Marriage by Proxy

by Cathy Duke

  Amy found herself roughly thrown on the horse with Joseph behind her. She recognized that this was one of Arden's horses from their stable. Sitting in front of this man who had not bathed for days was about to gag her although that was the least of her problems.

  Chapter 17

  Brightmore Manor 1830

  Millie was pacing her room trying to think what she could do to assist in finding Amy. How could this happen? Snatched from one's garden in broad daylight and no one sees a thing. Rats! It was very disturbing. Who would want to take Amy? She was virtually a stranger to England…unless she was taken to punish Arden for something. He was such a kind and descent man that it was hard to imagine someone having grief with him.

  The door moved enough to reveal a red-headed imp peeking around to spot Millie pacing and talking to herself.

  “Who are you talking to, Aunt Millie?” the child asked, frowning as she looked around to see if another person was in the room.

  Millie stopped pacing and spotted the child. “Do come in Eva. I am talking to myself and it usually is very beneficial. Sometimes I solve problems much better when I have a conversation with myself about it. I am quite appropriate for Bedlam.”

  “Will that help us find Mama?” the child asked tearfully.

  Millie held her arms out for Eva. Eva wasted no time in running in for a warm hug and a much needed cry. Millie embraced Eva, patting her back as Eva sobbed.

  “Ahhh. Don't cry sweetheart. Your papa will find her and bring her back. Just you wait and see. It's hard not knowing and waiting is it not? But your papa is a very determined man.”

  “The bad man won't hurt her will he?” Eva asked her face already tear stained.

  Millie had no answer for that, but said, “certainly not.” Rats. She cradled the child against her trying to comfort herself at the same time. How she prayed that no harm came to her dear friend.

  Daisy scratched at the door and opened it before Millie could respond.

  “Excuse me, Miss. You have a visitor. She is waiting downstairs in the blue parlor.” Daisy was gone before Millie could ask any questions. Lord Somerset was with Arden and of course he was a he, not a she as Daisy indicated. So who would be visiting her? She knew no one in England.

  Eva pulled away from Millie and looked up to see Millie's face. “Are you going downstairs now? Maybe you should change your gown. It might be a princess or even a prince come to see you,” Eva offered seriously. Millie smiled. Oh, how this child's innocence delighted her and made her forget her woes. Eva fit perfectly into her own world of make-believe. What a delightful child.

  “I have doubt a prince or princess has come calling, however, I will change my gown just in case.”

  ****

  With Daisy and Eva's assistance, Millie was changed into a more formal gown fit for receiving guests. She rushed down the stairs anxious not to keep her guest waiting. Godwin stood in the entry way guarding the door to the blue parlor and bowed formally upon seeing Millie sweep down the stairs. His eyes scanned Millie with approval. Then his face went back to showing his usual boredom.

  “Lady Metcaffe to see you Miss Balston,” Godwin announced in a most formal voice that edged on theatrical. Millie paused for a moment with puzzlement. Who was Lady Metcaffe, she thought. Rats. She stood for a moment out of sight of the door and gathered her courage, calmed her racing heart and smoothed her stray hair back behind her ears.

  Millie marched into the room with confidence she didn't feel and saw a woman standing with her back to Millie staring out the window. The woman stood straight and tall her gown was expensive and stylish. She carried the scent of lemons and spice that Millie found comforting like home. Lady Metcalfe's gown was a beautiful shade of green with darker green and black trim that created elegance. The rich vibrant colors of the gown captured her rich auburn chestnut hair, shot with deep red accents. Her eyes must be green, Millie thought. Her hair could be mine too, thought Millie, although styled much grander.

  When the woman turned it was as if the two women were looking at mirror images of themselves. They both gasped at the same time. It would have been comical if not the shock of the moment. There was silence while both women caught their breaths.

  “Oh, my heavens,” Beatrice Metcaffe muttered under her breath. “You….

  “I don't understand,” Millie whispered. Both women took a deep breath.

  “Let us sit down while we discuss this, shall we? Godwin is bringing us tea, while my husband, Gavin, is in the library drinking something more substantial. Although I think we both could use a brandy at this time. Let us start from the beginning, shall we? I am Beatrice Metcaffe.”

  Millie nodded. “I am Millicent Balston, although I much prefer ‘Millie'.” Millie thought she witnessed surprise on the other woman's face, but it disappeared before she could analyze it further. Beatrice made a slight nod indicating that she understood the request.

  “Then Millie it is,” Bea smiled at the younger version of herself.

  Godwin tapped at the closed door and slipped in with a tray for the two women which he set on the table between them. He bowed and quietly slipped out, closing the door behind him. Godwin showed not a sign of his reaction at seeing two women looking so alike. Bea picked up the teapot and started to pour.

  “I shall take on the role of host, if you like. How do you take your tea, Millie?” she asked pouring the tea and looking up for direction.

  “Oh, I prefer it with lemon only, please.” Bea used the silver tongs to place a slice of lemon in the cup. She handed the cup to Millie and poured her own.

  “I think I shall start at the beginning, Millie. There is no other place to start.” Bea told Millie about her first love and adventure in America. Her voice was strong at first and then by the conclusion her voice weakened with the hint of tears. Millie was captured by the tale which was tragic and powerful. Her tears became like a river running down her flushed checks. Bea took her handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and began mopping her eyes. She heaved a sigh and looked Millie in the eye, intent on finishing her story.

  “When I discovered you existed, at first I hated my parents for their part in separating us, and now I just find I am saddened to have lost all those years with my daughter. To have been deprived of your most crucial years…as you realize by now, of course, you are my daughter.”

  Tears had been silently dripping from Millie's eyes, first caught up by the storytelling and then by the realization that she had a living mother. Now, she moaned a sob.

  “Please tell me that your life has been bearable with no love from a mother…” Bea whispered, not trusting her voice to be stronger. She, too, found her eyes continuing to leak tears un-checked.

  Millie nodded. “I …cannot admit that I didn't miss a mother and the love of a real family. But I was fortunate to have loving friends and a good home most recently in a girl's school. Yes, I do believe I have been blessed.” Millie could see the expressions on Bea's face and realized how miserable this woman was at the moment, suffering from guilt and anger too. Rats. She had a mother. What would this mean now? She watched Bea's face for some clue to what would be next.

  “I would like to be better acquainted with you, Millie, if I may. Perhaps a few days here talking, walking in the garden…and then perhaps you will come stay with me in my home in London.”

  “I would like that…”

  “I wish…I want you to call me mother. Is that asking too much too soon?” Bea added in the awkward silence. “Or…can you forgive me?” Bea was on the verge of breaking down. She had never felt so vulnerable. Watching the younger version of herself was fascinating. Were they alike in other ways?

  “Forgive you? For what, for heaven sakes? We seem to be both victims in this instance. I am overwhelmed. I never thought to meet my mother. I thought her dead…or uncaring. At the very least I thought she might run at the very thought of meeting me.”

  Bea held out her arms for an embrace that Millie found no trouble gett
ing out of her seat to capture. Bea held Millie to her for what seemed forever in silence. Finally letting her go, Bea looked at Millie a moment before asking her a question.

  “Tell me, my dear. Where do you come by your name?”

  “My name?” Bea nodded. “I don't know. No one ever said anything, why?”

  Bea's eyes filled with unshed tears before she could capture control again. “Balston was the last name of my first husband…your father. It seems my parents not only dropped you off at an orphanage, but named you appropriately. How odd that they would take you away from me with so little compassion…and yet present you with your father's name to a home for orphans. I am so sorry you were treated with so little regard. If only I had known.” Bea's face showed her frustration at something she could not fix.

  “Perhaps the orphanage required a name and circumstance for bringing them the child. I was told my mother had died in childbirth.”

  Bea looked thoughtful at Millie's comment for a moment and then smiled at Millie with warmth radiating from her expression.

  “Well, I am happy that Bradley came to me with his suspicions. Obviously, he was correct to see that we are related. I must rejoice with this opportunity.”

  Millie gasped as she realized why Bradley had seen this resemblance. It all made sense now. Then she had an uncomfortable thought. “Bradley is not your son, is he…?”

  Bea laughed at that. “Oh, my, no. That would make him a half-brother to you.” Her face was lit with amusement. “Please don't mind me. I recognized some interest Bradley had in you. He utterly shined when he spoke of you. I am his aunt. And actually not a blood relative, although I love him dearly. Wherever is that rascal? He promised to introduce us.”

  Millie let out a screech that surprised both women. “Oh, my…rats! I was so absorbed in my own concerns…Amy has been taken! His Grace, er…Arden and Bradley are tracking down the villain now.”

  Gavin Metcaffe, having heard the screech, burst through the double doors and stared at the two women.

  “Oh, my. I am indeed seeing double,” Gavin muttered upon seeing the women who both turned to stare at him in astonishment.

  Gavin Metcaffe was a handsome man standing in the doorway. There was no doubt that the tender look he carried was saved for his wife. His attentiveness to her every need was not seen as a weakness, but instead his devotion and love was the envy of many of their women friends. Gavin's temples were accented with white hair that contrasted with the rich mahogany of the rest of his full head of hair. “I take it that you didn't just notice the resemblance…Something else caused the outburst, perhaps...”

  “Oh, Gavin. It seems that Her Grace has been taken from her home and His Grace and our Bradley are hot on their trail,” Bea explained waving her arms with great expression. Gavin looked thoughtful a moment before replying.

  “If I can borrow a horse, I will join the search,” Gavin said looking around for Godwin. “Where's Godwin? I must change and..,”

  “But they left yesterday. It would seem impossible to catch up with them now,” Millie said.

  “Oh, my dear, Gavin was a mainstay at Bow Street in his youth and I dare say he is especially good at tracking. I have no doubt he can sniff them out.” Bea added with pride as she smiled in appreciation at her husband. “The populace here refers to those at Bow Street as “runners.” In America you may know them as detectives or police. Gavin could find a two-day old boot print in a hail storm. He was quite the legend on Bow Street.” Bea smiled at that and Gavin slipped out before Millie could comment.

  Chapter 18

  Sarah's House 1830

  Amy was unceremoniously tossed from the horse to land on her bottom with a hard thud. She looked up at Joseph with rage. She had bruises on top of bruises. He was grinning mischievously, showing his rotting yellow teeth.

  “You look dirty and ragged now. Yer face ain't quite dirty enough, but that hair looks mighty different, all dirty and tangled.” He laughed as he slipped down off the saddle and grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward a house that was well-maintained. A sign hung from the roof reading, “Sarah's House.” It appeared to be a quaint cottage that a normal family might inhabit. Bricks made up the structure of the building and brightly painted green shutters adorned the windows. It was three stories high with flower boxes hanging from the windows sporting red geraniums that met the ivy crawling up the house from the ground level. A wide wooden porch surrounded the house, hosting comfortable rocking chairs that looked well-used. Well-kept grounds surrounded the house with brightly colored flower beds in abundance.

  Amy yelled in pain and tried to punch him with her swinging fists. He kept her out of range of hitting him. He growled as he yanked and jerked her back and forth like a dog with a favorite toy. Sweat mixed with dirt made the duo look like the lowest kept urchins. The front door opened and a woman came out to stand on the porch, her hands on her hips as she took in the two ragged people on her front steps.

  Sarah was of middle years, with yellow blonde hair stacked on her head, rounded and plump where men appreciated curves. She wore makeup to cover her advancing years, but not so much as to be considered tacky. Wearing a gown considered racy for any lady, it was still conservative for her profession. The gown revealed her curves and displayed the tops of her ample breasts revealing enough cleavage to attract a man's interest. Sarah was a no-nonsense woman who abhorred drama and this was a drama in the making. She sighed in frustration.

  “What do we have here? You are making quite a ruckus. My girls sleep during the day,” Sarah said glaring at Joseph as if he were a slug on her porch. She could size up a situation faster than most and took pride in her abilities which kept her well off. What was she? Flypaper for idiots? The man looked demented and dangerous which was always a concern for her. The girl was dirty, dressed like a lowly peasant.

  “Well, I want to sell her to you,” Joseph announced proudly. “What would you pay me for her? She cleans up like a tidy package.”

  “Are you crazy? What worm bore into your pea brain?” she asked him. “Jeb,” she yelled. “Come out here and see what we have here cluttering my clean respectable porch.” It was time to call in her reinforcements. That is why she kept Jeb close by. He was well worth the funds she paid him to stay by her side. His boxing talents were occasionally appreciated and necessary, not to mention the scare tactics involved, just laying your eyes on his girth.

  “I am the Duchess of Brightmore. This villain has kidnapped me!” Amy announced out of breath. It was all she could do to get that much said. She had been breathing dust for miles and was so parched she felt like cotton was stuffed down her throat. After screeching for hours her voice was raw and in no way resembled her soft lady-like manners. Who would believe her? Joseph was smarter than she had given him credit, taking her gown that lay claim to her story and with all the dirt and tangles in her hair, she was a sorry sight to behold.

  Joseph laughed. “She has a wee head condition as ye can tell. She bumped her head a while back. She thinks she is a Duchess, but I figured some man ought to pay real well for the opportunity to lay her.”

  “Is that so? My place is respectable and I don't take unwilling women. I do not ‘buy' women.” Jeb came out to stand beside Sarah. He was a huge bear of a man that used his fists to keep peace. His fists were as big as hams and his arms were as big as thighs, now folded over his chest in a stand of strength. Very few ever thought they could best Jeb. He was clean and well-groomed.

  “She isn't unwilling. She asked me to bring her here to work for you. She is just reluctant now ‘cause she is mad at me. I want payment for bringing her to you,” insisted Joseph.

  “Jeb, get a bottle from the cabinet for me.” Jeb disappeared inside and came back with a bottle of whisky. Taking it from Jeb, she tossed it to Joseph who caught it with two hands. He looked at the bottle and nodded. Jeb crossed his burly thick arms across his chest once again and waited for orders from Sarah. He watched the unbalanced man uncork the b
ottle and take a long swig of the whisky, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

  Sarah had seen all this sort of thing before. Nothing surprised her anymore. She hated seeing how this demented man was treating this urchin and watched him with disgust. He was a waste of space on this earth. Men could be brutes and she took delight in making certain no man abused her women.

  “Thanks, …now for my money,” Joseph said holding his hand out for the funds he expected.

  “That's all you are entitled to. Now get off my respectable porch, you pond scum.” Sarah said smirking.

  “Now wait just a blasted minute…you can't do that!” Joseph started to grab Amy who backed up and slapped his hands away. “I traveled a long ways and I had it on good authority you need gals.”

  “I do need gals, but I don't take beat-up dirty women that is unwilling. I already made that clear, you idiot lacking ears. Now bugger off. Jeb, help this drunk'n idiot off my bloody damned porch,” Jeb took a step toward Joseph who backed down the porch.

  “You are fortunate to get the bottle to keep you company on your ride out of here. Never set foot on my property again or I'll have you tarred and feathered, you hear me?” Sarah was not going to take any nonsense from this idiot. Sometimes she relished the opportunity to blow some steam and with Jeb to back her up, she had no qualms speaking her mind.

  Joseph realized that Jeb meant business as he kept advancing toward Joseph with murder in his eyes. Joseph realized he had miscalculated this plan.

  “You cheatin' bitch!” Joseph proclaimed as he ran for his horse, looking behind him for any sign of Jeb coming after him for his last hasty remark. He was clearly angry and flustered. Keeping himself full of whisky didn't help the matter. When Joseph awkwardly got into the saddle and pulled out a whip to give the horse a piece of his demented mind, the horse reared in an effort to rid himself of his abusive passenger. His legs were in the air pawing the sky in protest. Joseph waved his whip in anger and yelled at the horse flailing his arms in an effort to execute a whip to the horse.