"A husband should care for his wife in sickness," she said. "It so states in the marriage vows."
"You are not my wife, so I have not promised you anything of the sort."
"You should begin as you would go on."
"There are servants for that sort of thing. Mother would never have subjected me to such indignities." He refilled his empty glass.
"My mother would have held my head while I was being sick and then washed my face afterward."
"Perhaps you should return to her then."
"I would, if I could. Oh, Jeremy, you neglected me so dreadfully. How could you be so unkind?"
"I, unkind? I did not soil your clothing and practically ruin your coach," he replied, clearly unmoved.
"I could not help myself. I get so sick when I travel."
"Well, then, why did you suggest we elope? You must have known it is at least three days' travel to Scotland, if the roads are dry."
"I did not think of that when I made my plans. I only wanted to escape."
"And I was a convenient tool. What a selfish girl you are." His eyes no longer shone with devotion, but instead showed disgust.
"I did not mean to be. I truly wanted to elope with you." She began to weep again. "Oh, Jeremy, please do not be unkind. I am sorry I ruined your clothing. And I do appreciate your rescuing me." She lowered her chin and looked at him from under her thick lashes, a tactic that always worked with her father. "Jeremy, please forgive me."
His anger was not proof against her pleading eyes and quivering chin. He patted her hand and told her to stop crying. "Let me pour you some brandy. You will feel much more the thing, and I could use another glass myself. Dinner should be served soon."
Chloe sipped her brandy. She had never tasted it before, and was not sure she liked its burning sensation on her tongue. The glow emanating from her midriff after the third sip was pleasant, however. Their dinner soon arrived and they set to willingly. The meal was not as elaborate as they would have received in a better inn, but it was well enough cooked and plentiful.
While they ate, Chloe considered what she might do to free herself from the pickle in which she had become enmeshed. She had no intention of marrying Jeremy. How was she to get herself back to London without causing talk? Would he be willing to share his coach for the return journey? She doubted it, now that he knew of her tendency to motion sickness.
For the first time, she realized she might well and truly have compromised herself. Her papa might demand that Jeremy make an honest woman of her.
Oh, no, I could not abide that. Papa will understand. He must!
The covers had been removed and she and Jeremy were sitting in an uncomfortable silence when she became aware that the private parlor next door was also inhabited. From the half-heard comments and loud laughter, she decided it was occupied by a group of gentlemen making merry. When the waiter came in to remove the covers, Lord Everingham asked him why the inn was so full.
"It's that mill, my lord. Lawks, you was lucky to get here early. We're plumb full, for all we're twelve miles from Turvey."
"Good God!" Everingham exclaimed. "I forgot."
"What did you forget?"
"The mill. I was going to go to it myself. Now we are in the soup. We must get you to your bedchamber immediately, before someone sees you." He looked fearfully about the room as if expecting his mother's spies to be lurking in each corner.
"Why?"
"If there is a crowd of gentlemen from London in this very inn, someone may recognize us. You would be ruined."
He rose to pace the length of the chamber. "You must go to your bedchamber immediately, and remain there until everyone has left the inn tomorrow morning."
"I will not. It small and cold, and the chimney smokes. I wish to remain here. Why can you not go to your chamber?"
Everingham pulled himself to his full height, but somehow failed to look either imposing or commanding. "Go at once, Chloe."
"You may not give me orders. We are not married, nor will we be. I will not be dictated to. I shall remain here as long as you do."
"You are a spoiled brat, Miss Hazelbourne!"
"And you are a mama's boy with no hint of a spine."
"Well, you have the temper of a shrew and I am sick of it."
"As I am of your cowardice. I will stay in this room and I will not go to bed. If you try to force me to do so, I shall scream."
"Scream away, my dear," he said. "It will not be my reputation destroyed."
"It will too, for you will be as ruined as your wife."
"My mother would never forgive me if I made you my wife."
She was suddenly afraid. "She might not, but I will be your wife, if I am compromised." The possibility seemed somewhat more desirable than it had a few minutes ago.
"My mother told me you were a scheming female. Would that I had listened to her."
"Your mother!" Chloe shrieked. "Your mother may rot for all I care. I thought you were a man. You are nothing but a little boy still tied to his mother's apron strings!"
"I am a gentleman and a peer of the realm," he shouted back, "and I do not have to listen to vilification from a common chit."
"How do you propose to escape it, my lord?" she yelled. "You brought me here unaccompanied and I will tell everyone that you did so for immoral purposes. You will marry me, my lord, or I will destroy your reputation."
"And your own in the process. Cry quits, Miss Hazelbourne. My consequence is so much greater than yours that you will not be believed. Besides, my mother will come to my assistance, and her influence is considerable."
His mention of his mother was too much for Chloe. She seized the glass of brandy from the table and flung it, glass and all, at his face. His yowl of rage and pain, as the strong liquor stung his eyes and the heavy glass struck his forehead, followed her as she dashed into the corridor.
Chloe's headlong rush through the corridor was halted when a tall, dark man stepped from the door of the adjacent parlor.
"Oh, please sir, let me pass. I must escape," she cried.
"If you are being pursued, perhaps you could use some assistance," he replied.
Just then Everingham, still half blinded from the brandy, blundered after her.
"Ah, Everingham, I presume. Why are you pursuing this young lady?"
Everingham stopped short. "Wilderlake? Is that you, Wilderlake?" he said in a faint voice.
"Wilderlake?" Chloe whispered. "Oh, no!" She crowded past him and ran up the stairs.
Chapter Twelve
Wilderlake and his companions had watched their favorite go down to defeat. The Plymouth Pug had proved no match for his bigger, faster opponent. After paying off their bets, they repaired to the inn where they had earlier reserved a private parlor. Despite their disappointment at the fight's outcome, they settled in for a convivial evening. Wine consumed with dinner and port afterward increased their jollity, so that all four were in high spirits when a woman's angry voice came from the parlor next to theirs.
At first he ignored the altercation, but as it continued, Wilderlake became concerned. He could not hear the words, but he could tell that the woman from whom they issued was in great distress. He decided to fetch the innkeeper, to suggest that he investigate. As he stepped into the corridor, a young woman in garments that spoke of her gentility flew from the next room and ran full into him. She immediately pulled back and asked to be let by, never once showing her face. As he moved aside, he saw a young man rush from the room in pursuit. His face and hair were wet. Wilderlake recognized him in the light shining through the open doorway.
"Ah, Everingham, I presume. Why are you pursuing this lady?" He was intrigued to discover the unimpressive young lord in such an inn with a woman. His impression of Everingham was poor, for the fellow seemed overly attached to his mother. Along with many bachelors of the ton, Wilderlake thought him a fussy, effeminate fellow.
The young woman, who had paused after passing Wilderlake, shrieked, then ran up
the stairs. Everingham attempted to follow her, but Wilderlake barred his way.
"I do not believe the young lady cares for your company" he said.
"Stand aside, Wilderlake," Everingham said, trying to dodge him. "This is none of your concern."
"No, it is not, yet she has the look of quality. I wish to know why she was so bent upon escaping you."
"I will kill her!" Everingham cried.
"I could not permit that," Wilderlake told him. "Come, Everingham, do calm yourself."
One of the others snickered "She probably attempted to seduce him and he is insulted."
"Or she turned him down, and he is enraged," another suggested.
"Here, Everingham, come into your parlor and tell me what this is about. You three, return to your port." He pushed the younger man through the open door and closed it on him. Turning to his friends, he said, "Everingham has probably embroiled himself in something that he has not the wit to handle. Let me see what I can discover."
"Good God, Herne," one of his friends said, "are you mad? The girl is obviously no better than she should be, else she would not be here with that young fool. Instead of helping him, we should be knocking on her door. Perhaps she could ease our loneliness this evening, and we could have a bit of sport."
"You always was a puritan," another added.
The third started toward the stairs. "I'll go and see what's amiss with the girl. She looked a choice bit, even in this dim light."
Wilderlake stopped the bantering and his friend's progress down the corridor with a stern, "That's enough. Get you back into our parlor. I can handle this without help from you three idiots. If the girl is truly a maiden in distress we must come to her aid."
"Aw, Herne, you just want her for yourself," the one who had attempted pursuit complained.
Wilderlake shoved his friends back, saying, "You're drunk. All three of you. Go back to your wine. I won't be long." He closed them into their parlor and returned to Everingham, whom he found sitting at a table with his hands covering his face.
"Now then, what is all this? Is the girl a lightskirt? Or is she the lady she appeared?"
"I do not associate with lightskirts!"
"Of course you do not. I daresay your mother would not allow it."
"My mother has nothing to say--" Everingham sat erect in the chair and let his head fall back. A deep sigh shook his slight frame. "I wish I had never embarked on this insane adventure. She is a terrible girl. Look at me, Wilderlake. My garments are ruined. The second time today! She threw brandy in my face. Nearly blinded me." His voice held a hint of tears.
"Perhaps you had better tell me the whole tale from the beginning." Wilderlake poured a glass of brandy. "Here, drink this, and then tell me all about it."
Lord Everingham did so, with many false starts and parenthetical animadversions on the girl's character and temper and manners. When he described her sickness in the coach, Wilderlake was hard put to refrain from a snicker. As the tragicomic tale wound to its close, he still did not know the identity of the young woman who had led Everingham astray. Although all but overcome with curiosity, he bit back his questions.
"When I told her I did not wish to elope with her after all, she threatened to tell everyone I had abducted her," Everingham said, still sounding terribly put upon. "I assured her that my mother would assist me in shifting all the blame to her, should she do so. And then, Wilderlake, she threw brandy into my eyes!"
Wilderlake kept a close rein on his amusement. "What do you intend to do now? Will you return her to her family?"
"I shall visit a friend in the neighborhood, as I had planned to do before...before she led me astray. Alone. I do not care what becomes of Miss Hazelbourne."
"Miss Hazelbourne?" Wilderlake half rose and loomed over Everingham. "Do you mean to tell me the young lady you eloped with is Miss Hazelbourne?"
"Why yes, did I not say so? She convinced me that her parents and her sister were in league against her to prevent her achieving a success of her Season. Having had a taste of her tongue, I believe them well justified."
Before he could speak another word, Wilderlake seized his shirt in both hands and shook him like a wayward pup. "You brought that innocent girl out here, mistreated her, shouted at her, threatened her, and now you intend to abandon her. You cad! I should call you out."
Everingham fought to free himself. "You may try, but my mother does not approve of dueling. I would not accept your challenge."
One last shake and he threw Everingham aside with such force that he skidded across to floor to come up against the wall with a solid thud. "Get out of my sight, you puling halfwit, before I do violence to you." He advanced toward the cowering man with outstretched hands.
Everingham scrambled to his feet and slammed out the door.
Wilderlake took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his fists. He could see no way to get Miss Hazelbourne back to London tonight. Besides, his friends had already seen her. Even though they had not learned her name, they would recognize her later. Even if he was able to convince them to keep silent, eventually one would be sure to let something slip. Colly, especially, had a tongue that wagged at both ends. Once in his cups, he would be unable to keep such a delicious on dit to himself. Soon the whole of Society would know how Miss Hazelbourne had been found alone with Everingham at an inn, a full day's travel from London.
Wilderlake had himself suffered from Society's gossip as a young man. His father's profligate ways had been the talk of the ton, making him the target of sidewise looks and whispered comments about fortune hunters whenever he happened to partner an heiress in a dance. He could not let Miss Hazelbourne suffer a similar fate.
He shook his head in consternation, for he was unsure of which Miss Hazelbourne was in need of his aid. He probably should find out, even if he had no clear idea of how to manage the task as yet. He rang for the waiter.
That individual was hesitant to direct Wilderlake to Miss Hazelbourne's bedchamber. The information cost him a crown and the indignity of being subjected to the servant's knowing winks and nods. He climbed the stairs and knocked upon her door.
"Go away. I never want to see you again," came a muffled voice from within.
"Miss Hazelbourne, it is I, Wilderlake. Please come to the door. I wish to help you."
Silence. He knocked again. Finally, he heard the key turn and the door was pulled open a crack.
He peered into the darkened room, but could see little beyond the shape of her face and the small hand clutching something at her throat. "Miss Hazelbourne, Everingham has declared he does not intend to return you to your family. I have come to offer my services in his stead."
"No."
"You will not accept my help? Come Miss Hazelbourne, you cannot stay here forever."
"I cannot return to my family." she sobbed. "They hate me. And I have ruined myself,"
He pushed open the door, forcing her to move backward. Now he could see that she was clad in a nightgown, with a ragged quilt wrapped over it. Her eyes were puffy from weeping and her hair was loose and straggly about her shoulders. She bore little resemblance to the confident and well dressed young woman who had soothed his brow after his accident.
Was this she? Or her sister? If only he could see the color of her eyes.
She retreated to the bed as he entered the room and closed the door behind himself. Leaning against it, he regarded the frightened girl cowering against the bed. "Miss Hazelbourne, I did not come here to offer you insult or harm. Please believe me."
She retreated farther, backing up onto the bed, and perching upon its edge. "He said...he promised...he called me..." she hiccupped as the tears streamed down her cheeks and she tried to find words. "Oh, Lord Wilderlake, I am ruined!" she finally wailed.
His heart torn by her distress, Wilderlake went to her. Sitting beside her, he took her hands gently in his. Her sobs slowly stopped and she wiped her eyes with a corner of the quilt. Lifting enormous, trusting blue eyes to his, she
essayed a tremulous smile.
Which one has blue eyes. Damme. Why can't I remember?
"That is better. Now, we must discuss what we are to do with you."
"I cannot return to my family. Oh, what am I to do?"
"I am certain your family will welcome you back with great relief. They must be sick with worry for you. Unless they know where you are..."
"No, they do not. I stole out of the house during the night. I cannot go back. They will be so angry with me."
"I rather think that they would be so glad to know that you are safe that they will not even reprimand you, should you return unharmed."
"But I am not unharmed," she wailed.
"Not? Did he..." So great a rage consumed him that he could not continue.
"Oh, no, Lord Everingham did not touch me. But my reputation! He said that his mother would tell everyone that I had lured him here. And she would. She is a wicked, vengeful woman." The sobs broke out anew.
He pulled her into his arms. As she wept against his chest, he became aware of a great feeling of tenderness. No matter the cost to himself, she must be protected from the results of her injudicious actions. The solution, when it came to him, struck him as so perfect, so right, that he wondered why he had not seen it immediately.
"For Lady Everingham to blacken your reputation would be impossible, if you were my wife."
"You wife! But you would not... You could not wish to marry me!"
"If that is what it will take to ensure that your good name is unblemished, I will do so. Will you do me that very great honor, Miss Hazelbourne?"
"I cannot. I cannot take advantage of your chivalry."
He caught her chin on the edge of his hand and forced her to look into his eyes. "You were willing to take advantage of Everingham's foolishness to obtain him as your husband. You tricked him into this elopement, did you not?"
She blushed as she gave a tiny nod.
"Unlike him, I am fully aware of the implication of my proposal to you. I am no callow youth with an overbearing mother. You have not tricked me into anything. I had intended to seek a wife this Season, even though the restoration of my fortunes has still a long way to go.
A Sisterly Regard Page 15