Blackthorne's Bride

by Joan Johnston

  Lark felt her stomach twist at the thought of lying to her grandmother. But desperate circumstances required desperate actions. She needed Seaton to notice her before his heart became fixed on some other woman. A day-long train trip each way would give her plenty of time to charm him. And she was sure, even if Stephanie and her family hadn’t yet arrived home when she made the journey, that she could manage to stay as a guest at their estate in Northumberland.

  Lark didn’t allow herself to think about all the lies she would have to tell, or the dangers she might encounter by traveling so far by herself. Her entire future was at stake.

  But she needed to know the exact train the earl was taking, so she could be on it. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you have travel plans,” Lark said, smiling at Seaton as she tried to calm her galloping heartbeat.

  Lark was watching closely, so she saw the barest hint of irritation in Seaton’s green eyes as he turned to acknowledge her, as though a child had interrupted a grown-up conversation.

  “My business has already been postponed for far too long. I’ll be catching the seven o’clock train on Friday morning from King’s Cross.” He chucked her under the chin and said, “Will you miss me?”

  He seemed to realize what he’d done only a moment after his fingertips touched her chin. It was a gesture more appropriate to a seven-year-old than a seventeen-year-old. He drew his hand back awkwardly and said, “I beg your pardon, Lady Lark.”

  Lark wanted to curl up under a rug somewhere and die. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, but running would only compound the problem. She managed a wobbly smile, and looking up at him through a sudden film of embarrassed tears said, “To answer your question, yes, I will miss you.”

  Then she turned and marched away, with all the dignity she could muster, to find somewhere to cry in earnest, all the while muttering under her breath, “Damn and blast! Can’t the man see I’m not a child? I’m a grown woman. Just give me seven hours alone with him, and I’ll open his eyes to the truth!”

  It was only later that it dawned on her, He knew it was me. She’d never been quite sure that Seaton could tell the difference between her and her sister, because he was careful never to speak to either of them individually. Probably just a lucky guess, she decided, feeling entirely uncharitable toward the man she loved.

  Her mind was already working on a plan to get herself on that train with Seaton. She had barely a week to arrange everything. She had to convince her grandmother that she’d gotten an invitation to visit her friend and then pack, all the while keeping both the Courts and her grandmother from finding out the truth. She just had to manage it somehow. This opportunity was too perfect to pass up.

  Lark was halfway across the room when she realized that she would need to make arrangements to meet up with Seaton on the train. Otherwise, she might have trouble finding him, especially if he had a private cabin. She didn’t want to have to hunt him down. It was another half hour before her chance came to speak to him again. She managed to “accidentally” step in front of him as he was crossing the room. She looked up as though surprised and said, “Oh, it’s you. It turns out I won’t be missing you after all.”

  He raised an inquisitive—and suspicious?—brow. “You won’t?”

  She flipped a black curl off her shoulder as nonchalantly as she could. “It turns out I’m traveling on the very same train.”

  “You are?”

  Lark nodded. She could feel her chin begin to tremble at the recklessness of what she was about to do. With any luck, her brother would be gone on his honeymoon before Seaton had a chance to mention their coincidental plans to take the same train to Berwick-upon-Tweed. “I’ll be traveling with a friend and her family who’ve been visiting in London and are returning home to Northumberland. I’ll be their guest for a little while.”

  “Lindsey isn’t traveling with you? I didn’t think one of you went anywhere without the other.”

  “Recently, we’ve begun spending time apart each year,” Lark replied breezily. She was surprised that, for the second time, he’d identified her correctly.

  Even though she and Lindsey both had distinctive scars on their necks, most gentlemen of their acquaintance couldn’t tell who was who. They kept forgetting which side of whose neck bore which scar. She wondered if Seaton had simply guessed right, again, expecting her to correct him if he’d been wrong.

  “I’ll look forward to having tea with you in the dining car at ten,” she said. Before he could say yea or nay, or do more than gape at her, Lark turned and strolled away. She intended to do a lot more than have tea with Seaton. If she had her way, they would spend the better part of the three-hundred-and-fifty-mile trip in each other’s company.

  It took her only a breathless minute to find Lindsey and admit, “I need help.”

  She started to blurt the truth, but at the last minute realized that if she told the truth—that she would be on her own with Seaton on the train—it was likely her sister would demand details she preferred not to share. Instead she said, “Stephanie invited me to come spend a week with her in Northumberland. I want to go, but they’re leaving Friday morning, and I’m not sure I can talk Grandmama into letting me go on such short notice.”

  She saw the pain in her sister’s eyes when she realized Lark hadn’t included her in the visit, but that lasted only a moment before Lindsey said, “I’ll add my entreaties to yours. Surely that will be sufficient. Shall we go to her now?”

  “Not now.” Lark didn’t want her grandmother to discover from the Courts, who were present at the wedding breakfast, that she hadn’t actually gotten an invitation to visit. “Grandmama has enough to deal with at the moment. But tonight, after all the guests have gone, I would appreciate your help convincing her to let me go.”

  Lark felt lower than one of the fishing worms Seaton had once dangled to frighten her, as Lindsey gave her a hug and said, “Consider it done. You’ll be on your way to Stephanie’s house bright and early Friday morning.”

  JOSIE WAS NEARLY frantic by the time she surreptitiously made her way to the empty backyard of Blackthorne’s mansion. She held up her skirt and stayed on the stone path that led to the back gate. Although the storm had passed, the garden had become a giant puddle of mud.

  She met up with the Pinkerton behind a tall evergreen bush that concealed her from anyone standing on the balcony and looking down into the garden. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Are the boys all right?”

  “Sorry to worry you, miss—I mean, ma’am—but you never said how I should contact you, and I thought you’d want to know that both boys have measles.”

  “Are you sure it’s just measles and not scarlet fever?” The symptoms were similar, but scarlet fever was much more dangerous, and she wasn’t convinced Miss Sharpe would be willing to admit it, if she couldn’t distinguish between the two. “I need to see them.”

  Mr. Thompson was already shaking his head. “I wouldn’t advise it, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  “Has the duke discovered yet who you really are?”

  Josie shook her head.

  “As far as the ladies know, Josephine Wentworth is on her way to America. If you return as the Duchess of Blackthorne, the ladies are sure to inform the duke that you were employed at Tearlach Castle as a maid-of-all-work. Is that something you want him to know?”

  Josie made a face. It would certainly raise questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

  “The boys can’t travel anyway, sick as they are. I have someone keeping a close eye on them. I’ll let you know how they fare. I presume you’ll be making arrangements soon to have them transported here?”

  Josie caught her lower lip worriedly in her teeth as she considered the Pinkerton’s question. “I’m not sure. I need to find out where Blackthorne intends for us to make our home. Then I can have the boys join us. Thank you for coming, Mr. Thompson.”

  He bobbed his head and touched a finger to his hat. “You’re very welcom
e, ma’am. And may I offer my best wishes on your marriage?”

  “Thank you. I—” Josie stopped in mid-sentence when she heard someone coming. She glanced around the bush and gasped when she realized it was Blackthorne. If he discovered the Pinkerton, he was sure to ask questions that would be difficult to answer. By the time she turned back to tell Mr. Thompson to disappear, he was already gone. She gritted her teeth in frustration when she realized Blackthorne’s interruption had caused the Pinkerton to exit through the back gate without arranging a way to stay in contact with her in the future.

  “My grandmother pointed out that you were missing from your own wedding breakfast,” Blackthorne said as he approached. “What are you doing out here?”

  Josie hesitated, uncertain what to say. She settled for something that could have been the truth. “The flowers in the ballroom are beautiful, but also a little overwhelming. I needed some fresh air.”

  “I thought I heard voices. Was someone here with you?”

  Had he seen the Pinkerton? Josie wished the sun were not so bright. There was no way to hide the flush rising on her cheeks as she lied, “I was alone until you arrived.”

  Blackthorne’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he surveyed the muddy patch that was all that remained of what had once been a garden. “This place needs a woman’s touch. Unfortunately, you won’t have a chance to turn your hand to making this garden what it was in the days my wife—my late wife—gave it her attention.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we won’t be here.”

  “We won’t?” He must have seen the Pinkerton. Then she saw the impressions of the Pinkerton’s shoes in the mud and realized Blackthorne must have seen them, too. But those footprints might have been made by anyone at any time after the storm. Surely that didn’t prove she’d met up with someone. Josie had the feeling Blackthorne was suspicious, but unsure, and was making up his mind as he spoke. “Where will we be?” she asked in as normal a voice as she could muster.

  “Blackthorne Abbey, the hereditary seat of the Dukes of Blackthorne, ceded to the first duke by Henry II. It lies about forty miles south, in Kent.”

  If it was south of London, it was forty miles farther from Spencer and Clay. “I would rather stay in London.”

  “Now that I have the funds to do the work, I want to oversee the repairs to the Abbey myself.”

  “Repairs?” Josie asked. An image of the shabby interior of Tearlach Castle rose in her mind’s eye. “Is it habitable?”

  “Barely,” the duke said through tight jaws. “At least, it was the last time I was there. I’m afraid my father didn’t put a farthing into the Abbey during his tenure as duke, and it wasn’t in the best shape when he inherited it.”

  Josie realized that if Blackthorne Abbey turned out to be a moldy heap of stones, it might not be a fit place to bring the boys. “How long do you expect the repairs to take?”

  “It’s been seventeen years since I spent any appreciable time there. I went away to school when I was ten and only came back for short visits thereafter.”

  “Perhaps it would be wiser for me to remain here while the repairs are ongoing,” Josie suggested.

  The duke shook his head. “The Abbey will be your home, too. In fact, we’ll be spending far more of our time in Kent than in London. You should be present to help make decisions.”

  Josie was surprised that Blackthorne intended to involve her in the decision making, but perhaps if she were there, she could ensure the repairs were done as quickly as possible, so the boys could the sooner be brought to live with them. “Very well. When will we be leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning. After breakfast.”

  As he stared down at her, his eyes became heavy-lidded, reminding Josie that she still had a night of deception to get through. It dawned on her that, if they left first thing in the morning, she would have little time or opportunity to contact the Pinkerton and make arrangements to stay in touch. Surely Mr. Thompson could figure out where she’d gone and let her know how best to contact him.

  Josie was startled from her thoughts when the duke led her farther behind the bush. He took her right hand in his and began pulling her wrist-length glove off her left hand, one fingertip at a time, not an easy thing to accomplish with the enormous ruby ring she had on underneath it. She stared at his long, strong fingers, wondering what he had in mind.

  She wasn’t left in suspense long. Once the duke had her glove off, he turned her hand palm up. His hot breath touched the center of her palm a moment before his lips, and she felt a shiver race up her arm, then down her center, all the way to her toes. “Oh.”

  Josie felt dizzy, and her knees were suddenly wobbly. She reached out with her remaining gloved hand to steady herself against the duke’s chest. What she knew was living muscle felt as hard as stone. She stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected someone with a title, rather than an occupation, to be so fit.

  “You seem distracted,” the duke said. “Is something wrong?”

  Josie pulled her bare hand free and tugged her glove from Blackthorne’s grasp. She turned slightly away from him, so she wouldn’t be mesmerized by his blue eyes, and began pulling the glove back on. “Nothing’s wrong.” She flashed him a reassuring smile. “It’s my wedding day. What could be wrong?”

  Except, she didn’t quite manage to get the second sentence out without it catching in her throat. And she couldn’t quite keep the panicked look from her eyes. Everything was wrong. That’s what was wrong. Her family wasn’t here. She’d married a man she barely knew and, as soon as the sun fell, must allow him intimacies she could hardly imagine.

  The boys were sick, and she knew Mrs. Pettibone and Miss Sharpe were likely at odds over how best to care for them. Tomorrow she would be moving even farther away from the duke’s nephews to a home that might very well end up being a hovel. And who knew how long it would be before she could bring Spencer and Clay to live with her and finally find her way back to her family in America?

  Josie fought the ache in her throat and blinked hard to stem the tears that threatened. She didn’t want Blackthorne to see her discommoded and wonder why she was so upset, when she’d supposedly achieved her heart’s desire by marrying a duke and becoming a duchess. But when she looked up, his features were blurred by a haze of tears.

  She fought the arms that surrounded her offering comfort, but he didn’t let go. She forced herself to stand still within his embrace, but she couldn’t keep her body from trembling.

  His low voice rumbled in her ear. “There is something wrong.” His arms tightened around her, and somehow, the firm embrace settled her nerves, and the shaking stopped.

  “I miss my family,” she admitted. That seemed the easiest and best explanation for her tears and gave away none of her secrets.

  “This has all been very sudden,” he agreed. “But it’s done now.”

  She waited for him to suggest they postpone their wedding night. But the offer didn’t come, and she didn’t have the courage to suggest it herself. She was certain he had no idea she intended to run off with his nephews. More likely, he wanted to be certain the marriage couldn’t be repudiated on the basis that it hadn’t been consummated, if they found themselves at odds in the future. If there was one thing she’d learned in her eighteen years of living, it was the fact that it was better to address an unpleasant task than to put it off until later.

  She felt her lips curve and realized that, although the night to come might be awkward, it might also be a great deal less than unpleasant.

  “Are you calm now?” he asked.

  “Yes. You may release me.”

  Blackthorne kept one arm around her waist as she took a step back. She looked up and saw his gaze was focused intently on her face, as though to discern her thoughts. She lowered her gaze, knowing it might suggest that she had something to hide, but she wasn’t ready to face the duke’s penetrating blue eyes. Instead, she set her hand on his arm, and said, “
Shall we go back inside?”

  “Not quite yet.”

  Josie was startled into meeting his gaze again. What she saw caused her breath to catch in her throat.

  HIS WIFE WAS lying to him. Someone had been in the garden with her. Blackthorne was almost sure of it. But who? And for what reason? He’d been so glad that he could acquire the funds he needed, along with a beautiful face and an intriguing personality, that he hadn’t asked why, if Josephine Wentworth was willing to spend a fortune to impress her friends and relatives with a royal title, she’d agreed to marry him with so little fanfare and with not one person she knew present. She must have some ulterior motive for becoming the Duchess of Blackthorne. He simply had no idea what it could possibly be.

  He had no fortune of his own, so she couldn’t be planning to steal from him. And if she had a lover, why marry someone else? His misgivings led him nowhere. Unfortunately, none of his suspicions kept him from finding his bride as enticing as she’d been the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. He’d led her back inside without another word being spoken between them, but it hadn’t been a comfortable silence. His wife was turning out to be quite an enigma.

  The rest of the day had seemed interminable, most likely because he spent it anticipating his wedding night. The guests left in trickles and drabs, but they were all gone by the time darkness fell. After an awkward, almost silent, private supper with his bride, he escorted Josie to her room and asked how long she would need to ready herself for his visit.

  She shot him a look that told him a hundred years would be too soon. He watched the pulse throb in her throat before she finally said, in the same whispery voice that had struck her at the altar, “Half an hour.”

  Blackthorne paced the length of his bedroom yet again, wondering how much longer he had to wait before the half hour had passed. He missed his grandfather’s watch. He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and saw, to his relief, that twenty-eight minutes had come and gone since he’d left her at her door. He felt unaccountably nervous. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t done this before.