A Convenient Bride

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Shaking his head, Richard collected the large basket the cook had prepared. “Perhaps we should get you inside before the sneezes begin anew.”

  “Excellent idea.” She made a funny sound and sneezed again. This time when he held out his handkerchief, she did not refuse.

  The cottage was clean and tidy. A small fire burned in the fireplace, and the scent of baking bread permeated the room. The interior wasn’t spacious, and Brenna marveled at how such a large family could fit within the walls without constantly tromping over one another.

  Mrs. Cookson, a small woman in the last stages of pregnancy, with a warm smile and tired eyes, waddled over with a baby in her arms, the little mite shyly turning his head to his mother’s shoulder.

  “So pleased I am to meet you, Lady Ashwood.” She curtsied awkwardly. Her protruding stomach, and the baby in her arms, made the effort a chore.

  “Please do sit, Mrs. Cookson.” Brenna hurried over to help her into a chair, fearful the woman would topple over onto her face if she dipped too far forward. “We can dispense with formalities today.”

  The woman smiled gratefully. “Mary, can you take baby and put him down for his nap?” The older girl who’d met them outside popped a piece of candy into her mouth and collected her brother. She made faces at the boy, who offered a toothless grin for his sister.

  “You have lovely children, Mrs. Cookson.”

  “I have two more outside. My older boys are working in the fields to bring in the hay before the snow comes. His Lordship has sent over workers to help.” Mrs. Cookson indicated a chair, and Brenna sat. “Your husband is a fine man, Milady.”

  Brenna nodded as Richard sat the basket near the fireplace. She was discovering much about him this day. There was another side of her husband she was just learning about.

  “He is,” she agreed.

  A shuffle brought her attention around. A man of middle years came from a back room, leaning heavily on a cane. The left side of his face was scarred, as well as his left hand. Brenna assumed the rest of that side of his body, covered by his shirt, was similarly afflicted.

  He waved off Richard, who walked over to assist him.

  “I can manage,” he said, and limped to the table. Easing into the chair, he looked at Brenna. “I see you ’ave finally brought your missus, Milord,” he said. “I thought she was made up by gossips.”

  Brenna smiled. “I assure you, I am very real, Mr. Cookson.”

  The man nodded. “It pleases us to ’ave a new Lady at the manor to keep ’is Lordship ’opping.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will do my best.”

  Covertly, Brenna examined his scars when he turned away to speak with Richard, feeling for what he’d suffered. For him to have survived such a tragic event spoke of his fortitude and a strong will to live.

  For the next hour, the women talked of babies and the Cookson children, Brenna envying the large brood. Though Mrs. Cookson was weary from the burdens she carried, it was clear she loved her family.

  The men spoke of crops and the coming winter, and it quickly became clear that the two men were more than landlord and tenant but friends.

  When Richard finally stood and made their good-byes, Mrs. Cookson took Brenna’s hand. “Please visit again, Milady.”

  “I will; I promise.”

  Once seated in the carriage, Brenna stared off at the cottage. For the first time, she noticed the soot stains on the roof where it had recently been patched. Thankfully, the cottage had not been fully destroyed.

  “Their burdens are great,” she said softly, her eyes troubled. “It is tragic what happened.”

  “It is,” Richard agreed. “I have known Alfred since I was a child. He worked for my father. He is a prideful man. I’ve offered to do more, but he does not want too much charity. Thankfully, his sons are strong and capable lads.”

  She touched her stomach. “If we have a son, I hope he is like his father. You, too, are strong and capable.”

  The horse rattled his harness. Richard eased them back onto the road. He shot her a quick glance.

  “If she is a daughter, I pray she has a gentle temperament and does not cause her father grief.” He snapped the reins. “One termagant in the family is more than one man can take.”

  The comment ruffled her feathers, but she knew it was in good fun. “Truly? You managed to get past my prickly nature to get me with this child. There must be something you found appealing about me. Please do tell me what it was.”

  “Hmm.” He made a play of deep thought. Then, “If I were to choose one thing appealing about you to me, it has to be your breasts. They are immensely pleasing.”

  Brenna’s mouth snapped open. What on earth could she say in reply to such a bawdy comment?

  Laughter bubbled up. “You are scandalous, Richard Ellerby.”

  “You asked, and I replied.” He shrugged. “If I cannot bed you, I can certainly enjoy the view of the perfect pair at my leisure.”

  She placed both open hands over her mouth but could not staunch the ripple of laughter. “What has happened to my staid country gentleman husband? Did my father rattle something loose in your head when he hit you?”

  “I just thought you of all people appreciated honesty,” he said. His mouth curled up.

  “Oh, I do,” she said. “Feel free to ogle at will.”

  He chuckled. They fell into a companionable silence as the clip-clop of horse hooves and the squeaks and rattles of the carriage filled the silence. The wind began to pick up, and leaves fell slowly off the trees. Though still warm enough for a light shawl, the trees shedding their leaves indicated that the weather was changing.

  The manor came into view just as a loud snap sounded, followed instantly by a sideways jerk of the carriage. Brenna cried out, just managing to catch the side of the seat as the carriage dropped sideways, the harness trapping the horse to the disabled carriage and keeping it from flipping over.

  The panicked horse tried to free itself, spinning the carriage. Richard fought for control and to keep his seat.

  Brenna struggled to keep from being thrown. The effort wrenched her back, and she slid sideways against Richard. The carriage rattled and the horse kicked, trying to free itself from the harness. It seemed as if the battle went on forever, as Richard tried to soothe the terrified animal. Finally he gained control, though the horse shook, sweat foaming on his skin.

  “Easy now.” Richard quickly climbed down from the carriage. He gripped the reins in one hand lest the horse bolt. He reached for Brenna. She wasted no time launching herself awkwardly off the conveyance. He released the reins and caught her against him.

  A distant call sounded, and several men came running down the drive. “What happened?” one asked. The men took hold of the skittish horse.

  “I think we broke a bolt.” Richard scooped a trembling Brenna into his arms.

  She whimpered. “My back, it hurts.”

  Without further conversation, he left the men to take care of the horse and carriage, and walked briskly but carefully toward the manor. The butler heard the commotion and swung the door wide open.

  “Get the physician,” Richard bellowed, as he hurried through the foyer and up the staircase. With great care, he went to her room and laid her gingerly down on the bed.

  It wasn’t a moment later when her mother rushed in. “What happened?” She crossed to Brenna and reached for her. “She is sheet-white.”

  “We broke a wheel.” Richard sat on the bed and touched Brenna’s belly. “How is the baby?”

  Brenna gripped his hand. “I’m not certain. I think he is fine.” She looked into his eyes. Through tears, she pleaded, “Richard, he has to be fine.”

  He pressed her hand to his mouth. Brenna knew he was fighting to be strong for her. “The babe will survive. Have faith,” he said. She clung to the conviction in his voice. She had to.

  Mother sat beside her and tucked Brenna into her arms. The familiar scent of lavender swirled around her. Brenna
let silent tears fall. She was terrified.

  While they waited for the physician, family and servants gathered in the bedroom and hallway. Several maids sniffed softly, and the household prayed for their new mistress and the unborn heir.

  There was a collective sense of relief when the man finally showed, examined Brenna, and was reasonably certain the babe was uninjured. Still, he took Richard and Kathleen aside.

  “Her Ladyship needs to stay abed until her strained back heals. If she cramps, there will be nothing we can do for the baby.” He collected his bag. “Someone should watch her day and night for the next few days.”

  “We will.” Kathleen returned to the bed. Richard walked the physician out, and Kathleen pressed a kiss on Brenna’s forehead.

  Brenna’s lip trembled. “I cannot lose this baby.”

  “Do not think such a thing, darling,” Mother scolded gently. “You are both strong. You will have a healthy baby. I promise.”

  Caressing her belly while mouthing a silent prayer, Brenna took from her mother’s strength. Then, exhausted, Brenna held her mother tightly and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

  Kathleen looked up to see Walter standing in the doorway. He shooed everyone away and closed the door behind him.

  “How is she?” he whispered.

  “She is trying to be strong.” Kathleen’s lip trembled. “If she loses this baby, I don’t know how she will survive. She loves it so.”

  Walter reached for her hand. “Our daughter does nothing at half measure. She knows this baby is what holds this marriage together. She will not lose him.”

  Eyes widening, Kathleen stared. “You know?”

  “That the marriage is no love match?” He shook his head. “I am not nearly as dense as you two think. But I also see the way Brenna and Richard look at each other. This gives me hope.”

  Kathleen rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. “I thank you for giving Richard a chance. He does not yet realize how much he needs her.”

  “He will.” Walter brushed Brenna’s hair back from her face. “I do love this girl.”

  “I know you do.” Kathleen looked from daughter to husband, her eyes soft. “Now go and pour Richard a tall drink. I think the man could use one.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Rage burned hot inside Richard as he stared down at the broken bolt. A break from normal wear was not what happened to the wheel. From the condition of the item, the metal had been damaged intentionally and nearly cut through. It was enough to become an accident when the last of the undamaged part finally gave way during travel.

  And he and Brenna could have been killed.

  “I don’t know what happened, Milord,” Freddy said. He was shocked, upset, and frightened. “I checked the equipment myself a few days ago. There was nothing amiss.”

  Richard held up a hand. “I do not blame you.” Freddy had been with him for many years. He excelled at his job of keeping the coaches and carriages in top form. He trusted the man with his life every time he took out a conveyance. No, this was the act of a deranged mind. “Have there been any other incidents, any other failures?”

  “None, Milord.”

  “Hell.” Richard walked around the carriage, his stomach knotted. If not for good luck, a slow pace, and a great deal of driving skill, well, he could not think about how close they had come to tragic consequences. “The carriage could have been used by anyone. Was it targeted at me or my wife, or at another member of the household?”

  Freddy wrung his cap. “Everyone uses this carriage. If the culprit targeted a certain person, there would be more accurate ways to create a fatal accident.”

  The man was correct. “They could damage a saddle or use a weapon when the target was out walking. There are three ponds on the property. Any one of the ponds would be perfect for an ‘accidental’ drowning.”

  Richard pondered what might have happened had Brenna taken the carriage out alone; she wouldn’t have had the strength to control the frightened horse.

  He rubbed his eyes. “We must keep this news to ourselves for now. Check each coach, carriage, and dog cart immediately for sabotage.” He ran his hand over the carriage wheel. “From now forward, when someone requests to go out, I need you to personally check the equipage for tampering right before they leave. I want it to be impossible for this to happen again.”

  “Yes, Milord.”

  Knowing his instructions would be followed exactly, he left the stable and walked to the house. He checked on Brenna and found her sleeping. Lucy was sitting in the chair, and Lady Kathleen was looking out the window. He needn’t worry about his wife for the moment. She was in good care.

  Richard went down to the library. The desire to drink to excess was overwhelming. He knew getting soused was not in his best interest, nor would it ease his anger.

  However, one brandy would not send him into a downward spiral. He poured a liberal amount in a glass.

  “My wife instructed me to pour you a drink.” Walter came into the room. “I see you have started without me.”

  “Five years ago, I would have had half the carafe finished already.” Pouring another glass, he walked to the fireplace and stared into the flames. “You taught me control.”

  Walter snorted. “You taught yourself.” He leaned back against the sideboard and crossed his arms. “I am proud of you, son. Your father would be, too.”

  Richard’s head jerked up. “You knew my father well?” This was the first time they’d ever discussed the late viscount.

  “He was some years older than me, but we traveled in the same circles. The first time I saw you, you were in short pants and I was not yet thirty. You were tormenting Anne with a toad, and she was screaming to rattle the dead.” His eyes took a faraway cast with the memory. “The night you challenged me at the inn, I hardly recognized you. Many years had passed since your father died and I’d seen you last. Sadly, I’d not gone to you after Edmond’s death or the subsequent loss of your family and felt guilty for my neglect. This, added to my desire not to see you drink yourself to death, spurred me to take you in hand and help drag you from your melan-cholia.”

  There was so much Richard did not know about his friend. “Most men would have left me to rot. You will forever have my thanks for what you did for me.”

  Walter shrugged, picked up his drink, and tossed it back. “All I ask is that you take care of my daughter.” Walter left him without waiting for an answer.

  This was a simple request from a friend who’d asked for nothing since rescuing Richard from despair’s black grip.

  Take care of Brenna. The weighted words carried more than a command to keep her safe. Walter did not know the depths of what he was asking. There was danger lurking in his home, and he vowed the culprit would not get away with what happened today. Worse yet, he hadn’t a clue as to who would want to hurt someone in this household.

  They lived quietly here at Beckwith Hall. Neighbors were scattered far and wide across the park, entertaining with parties or dinners when the urge to socialize struck. Richard would reciprocate a few times a year but mostly kept to himself. George, Miriam, and Bethany would occasionally invite in friends, but he seldom joined their youthful revelry, as he preferred keeping his own company.

  There was no gambling or fights or general misbehavior under his roof. If he encountered trouble with a member of his staff, the offending party would be dismissed immediately. He’d not let anyone go in well over a year.

  His mind drifted up the stairs, and rage welled again. He’d lost one wife and child, and he’d not lose another. He’d kill to keep them safe.

  With a growl he hauled back and threw the glass into the flames.

  Night came before Brenna awakened to the sound of someone setting a tray on the night table. She opened her eyes to find the room dimly lit by only the fireplace, and the shadowy form of her husband leaning over the tray.

  “Have you taken over the duties of the maids, Husband?” she said, and carefully stretched
out her sore back. The muscles contracted, and she winced.

  He took a seat on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  Brenna reached beneath the sheet and found everything in order. “There is no cramping or bleeding. I suspect your son or daughter has decided not to let a carriage accident keep him, or her, from continuing to grow.” She smiled softly. “I told you that we Harringtons are a hearty lot.”

  Richard took her hand. “I have noticed as much. You held on to the carriage seat with the grip of ten men. The courage you displayed was admirable.”

  “I had to hold on. You were otherwise occupied and could not do the deed yourself.”

  His face clouded. “You frightened years off my life, My Lady. Please take better care of yourself in the future.”

  Shifting on the bed to ease her back, Brenna frowned playfully. “Am I to blame for a broken wheel? Did you find the reason for the trouble?”

  “It was a rusty bolt. The matter has been taken care of and will not be repeated.” He leaned to fluff her pillows. His arm brushed against her. She smiled.

  Satisfied with his explanation, she pulled the sheet and quilt up. “Where are Mother and Lucy?”

  “I sent them off to bed. I am taking the evening shift.” He stood and collected the tray. “Since you missed supper, I thought we could eat together.”

  With his assistance, she slid up against the pillows and waited for him to serve them. She watched him smooth out the quilt and placed the tray near her hip. As he removed the napkin covering the tray, the scents of meat pie and creamed vegetables drifted up.

  Her stomach grumbled, and she chuckled. “The babe has a hearty appetite. Soon, I will be unable to walk.”

  “Then I shall carry you wherever you need to go.” Richard smoothed the napkin over her lap and handed her the pie.

  “I see myself held in your arms, your legs bowed under my great weight, stumbling up and down the stairs.” Brenna bit into the delicious food. “Perhaps a craftsman could make me a cart and add a pony to pull it. It will save your back.”