The Viscount's Unconventional Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘With the women and children sir?’ she queried. ‘I collect you said we should all heave together.’

  He chuckled. She was nothing if not determined and he could not argue with her without giving her and himself away. ‘Then find something to wedge under the wheels when we lift it.’ He went back to the stricken coach. The coachman, guard, Joe and the young man joined him and together they bent to take a hold of the coach.

  Louise, looking about for a thick branch to use as a lever, saw Greg Turner pick up a rock from a small heap beside the road, probably put there to help fill potholes. The coach was a few inches out of the mud and Louise pushed the end of the branch under the gap at Jonathan’s direction. He took hold of the branch and put his weight on it, bringing the coach a little higher. ‘Get something else under it,’ he ordered.

  Louise looked round as Turner came forwards with the rock. It was moment or two before she realised he was not bringing it to put under the body of the coach. He was holding it too high. And the expression on his face was one of pure venom. He was going to bring it down on Mr Linton’s head! Joe saw him and, too far away to do anything, yelled a warning just as Louise sprang forwards with a rock in her own hand. The next second the dreadful man was lying on the floor, out to the world. Jonathan let go of the branch and turned in surprise. Louise, unsure whether she had killed the man, was staring down at him in dismay.

  ‘He was going to kill you,’ she said, throwing the rock to the ground.

  ‘Oh, Lou,’ he murmured. She was trembling and he wanted to take her into his arms and soothe her, tell her not to worry, that she was the most courageous woman he had ever come across, but he held himself in check. Now was not the time or the place, with everyone tired and irritable, soaked to the skin and only wanting to find somewhere in the warm.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, as Joe bent over the man to examine him. ‘Why did he want to kill you?’

  ‘I have no idea, but I cannot think I have lived all my life without making an enemy or two. I am in your debt, Mr Smith. I owe you my life.’

  ‘Then we are quits,’ she said with an attempt at a jocularity. ‘You spared mine, I saved yours.’

  ‘He ain’t dead,’ Joe said. ‘But he’s got a nasty cut on ’is ’ead.’ He turned the man over. The rain had washed his mud-spattered face, washed the ruddy makeup from his face in patches, revealing a pasty complexion, and his dark hair streaked with grey. ‘I know him,’ Joe said suddenly.

  ‘So do I,’ Jonathan murmured. ‘It’s Jed Black. This is turning out to be quite an eventful journey.’

  ‘Who is Jed Black?’ Louise asked.

  ‘He is a convicted felon, a dangerous man. He escaped from Newgate ten days since. The authorities will be thankful to have him safely back under lock and key.’

  His words convinced Louise that Betty was right—he was a thieftaker. First there had been those two highwaymen whom he had arrested. He knew they were wanted by the law and now this man whom he had also recognised as a law breaker. He was not her guardian angel, not her anything. His interest in their coach had nothing to do with her. She felt crushed, which, she scolded herself, was foolish in the extreme. She ought to feel relief. ‘What was he convicted of?’ she asked

  ‘Murder and counterfeiting coins of the realm. That’s treason, you know.’

  ‘Murder!’ she repeated, shocked to think she and the others had spent hours in his company. He could have killed them all.

  ‘Yes. Tie him up, Joe. Then we had better make a move. I think we shall have to abandon the coach.’

  The coachman was reluctant to do that, being responsible for it, but it had become evident that one of the wheels was broken and it could not be driven on three, even if they righted it. It was quickly arranged for the coachman and guard to ride two of the horses and lead the other two. There was room in Jonathan’s coach for Mrs Slater and her child, Louise, Betty and Jonathan himself. The schoolboy and his escort climbed up beside Joe. The luggage was strapped on the roof and the trussed-up convict they bundled into the boot along with the wet blankets. He had regained his senses and swore revenge on the whippersnapper who had felled him, but Jonathan threatened to hit him over the head again if he did not shut up and he lapsed into silence.

  Compared with the public coach this was luxurious, Louise realised. It had more headroom and bigger windows and its seats were padded. And it had steel springs; that, more than anything, contributed to its comfort. It did not mean they could bowl along at any sort of speed; the heavy load combined with the rain and the state of the roads precluded that, but suddenly she was in no hurry to arrive at their destination.

  He had called her Lou, which could have been used to mean Louis or Louise and no doubt he had heard Betty use it. But the way he had said it! Softly, almost tenderly. He was sitting beside her now, his arm pressing against hers, his leg very close to hers, the only thing separating them was the material of two pairs of breeches, his and hers.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what madness had sent her on this expedition, masquerading as a man. She did not make a very good man. If, as Betty suspected, Mr Linton knew her for a woman, she was not surprised. She was too small and her curves were in all the wrong places. And sometimes she forgot to lower her voice as well as letting him see how horrified she had been at felling that man. She had never hurt another human being in her life and she might have killed him. Even thinking about it made her shake.

  He noticed it and smiled to himself. He would have her out of that coat and breeches and back in skirts before he was done. He wanted to treat her as a woman, with kindness and gentleness and compassion, to put his arms about her and calm her nerves, to taste those warm inviting lips and tell her how brave and lovely she was.

  ‘What are you smiling at, Mr Linton?’ Her voice penetrated his reverie.

  ‘Was I smiling?’

  ‘Indeed you were. Pray, share the joke with us.’

  ‘I was smiling at the little boy. See, he is laughing now.’

  Why didn’t she believe him? He was laughing at her, she knew it and it infuriated her. Now, far from wanting the journey to last forever, she wished it over with. The humiliation was more than she could bear.

  Chapter Four

  It was dark by the time they arrived in Tuxford and they saw nothing of the village as Joe pulled the carriage up in the yard of the Crown, where they all tumbled out, tired, wet and dishevelled, not to mention hungry. The young man and the schoolboy left them, and in no time at all Jonathan had organised rooms for everyone else and for fires to be lit to help them dry themselves. He ordered a substantial meal and sent for the village wise woman to tend those who had been hurt. She bathed Mrs Slater’s head with a soothing balm and bound up Betty’s wrist. It was not broken, she assured them, the young lady had simply twisted it and in a day or two the swelling would go down and she would be as good as new. Betty was given a good dose of Godfrey’s cordial, which served to make her drowsy. She said she did not want any supper, so Louise left her sleeping in their room while she went down to the dining room.

  She had barely begun her meal when Jonathan joined her. He had changed out of his wet coat and was now sporting a forest-green one with leather buttons. ‘How are the invalids?’ he asked, noticing she had not changed her coat, probably because she did not have another one.

  ‘They are recovering.’ She wished he would not look at her like that, studying her face as if there was something strange about it. He was always doing that and she found it most disconcerting. ‘I left my wife sleeping.’

  This, he knew, was to reinforce her masculine charade. ‘And you, how are you?’

  ‘I am perfectly well, I thank you.’

  ‘Is your coat not wet?’

  ‘No, I dried it by the fire in my room.’

  ‘Then let us hope you do not catch a cold.’

  ‘I am as fit as a fiddle,’ she said. ‘I cannot remember the last time I took a cold.’ She hoped she was right. In her presen
t circumstances it would not do to be ill. She changed the subject hurriedly. ‘What have you done with your prisoner?’

  ‘I have taken him to the local constabulary. He has been securely locked in the round house with a guard put on him until the morning when he will have to be conveyed back to Newgate.’

  ‘How?’

  It was a question that had been exercising his mind ever since the man had been trussed up. He did not want to abandon Louise to take him back to London himself and yet he could not leave him where he was. The fellow was notorious for escaping from prisons and he would be out of the round house in no time. ‘He must be conveyed in shackles to the nearest sizeable town and handed over to the magistrate who will arrange his onward journey in a guarded prison van,’ he said.

  ‘And will you take him yourself?’

  He understood she was worried about the rest of her journey. Could it be that he was becoming of some use to her? She certainly needed someone to look out for her. She seemed to have a penchant for attracting trouble and he was reluctant to leave her, ought not to, considering bringing her home to her parents was the task he had been set, and not dealing with other criminals he met along the way. But they had to be dealt with, whatever his personal inclinations might be. ‘I shall go with the escort as far as Lincoln. The town is sure to have facilities for sending him on.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was more than ever convinced he was a thieftaker. In ordinary circumstances this would not have bothered her; she might even have been curious about the kind of life he led and talked to him about it, but these were not ordinary circumstances. She was plagued by guilt for taking the clothes and the weapons, especially the pistol. Luke might have reported it stolen, not realising she had it. This man, whom she had come to rely upon so much and for whom she had come to have a high regard, might be intent on arresting her.

  The thought of being taken up and conveyed to prison as Jed Black was being conveyed terrified her. If that happened, her father, by whom she meant the Reverend Vail, the man of God, would wash his hands of her and she would be without a friend in the world. And she would never find her real mother. On the other hand, if Mr Linton went off to Lincoln, she could go on without him and lose herself once they arrived in York. He did not know exactly where she was bound. Come to that, neither did she.

  ‘I wonder how long it will take to repair the coach,’ she said.

  ‘I am persuaded it cannot be mended here. I believe a flat cart is being sent to take it to a coachbuilder.’

  ‘You mean we are stuck here?’

  ‘I have been informed by mine host that another coach will arrive the day after tomorrow and with luck there will be spare seats.’

  ‘Oh.’ Two days. Could he go to Lincoln and back in two days?

  He could almost read her thoughts and smiled. She would not escape from him so easily. ‘I have another solution,’ he said. ‘You are welcome to use my carriage. I shall not need it going to Lincoln. I have hired amount…’

  ‘But, sir…’

  ‘Oh, do not tell me you cannot accept,’ he put in. ‘I have already spoken to Mrs Slater and she is very happy to avail herself of my offer. Her husband is to meet her in Doncaster and she is already behindhand. She does not wish to worry him any more than can be helped.’ He paused to give her his most winning smile. ‘She will not like going on alone, you know, and you will be a fitting escort for her. And to be sure, Mrs Smith will be able to have her wrist properly looked at in Doncaster.’

  All of which was true. ‘But are you not afraid to entrust so splendid a vehicle to me?’ she queried. ‘I know nothing of carriages and how they should be looked after.’

  ‘Now, you do surprise me,’ he said laconically. ‘A more than fair duellist, an intrepid traveller who turns not a hair when being held up by highwaymen and is swift to act in a crisis, must be master of all manly talents, including tooling a coach.’

  He was teasing her. Did that mean he had penetrated her disguise? She must not let him see how dismayed she was by this. She assumed her deepest voice. ‘Now you are roasting me, sir. And I shall perhaps have to be the one to call you out this time.’

  ‘No, I beg you not to do anything of the sort,’ he said, laughing. ‘I ask your pardon.’

  ‘Granted,’ she said with relief.

  ‘Going back to the matter of the carriage,’ he said. ‘I do not expect you to drive it, you know. Joe will do that. Young he may be, but I would trust him with my life.’

  ‘And with the lives of the rest of us,’ she said tartly.

  ‘That is for you to say, but if you do not, he will be sorely hurt, I promise you.’

  ‘I never said that!’ She had dug another pit for herself, she realised. ‘Naturally, I shall be very grateful for the use of your carriage and coachman as far as Doncaster.’

  ‘That is settled then. Do try some of this pudding, it is delicious.’ And he offered her the dish.

  Later he sat in his room and wrote up his report to send on to the Gentleman’s Club. He told of the arrest of Jed Black and the arrangements he had made for him to be conveyed back to Newgate, nothing about a girl dressed as a man, nothing about wonderful hazel eyes with green flecks, nothing about copper-coloured hair and pale hands, nothing about warm red lips and a squeaky voice that made him want to laugh, made him want to grab hold of her, feel her soft body in his arms and kiss the truth out of her. Nothing about Louise Vail at all.

  The next morning Louise woke early to find the rain had stopped and the sun was shining. She rose and went to the window. She could see part of the main street as far as the bend in the road, but it seemed every other building was an inn and they were not old ones either; the place looked newly built. But that was all it had to recommend it. The road was awash with mud and when she looked beyond the buildings, the fields that surrounded the village were waterlogged. Looking after the traveller appeared to be the only means of livelihood for most of its inhabitants.

  As she stood there, she saw Mr Linton leave the building and cross the yard to where a horse stood ready saddled. He turned and looked back as he reached it and, seeing her, put his hand to the brim of his hat in salute, before picking up the reins, springing easily into the saddle and cantering off.

  She stood a moment, staring out of the window, her mind in turmoil. How had she let herself become so dependent on him, not only for practical things like making sure they were well received at the inns, rescuing them from criminals and lending them his coach, but in more subtle ways, that had more to do with her feelings? She realised she leaned on him as a woman might lean on a man. Her dependency was to do with her senses, her emotions, her confidence, her very real need for someone to support her when she felt alone and weak. He fulfilled those needs. In any other circumstances, she could easily fall in love with him. The thought shocked her and she gave herself a severe scolding. Nothing and no one must divert her from her purpose.

  He could not possibly know what she thought of him and yet he had helped her and apparently expected to continue to do so or he would never have put his coach and horses at her disposal. Why? The question plagued her as she turned to wake Betty and help her dress, before climbing back into her own, now hated, male garments. ‘Mr Linton is to lend us his coach to go on to Doncaster,’ she told the girl. ‘Joe is going to drive it.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ Betty said complacently. ‘It’s a hundred times more comfortable than the public coach. Travel in style, we will.’

  That was true. The carriage was luxurious and not in keeping with Mr Linton’s plain clothes and easygoing manner. It was more like a vehicle for a nobleman and a fastidious one at that. Perhaps the rewards the man received for arresting thieves were enough to buy fancy carriages. But if that were so, why did he not also buy himself a fitting wardrobe? And why was he not going all the way back to London with Black to claim his reward? Why lend them his carriage and say he would see them later? He was a real mystery and yet it occurred to her that although she did not know
anything about him, he seemed to be the one constant thing in her constantly moving world. Was he, like her, using an alias? Was he, like her, in disguise? Was that why they were drawn towards each other?

  ‘I sometimes wonder how a man like that, who is not dressed anything out of the ordinary, can have a carriage as grand as that,’ Louise murmured as they went down to breakfast.

  ‘Oh, he is not any ordinary man,’ Betty said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Joe said he was a real gentleman.’

  ‘Well, of course he is,’ Louise said sharply. ‘I never thought anything else.’

  Joe was waiting for them at the breakfast table. He had ordered ham and eggs and toast and coffee, he told them, after bidding them good morning. While they were eating he went out to see that the carriage was ready and their bags safely stowed in the boot.

  Betty was right about the journey being more comfortable, even though the roads were as bad as ever. Louise suspected Betty had taken a good dose of some restorative before setting out; she was determined to chatter, but, receiving little more than monosyllables from Louise, turned her attention to Mrs Slater and the little boy, whose name they had discovered was Will, tickling him and making him giggle. Louise smiled at them, but her thoughts were with Mr Jonathan Linton. His presence seemed almost a tangible thing. It was almost as if he were sitting beside her, his knee brushing against hers, his head bent, murmuring in her ear. And what she liked to imagine he was saying made her blush.

  As they approached Doncaster, the traffic increased. There were coaches, carriages and wagons converging on the town, along with a great many horses. ‘Horse racing!’ Betty said in excitement. ‘We have come in time for the races.’

  ‘Doncaster is famed for its horse racing,’ Mrs Slater put in. ‘On race days the town is packed.’