Her lips twitching at the idea of surly, brooding Gavin dropping down on one knee to propose, Charlotte shook her head. “No and no.” Stuffing one final dress into the trunk, she closed the lid and sat down on top of it, using her weight to help fasten the brass latches. “It was all quite practical, actually. We both need something the other can provide. It will be a business arrangement,” she said, unconsciously echoing Gavin’s exact thoughts.
“A business arrangement?” Dianna’s pale eyebrows drew sharply together. “That does not sound very dear at all.”
“It is not meant to be dear. It is meant to be a solution to my problem, which it is.”
“Yes, but—”
“I am late. Do you think you could help me carry this down the stairs?”
Charlotte did not need to be reminded there was absolutely nothing romantic about her impending marriage. Her life was not a fairytale, and she was not a love struck heroine running off to meet her prince charming. Practical, she reminded herself. You need to be practical. She was not a girl any longer, she was a woman. A woman taking her own destiny in hand and changing it as she saw fit.
Beginning with getting this bloody trunk down the stairs.
It took all of Charlotte, Dianna, and Tabitha’s strength combined to muster the heavy trunk out the front door and onto the street. They managed to do it just in the nick of time, for they had no sooner dropped the trunk on the cobblestone and collapsed back against the front steps than a carriage pulled by a keen looking bay rounded the corner and came to a precise halt directly in front of them.
“Lady Charlotte?” the driver said, lifting the brim of his hat.
Huffing and puffing, Charlotte straightened the skirt of her dark gray traveling habit and stood up. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Good enough.” Jumping down, the driver lifted the trunk with enviable ease and slid it into a holding compartment beneath the belly of the carriage. “Are ye ready to go, then?”
No, Charlotte thought. No, I am not ready. I’m not, I’m not.
“Yes,” she said with a determinedness she certainly did not feel. “My maid will be traveling with me for the duration of the trip, but my friend Lady Dianna will need to be taken to her residence on Bayview Street.”
If everything went as Charlotte hoped it would, Dianna would be able to sneak into her town house without her parents being any the wiser. She would tell them the shopping expedition planned for the morning had been cancelled, and when Charlotte’s disappearance came to light she was prepared to plead complete and total ignorance.
Having donned a full length cloak to disguise her lack of proper attire, Dianna smiled sweetly at the driver and toyed with a blond curl. “I hope that is not a problem, Mister…”
“Greensburgh, my lady,” the drive said hastily. His chest puffed out and he removed his hat with a flourish. “Brian Greensburgh. And no, my lady, it won’t be a problem a’tall.”
“Wonderful.” Dianna sailed past him and into the carriage, followed closely by Tabitha who fussed over the hem of Dianna’s long cloak and made certain it did not drag on the ground.
The decision to bring Tabitha along as a lady’s maid had been an easy one. Charlotte was in need of a companion for the trip either way, and when she returned to London and moved in with Gavin it would be nice to have a familiar face amidst her new household staff. Not to mention the fact that Tabitha could not lie to save her life, and when Bettina questioned her as to Charlotte’s whereabouts – which she surely would – the poor maid would be thrown out on her ear when it came to light she had warned Charlotte against the duke.
Once all three women were safely ensconced inside of the roomy carriage it set off at a brisk pace towards Bayview Street. The sun was just breaking through the jagged rooftops in the distance and everyone still slept, even the hawkers.
Dianna was looking noticeably weary from their late night escapades, but Tabitha was bright and alert and so it was to her Charlotte turned. “Do you think I packed enough dresses?”
“Yes.” The maid’s head bobbed up and down beneath her gray bonnet. “More than enough, Lady Charlotte.”
“And shoes? I should have brought the black leather ankle boots.” Her fingers twisted fretfully in her lap and began to beat a nervous staccato against her knee. “Perhaps we should go back and get them. What do you think?”
“I think,” Dianna said before Tabitha could speak, “that you’re turning chicken.”
Charlotte scowled. “I am not turning chicken.”
“Yes, you are, but it is fine. Expected, really. All brides have pre-wedding jitters, don’t they Tabitha?”
“Don’t answer her Tabitha,” Charlotte ordered. “She isn’t the one about to go to Gretna Green to marry a perfect stranger!”
Her eyes darting back and forth between the two women, Tabitha wisely kept any and all thoughts to herself.
“If only I were!” Dianna cried. Sitting bolt upright in her seat, the blond threw her arms wide. “You should be excited, not afraid. You get to move on with your life while I am stuck in the past, waiting for a husband who will never come.”
“Exactly!” Charlotte shot back. “You will never have to marry.”
“No, I will just have to live with my parents until I wither away and die, childless and alone!”
In the shocked silence that followed such a dire proclamation, Charlotte felt a wave of shame descend upon her. She was taking out her fears and trepidations on the one person who had always been loyal to her, and it was neither right nor fair. Reaching across the narrow aisle she took Dianna’s hand in hers and squeezed it tight. “I am sorry.”
“As am I. Everything will be all right, you know. I have a feeling,” she said confidently.
Ever since they were young girls Dianna had claimed to have ‘feelings’ about certain things. Sometimes they were ominous, other times happy and good. Being of a more practical mind Charlotte did not make decisions based off of what her friend felt, but she did not entirely discount Dianna’s intuition either. Some people, she believed, had a knack for sensing things that were not immediately apparent and Dianna was most definitely one of them.
Sitting back, she directed her gaze to the window. They had turned onto Bayview Street and were gradually slowing down in preparation of a full stop.
“I hope so,” she murmured. And then, because she knew Dianna would understand, she added, “I am afraid of what my mother will think of me.”
“Does she know where you are going?”
“I left her a note saying I was safe and that I would return soon.” She did not mention her hand had trembled with every word she wrote.
Dianna adjusted the hood of her cloak more firmly around her head, fully disguising any blond curls that would give her away should she be seen leaving the carriage. “Your mother will think of you as she always has: that you are an ungrateful child with no respect for your elders.”
“Please,” Charlotte said with a startled laugh, “do not spare my feelings.”
“You do not need your feelings spared, for you know I speak the truth. Lady Bettina has never understood you, nor you her. Were you not connected by blood I doubt either of you would ever have reason to speak to the other. Yet you have always done your best to please her, although heaven knows that has been an impossible task from the beginning.”
Tabitha nodded solemnly.
“You are finally doing something for yourself,” Dianna continued, “and you should carry no guilt for it.”
In her heart Charlotte knew what she was doing was right, but her head was another matter entirely. She was afraid her mother would never forgive her. That she would sever all ties between them. But she was more afraid of the duke, and it was that fear that was driving her into Gavin’s arms. “You would have been much more suited as her daughter, you know.”
“Yes,” Dianna agreed without hesitation, “I know. Just as my parents would have understood you far better than they do me.” It was, unfo
rtunately, the truth. Dianna’s mother and father, both outspoken individuals who cared little for the rules impressed upon them by society, had always been slightly bewildered by their only child. They loved Dianna unconditionally, but they never could quite understand why she was always so well mannered and quiet. As a result Dianna had been raised by a governess instead of her mother, as Lady Foxcroft was far too busy supporting her various causes and Lord Foxcroft rarely ventured beyond his beloved country estate in Hampshire where he tinkered day in and day out with one invention after another.
“But I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, “life gives us what we need, not what we want.”
They rode the rest of the way down Bayview Street in reflective silence, and when the carriage pulled up beside a handsome brownstone with matching mulberry trees and a towering gate they embraced tightly, if not a bit awkwardly given that neither of them could stand to their full height inside of the carriage.
“Be safe,” Dianna whispered.
“I shall tell you everything once I return.”
“You had better. I want every single detail, with nothing left out. Just think,” Dianna said over her shoulder as Greensburgh opened the door and enthusiastically offered his arm for her to step down, “when you return you will be Mrs. Graystone!”
“Mrs. Graystone,” Charlotte repeated softly under her breath once Dianna had managed to slip undetected into her house and the carriage was once again moving. “Mrs. Charlotte Graystone.” It had a certain ring to it, she supposed. Surely it sounded better than the ‘Duchess of Tarrow’.
But if that was the case then why did it feel as though a heavy stone was sitting in her stomach and her palms were damp with sweat? Turning her head to the side to hide her growing anxiety from Tabitha’s watchful gaze, Charlotte closed her eyes and feigned sleep until at long last, lulled by the rocking of the carriage, she slipped mercifully into unconsciousness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gretna Green was a small village just past the border that divided England and Scotland. Easily accessible by the Great North Road, it had become a commonplace destination for couples desiring a quick marriage without the consent of their parents and beyond the judgmental eye of the ton.
Once upon a time being married in England had been a simple affair, but following the Marriage Act of 1753 it took a turn for the complicated. Banns were required to be read in the church where the wedding would take place, not once or twice but three times over the period of twenty one days, effectively eliminating any wedding of haste. If one wished to wed without having the Banns read, they needed to obtain a marriage license which would only be granted if both parties were of age and there was no impediment… such as the bride being engaged to another man.
In short, if a couple wished to elope they had no choice but to flee to Gretna Green, where nothing more was required than two witnesses willing to put their signature to parchment. It made the entire affair fast, simple, and, to Charlotte’s way of thinking, horribly unromantic.
As she stood shoulder to shoulder next to a man she hardly knew while a priest flew through their marriage vows without once glancing up at the couple he was uniting forever, Charlotte’s stomach twisted into one tight knot of apprehension. She peeked sideways at Gavin, hoping to catch his eye, but he was staring straight ahead, his stoic countenance revealing none of the nervousness and anxiety she was certain was written all over her own face if only anyone cared to look.
She and Tabitha had traveled all day and all night to reach Scotland by late morning, and it seemed no sooner had Charlotte’s boots touched the fresh loamy soil than Gavin appeared to whisk her away to the Blacksmith’s shop where all weddings in Gretna Green took place.
It was a narrow, rectangular building that smelled faintly of steel and smoke. The cobblestone floor had been swept clean in anticipation of their arrival, but cobwebs lingered in the rafters and straw was piled high in all four corners. It was not, Charlotte thought with a grimace, the beautiful church she once dreamed of being married in as a young girl, but then again she hardly had reason for complaint, not when it was Gavin on her arm instead Crane.
Again she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. This time he glanced back, but his gray eyes were as unreadable as the rest of his face. Charlotte managed a small, hesitant smile; Gavin turned his head and resumed staring at the short, portly priest who was reciting their marriage vows with as much enthusiasm as a rain cloud on a dreary, sunless day.
Her back stiffened. Very well, then. If Gavin wanted to make their wedding no more intimate than two strangers waiting in line next to each other at Twinings she could certainly oblige him. Two could play this game of cool indifference, and with everything Charlotte set her mind to she intended to be the best at it.
She managed to hold her attention solely on the priest for a few more minutes, but as he droned on (and on and on) she found her eyes wandering around the room and landing with no small amount of chagrin on the skirt of her light green traveling dress, wrinkled and worn from so many hours spent sitting in a carriage.
She wished there had been time to change into the ivory morning gown with blue satin trim she brought specifically for the ceremony, but Gavin had been adamant they marry immediately and, exhausted and disoriented from traveling, she had not bothered arguing.
Noting a spot of mud she frowned and attempted to brush it away as inconspicuously as possible. When that did not work she looked to see if anyone was watching her – the only other two people in attendance were Tabitha and Gavin’s valet, a man whose name she did not remember; both of whom appeared to be dozing off – and slipped her hand free from its glove to pick at the stubborn dirt with a fingernail.
She became so consumed with her task that she did not hear her name being spoken the first time, nor the second. Only when Gavin grabbed her arm did she jump and raise startled eyes to his. “What?” she whispered. “What is it?”
“We have reached the part where you need to pay attention,” Gavin explained. His tone was sober, but the faint hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Perhaps you had best read the vows to her again,” he advised the priest. “My wife-to-be is a bit hard of hearing.”
“Hard of hearing, ye say?” The priest’s bushy gray eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Should I start from the beginning with all of it, then?”
“NO!” Charlotte and Gavin shouted simultaneously and poor Tabitha, who truly had fallen asleep behind them, jumped awake with a little shriek and nearly tipped sideways off her chair.
“Sorry,” she squeaked. “I am so sorry, Lady Charlotte.”
The priest sighed. “Very well. I shall repeat the vows one final time, that is if the bride is now paying attention?”
“I am,” Charlotte said solemnly.
The look the priest gave her said he highly doubted that, but he began again nevertheless. “Lady Charlotte Vanderley, wilt thou have this Man to be thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”
“Yes, I will.”
The priest glowered.
“You are supposed to say ‘I do’,” Gavin whispered.
“I do,” she amended hastily.
“Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, and – yes, what is it now?” the priest asked in exasperation when Charlotte’s hand slowly crept into the air.
“It is just… well… the wording of that one particular vow. The ‘obey’ part. I do not think I like it.”
“You do not like it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I do not. Is there another word we can use in its stead? One that is less…”
“Dictatorial?” Gavin suggested dryly.
“Yes. Precisely.”
The priest swelled to his full height (which was still rather unimpressive) and glowered at both of them. “And what word would ye suggest I use?”
“Listen,” Charlotte said after she thought about it for a moment. “I could vow to always listen to my
husband.”
“Do ye agree to this… this malarkey?” the priest blustered, turning towards Gavin who shrugged.
“They are her vows, not mine.”
“Very well, very well,” he grumbled. “It is extremely irregular but if that is what you wish—”
“It is,” Charlotte said.
“—then that is how it will be. Now, for the third and final time, God help my soul. Lady Charlotte Vanderley, wilt thou have this Man to be thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”
Charlotte’s brow creased. “Didn’t you already say this part – I do, I do!” she squealed when Gavin pinched her arm.
“Wilt thou listen to him, and serve him, love honor, and keep him in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep thee only until him, for as long as ye both shall live?”
Charlotte knew she was supposed to give her answer to the priest, but for some inexplicable reason she found herself looking at Gavin instead, and he at her. Their eyes met, and she had to swallow twice before she managed to croak, “I do.”
The rest of the vows flew by in quick succession. Charlotte nodded in all of the right places and repeated all of the right words, although if someone were to ask her what had been said after the fact she would have no recollection. It seemed as though time were passing in slow motion and everything was a lovely blur of color and sound until reality came crashing in like waves breaking up against the shore when Gavin raised her left hand and thrust a ring upon her finger.
It was a simple gold band, old and thin and rubbed smooth around the edges. It showed all the signs of having been worn by someone else and Charlotte wondered about the woman whose finger it had rested upon for so many years, as well as the man who gave it to her.
Was she Gavin’s mother? Grandmother? An aunt, perhaps, or no relation at all? With a jolt she realized she knew absolutely nothing about his family. He had never told her, and she had never thought to ask. Were his parents alive? Did he have siblings? A sister, or a brother?
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