayhem. Stevie screamed even louder.

By the time Beth had reached the riverbank it was clear to all that Stevie was not screaming in fright, or in outrage because of the blow, but because his horse was now bobbing in the wide river. His mother promised him a new one; his father told him it was his own fault for throwing it there; someone even tried to tell him it was a sea horse and much happier in the water.

Stevie screamed on and the horse bobbed into the deep water. There were no boats in sight.

“Someone should throttle that child,” muttered Sir Marius and Beth felt a touch of sympathy with the remark.

Lord Randal said, “Ver!” in a tone both shocked and hilarious. Beth turned and saw that Piers Verderan had stripped down to his cotton small-clothes and was wading out into the river. A few ladies emitted mild screams. There were not a few sighs, however, at the sight of that magnificent tanned body. When he was deep enough he slipped into a smooth, athletic stroke and cut through the water to the bobbing object.

Stevie abruptly stopped screaming. Quite clearly in the watchful silence he said, “Ver. Horsey.” Then he started sucking his thumb.

Horse in hand the man flipped easily around and stroked smoothly back. When he rose majestically from the water his clothes clung to every inch of him. There were a few rather more genuine screams and a couple of mothers turned their fascinated daughters’ eyes away.

The Dark Angel walked over to the child and gave him the toy. “Not a bad first throw, brat,” he said lightly. “I must thank you for giving me the chance to get into the water. The only civilized place to be on such a hot afternoon.”

He then turned, waded back into the river, and went swimming.

Sir Marius broke into laughter. “The man’s a genius. Damn it if I don’t wish I had the nerve to follow him!”

Beth could see not a few of the men had the same longing, and perhaps some of the ladies too. Though she had never swum in her life, the notion of lazing in cool water on such a hot afternoon was very appealing. She looked curiously at Lord Randal, surely the other man present most likely to follow his friend.

If he was tempted he showed no sign, merely called over a footman and told him to find some kind of towel and dry underclothes for when his friend emerged.

He walked back to Sophie’s side. She was watching Verderan thoughtfully.

“Care to tell me?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your thoughts,” he prompted. Sophie blushed. She’d been wondering if Randal’s body would look like that when she saw it fully exposed. She hoped so. She could tell by his tone that he guessed. She didn’t particularly mind. A bit of jealousy wouldn’t do him any harm at all.

“Do you swim?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t.”

“I know.”

“Will you teach me, after we’re married?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “After we’re married I’ll teach you anything you want.”

Sophie felt as if her lungs had shrunk and were totally inadequate. “After we’re married ...” But why then would he not teach her anything now? Was he really saying, “When I’ve no choice anymore I’ll make the best of it”?

She laid her head on his chest. “Why must we always wait?” she asked.

He pushed her away gently. “Because it’s time for tea,” he teased and led her toward the rugs and the food.

Sophie resisted. “Do you have any idea how much I hate it when you do that?” she snapped.

He looked at her as if she were a conundrum. Suddenly he drew her closer and placed a firm, yet gentle kiss on her lips. He kept his lips against hers so she felt them move as he murmured, “Little more than a week, Sophie. That’s all.”

A promise and a threat. Sophie was trying to frame the question she must ask, one that allowed him no space for soothing platitudes, when they were interrupted by administrative details. Randal went off to handle a case of bad wine. Sophie gave up and went to join Jane.

As she crossed the grass, one of the footmen came up to her. “You must have dropped this, my lady.”

Sophie took the letter. It was the one she had received yesterday. David must have dropped it. She opened it with fingers that trembled a little and saw it was not the same. “Be brave and steadfast. Remember your true love. The debaucher will soon be no more.” What on earth was that supposed to mean? How could she forget her true love, Randal? Who was the debaucher? Verderan was the only one who sprang to mind.

Beth saw Sophie standing frozen with a letter in her hand and hurried over. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Sophie quickly. Then she shook her head. “It’s just another note, as silly as the last.”

Beth took it and read it. “Indeed it is,” she said reassuringly. “But you must show it to your brother. We need to know how it came to be delivered.”

The earl was clearly angry and Lord Randal was furious. The footman was questioned but could add nothing. He had found the letter on the ground with Lady Sophie’s name on it and assumed she had dropped it.

They all tried to dismiss the matter, but there was a cloud of concern over the party as they settled to eat.

The meal was halfway through when Verderan strolled back, dry, clothed, and enviably cool. He was the hero of the hour, praised for his rescue of the valued toy. Beth found herself wondering how much he had been motivated by mischief and how much by the simple desire to swim. A complex man, she thought, and not one to judge simply on the surface. The thought came to her to wonder whether he could be mischievous enough to send those letters to Sophie but she instantly dismissed it. That wasn’t in the man’s style at all.

After the meal it transpired that local wedding customs had been a topic of conversation. There was another betrothed couple present besides Randal and Sophie and they had decided to try “handing.” After a bit of teasing, Randal and Sophie were persuaded to take part.

All the ladies present stood in a circle. Randal and the other young man, Mr. Richard Stevens, were blindfolded. They were to walk around taking each pair of hands in turn. When they thought they held the hands of their true love, they were to kiss the hands and remove their blindfold.

Beth looked around the circle. She wondered how easy it was to distinguish a pair of hands. Some of the ladies would present no problem, being much older or plumper than the two brides-to-be but many would surely feel much the same. She saw that Sophie had mischievously slipped off her diamond ring; now why would she want to make it more difficult for Randal? A few ladies laughed and entered into the spirit of the thing by either removing their own rings or moving a ring to their wedding finger.

It was a positive conspiracy of deception. Beth would go odds, though, that if any couple in the world could identify each other just by the touch of their fingers, it was Randal and Sophie.

“What happens if they choose amiss?” Beth asked of the lady standing next to her.

“In the olden days they say he had to forfeit his bride,” was the amused answer. “We’re not so severe today. He has to buy free of the one he has mistakenly chosen by a gift of a pair of gloves, and pacify his true love with a kiss.”

Beth could see now why Sophie had agreed to play the game and why she was trying to fool Randal into choosing amiss. In fact she wouldn’t put it past the young lady to have instigated the game in the first place.

Mr. Stevens took Beth’s hands for a brief moment and passed by. She wasn’t surprised. Her hands were noticeably smaller than both brides’. Lord Randal too passed by after brief contact.

The gentlemen could go around the circle as often as they wished before making their choice and poor Mr. Stevens was obviously nervously undecided. Beth looked at his bride and saw tension there. Mr. Stevens knew his betrothed and knew she would be upset at his failure.

Sophie, she saw, was positively wishing failure at Randal.

But in the end he stopped in front of her without noticeable uncertainty, raised both hands for a kiss, and removed his blindfold.

“How did you know me?” she demanded.

“How could I not?”

Which was perhaps an unfortunate comment as Mr. Stevens had just chosen a laughing Countess of Wraybourne. His bride, however, was soon pacified by a very hearty and much applauded kiss. Sophie looked cross.

“Now I wonder if I could tell a particular lady’s hands,” said Sir Marius as he was escorting Beth to the curricle for the drive on to the Towers. The adults had been invited back there for dinner and an informal hop. “Yours, for example.”

“Surely the idea is that the hands are special to the man in question,” Beth retorted.

He captured one of her hands and considered it, turning it this way and that. “A small and delicate hand. I’d lay odds not as weak as it looks.”

Beth tugged unsuccessfully. His large, rough thumb rubbed over her palm. “Good strong lines. A gypsy would say you have a determined personality.”

“Do you tell fortunes?”

“I could give a fair try at yours, my dear.”

“Really?” Beth queried skeptically, but unwillingly amused. “What would it be?”

“Oh,” he said carelessly. “The usual. An unexpected meeting with a tall, dark, handsome stranger. Love, marriage, and happiness ever after.”

Beth raised her brows. “Very unlikely in my case, I’m afraid.”

“Time will tell.” He rubbed the ball of her thumb. “This is interesting,” he said.

“Why? Do you really know anything about such things?”

“A little,” he said with a secretive smile. “A nice, firm, plump mound here is very significant.”

“What of, pray?”

He looked up and released her. “I’ll tell you one day, dear lady. One day soon.”

Beth was left with the feeling yet again that the obvious conversation was not in fact what had been going on at all. A woman of sense, she decided, would avoid the teasing baronet on all future occasions. Why did she feel she wasn’t a woman of sense?

At least the meal that evening provided no problem, for she was seated between Arnold Tring and young Mr. Stevens. They were both pleasant companions and the type of unassuming people she was accustomed to. Afterward they all repaired to the ballroom and sets were formed for dancing. There were too few people for the grand room, a matter which appeared to concern nobody.

The ducal household included two footmen and a maid of musical talent who were trained by the duke for just such an occasion. They played tolerably well on the piano and violins and the company threw itself merrily into a succession of country dances.

At first Beth was inclined to refuse invitations both on the grounds of age and status. It was Lord Randal who persuaded her onto the floor. He didn’t point out, as he might have done, that many of the ladies prancing in front of her were older, or that her rank could not be considered inferior to that of the curate’s wife. He merely said, “If you don’t dance with me, Mrs. Hawley, I’ll conclude you can’t forgive me for being so elevated with you yesterday. I’ll sink into a melancholy and drown myself in the Stenby moat. And then what will poor Sophie do?”