Imposter Bride

by Patricia Simpson

  She yanked away from his mouth and pulled back, wrenching her arms free. Then she slapped his face with all her strength. He staggered backward, holding his cheek, as an expression of sheer disbelief spread across his face.

  Could he possibly have thought she was enjoying his attentions?

  Sophie stood before him, her chest heaving with alarm and shock at her violent reaction to his advances. Then she bolted down the nearest path, putting as much space between Edward Metcalf and herself as her shaking legs would provide.

  He didn’t call after her and didn’t run after her, which at first relieved her and then worried her. How would she get home without his carriage? Soon it would be dark. She was miles from the Carlisle house. She had been a fool to push him away. Surely a woman of the world such as Lady Auliffe would have managed the situation with more aplomb.

  Still, she couldn’t go back. He was probably not only angry, but embarrassed by the scene that had just transpired and in no humor to do her bidding. Sophie kept running, worried that this time she had gone too far.

  She ran, plagued by memories of being pursued and frightened by the thought that she had been followed all that day. Through the maze she stumbled, toward what she thought was the entrance of the park. The twisting hedgerows had always seemed a pleasant puzzle before, but now they closed in upon her like a constricting labyrinth whose end was nowhere in sight. Darkness fell with alarming speed as she struggled to find her way out.

  Gasping and terrified, she pushed forward, until she realized she’d get nowhere unless she got control of herself first.

  “Buck up!” she admonished herself through gritted teeth. “You’ve been this way a dozen times. Think!”

  She marshaled her self-control, calling upon her anger to see her through. Who were these men to kiss her with such selfish hunger—both Edward Metcalf and that Captain Ramsay. Neither of them cared to know what she thought of their attentions, or what was in her heart. They’d taken what they wanted in blatant disregard of her feelings, thinking only of their male lust and what they assumed was her money. Damn them both to hell.

  Rage renewed her courage. She pressed on and soon recognized a turn that was close to the entrance of the maze. Seconds later, she took another corner and saw the opening just a few paces ahead. Her heart burst with relief, and she dashed forward.

  Soon Sophie had gained the lawn of the park, the fountain, and the walkways. At the edge of the avenue alongside the park, she could see the Metcalf carriage waiting. But to her relief, she saw there were also carriages for hire sitting at the curb. She dug into her reticule for the money Lady Auliffe had insisted she take, claiming that financial independence gave a woman many more choices in the world, and that she should never go out without funds to get back. Bless the old lady for her foresight.

  Once safely inside the hired carriage, Sophie sank back. Edward had frightened and disgusted her. She felt sorry for the young lady who would eventually marry the cad.

  Sophie hurried to the entry of the Carlisle house and pushed open the door to the house, which was ablaze with candles as usual. Even though she and her grandmother were the only people in the house, other than servants, Lady Auliffe demanded that the fireplaces be kept burning in most of the rooms as well as braces of candles kept lighted. Sophie had never known such extravagance or comfort. But she did not linger. She had no desire to talk to anyone, and did not want to be quizzed about the events of the afternoon. She was still quite angry with Edward and knew it would show in her face.

  “Did you have a nice walk, dear?” Lady Auliffe called out as Sophie hurried past the drawing room and headed for the stairs.

  Sophie paused at the doorway. “Yes, thank you.” She unbuttoned her cloak while Neat and Tidy scampered up to her wagging their tails.

  “Will Edward be staying for tea?”

  “He begged off.” Sophie reached down and patted the dogs. “He wasn’t feeling well. I think he had too much to drink last night.”

  “Young men these days.” Lady Auliffe shook her head as she rose. “Well as for evening plans, I am having dinner later with my friend, Sarah Bingham. Would you like to come along?”

  “No thank you. I’m rather tired after all the excitement of last night.”

  “You’ll be all right here alone?”

  “Of course.” She smiled, although she could not wait to go up to her room and collapse. “I think I’ll have a bath.”

  “I’ll send William up with the tub.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sophie climbed the stairs, slower now that the threat of extensive conversation had dissipated, and with her slower steps came the memory of Edward’s mouth on her neck and his hands on her body. How could she consider marrying someone whose slightest touch made her skin crawl? She could not let this charade continue another day. The lying was bad enough—especially to Lady Auliffe, who had been nothing but wonderful to her—but the prospect of marrying the earl was too daunting to contemplate.

  She could see only one recourse. She would go to Ian Ramsay, tell him everything, ask him for a loan to get her started in Boston, and leave the country as soon as possible. Though he might not love her in the way she loved him, she was certain he would help her if she asked him for assistance.

  That night, when her grandmother had left for her dinner engagement, Sophie dressed in the old blue gown she had worn in what seemed another lifetime—yet not even a month had passed she had assumed the identity of Katherine Hinds. Sophie glanced down at the skirt of the garment. Mrs. Betrus had laundered, mended and pressed the dress, and it seemed almost as good as new. After she had buttoned the bodice, she drew on a plain cloak and draped the generous hood over her hair, donned a pair of sturdy shoes and warm gloves, and slipped out of a back entrance of the house. No one would recognize her as the heiress now.

  She set off for the captain’s townhouse, having memorized the shortest way between the two locations. She went by foot, as she couldn’t chance taking one of the carriages for fear of Lady Auliffe discovering her plans for the evening.

  The night air was brisk and no rain fell, and for that she was grateful. She hurried along the dark streets, her head down, praying she would not be accosted before she reached Ian’s door.

  While she walked, she formed small conversations in her mind, listing things she wanted to say to Ian and imagining what he might say in return. As she listened to the conversations in her head, she realized she wanted more than just assistance from him, she wanted the truth behind his strange mercurial behavior. His past behavior tormented her—the way he would embrace her and kiss her and then turn away as if nothing had transpired between them. Before she left London, she had to know why he had never fully opened up to her.

  Sophie decided the best plan was not to beg or grovel for his affections. The best course was to be forthright and to demand that he tell her the truth as well. Above all, what she wanted from him was the truth.

  Sophie hadn’t gone more than a mile, however, when she turned a corner, and two men jumped out of the shadows and grabbed her.

  Terrified, Sophie cried out, and tried to struggle free.

  “Let me go! Let me go!”

  “Quiet!” One of them barked. “Another word and I’ll shoot.”

  Chapter 14

  Two men jostled Sophie to an awaiting coach. Sophie glanced over her shoulder, searching for someone who might notice her plight but saw no one else on the street that late at night. In the murky evening light, she was just another woman dressed warmly against the chill being accompanied by two very solicitous companions.

  A small black carriage waited at the side of the road. She was thrust inside, where one of the men sat across from her, and the other jumped on the back. She heard the driver whistle to the horses and with a jerk, the coach rolled forward.

  Sophie knew it was useless to speak to the surly man sitting on the opposite seat. Shadows bathed his face, and his hat concealed much of his head. All she could see
plainly in the light of the small carriage lamp was the gleaming pistol perched on his knee.

  For a good half hour the carriage raced through the streets, but Sophie had no idea in which direction they traveled, for all the windows were closed and the curtains drawn.

  She was taken to a small inn at the end of a long narrow lane. The man in front of her opened the door and motioned her inside, while the man at her elbow gave her a cruel shove. She stumbled forward, over the threshold, and they dragged her down a cramped hallway to a dark private parlor with a meager fire burning in the grate. A thin man dressed in black stood beside the fire and turned when Sophie stumbled into the room, having been shoved once more by her rough companions.

  Sophie wasn’t surprised to see the face of Constable Keener. He had captured her at last.

  “Miss Vernet,” the constable began, rolling off the syllables of her name as if announcing her to a crowd. He watched her closely. Did he expect her to blush?

  “You have ill-treated me, sir,” she said, refusing to show her fear of him. She stared at him at him directly.

  “Have I?” He stepped behind her, trapping her between the door and the fire, making it plain that he blocked any route of escape. “I believe it is you who have ill-treated me, wasting much of my valuable time all these weeks.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, don’t play games!” he spat. “I haven’t the time for trifling!”

  He glanced at her cloak. “Take it off!” he demanded.

  “I will not.” She fell back a step.

  “Then I shall tear it off.” The whites of his eyes showed in anger. Still, she forced herself to remain calm.

  “Sir, when my mistress hears of this—”

  “Have off with the charade. Your mistress doesn’t care if you live or die.”

  Sophie raised her chin, trying not to flinch at his harsh words, however true they were.

  “Now for the last time, take off the cloak.”

  He glared at her until she knew she must obey him. Slowly, she unbuttoned her cloak and drew it off her shoulders.

  “And the gloves.” He watched her impatiently. What was he going to do?

  Swallowing back her fright, she carefully peeled off her gloves.

  As soon as her gloves were off, the constable grabbed her right wrist and twisted it until she cried out in pain. He dragged her to the light of the fire where he satisfied himself with the sight of the red line that still marked her forearm.

  His face and neck puffed with triumph. He threw off her arm as if she had the pox.

  “I didn’t do it!” Sophie cried. “The real murderer tried to kill me!”

  “I’ve no time for your lies, Miss Vernet.”

  “I’m not lying! Why would I have killed that poor man? I didn’t even know him!”

  “A witness swears you were there, and that you robbed Jean Coutain. You are a maidservant, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And not well treated by your mistress.”

  Sophie remained silent.

  “You arrive in London, unhappy, frustrated. I’ll wager you had a few thoughts about starting a new life, escaping from your servitude, didn’t you? But you needed money.”

  Sophie refused to look at him, sure that her burning cheeks would betray her. He had guessed her very thoughts, but had misjudged her character. She would never steal to make her way, and certainly not from a dead man.

  What had happened to Jean Coutain was no bungled robbery, but a twisted fantasy played out to its vicious conclusion. Who had been in the carriage house that night?

  Sophie stood before the fire, lightly rubbing her skin where the constable’s grip had chafed her, and wondered what he was going to do to her.

  He moved up behind her, nearer this time, his clothing smelling of fried fish. “You have one recourse in the matter, Miss Vernet. And that is to hand over the buckle.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Oh yes, you do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then your mistress has it.”

  She turned slightly, just enough to see the side of his face. “What do you mean?”

  “I have a report that your mistress visited a shop a few weeks ago, to have a diamond buckle—very like the missing one—assessed. What happened, Miss Vernet—did Katherine Hinds beat the truth out of you?”

  He snickered, and Sophie flushed with anger. She clenched her fists and her jaw, never before wanting to strike a human being as she wanted to strike this man. Keener must have sensed her outrage, for he stepped away from her and began to pace the floor behind her.

  “Once you surrender the buckle, the authorities may be more lenient toward you.”

  “Which means?”

  “You may not hang.”

  Sophie thought it odd that the buckle was more important than her capture. Was the constable in on this for more than the salary he earned from the city? Perhaps he wanted the buckle for himself. A man could live for a year on the proceeds from selling the bauble.

  “Might I go free if I surrender the buckle?” Sophie asked.

  The pacing stopped behind her, and she slowly pivoted to look at the constable.

  “It’s a possibility,” he answered, his eyes shifting to the fire, “I might be able to pull some strings.”

  “But what if I can’t get it back? What if my mistress has sold it?”

  “You will get it back, Miss Vernet, and relinquish it to me, or I shall find you again. And the next time you won’t be going anywhere but to prison, make no mistake.

  “What guarantee will you offer?”

  “Guarantee?” The constable sneered. “None whatsoever.”

  She studied him. She had little choice in the matter, just as he said. But without the buckle, she had no way of raising enough money to leave London. But at least she might have her freedom—if she could trust the constable. Sophie stooped to retrieve the cloak he had thrown on the floor.

  “No tears?” he chided. “No weeping for mercy? I’m impressed.”

  “I assume I can leave?”

  “I’ll have my men drive you home.”

  “How generous.”

  “You have until tomorrow at noon to return the buckle.”

  “Noon? But my mistress will thrash me if I—”

  “Noon, Miss Vernet. Or I pay a visit to the Carlisle House. I’m certain Lady Auliffe will not countenance dishonest household help and will toss you out on your ear.”

  “Where shall I make the delivery?”

  “There will be someone waiting at the spot where you were detained this evening. Do you recall where that is?”

  “Yes.” How could she forget the way she had been manhandled into the coach on her way to Ramsay’s town house?

  “Be there at noon tomorrow, Miss Vernet, or it shall go hard on you.”

  Sophie hurried to the entry of the Carlisle house, hoping no one would spot the unfamiliar carriage that dropped her off at the street. She ran down the side drive and let herself in at the sunroom entrance, where the chances were less likely that she would be seen. She pushed open the door and stepped into the quiet house, hastily taking off the mop cap and old cloak before anyone might see her dressed as a maid.

  Quickly, she climbed the stairs to her room and walked to the chest of drawers where she kept her pockets containing the buckle stuffed in the back of her lingerie drawer. While she pulled out the old rumpled pockets, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman she saw in the glass, and suddenly realized how much she had changed in the past few weeks. She had altered not just in her outward appearance—with her hair arranged in an upswept fashion and her new finery and cosmetics—but inwardly as well. She was no longer a girl, having experienced the attentions of two men, in addition to living through a few traumatizing situations that had smothered the last vestiges of the child within her.

  “Where are you, Sophie Vernet?” she murmur
ed, tilting her head at her reflection. “And what is to become of you?”

  Worried and feeling very much alone, she hugged her arms close to her chest. Even if the buckle was returned to the constable, she would still live under the constant threat of exposure by him. Even if he kept silent, she would never be able to let down her guard, and would have to continue as Katherine Hinds unless she struck out on her own and assumed yet a third identity.

  She could still see only one recourse, that of asking Ramsay for assistance, though the thought of him made her stomach burn with bitterness.

  Forcing Ramsay from her mind, Sophie shook the pocket, and the buckle dropped onto her palm. She glanced at it, realizing immediately that something was amiss. Looking at it more closely, she noticed the bauble didn’t sparkle in the candle light as it should. She raised her hand nearer her face, and was mortified to discover the buckle had been replaced by a pewter copy.

  She gasped out loud and clutched the buckle in her fist.

  Who had taken her buckle? The thief who had stolen into Ramsay’s town house? No, she had made sure the buckle was safe that night. Who else would have had access to her things? Mrs. Betrus? She couldn’t believe the housekeeper would have taken the buckle, not after having foregone a good opportunity to steal it the first night. Charles? He was never upstairs. What about Maggie? Maybe. But the maid had seemed like a decent girl.

  That left Ramsay.

  Sophie splayed her fingers and stared down at the buckle on her palm. Ramsay must have made the substitution the night he’d left her in his bed—but why?

  She frowned and heaved a frustrated sigh. With his meddling, Ramsay had unknowingly jeopardized her life. It was imperative now that she call upon him for more than just his help. No matter how late it was, she would have to repeat her journey of the evening to retrieve the missing buckle.

  Just after nine o’clock, Sophie slipped out of the house again, but this time because of the advancing hour and a healthy concern about being abducted again, she hailed a cab when she was well away from the Carlisle house. She instructed the driver to take her to Ramsay’s townhouse. As the coach rolled toward Front Street, she rehearsed what she would say to the captain. She was extremely angry with him, but knew that anger would not serve her well this night. As the carriage rolled closer to the town house, she found herself growing more and more agitated, and wondered how she would ever control herself when she caught sight of his smug American face.