Blood Marriage

by Regina Richards

  Mrs. Huntington shot Devlin an angry look. "Turn around and march right back into the garden. All of you. Quickly!"

  In obedient silence the gentlemen turned on their heels and, with the group, followed their hostess through a series of winding garden paths. Mrs. Huntington set a brisk pace that left no time to speak. Elizabeth struggled to keep up, her knees burning with the effort. Yet she fell farther and farther behind. Eventually, she lost sight of the party and, when she came to an intersection in the pathways, would not have known which way to go, except that Lord Devlin was waiting. He offered her his arm and she took it, grateful to lean on him and ease the pain a bit.

  When they finally emerged from the high trellised arch that marked an exit from the gardens, the rest of the party was waiting. Mrs. Huntington directed a considering look at Lord Devlin before addressing Elizabeth. "Follow me, child."

  Mrs. Huntington had brought them to a side of the house well away from the ballroom and her guests. She hustled the group through a servant's entrance, past her astonished kitchen staff, down a long corridor and into a handsome paneled study.

  "Sit," she commanded, pointing toward the twin sofas and stuffed chairs that faced each other before an empty hearth. Gratefully, Elizabeth dropped into a seat on one of the sofas, the burning in her knees almost past bearing. Mrs. Blakely, still hugging her daughter, led the girl to the other sofa. Amanda no longer cried, but her expression was bleak, her eyes red. Mr. Fosse sat on a chair close to her. Mrs. Huntington took the remaining seat on the sofa beside the Blakelys.

  Elizabeth looked around the room. Three seats remained, two on the sofa beside her and a single chair near the fireplace. Countess Glenbury and Harriet paused in front of the sofa where Elizabeth was sitting. Her employer's expression brought her to her feet faster than she would have believed possible. With a huff the woman and her daughter seated themselves on the sofa, leaving no room for Elizabeth. Harriet turned a satisfied smirk up at her.

  "Sit," Mrs. Huntington said again.

  Devlin left the fireplace where he'd been standing and held out his hand to Elizabeth. She put her hand in his. He seated her in the single chair and returned to the fireplace.

  Mrs. Huntington sighed, then looked around at the assembly. "Well?"

  The room erupted into a babble of voices. Amanda sobbed incomprehensibly to her mother while Mr. Fosse translated as best he could, repeating the story of the moth and things getting out of hand.

  Harriet complained loudly that Elizabeth had ruined her season, insisting she would be lucky to find a husband at all once the ton discovered the type of woman she'd been forced to associate with. But the triumphant gleam in the girl's eyes seemed more jubilant than wounded. Elizabeth ignored Harriet's smugness. It was the countess who held her attention.

  "When Mrs. Barton came and told me where you'd gone, I couldn't believe it! After all I've done for you and your mother, this is the way you repay me?" The countess's chin jutted forward. "You. Miss Elizabeth Smith, will not reside under my roof a single night more. Pick up your things and your mother by noon tomorrow. You are--"

  "Enough." Lord Devlin barely raised his voice, yet the babbling ceased as if an artillery shell had exploded overhead. All eyes turned to him. "There has been a misunderstanding."

  "I don't think so. Look at them." Harriet waved her arms at Amanda and Elizabeth. "They've obviously been off in the garden with you and Mr. Fosse behaving in a most vulgar manner."

  "There was nothing vulgar about it!" Mr. Fosse stood up. "I will not have Miss Blakely's name tarnished. I was the one at fault, not she."

  "Sit down, you fool." Devlin shoved Mr. Fosse in the chest. He toppled back into his seat.

  "Mr. Fosse?" The dowager countess practically sparkled at the hint of a juicy bit of gossip. "But isn't Miss Blakely engaged to Lord Devlin?"

  Amanda burst into tears and buried her head in her mother's shoulder. That woman looked confused. Her gaze transferred from Mr. Fosse to Lord Devlin and back again.

  "Was." Devlin's eyes were on Elizabeth. "There has been a change of plan."

  "Which is what happens when you don't stay in the pink roses," Mrs. Huntington murmured under her breath.

  "Mr. Fosse and I are old friends, aren't we Leo? Granted, I was engaged to Miss Blakely, but it has become obvious she and Mr. Fosse will suit better than she and I. It is Mr. Fosse and Miss Blakely who are now engaged."

  "But she's still wearing your ring!" Harriet pointed to Miss Blakely's finger.

  Amanda lifted her head and gazed through teary eyes at Mr. Fosse. "We're engaged?"

  "Absolutely!" Mr. Fosse replied.

  Amanda's face was suddenly radiant. She pulled Lord Devlin's ring from her finger and handed it to him, never taking her eyes from Mr. Fosse. He grinned besottedly back at her. Mrs. Blakely blinked, confused. She fingered the smudges and tears on her daughter's dress as if she had only just noticed them. Her eyes grew wide and she looked over at Mrs. Huntington.

  "Perhaps it should be a quiet wedding. Soon," Mrs. Huntington said. "You are welcome to use any of the rose gardens."

  Mrs. Blakely nodded.

  "It might be best to take Amanda home now." Mrs. Huntington stood and moved to a rope pull near the door.

  Mrs. Blakely nodded again.

  "Have Mr. Fosse's carriage brought to the back entrance," Mrs. Huntington told the servant who answered the call-bell with suspicious speed.

  When the trio had gone, Mrs. Huntington faced Devlin. "Well?"

  Nicholas opened his mouth to speak, but the countess had already turned on Elizabeth.

  "You are ruined! There won't be a person in this city who won't know of your disgraceful behavior by tomorrow," the countess said. Harriet smirked.

  Cold despair crept over Elizabeth, lodging like ice in her chest. Her reputation was the least of her worries. What mattered was what she and her mother would do, where they would go, how they would live for whatever time remained to each of them. They had no relatives to seek out, and over the years of tragedy, illness, and poverty they'd lost touch with the few friends they'd once had. If the countess turned them out, how would they survive? Elizabeth tried to calm the panic rising within her, searching her mind frantically for the words that would convince her employer to change her mind, but the ice in her chest seemed to have frozen her brain as well.

  "To think," the countess continued, "I took you in and treated you like a dau--"

  "You are correct, Countess Glenbury." Devlin cut the woman off in mid-sentence. "The ton will be gossiping tomorrow. But what they'll be saying depends on you."

  The dowager's head snapped around. He had her attention.

  "If they are talking about Miss Smith," his voice hardened, "I promise you, they will also be talking about why Lady Harriet slapped me in the middle of the ballroom. The reason won't be a spider."

  "You would not!" Harriet turned to her mother. "He will not, will he Mama?"

  A calculating expression lit the dowager's eyes. "It's too late to save Miss Smith, Lord Devlin. Lady Barton is the one who told me you'd gone into the garden. She was there watching when you came out as well. The woman is a notorious gossip. Half the ballroom will already know." The dowager's voice took on a sweeter tone. "There is no reason to destroy my innocent daughter."

  Devlin looked at Elizabeth, then back at the countess.

  "Well?" Mrs. Huntington prompted.

  Elizabeth was beginning to find that expression ominous.

  Lord Devlin sighed. "I will be hosting a house party at Heaven's Edge, my family's country home, in honor of my good friend Mr. Fosse and his new bride. I would be delighted if you, Countess Glenbury, and your daughter would attend as my special guests."

  The dowager's face brightened. An invitation to the home of a duke was a rare triumph for any society matron, but it was a true tour de force for the mother of a girl in her first season.

  Lord Devlin's gaze swept Elizabeth from the hem of her unfashionable gown to the top of
her disheveled hair and an odd fierceness burned in his blue eyes. Suddenly, Elizabeth felt lightheaded.

  Mrs. Huntington was nodding, a small smile playing at her lips.

  Devlin's eyes never left Elizabeth. "While you are there, Countess Glenbury, I hope you and your daughter will share our joy and witness my marriage to Miss Elizabeth Smith."

  The countess gasped. Harriet screamed.

  Chapter Eight

  Jack Fielding rubbed the stubble on his chin and sucked a bit of cold sausage from between his teeth. Even cold, Maria's sausage was the best he'd ever had. Too bad he hadn't been able to properly enjoy it, grabbing it as he had on his way out of the house at this ungodly hour.

  "Same as the others," Lennie Hodges said, pulling back the collar of the dead jarvie's coat while his superior leaned into the hackney for a closer look. "That's the fourth in three months. First male, though."

  "Who found this one?" Fielding pulled out the gloves Maria insisted on stowing in his pocket. He put them on. The leather hugged his thick fingers like a second skin, protecting them from the pre-dawn chill.

  "A bobby making his rounds. Passed by once and saw the horses tied to the tree. Said he figured it was a couple having a go. Only reason for a jarvie to stop in the park this time o' night." Lennie spat tobacco on the grass, adjusted the remaining ball of it in his mouth and nodded toward the corpse. "Found him when he passed by an hour later and the hackney and horses were still tied in the same spot. Already asked about the reward for bringing this sort to our attention. Told him to pick it up at Bow Street in the morning."

  Fielding grunted. Paying rewards to officers of the law for doing their jobs didn't sit well with him, but considering who was putting up the reward money and why, he thought it best to keep his thoughts on that subject to himself.

  "Anyone else been on the scene?" he asked.

  "You, me, and the bobby."

  "It'll be light in another hour. We'll wait and see what can be seen then."

  "One thing more." Lennie held out his closed fist to Fielding. "Found these on the body. Not many jarvies carrying that type of purse."

  Fielding held out his gloved hand and heard the clink of coins as Lennie dropped them onto his leathered palm. Two gold crowns gleamed in the moonlight.

  Chapter Nine

  A knock at her bedroom door sent apprehension frizzling up Elizabeth's spine. Her mother had been restless all day. The pain was growing worse, the disease advancing more quickly. It was almost as if, in the two days since the Huntington Ball, since she'd learned Elizabeth was engaged, her mother had stopped fighting the cancer. Despite the pain that wracked her body, believing Elizabeth's future secure seemed to have put Amelia Smith’s mind at peace.

  Amelia. Though she never said that name out loud, in her mind Elizabeth found herself more and more thinking of her mother by her Christian name. Amelia. When had it begun? And why? Perhaps it'd begun as an attempt to distance herself from the agony of the coming loss. Or perhaps, it was that caring for her mother, facing her death with her, had subtly altered the way she saw the woman who had given her life and so many years of unfailing love. She would always be her beloved mother. Yet now Elizabeth realized she was more. Amelia Smith was a person with a life and a story and a name of her own.

  Elizabeth's bare toes dug at the cold oak floor. She looked at the door, afraid to open it, afraid of what she might be told when she did. It'd been past 2 o'clock in the morning when Amelia had finally settled into an exhausted sleep. Elizabeth had been reluctant to leave her, but the hired nurse had insisted Elizabeth get some rest, promising to wake her if there was the slightest change.

  The knock sounded again, more insistent this time.

  "Coming, Nurse." Elizabeth tossed the dress she'd been about to take to the clothes press on the bed, then smoothed her cotton nightdress nervously. Bracing herself for bad news, she opened the door.

  "Halloo, Eliz'beth." Randall's breath smelled of brandy and cigars.

  Elizabeth tried to slam the door in his face, but it stopped at Randall's booted foot.

  "Leave, Randall! Now!" Elizabeth made her voice as harsh and commanding as she could. Though her surprise and anger at finding her employer's son at her door was tempered somewhat by her relief it was not the nurse. Randall was a minor annoyance. A drunk and a libertine, he'd been a nuisance from the first day she'd come to work for the countess, but he'd always been easy enough to put in his place, accepting her constant rejection with good grace. The fact that he would think for one moment she would entertain him in her room spoke to how foxed he must be tonight.

  "Leave," Elizabeth repeated.

  She opened the door just enough to slam it again, whacking it hard against his leg. He didn't budge. How much liquor had the man consumed to make him immune to such a blow? Randall belched and rammed his shoulder against the oak panel. The door flung wide, knocking Elizabeth backward. She stumbled, trying to stay on her feet. The backs of her thighs struck the soft edge of the bed. Randall sauntered in. He held a bottle of wine in one hand and waved two glasses in the air with the other.

  "I've come to toast the bride to be. Sporting of me considering the circumstances."

  "Get out!"

  "Not until we've had our toast." Randall kicked the door closed with one foot, then tipped the bottle, sloshing wine into both glasses, as well as onto the floor. He dropped the half-empty bottle and it rolled beneath a dresser, spilling its contents along the way. Randall held one of the wine glasses out to Elizabeth.

  "No. Get out, Randall."

  "It's expensive wine, Eliz'beth. The finest. I paid to have it smuggled in from France. And when I pay for something, I expect to enjoy it." Randall came toward her. Elizabeth skimmed down the side and around to the foot of the bed, putting a tall bedpost between them. Randall's smile was lecherous. "You'll enjoy it as well."

  Elizabeth's mouth went dry. Randall had always impressed her as more manipulative than brutal, but he'd been drinking. She'd be no match for him if he became rough. Her mind raced, searching for something to say.

  "Your mother would not like you to be here." It was weak, but it was all she could think of.

  Randall downed the contents of one wine glass and threw it across the room. It struck the side of the fireplace and shattered, raining glass shards over a nearby rug.

  "My mother has no opinions about where I am or what I do. She can't afford them." Randall chuckled and advanced. Elizabeth retreated around a second corner of the bed, putting another bedpost between them.

  "Who do you think pays the bills here, Elizabeth? The so grand Countess of Glenbury has no funds. It was my father's revenge for enduring a lifetime with her. He left everything to me."

  A few more steps and Randall would round the bed corner, trapping her in the 'U' formed by the bed and wall. Scrambling over the bed would be her only escape, but the pain and stiffness in her joints told her she'd have little chance of winning such a race. Elizabeth glanced at the dress on the bed, one of the few she owned in the modern high-bodice, waist-less Empire style. Its brown wool stood in stark relief against the white bed linens. She wished she wore it now. Her nightgown, though arguably even more modest than the dress, made her feel vulnerable.

  "Do you understand what I'm saying, m'dear?" Randall used the remaining wineglass to point at Elizabeth's bed. "This bed, this house, your wages, the doctor who 'ends your mother, I pay for them all. Doctors aren't cheap, Eliz'beth."

  "So you're the reason Countess Glenbury offered me this job?" Elizabeth's stomach felt like it'd fallen into her heels.

  "Grateful?"

  "But I'd never met you. How could you know about me?"

  "My mother's last companion ran into some hard luck. Got enceinte and my mother sacked her. I was helping her. And there, coming out of the very building she was moving into...." Randall sipped his wine and wriggled his eyebrows over the rim at her. "When your landlady told me of your sad situation, I knew you would cost me a small fortune.
But those eyes..."

  He reached across the corner of the bed and touched her chin. Elizabeth jerked away. He didn't appear offended.

  "I knew I had to have you, regardless of the cost. It was a bonus when your beauty put my spoiled little sister's nose out of joint. Forcing Harriet and Mother to take you on during Harriet's first season, to stand beside you, to be compared to you -- that's been great fun."

  "I'm no longer your mother's companion." Elizabeth kept her voice firm despite the panic pounding through her. "I'm to be married to Lord Devlin."

  Randall's face contorted with anger. "Yes, now Devlin wants you. Shall I send him a bill? Or would you prefer to pay me yourself, in your own way, and save your future husband the money and embarrassment?"

  Elizabeth felt herself calming. If Randall had intended to attack her, he would have done so already. For Randall the triumph had to be more than physical. He wanted to best her mentally, to manipulate her, to make her surrender.

  "The Devlin family is a powerful one," Elizabeth said, stalling for time. "It could be dangerous to compromise the virtue of the Duke of Marlbourne's future daughter-in-law."

  Randall snorted. "Have you met the duke? Not a man inclined to protecting virtue."

  "You would be taking a great risk," Elizabeth insisted. Her eyes kept going back to the dress on the bed.

  "You're worth it. Is refusing me worth the risk you would face? Would Devlin still marry you if he knew you'd come into this house not to be a companion, but a mistress? What would happen to your mother if you lost both my support and his?"

  Elizabeth lowered her head and let her shoulders slump. She crawled up to kneel on the bed facing Randall. Her hands clinched and flexed at the dress, pulling it toward her until it lay bunched at her knees. She patted the space she'd just cleared on the coverlet with one hand.

  Randall's head snaked merrily from side to side like a gleeful cobra. "Knew you'd see reason."