Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

by Liz Tyner

  The only way she could have such a family around her was to have the ransom. Fillmore’s family was no better than garden slugs and she couldn’t bear the thought of having them in her life.

  She’d asked Brandt about fifty different ways the simple question of how he planned to get the ransom and he’d told her the same answer over and over. She wasn’t to concern herself with it.

  And she really wasn’t concerned about it for herself. But she had to think of Gussie and Mrs Caudle.

  She couldn’t have the family Brandt did, but perhaps it would be best for her. She’d have a family she’d chosen. Her half-sister. Mrs Caudle. She’d find other people without families and together they’d manage just fine. But first, she had to secure something more for them. Families had to have shelter and food.

  *

  The next morning, a quick slap to the outside of the door woke her. Brandt stood there and he had the reins in his hand. Hercules stood behind him, chewing grass as if all was right with the world.

  ‘Remember,’ he said the word distinctly, ‘Adam is watching the road. No carriage can get this way without him seeing. Harlan will be spending most of the day in the woods and will have his two dogs with him. Since he’s been a lad, he’s always trained those dogs to do just as he wants. No one can get near the house without you knowing.’

  ‘No one could find me, could they?’

  ‘I’m about to find out. I’ll go and see how Fillmore and Augustine are faring.’

  He wore the old hat she’d worn before. ‘Don’t expect a hearty welcome. You could not look more disreputable,’ she said.

  He scratched his cheek. ‘Yes.’ He swooped closer to her ear. ‘The first time you saw me.’

  He was on the horse in a flash, leaving a soft trail of laughter behind him.

  Katherine watched him leave, the carriage house suddenly seeming dark, dusty and nothing more than a forgotten stack of boards.

  When the horses disappeared, she took a moment to take stock of herself, and feel the strength she had inside. For the first time in her life, she had no one to answer to. And no one to hide from—at least in the carriage house.

  She’d been hiding since her mother became ill. Hiding from Augustine so he’d not notice her and take out his rages on her. Then hiding from Fillmore so she would not have to pretend she could tolerate him.

  This was the first week of a new beginning. She would be dead to her old world. Now, she would need a different name and history to go with her tragic widowhood. She would miss Brandt. Miss him terribly. And when anyone asked about her husband, she would think of him and it would be easy to be melancholy. Loneliness seeped inside her, causing an ache in her heart.

  She’d never missed a man’s company before. Never.

  She walked around the house, a hand shading her eyes while she inspected the walls. Very little actually stood between her and the inside of the house. Surely if she trespassed she’d only find empty rooms and rugs faded by window sunlight. What harm could there be in seeing forlorn and forgotten walls and floors?

  She walked forward, tramping down the purple vetch with light-deprived stems. A dragonfly lit on the door frame. Then the insect flittered away, drawing her eyes upwards, to the windows.

  She could find a way to get in. No one would have to know.

  Brandt had said his brothers were near. She called, ‘Mr Radcliffe.’ She waited. ‘Mr Radcliffe.’

  Finally, Brandt’s brother and two dogs stepped out of the woods. ‘I’m feeling nervous with Brandt gone,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to know I’m not alone.’

  He shook his head. ‘Adam’s watching the road at the front and the dogs and I have been enjoying the trails around the house.’

  ‘It must be tedious for you to sit and stare at this place.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m mostly walking around the house, letting the dogs have their way. They’ll let me know if anyone approaches. We’re enjoying the cooler weather.’

  Katherine nodded and they talked about his pets for a while, then he tipped his hat and moved back into the woods.

  She doubted he’d ever look her way again because he was so aware of the woods.

  At the rear door of the house, Katherine tried the latch again, just to make certain. Locked.

  She moved to the front door, admiring the porch, and noticed that if a person were not too particular, the boards over the windows just to the side of the porch could become a haphazard ladder, especially since the windows on the lower floor were tall, majestic ones. She could pry a board loose to give her extra space for her toes, but it could work. Above that, she saw a ledge to leverage herself on to the porch roof. Then two windows—just the right size to open.

  She took off her boots to give her more flexibility in her feet. And she got a knife from the things Brandt had collected and stuck it in her waistband.

  Testing her foot on the lowest board, she began her climb. Without a thought in her head except where her toes might go next or her hand might go, she moved upwards until she found herself on the ledge.

  Walking on the porch roof was easy, but she only had two windows to try. The first did her no good. When she slid the knife into the casement of the second one and pushed up against the pane dividers with her fingertips, the glass moved.

  She worked harder, feeling the sweat on her temple as she bit her lip and worked her fingers under the base of the window. When she had enough space to push her hands on to the sill, she held her breath and ratcheted the glass up.

  She truly did have the mind of a criminal, she thought, as she straddled the ledge and then ducked her head and went inside.

  Dust blanketed the room, but she didn’t see the bare chamber she’d expected. The house looked as if the owner had left for the season and hadn’t returned. All the furniture and trappings were arranged for living. A candle near the window had wilted sideways, melting from summer heat, but not enough to puddle in the holder. A ghost would be quite comfortable.

  And with more stealth than a spirit, Katherine began exploring.

  First, she found a library smelling of dust and, perhaps, mildew.

  She walked the room, trailing her fingers over the spines, moving a book here and there, dusting a bit to see the books better. Reading The Parent’s Assistant on one spine, she gave the book a tug, pulling it from the others. The book had an ink splotch on the cover as if someone had accidentally dropped a full pen on to it.

  Her own mother had read the tales in this book to her when she was young and the memory gave Katherine the only warmth she’d felt in the house. She opened it and heard the creak of its bindings. But she could only read a few words before feeling loss.

  Shutting the book, she held the volume almost as a talisman, walking to the other rooms.

  She saw the master’s chamber, the sitting room and the table where the mistress of the house did her toilette and she’d left behind a perfume bottle with rust-coloured rings in the bottom.

  A miniature of a beautiful woman sat on a tabletop. She walked near it. A sketchpad caught her eye. She picked up one dusty edge of the cover, and opened it. Drawings of a boy’s face smiled back at her and she immediately released the cover.

  In the nursery, Katherine thought it odd to see a child’s room neglected, still with clothing and toys. Little soldiers stood in one corner as if waiting for a boy to take them to war. She saw a wooden bear lying on its side, with a soldier toppled at the animal’s feet. She picked up the bear and man, placing them straight.

  A carved, round rabbit, bigger than the bears, sat on the bed. He looked a bit lopsided in the eyes. His ear had tooth marks on it and she could imagine an infant catching the rabbit and sputtering over the creature.

  At the thought of the child, she took a step backwards.

  The house felt as if it were a shrine, even though it appeared the owners had merely left and forgotten to return. A shrine to happiness that showed through the dust on the window curtains and tabletop scarves with f
lowers embroidered on the edges.

  She’d begun to feel as base as the people who took their meals at a hanging.

  Families didn’t leave so much behind. Even the very wealthy. And a house might be closed up for a season, but the saplings in the yard told her this house had been boarded for quite some time.

  The dust of the house clung to her, but it wasn’t only dust. She felt remnants of the family’s remains. If she searched the grounds, she expected she’d find a cemetery. She didn’t want to see the graves.

  She brushed her hands over her arms, trying to wipe away the feelings. Before she could take another step back, she saw a framed drawing.

  She’d never seen a drawing of a man holding a child. Never.

  She stepped closer. ‘Brandt,’ she whispered. For a moment, she couldn’t look away. The drawing wasn’t perfect, yet it was. Because where skill lacked, heart had replaced it.

  Quickly, she rushed to the open window, trying to get to fresh air before the house suffocated her.

  Gasping, Katherine thrust the book under her arm and slid through the window. Even holding the volume, she managed to slam the window shut from the outside.

  But then she realised she still had The Parent’s Assistant. She reached to open the window, but this time her luck didn’t hold. The window stayed in the casement. Standing on the roof, she felt like a target for evilness.

  Tucking the book inside her waistband, she ignored spears of fear as she backed down from the roof, moving with all the speed she could muster.

  She’d trespassed, not just into Brandt’s house, but into his heart, and she’d discovered his memories.

  *

  As they approached the Hare’s Breath, Hercules sighed and Brandt patted his back. But it didn’t change things.

  The horse hated him. The beast lunged for every uneven surface and added as much bounce as possible.

  Brandt thought of the home where he’d lived. Going inside the house hadn’t been hard after the first few steps, but he’d stayed in the servants’ quarters and they held few memories for him. As long as he’d kept his mind directly on his tasks, he’d felt no pangs of regret.

  Above stairs, though—above stairs would be entirely too unsettling.

  He continued on and swore never, ever, ever again to go to a woman’s aid if she approached him for anything more than a simple handkerchief. Rescuing Katherine had taken some of the barbs from his conscience. He would not add more by staying too long with her.

  But he knew he could not let her down. He’d let Mary down. He’d have to find a way to take care of Katherine. From a distance.

  He didn’t need more temptation. He had not been able to resist more than five minutes of desire with Mary and, even though he was no longer a youth, he didn’t think he’d changed that much.

  From the first time he’d lain with Mary, he’d known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. From the first time he’d kissed her.

  He’d never expected to kiss her goodbye.

  Everything in his life had to return to the way it was. There wasn’t enough of him left to settle into the house again. He belonged in his boarding house room and the Hare’s Breath. He just had one problem to take care of first. He would get Katherine settled.

  The horse stopped in front of the tavern as if he’d known exactly where Brandt was going. Brandt dismounted and Hercules slung his head, almost pulling the reins from Brandt’s hands. Brandt tied him to a post anyway.

  When Brandt walked into the Hare’s Breath, no one looked up or sideways or any way but the same way they’d been perusing before he entered. But then, he’d only been away a few days—not a truly unusual occurrence.

  Yet, everything seemed different to his eyes—much as if he’d been gone years.

  And he knew his appearance wasn’t ignored. After a while, he’d hear Brandt’s Buttons from the piano player. The man made up a song for everyone.

  Rose brought him an ale before he’d taken a seat. ‘Man came around asking about you. I didn’t tell him nothing and thought he left, but he stayed around outside and asked questions of that bag of wasted bones, Toady, about you. Toady told me about it the next night. Said he told him to go north like he was going to Cambridge and he thought your family has land about a half-hour’s ride before he got there.’

  ‘How’d he know?’

  ‘It’s where your wife’s buried. When you first came here, you’d talk about her grave sometimes.’

  ‘I’d forgotten.’

  After he thought of what she’d said, he stared at her. ‘You weren’t working here then. How’d you know?’

  She gave a one-sided shrug and brushed some crumbs from the table onto the floor. ‘You might have only mentioned it once or maybe twice when you were sotted, but a man like you, who doesn’t talk much—well, makes us wonder. Gives us something to do if we puzzle you out. We remember things you say and share it.’

  ‘I’ve never once asked any questions of anyone here.’

  She rubbed her hands together, dusting away the specks from the table. ‘And couldn’t you still tell most of what’s happened to us to bring us here?’

  He paused, then answered, ‘I suppose.’

  She leaned over, putting a casual arm around his shoulders and giving a small squeeze. ‘And it didn’t hurt that one night while you were here, a key slipped out of your pocket. Remember that time I sat in your lap and you pushed me out?’ She winked. ‘And then later Annie left. Well, your key must have fallen on to the floor while I was on your lap trying to hang on. So Annie took it to your room and looked inside the box under your bed where you keep papers and letters and such that you pick up from the bank.’

  ‘You should be in the workhouse.’

  She shook her head. ‘You kept too much to yourself. Wanted to know what sort of fellow you were.’ She pulled back and gave him a big smile. ‘Just making sure a bad sort wasn’t walking me home. And that, my friend, is how I’ve kept out of the workhouse.’

  He wondered how much he’d missed when he assumed no one paid any attention to him.

  He’d really had his head deep in the bottle and misery.

  The memory of Katherine tucked away in a carriage house kept poking at him. He had to finish what he’d started.

  Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he extracted a coin. He held it between two fingers, raising it so Rose could see.

  Rose did a double take when she saw the coin, then she snatched it from his fingers. She smiled and took his hand to pull him up. ‘Finally,’ she said.

  He didn’t let himself be moved, but slipped his fingers around hers and nudged her back to the chair. ‘No. Sit. This is for conversation.’

  ‘Brandt.’ She shook her head and fell into the seat. ‘I’m too tired to talk if I have to make sense.’ She propped her elbow on the table and shut her eyes. ‘But let me try.’ She took a breath. ‘You’re a stallion. A warrior. Whatever. Whatever. Best I never had.’ She opened her eyes. ‘So why’d you want to talk to me?’

  ‘Any news of a woman being taken against her will?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You didn’t.’

  He gave a firm shake of his head. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘No. No one’s been discussing such a thing. The man looking for you didn’t mention that.’ She raised her brows. ‘And I’m takin’ it personal that you won’t give me a try.’

  He stood and took her hand, raising it to brush a kiss over it. ‘Told you, Rose—you wouldn’t be impressed.’

  She chuckled. ‘Prob’ly wouldn’t.’ She looked at the piano player’s back. ‘I like a man with a lot of talents.’ She shrugged, never taking her eyes from the other man. ‘He’s a poet, too.’

  Brandt heard the first notes of Brandt’s Buttons and watched Rose stare at the back of the piano player’s head.

  ‘You know, Brandt, death-bed promises don’t count.’ Rose kept staring at the piano player.

  ‘I’ve not made any death-bed promises.’


  ‘Yes. You did. Maybe not out loud. But you sure did.’ She reached across and took a sip from his drink, and kept the mug in both hands. ‘Men are my work. I see all kinds. And you’re normal enough and you’ve not married again. You made a vow strong as any marriage promise when your wife died. Just not normal for a man to be alone as much as you.’

  ‘I lost more than just a wife.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to marry again.’

  Then a stranger entered the tavern—a hulking man whose overlarge shoulders seemed to collapse in on to his body. He took a seat at the other side of the room. Brandt hardly gave him a second glance, until he saw Rose’s mouth open and she stared.

  ‘That’s him. The one who asked about you,’ she whispered, her back to the stranger.

  Brandt took the mug from Rose’s hands, stood and moved to the other table. He handed the drink to the newcomer. The man raised his eyes to Brandt, ‘Should I know you?’

  ‘If you’re looking for Miss Wilder, then perhaps it’s best you don’t.’

  ‘Don’t know you, or don’t look for her?’ He smiled and put the ale to his lips.

  ‘Both. I have her.’

  Fillmore put the mug onto the table, splashing some liquid from it. He raised his head and his nostrils widened. His eyes turned into narrow slits. ‘Bring her back or Augustine will be telling everyone she was forced away.’ His voice rolled like smoke under a doorway. ‘You’ll hang for this. I’ll pay the man who hangs you myself, so he ties your hands, but goes easy on the rope around your neck so it don’t slide. No quick snap. You’ll strangle. Slow and sweet.’ He took a drink from the mug and cold eyes looked into Brandt. ‘I’ll be there to watch, in front, with my wife, Katherine, by my side. And then I’ll take her home to celebrate, in bed.’ He smiled. ‘A wedding present. From me to her.’

  Brandt leaned closer to his face, forcing himself to ignore the fetid air surrounding Fillmore. ‘She’s already celebrated getting away from you and if you touch her, I will put you alive in a crypt. One no bigger than a dog would fit in.’