by Gaelen Foley
“What did you want her to say?”
“Very nice, at least!” he exclaimed.
Rory chortled and shook his head as they rolled along atop the traveling chariot at the head of their convoy.
“I don’t know what the hell that girl wants from me,” Connor grumbled to no one in particular. He kept his voice down, but he could hear the women playing some sort of traveling game to while away the time a few hours into their journey.
Everyone had relaxed a bit as soon as they had cleared the sprawling perimeter of Town. With every mile they put between themselves and the city, Connor felt the dark underworld shadow of Elias Flynn fading behind them.
As the sense of danger receded, he could finally allow his thoughts to return to his vexing little fiancée.
He rested his elbows on his bent knees as he stared down the westward road in discontent. Knowing he wasn’t very good company today, he wondered if he should keep to himself. Maybe rent a hack horse at the next coaching inn, since he had sent Hurricane back with the head groom once they had reached the edge of London.
That weathered fellow was among the handful of servants old Trumbull had already tracked down for Connor and sent back to work at Amberley House. The butler himself would soon resume control of the household, but for now, he was still tasked with keeping Saffie hidden away for her own safety.
Someone had to do it, God knew. The little henwit was a danger to herself, but then, thought Connor, weren’t they all?
Women.
At length, he blew out a sigh and shook his head. “I don’t think she liked it.”
Rory glanced at him in surprise. “What, the ring? Are you still on about that?”
Connor scowled, and Rory quickly hid his amusement.
“Of course she did, mate. What woman doesn’t like a diamond ring?” Rory sighed. “Wish I could afford one.”
“Maybe I should’ve asked her first what kind of ring she wanted. There wasn’t time!” he insisted.
“Not with somebody trying to blow your head off, there wasn’t.” Rory nudged him, a merry glint in his eyes that made Connor suspect his friend was only humoring him. “She’s lucky she got a ring at all, eh?”
“Exactly,” he huffed.
But deep down, Connor feared the situation was far worse than that: that Maggie was not so much disappointed in the ring, but disappointed in him and already regretted their match.
It was the only explanation for her cold, distant attitude toward him this morning.
“God’s truth, I’ve never seen her like this before, quite so stubborn. I can’t tell if she’s happy or cross or if she even wants to marry me anymore. For all I know, she’s only doing it now because there’d be a scandal after last night if she didn’t.”
“Ah, settle down, mate. This isn’t like you. You’re blowing things out of proportion, I’m sure.”
“Am I?” He gave his friend a worried glance.
“She just needs a little time, most likely. And to punish you for a while.” Rory grinned.
“Punish me,” Connor muttered. “What did I do? Try to stop a murderer?”
“You yelled at her. Remember? You told me so yourself. You don’t yell at a lady, ye great oaf.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I am not Edward Birdwell! I didn’t get out of the Peninsula alive by being a sweetheart of a gentleman.”
“Me neither!” Rory agreed, a bit too cheerfully.
Connor narrowed his eyes. “I am beginning to think you are enjoying this.”
“Does it show?”
Connor cursed at him in Gaelic, and Rory laughed heartily.
“Enough of your grumbling. Tell me about Miss Penelope.” Rory waggled his eyebrows. “What a beauty, eh? O’ course,” he added, “a woman wouldn’t touch the likes o’ me with a punting pole.”
“Why ever not?” Connor asked as Rory took a loud, crunching bite into his apple.
“Lard ass. Got no manners,” he said through a mouthful. “And I’m broke.”
Connor laughed. “Then why does she keep lookin’ at you?”
“Nah, she doesn’t, ye bastard.”
“Aye, she does. Go and talk to her when we stop to change horses. We’re all due for a break soon.”
“I couldn’t.”
“What, you, tongue-tied?”
“She’s so elegant! She’ll think I’m an ape.”
“Some women like apes. Too bad Maggie isn’t one of them.” Heaving a sigh, Connor leaned back on the seat and stretched his legs out before him as much as the seat would allow. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“Take your own advice. Talk to her.”
“Easy for you to say, you and your silver tongue. She wants nothing to do with me today—unless I go to her groveling. And we both know I have a policy against that.”
Groveling was for the weak and the cowardly, and Connor was neither.
“I don’t know, at least you’ve got to try, mate.”
Connor eyed Rory darkly. “I have nothing to apologize for. She’s the one who’s got to learn how to obey,” he said, though he kept his voice down for fear of enraging her all over again if she should hear him. “Anyway, it’s not as though I’m making unreasonable demands on the girl. All I wanted was to keep her safe. Stay back, I told her. But could she do that? Of course not.”
He shifted restlessly on his seat, brooding and annoyed. Lost in the lulling rhythm of the team’s six horses clip-clopping along, he failed to wave back at a friendly carriage driver going by the other way.
Rory, however, called a cheery greeting.
“I thought all females were taught from the cradle that, one day, they’d have to follow their husband’s commands,” Connor finally said, refusing to let it go.
“Welllll,” Rory said, “they’re taught that, I hear. It’s just…”
Connor looked at him. “What?”
“Some of ’em don’t like it very much,” Rory said, then shuddered. “Some of ’em don’t like it much at all.”
“Well, too bad!” Connor harrumphed. “Next she’ll be tryin’ to change me.”
Rory coughed.
“What?” Connor said.
His friend merely gave him one of his charming grins.
Connor narrowed his eyes in dawning realization. “You think she already has? Changed me?”
Rory’s grin widened. “Oh, just a wee bit.”
“How? I don’t see it.”
“We would never have been having this conversation in the past. Because you wouldn’t give a shit.”
“Well,” Connor said with a shrug of concession.
“By the way,” Rory said, “I think Will’s in love with Saffie.”
“What?”
“Yes, and—you’ll love this—she offered to bed him as a thank-you for being so sweet to her.” Rory laughed while Connor’s jaw dropped. “Lad nearly fainted. She said it right in front of me and Nestor. Told the boy she wanted to be his first.”
“Jaysus,” Connor muttered.
Rory snickered. “Guess she learned a thing or two at that brothel.”
“How did he react?”
“You should’ve seen him. His face turned redder than your coat. He denied being a virgin, but she just laughed.”
Connor cringed.
“Our little boy’s growin’ up,” Rory said with a wicked chuckle.
“Tell me he hasn’t slept with her.”
“No, not our wee Galahad. He was appalled. At least, at first he was.”
“But then he started thinking about it?” Connor asked in amusement.
“Of course. Nestor headed off that trouble, though. He told Will the girl needs a thorough check from a physician first to make sure she hasn’t got diseases.” Rory tossed his apple core into the stone-fenced meadow beside the road. “And just when the boy had nearly worked up his nerve to ask the old Cyclops if he’d do the honors, Nestor saw that comin’, too, and said there’s no way in hell he’s gettin’ involved with all
that. Reminded the boy he’s not a lady doctor; only treats animals and men.”
Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Besides, young Saffie’s still in love with this dragoon. I think she’s starting to wake up to reality, though, poor thing.”
“Hmm. Sad.”
Rory stared down the road, as though weighing his next words. “Want to know something worse?” he asked quietly.
Connor looked askance at him, instantly worried by his friend’s grim tone. “Do I?”
Rory gave a cynical flick of his eyebrows, but his lips had drawn into a somber line. “I think she’s pregnant.”
Connor stared at him. “Saffie?”
“Aye,” he said. “She’s got that look.”
“What look?”
“I can’t explain it.” Rory shrugged. “But I know it when I see it.”
“And you’d know this how?” Connor stared at him, hoping desperately that the sergeant was wrong.
“I got four older sisters, don’t I? Each of who’s got half a dozen children. Uncle Rory knows what he’s talkin’ about.”
“Shit,” Connor said, with a twist of remorse in his gut. “So I’m going to orphan this infant before it’s even born.” He looked away. “Perfect.”
“You have no choice, man. He’s the one that’s been comin’ after you. It’s you or him. At least now she’ll have Will, though, maybe. He’d be a good father to the babe, kindhearted as he is.”
“Yes, but he deserves better,” Connor muttered with a frown.
“Don’t tell the boy that. He’s smitten. I think the way the other maids treated Saffie tugged at his heartstrings back when she still worked for you. And all the time we were at Trumbull’s, he treated her like she was a princess.”
“She’s the first girl who ever paid attention to him, that’s all.”
“Yes, but she trusts him, and that’s sayin’ something after all she’s been through.”
“Who wouldn’t trust Will?” Connor replied.
“Exactly,” Rory said, and they both fell silent, pondering the riches of the heart that their skinny, homely, innocent friend possessed in such abundance, and, mysteriously, had somehow retained throughout the war, while the two of them had lost much of their own somewhere along the way.
It was half an hour before the next coaching inn with a livery stable came into sight ahead, and when Connor saw it, he made up his mind.
Inspired, perhaps, by thoughts of the softhearted Private Duffy, who sat atop the heavily laden supply wagon beside Nestor, Connor decided to lay hold of his courage and take Rory’s advice.
It was time to try again to reach out and go talk to Maggie.
He’d been all business with her this morning in the Birdwells’ drawing room, unsure what sort of reception he would meet. Well aware that he was on shaky ground with her after all that had happened last night, he had stayed on his guard with her, merely surveying the lay of the land.
But Rory was right. He’d have to try harder. With a little more effort, he was confident that they could put this unpleasantness behind them—their first real quarrel since they’d met—and return to their usual state of happiness together. This was no blasted way to begin their official engagement.
And so, when their convoy reached the white galleried coaching inn tucked into a tree-lined bend in the road, Connor jumped down from the driver’s box, determined to take his friend’s advice.
He was not without skills when it came to charming his way back into a lady’s good graces. All he had to do, he reasoned, was get her to smile at him once or twice. Maybe offer up a glib jest. She’d always liked his sense of humor.
He was damned sure not groveling, though. Not him. Not ever.
Instead, he merely wanted to explain his view of all this, once he’d broken through the ice that had formed between them. In truth, he wanted her to understand and accept him for who and what he was. He had thought she did, up until last night. But now, he was not sure where he stood with her, and it upset him more deeply than he cared to show.
Unfortunately, his plan to try to charm her first crumbled when she climbed out of the coach and he saw the annoyance on her face.
Ah hell. Not in a good mood. It was no mystery why, after she’d just spent the first leg of their journey closed up with Grandaunt Lucinda. Riiight. The direct approach, then, since she was clearly not in a joking frame of mind.
He gave her a few minutes to stretch her back and wander off across the inn yard while he strode over to the other vehicles in their party to ensure that everything was going smoothly.
Pete had been bringing up the rear. The major swung down from his horse, told Connor he had not noticed anybody following them, and made his way into the tavern, no doubt tempted by the delicious smell of pub food floating across the cobbled inn yard. Grilled sausages, fresh-baked bread, fish and chips, flaky mincemeat pies right out of the oven…
Everyone milled about, using the facilities as needed, and buying themselves beverages or light refreshments while the livery’s grooms swapped out their horses, just as they’d been doing about once an hour, every ten miles.
Connor had not allowed a proper break till this one, however. It was now about noon, and they’d just crossed out of Surrey into Hampshire.
He checked his fob watch and decided they could take twenty or thirty minutes to stretch their legs, get some food, and make themselves more comfortable for the next long push through the wide county of Hampshire.
He wandered into the pub himself to do the same. A little while later, he stepped back outside into the bright, sunny day.
Across the busy inn yard, he spotted Maggie, alone, leaning under a large, shady oak tree. She had seen him, as well, and was eyeing him warily.
Penelope stood over by the carriages drinking a glass of lemonade that Rory had just brought her, Connor surmised.
The sergeant, who also had a glass of lemonade, was now smiling from ear to ear as he worked to chat her up. Connor mentally wished both himself and his friend luck with their chosen ladies. Then he marched across the inn yard, slowing his pace as he stepped onto the grass, approaching with caution.
Maggie pinned him with her gaze, never taking her eyes off him. Not that she looked entirely pleased to see him, but at least she acknowledged him. “Your Grace.”
“Maggie, we need to talk,” he said as he sauntered over to her in the shade. There was no point beating around the bush, after all.
She lifted her chin, still wearing that cool expression on her face that made it nearly impossible to guess what she was thinking. “Agreed.”
Connor searched her face. “I can tell you are upset with me, but I’m not sure I understand why.” He was being cagey, admittedly, but he was trying to draw her out, get her to show her cards first. “What did I do wrong? I’d like to hear it from you. Was it the violence? Because I was attacked, Maggie. Was I to supposed to let him kill me?”
“Of course not.” She already looked riled up by his opening statement. “But there is such a thing as the law to deal with such people, you know.”
“The law,” Connor echoed, registering a twinge of offense. A thousand brutal memories swept through him of vicious death matches on the battlefield. Blood, smoke, sweat, mud, screams. But she knew nothing of all that had been his normal world until lately. So he checked his impatience with her suggestion, and decided it would be rude to point out that Bow Street had already failed him.
“I don’t think Darrow plays by those rules,” he said coolly. “Therefore, neither can I.”
“So you’re just…going to kill him,” she said slowly.
He stared at her. “First chance I get.”
“I see.” She looked away, paling.
It occurred to him that the night they’d met, she’d come to him begging him to spare a man’s life, and then last night, another man who deserved even less to be spared had escaped him because of her meddling.
He had cause to be c
ross at her, for his part. “You do realize that I could’ve ended all this last night if you wouldn’t have interfered.”
“So this is my fault now?”
“A little. But mostly, it’s mine. I’m the one who hesitated because you were there.” He paused. “In all actuality, though, it’s Seth Darrow’s fault, and he deserves exactly what he’s going to get. I’m sorry if you disapprove, but there it is.”
She looked at him.
“When somebody hits me, I hit back twice as hard,” he informed her with a shrug. “It’s the only reason I’m alive now. I’m sorry if you do not like it, but this is who I am. Take it or leave it.”
“Take it or leave it?” she echoed, raising her eyebrows. “I’m in no position to leave it now even if I wanted to, am I?”
Connor flinched but just stared stubbornly at her, masking his horror at her words.
“You saw to that,” she continued, “announcing our engagement to the world without so much as a by-your-leave!”
“What difference does it make?” he said. “You had already agreed to marry me—quite enthusiastically, as I recall. I was the one who asked you to keep it a secret, merely to protect you from this madman. That’s all I care about—can’t you see that? Damn it, I saved your reputation by announcing our betrothal when I did. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“Well”—she dropped her gaze primly—“considering you’re the one who compromised it in the first place, don’t expect me to fall down and kiss your feet with gratitude, Your Grace.”
Connor had no answer to that. He was now quite sure she was only marrying him because she had to. And probably because he was a duke.
“In any case,” she continued, her cheeks rosy with anger now, “while it’s true that seeing you almost kill that man with your bare hands was upsetting enough, it was how you yelled at me afterward that was quite beyond the pale. You were utterly disrespectful. Even worse than Delia.”
Connor’s voice vanished. So that was at it, then. And deep down, he had known it. He’d just been hoping he was wrong.
Because he knew how serious this was.
He had to fix it somehow. Now. Without looking weak. But he was rattled at the thought that he’d already lost her. “I was not trying to be disrespectful to you, Maggie—”