by Carola Dunn
Jason stood up, dusted his knee, and sat down beside Penny. “You have not given me an answer,” he said gravely.
"You cannot wish to marry me."
"I do. Allow me to know my own mind."
"You see? I am much too argumentative, and besides, I have a shocking temper. I was forever being scolded at school for being too outspoken."
"Most unfeminine."
His tone was teasing. She looked at him uncertainly. “And I have a managing disposition."
"I will not deny it, though I should rather call it practical."
She looked down at her hands again. “And I'm not pretty."
"Now that I will deny.” He took her twisting hands in a warm clasp. “Or rather, Henrietta is pretty; you are beautiful. You have a grace and dignity she will never attain, and you have the most glorious hair in the world.” Gently he touched her face. “Have you forgotten Ferrybridge?"
Penny blushed. “No, but ... but I'm much too tall."
"Your list of reasons why you cannot marry me is as long as Henrietta's,” he said with a flash of amusement, then turned serious once more. “If the idea is distasteful to you, tell me and I shall not bother you again. But I love you, Penny, and I want you beside me, in my bed and in my life."
She ached to believe him. Yet all her protests so far had evaded the most important point. “You can't have understood what I told you: if I marry before I'm twenty-one, my husband will never touch my fortune."
"I understand, but—"
"I don't know precisely how much the income is,” she rushed on, not wanting to hear that he had forgotten. “I have an allowance for clothes, but the rest is paid directly to my uncle for household expenses. I daresay it is not enough—"
His finger on her lips silenced her. “It will be enough. We shall manage. It's not for your money I want you, my dearest love.” He pulled her into his arms and the passionate fire of his kiss drove away her last doubts and fears.
It was Jason who broke their long embrace. He sat back, smoothed his hair, and said ruefully, “I cannot trust myself."
"I trust you.” Penny laid her hand on his arm. “Jason, we can wait until after my birthday to be married. It seems nonsensical to—"
"No! Not that I think myself incapable of protecting you from your wicked uncle. He would be legally within his rights to remove you, though, and he could create an appalling scandal."
"I don't care if there is a scandal."
"You may not, but he might claim that I held you against your will. Consider my reputation if you have no thought for your own. No, love, if we wait you will spend the next several days trembling with fear and the rest of your life wondering whether it's really your fortune I want. Tomorrow at dawn we leave for Gretna Green."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The road to Gretna from Newkirk started out rough, narrow, and hilly. Jason drove a pair of piebald horses, sturdy if far from handsome, hitched to the family gig. He had sent a boy to take the hired team back to the inn in Penrith.
"It would scarce be seemly to take Mr. White's carriage,” he observed, grinning.
Altogether, he was remarkably cheerful for a man who had lost a fortune the night before. Penny thought he looked almost smug, which was encouraging. Overnight, her doubts that he could possibly really love her had grown again like weeds.
She was feeling decidedly unsettled. Last night Henrietta had come to her chamber, not, as she had expected, to reproach her, but to complain that it had never been a proper elopement if her father approved. Angus had played least in sight. The Kilmore ladies had expressed delight that she was to join the family, and she was grateful for their kindness. Yet she was sure they must be shocked by the disgraceful impropriety of her betrothal, if it could be called a betrothal.
And now, this fine morning, she was rattling along the stony track towards Gretna with a gentleman she had met a mere four days since. She loved him with all her heart, though she didn't dare tell him so. There was no denying the awkwardness of the situation.
To cover her discomfort, she asked, “Why do people elope to Gretna Green, rather than anywhere else?"
"You mean you set off from London without knowing?"
"Well, it just seemed the proper thing to do."
Jason laughed. “I doubt ‘proper’ is quite the right word."
"You know what I mean."
"As a matter of fact, anywhere in Scotland would do as well. Until 1754 it was possible to be married without either banns or license in the Fleet prison in London. When that was outlawed, an enterprising fellow in Gretna Green learned the Anglican marriage service and printed up certificates of marriage to add a formal touch to the ceremony. You see, in Scotland a lawful marriage consists merely of a declaration before witnesses of intent to wed, followed by living together as man and wife."
His meaningful tone sent a hot flush racing from the roots of her hair all the way down to the tips of her toes. She was glad that he had to negotiate a narrow humpback bridge over a stream, giving her time to regain her composure.
"We are going to drive through Brampton?” she asked. “I am ready for my history lesson."
"Yet another castle, of course, a mile or two outside the town, with the remains of Lanercost Priory not far off. And there are several stretches of Hadrian's Wall nearby."
"Was the Roman wall any more successful at keeping out the Picts than the medieval castles were at keeping out the Scots?"
Her embarrassment was forgotten in a lively historical discussion as they drove down from the moors through the low green hills around Brampton.
Beyond Brampton the road crossed the flat plain surrounding the estuaries of the Esk and Eden rivers. Everywhere Penny looked there were signs of flooding. She shuddered as she realized that only the floods had saved her from the disastrous mistake of marrying Angus yesterday.
She stole a glance at Jason. His face was intent as he guided the piebalds across a washed-out section of the road, the gig bumping and rattling in a way that reminded her of the chariot in which she had begun the journey.
Did she really know him as well as she thought? Did he really care for her? Would she be any happier with him than she would have been with Angus, or would it be worse because she loved him?
Even unhappiness with Jason was preferable to being Bartholomew's wife, she decided, and looked back anxiously over her shoulder.
"Not far now,” said Jason encouragingly. “You'll soon be safe.” He put his arm around her waist and gave her a quick hug. “Damn, if it weren't for my hat and your bonnet I'd kiss you."
"Gi’ ma regards to yon priest,” shouted one of a gang of road-menders as they trotted past. Penny blushed and Jason waved his beaver, grinning.
Despite the state of the road, they reached Longtown before noon. Jason stabled his horses at the Graham Arms to rest before the uphill pull back to Newkirk. He insisted that Penny drink a cup of tea, though she was too nervous to eat, while he put away a tankard of ale and a bannock with cheese. Then, behind a restive hired pair, they crossed the bridge over the turbulent red waters of the Esk, into Scotland.
Penny sat bolt upright, one white-knuckled hand gripping the side of the gig. Jason took one look at her set face and said in a conversational tone, “Did you notice the name of the inn?"
"The Graham Arms?"
"The ‘lost bride of Netherby’ was a Graham."
"Scott's Marmion? Young Lochinvar? Of course, ‘He swam the Esk river where ford there was none.’ Is Netherby Hall near here?"
"Just a short way up the river."
"And Canonbie Lee? Did not Mullins mention a bridge at Canonbie? ‘There was racing and chasing, on Canonbie Lee.’”
"You know the poem by heart? I had a suspicion that a romantic soul lurks within that practical exterior. I'm sorry I cannot carry you off on my charger instead of in this prosaic vehicle. Dash it, Penny, will you not take off your bonnet for a moment?"
Though tempted to comply with this outrageous
request, Penny said primly, “There is a carriage coming towards us."
"Foiled again,” he said with a sigh. “Which of Scott's poems do you most admire?"
But they were too close to their destination for Penny's fidgets to be calmed by a literary conversation. The road was straight and flat, and they soon drove into the village of Gretna Green.
Looking around, Penny saw a church, a courthouse, a school, and several cottages surrounding an attractive, white-painted building with an inn sign.
"Where is the smithy?” she asked.
Jason's lips quirked. “There is one behind Gretna Hall, I believe. I hate to disappoint you, but the marriage over the anvil in the blacksmith's forge is a myth."
"A myth! What do you mean?"
"I ascertained the details when I planned to abduct Alison. It seems that one of the so-called ‘priests,’ who died three years ago, was nicknamed Blacksmith because he could bend a poker over his arm and straighten a horseshoe in his bare hands. He was actually a fisherman. We shall be married, by his nephew, David Lang—a former peddler and sailor, I believe—in comparative comfort in the Marriage Room in Gretna Hall."
"In the inn?"
He nodded, not attempting to compete with a clanging bell on the schoolhouse that apparently announced their arrival. Ostlers rushed out from the inn, and curious children from the school hoping for a dramatic pursuit. Penny tried to hide her face as Jason handed her down from the gig.
A schoolgirl in a smocked pinafore and apron ran up to them. “Lucky white heather for the leddy, your honour. On'y a bawbee the bunch."
Jason reached into his pocket and drew out something that glinted in the sun and clinked when he dropped it into the child's palm. Penny looked down. Alison's necklace!
A wave of relief ran through her. She hadn't realized she was jealous of Alison.
A teacher called and the enterprising girl ran back to show her classmates the silver chain hung with three coins that the extravagant bridegroom had given her. Penny smiled to see the excited faces bent over it.
With a rueful grimace, Jason handed her a small, withered posy of white heather. Then he turned to reach behind the seat of the gig. He pulled out a bouquet of white roses and unwrapped the damp cloth which had kept them fresh and fragrant.
"Thea's notion and Meg's flowers,” he said, presenting them to her with an elegant bow, “and the wet napkin was Mama's suggestion, but I broke off all the thorns."
Penny blinked back tears and found him gazing down at her with warm concern in his dark eyes. Taking off his hat, he somehow dodged the brim of her bonnet to drop a tender kiss on her lips.
"Aweel, aweel, will ye no be waitin’ for the ceremony?” A kindly-looking elderly man in a black coat, white stock, and shallow-crowned black hat hurried up to them. He held out his hand and Jason shook it. “I'm David Lang. Ye'll be wantin’ my sairvices, nae doot?"
He bustled them into the inn, into an elegantly appointed room presided over by a stuffed stag's head. Even Henrietta's wedding gown would not have looked amiss here, Penny thought, reminded of her mirth at the idea of white satin and lace in a blacksmith's forge.
"I wish I had worn my evening gown,” she whispered to Jason.
"I don't mind what you wear. Remember, ‘Beauty's self she is when all—’”
"Hush!"
He obeyed, but his grin was not calculated to dispel her confusion.
The brief ceremony passed in a blur. Penny was conscious only of Jason standing beside her; his voice, for once utterly serious, repeating the words of the vows; the warmth of his hand as he slipped his grandfather's signet ring onto her finger; his lips touching hers when Mr. Lang said with a chuckle, “And noo, ma laird, ye may kiss the bride."
"I wish your leddyship verra happy,” he went on, beaming, and Penny realized with a start that she was now Lady Kilmore.
With a trembling hand, she signed the register and took the certificate the “priest” presented to her. A few minutes later Jason helped her back into the gig. Mr. Lang, his pockets well lined for his trouble, waved farewell as they set off once more.
"You are safe now,” Jason said abruptly. His gaze was on the road and he seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease.
"Yes. Thank you,” said Penny, subdued. She wondered if he was already regretting having married her. A tense silence settled like a barricade between them as they drove on.
The four miles to Longtown sped past, but as the gig pulled up before the Graham Arms, Penny thought of the twenty miles still to go and sighed. “I feel as if I have been travelling for ever,” she said, and then was horridly afraid she sounded like a whining child, like Henrietta.
"You must be weary.” Jason sprang down and gave the reins to an ostler. “We shall stay here,” he said decisively. “I warned Mama that the state of the roads might delay us. I'll hire a chamber and you can rest, then we'll go on later or spend the night, as you wish."
"You're very good to me."
Even if he didn't love her, he was kind. Surely she could build a contented life with him?
They followed a chambermaid up to a large, pleasant bedchamber with a view of the rain-swollen Esk.
"Will you be wanting aught else, my lady?” she asked.
"Something to eat?” Jason suggested.
"Thank you, no."
"A private parlour, and a meal at half past four,” he ordered.
The girl curtsied and departed. Penny set her reticule on the dressing-table and began to untie her bonnet. She felt as if she had tightly wound spring inside her, ready to uncoil in a surge of energy—or to snap. Jason stood by the door, apparently uncertain whether to go or stay.
"You're safe now,” he repeated. He came towards her. In the mirror she saw his hands held out in appeal. “Penny, I know you like my family, my home. I know you needed a rescuer. Could you ... do you think you might ever come to love me?"
Was that what he had been worrying about? For some inscrutable reason, his hesitant question convinced her where his straightforward statement had failed: he loved her. As she met his pleading eyes in the glass, her heart jumped. She dropped her bonnet, swung round, and flung her arms about his neck.
"I do love you. Oh, Jason, I do, I do. I have been hideously jealous of Henrietta for four whole days."
"Damn Henriet—” The word was cut short as he crushed her against his chest and claimed her mouth with his own.
Several minutes passed before he raised his head to look down at her with teasing tenderness. “At last we have disposed of your bonnet,” he said, “and you see how that improves matters. I know you are devilish tired of that gown. Let me relieve you of it."
* * * *
The chambermaid knocked on the door at half past four to say that an early dinner was ready in the private parlour. There was no response.
"Just back fro’ Gretna,” she explained to the annoyed cook as he did his best to rescue and preserve the hot dishes.
Not until past six did my lord and lady Kilmore put in an appearance. Then the cook had no reason to complain of their appetites.
"Delicious!” said Penny at last, sitting back. “But, oh dear, it's much too late to reach Newkirk tonight."
"I'm glad you think so, my dearest love, for I have quite other plans for the next several—"
The parlour door slammed open. A bull of a man stood on the threshold, tall, heavy, with forward-thrusting head and glaring eyes red with malevolence.
"Uncle Vaughn!” Penny's chair crashed to the floor as she jumped to her feet, one hand raised to her mouth in horror, the other reaching in supplication towards Jason.
"Slut!” His voice was an ugly roar.
Jason moved with deceptively casual swiftness. With a demonstration of science that could only have been learned from Gentleman Jackson, his knuckles met her uncle's chin with a solid thud and stretched him gasping on the floor.
"I don't permit anyone to insult my wife.” His cold, haughty voice matched his expression. Penny
moved close to him and he put his arm round her shoulders.
"Married?” snarled her persecutor, sitting up and feeling his jaw. “I'll have it annulled."
"Too late,” said Jason with a grin, pulling her closer and lightly bussing her mouth. She realized that he was enjoying himself.
"Trollop!"
"You can't have it both ways, my good man. And don't get up or I shall—"
"Uncle?” This time the interruption came in the form of a short, globular young man who waddled into the room. He was not plump or chubby, not stout or even corpulent, he was grossly and disgustingly obese. “Uncle, they serve Findon haddock here, and Scotch woodcock, as well as Cumberland sausages and Cumberland cake. Oh, hello, Penny.” He made a beeline for the table and inspected the remains of the meal. “I say, pigeon pie. D'you mind if I finish it?"
"Hello, Bartholomew. Help yourself.” Penny closed her eyes and hid her face in Jason's shoulder. She had a hysterical desire to giggle.
"Good gad,” said Jason, “Daniel Lambert of Stamford, reincarnate. Is that what you were so afraid of?"
"Can you imagine being married to someone who cares more for food than for anything else in the world?” she asked indignantly.
"Well, no. I cannot really imagine being married to anyone but you, my love."
"You're a fool to have married her when you might have bedded her now and wedded her later,” said Uncle Vaughn with a sneer. “You stood to win a fortune, not a mere twelve thousand a year."
Jason gave a shout of laughter. Penny glanced up and his dark eyes quizzed her. “Dear goose, you led me to believe we were to be paupers. Twelve thousand a year!"
"Is it enough? I didn't know how much, nor what you need."
"We won't be able to buy back all the farms at once. For everything else, yes. But I would have been happy to settle for one copper Penny!” He stroked her hair back from her ear and breathed into it, “Your uncle's suggestion was an excellent one. Shall we go back to bed, my dearest love?"
Her melting look told him all he needed to know.
* * *