A Singular Lady

by Megan Frampton

  “I have wanted you to see my phaeton for an age, my dear,” Claire chattered as Titania brought her head back inside. “Wex bought me this on our fourth anniversary, what a dear man he is.” She sighed contentedly, trailing her hand down the red satin wall covering as if she caressed a lover’s face.

  “Yes, it is lovely, but what is it that is so important, Claire?”

  “You will see, my dear,” Claire said with an arch look. Claire’s eyes squinted as she looked toward the park, which was filled with ladies and gentlemen showing off their latest clothing, lovers, and jewelry, a vibrantly hued collection of all sorts of the finest folks the ton had to offer.

  Titania felt a faint sense of alarm as the carriage was submerged into the verdant dark of the large trees overhanging the narrow drive. It was only when they were safely beyond the main fray that Claire sat back in her seat, smiling pleasedly at Titania.

  “I have such a surprise for you, my dear,” she said, her tone even more arch than it was before. “I know you have been too shy, or too modest, to admit the possibility of this gentleman’s proposal, but he has spoken to me, and I, as a happy prisoner in the jail of matrimony—does that not sound poetic?—want everyone to be so shackled. When Lord Gratwick arrives,” she said, “you are not to be too nervous. He merely wishes to make you Lady Gratwick, with possession of all those musty books that are so fascinating to you.”

  Titania inhaled sharply, then clasped her hands together in her lap, noticing with an odd feeling of displacement that her knuckles were turning white.

  “I presume,” Titania said, willing her voice not to shake, “that Lord Gratwick did not tell you he has demanded that I marry him or...he will reveal a secret of mine? He is not someone to whom I wish to be married. If you would be so kind as to return me home, I will address the matter myself with Lord Gratwick.”

  “Oh, no, Titania,” Claire said sharply, turning her head so fast her diamond earrings swung against her neck, their light revealing the line where Claire’s face powder stopped. “You will marry Lord Gratwick. It is unfortunate we could not accomplish it the usual way. No, we will see the gentleman shortly, and then he will tell you of the plan. Simple, but effective.”

  “No!” Titania declared. “If you are truly my friend, you will return me home, and we can forget this.”

  “Too late,” Claire trilled as a closed carriage lumbered toward them. Titania knew she was being imaginative, but the sight of the carriage, an innocuous shade of brown, made her feel as if a shadow had just crossed her path, and she shuddered involuntarily.

  She saw Gratwick’s blond head poking out from the window, his face alight with an avaricious gleam. The look changed to one of supreme satisfaction as he spied the two women, and he barked an order to his coachman, who pulled the carriage to an abrupt stop.

  He slid gracefully to the ground, unfolding his long length like a serpent. Or so Titania imagined. His eyes seemed to blaze with approval as he walked toward their carriage.

  “Well done, my lady,” he said, giving Claire a mock salute. He held his arm for her as she descended the steps. He held his arm out for Titania, who hesitated at the top of the steps. He chuckled as he met her eyes, apparently enjoying her predicament.

  “I had confided in our mutual friend, Miss Stanhope, of my passion for you, and she kindly offered to assist me in my suit. Please join me in the carriage and we can discuss our future.”

  Titania descended the phaeton, shaking not from fear but from anger.

  “I will not go with you, my lord, and if Lady Wexford will not return me home, I will have to walk.”

  Titania turned on her heel and started to stride back toward the clearing where she had seen so many people, knowing once she reached the safety of the open park she would be beyond Gratwick’s reach. It was clear he knew it, too, since he bounded to her side and grabbed her elbow with a surprisingly strong grip.

  “You will come with me willingly, Miss Stanhope, or unwillingly. It does not matter to me. Do you imagine that any of those kind folk,” he said, gesturing toward the clearing, “would believe that you, the daughter of a well-known libertine and the columnist who has been skewering their superficial lives in her own right, is being abducted by me, a well-regarded war veteran? You will come with me, we will discuss our future, and that will be the end of it.”

  Was it possible members of Society would be so callous as to ignore her pleas for assistance because they assumed she was as bad as her father was reputed to be? As she weighed her options, she remembered the comments people had already made about Edwin; members of the ton, who had been only too happy to allow an eligible, handsome bachelor into their midst were only too happy to believe he was capable of an attempt on his own father’s life.

  Gratwick was right. She would be ruined either way.

  Her disconsolate feelings were compounded by the feel of Gratwick’s strong hand on her arm; even if she were to break free, it was likely he would be subdue her and she would not even get the chance to test the mettle of Society folk. Rather than waste her time fighting his clearly superior physical strength, she resolved to fight him with her superior strength: her intelligence. She turned back to the carriage, glared at Claire for a moment, then got into the carriage on her own, refusing the arm Gratwick held out for her.

  “Lord Gratwick,” she began as soon as he was settled in the opposite seat, “you cannot but be aware I am here reluctantly, and would not be here at all if my friend had not tricked me. I thought we were going to discuss your interesting proposal in just a few days. I do not see the need for this force.”

  “Yes, Miss Stanhope, I had given you a week to make your decision, but recent developments have determined that I take a trip to the Continent immediately, and I wish my wife to accompany me.”

  “But I have not said I would marry you, sir,” Titania said, spreading her hands out in supplication. “In fact, I thought I made it fairly clear I was not in favor of accepting your suit; I have since come to realize that I cannot accept your suit, and you may tell whomever you like of my identity.”

  My paltry misdoings are nothing compared to the accusations being thrown at Edwin, she thought; how long could Society slaver over her little scribblings when he was living a front-page life?

  She continued in a calm tone. “Let me out, Lord Gratwick. I wish you well on your upcoming voyage.” She reached her hand up to rap on the roof of the carriage so the coachman would stop. She felt a sense of panic as his hand darted out to grasp hers.

  “No, I do not believe you understood me, Miss Stanhope. I have need of a wife, in particular, you, and I need to go on a trip just as urgently. You will marry me.”

  Although his implacable statement should have come as no surprise to Titania, given his recent behavior, she still felt a rising frisson of fear climb up her spine at his words.

  “But my aunt, and my brother, and my friends...they will wonder where I am, and come looking for me.”

  “No fear on that score, my dear,” Gratwick replied easily. “Lady Wexford is even now on her way to your house to inform your family of your impetuous elopement, and you can write them when we are safely wed. Your suitors will merely be disappointed I had the good fortune to win your hand. Your earl is even now in a great deal of trouble, so chances are he will not even notice you are gone. I do not see, my dear,” he mused, examining his fingernails, “what you would see in a man like that. Attempting to murder his own father. Shameful.”

  He let go of her wrist, then settled back cozily against the cushions as if getting comfortable for a long ride. Titania looked out the window, determined to discover a way to lose her companion before she lost her reputation, her freedom, or her life.

  “Lord Gratwick,” she said, trying to sound friendly, “circumstances would seem to allow for a lack of propriety...may I ask why you are so determined to marry me, of all the ladies this Season?”

  Gratwick smiled in an almost genuine way. “You, my dear, have a f
ortune. I am in need of just such a fortune.”

  “My lord,” she said with a hitch in her voice, “I do not wish to call myself a liar, but I have to confess that my fortune is not what it is reputed to be.”

  Thanks to Mrs. White, it was more than it was, but he did not have to know that. “My father left my brother and me nothing”—which was true—“I had my servants spread those rumors so no one would know quite how desperate my situation was.”

  He laughed, a nasty chuckle that seemed to wiggle its way down her spine to her feet. “You are a treasure, and such an imagination! Lady Wexford herself told me you were well set up, and you would not lie to your old friend, would you?”

  “My lord, I swear to you my father left me nothing. I arrived in town with no money, only some jewelry my mother left me. I am worthless to you.”

  “Oh, no, you are not, Titania,” he said with a grim smile. “Your little story is quite charming, but I know you have enough money to set us up in a new life away from here.”

  “Why must you leave?” She knew he was a snake; she just wanted to find out what kind of snake.

  “I find I have business in France, and that is all I will say until we are wed.” He closed his eyes, folded his hands across his chest, and appeared to sleep.

  After a few hours of rolling through increasingly pastoral countryside, the coachman drew up to a small inn, a few chickens pecking about beleaguered in the front of the modest two-story building. Gratwick roused himself long enough to inform her they were changing horses here and would have time only for a light snack before they were on their way again.

  Titania was grateful for the respite, no matter how brief, because it meant a chance to escape her current situation, which she now saw was fairly desperate. She was bitterly regretting not screaming her head off when she was in London, no matter if no one came to her rescue; she felt like an idiot for not having done something, anything, to call attention to her plight when there were actually people around.

  She knew neither Miss Tynte nor Thibault would believe she was eloping with Gratwick, but she also doubted their ability to marshal their resources before she was married in deed, if not in fact. Her mind veered from that unpleasant image—one awful thing at a time, Titania, she reminded herself—and stepped out of the carriage determined to make a horrific racket. Now if only there was someone to hear her.

  The innkeeper’s wife, a fluttery woman trailing her apron strings, a few children, and some stray parsley, appeared, her vague mutterings indicating Titania should follow her so she could freshen herself up.

  She would be able to think better if she were less grimy, so she allowed the woman to escort her to a small upstairs room. She removed her pelisse—now she knew why Claire was so insistent on sending for it—and attempted to remove some of the wrinkles in her gown with the lukewarm water in the basin near the bed. She splashed more water on her face and smoothed her hair.

  She was able to see some of herself in the small, cracked mirror hanging right over the basin, and if she alternated eyes, she could get a general sense of how she looked. It was not a pretty sight. Random bits of hair had fallen from her hairpins, and were hanging down as straight as straw. Her face was even paler than usual, and her gown, which was not designed for sitting long hours in a carriage, was limp and stretched out. But what does all that matter, she thought, since it is hardly likely my appearance will be a deterrent to my abductor.

  Absentmindedly, she started to run her hands through her hair. She was startled by a noise at the door, and saw a tiny housemaid venturing into the room.

  “Your husband thought you might like a bite to eat up here, my lady,” she said with a shy stammer, proffering something on a tray that actually looked fairly appetizing.

  “Is Lord...that is, my husband downstairs?” Titania inquired.

  “Yes, he is in the public area. There are no other customers today, so you have the place to yourselves.”

  Lovely, Titania thought, there goes another idea. She had been hoping someone—anyone—would be sipping ale downstairs, and she could slip them a note, or a plea for help, or anything to extricate herself.

  “I will go downstairs as well, then,” she announced, grabbing her ill-used pelisse and heading for the door. “You may bring the tray to me down there; I wish to speak with my l— him.”

  She walked downstairs, thinking furiously of what she could do to distract Gratwick from proceeding as quickly as they had been thus far. Demand he recite the Roman emperors, in order, from Augustus to Nero? Faint? Develop spasms? She arrived at the public room before she could settle on any kind of satisfactory answer.

  “Ah, there you are my dear,” he said, an ale in his hands and a malicious sparkle in his eyes. “I am glad you are feeling well enough to join me. We will be on our way shortly, do not worry.”

  “It is our honeymoon,” he said in a confiding tone to the innkeeper. Titania felt her anger rise as she saw the knowing smile on his mouth. The innkeeper winked back at him with a suggestion of a leer, the two of them crossing class boundaries to indulge in some classless male kinship.

  Likely the innkeeper would think she was a frightened bride, or a histrionic peagoose if she made a fuss. He returned bearing another big pitcher of ale, setting it down with a splash in front of Lord Gratwick.

  If she could encourage Gratwick to get drunk, she might be able to figure something out. With that vague hope in mind, she pointed to the pitcher accusatorily. “My love, if you drink all that ale, you will be fit for nothing,” she said, loud enough for the innkeeper to hear, but not so loudly as to let Gratwick know it was deliberately said. She smiled warmly at him as she said it, summoning up her newly found lying skills. Perhaps her recent duplicity would help extricate her from this situation.

  “My love,” he replied with an oversweet smile, “I could drink twice this amount and still be fine. I was a soldier, after all.”

  Titania wondered how time spent dodging bullets and camping out of doors could help him develop a tolerance for alcohol. “Then perhaps I could join you. Sir,” she called out, beckoning to the innkeeper, “my husband wishes to relive his army days by drinking some more of your fine ale. Could you bring us another pitcher, please?”

  Gratwick gave her a look of admiration. “I appreciate your acceptance of the inevitable. Nothing is more boring than traveling with a woman who is constantly whining. Let us have a toast to the future,” he finished as the innkeeper returned bearing another glass.

  Titania had never drunk ale before, but after a few sips was well on her way to enjoying it. She took tiny sips, and watched in satisfaction as Gratwick drained his glass and poured himself another one. Unfortunately, an hour later, Gratwick was proving he could definitely hold his alcohol. Titania, on the other hand, felt a little woozy.

  “We should depart, my dear,” he said, wiping a froth of ale from his mouth. “We have to reach our destination by nightfall.”

  “My lord, I wish you would reconsider this plan,” she said, a desperate tone creeping into her voice. “Perhaps we could travel back to London, and we could meet with my barrister, who could explain the situation. We could take time to get to know one another, and perhaps, then, we could consider a proper betrothal.”

  “No, Titania, that will not do. I am in need of you and your fortune immediately, and I despise traveling alone. Will it be so terrible being married to me? I promise, I am an entertaining companion. I will not beat you or bore you. What more could you ask for?”

  To spend the rest of my life with the man I love, the man whose touch makes me quiver, the man whom I bitterly regret refusing when he offered for me...that is what I could ask for. Oh, Titania, you have managed this all very badly, despite your Managing Ways. She turned her head aside so Gratwick would not see the desperation on her face, quickly wiping away the tears that had sprung to her eyes.

  “My lord, perhaps you will allow me to return upstairs to collect my belongings?”

 
“Certainly, my dear, and I will accompany you to make sure you have not forgotten anything. You are so forgetful, my dear,” he said in a loving tone, his eyes belying his words.

  There goes another opportunity, Titania thought. She was almost prepared to try to jump from the second-floor window, but now all she had managed to do was to get him alone upstairs, and that was certainly not her intention. Drat. Perhaps something would come to her, she thought optimistically as the two of them ascended the small, narrow stairs. Her salvation was sitting innocuously in the corner, unaware of the great role it had to play in Titania’s escape.

  I did not think my rescuer would be quite so slim, she chuckled to herself as she spied the poker lying next to the fireplace. If she could just get him to turn away for a moment, she could whack him enough to run down the stairs and hopefully find someone who might be able to help her.

  It is not a particularly well-thought-out plan, but it is a plan, she thought prosaically.

  “Your belongings, Titania,” Lord Gratwick said, handing her the pelisse and reticule. “I will buy you whatever you require—with your money, of course—when we arrive in France.”

  Titania moved slowly toward the fireplace, holding her hands behind her back, her fingers wiggling slowly so as to find the poker without too much movement.

  “As I have said repeatedly, Lord Gratwick, my fortune is not what you expect. I...I, oh damn!” she said, throwing her reticule at her feet as she grabbed for the poker. He looked at her interestedly for a moment, as if she were an amusing pet, then smiled as he reached down to retrieve her reticule.

  “You really must learn to control your temper, my dear,” he said, his suave tone never faltering.

  Titania wielded the poker over his head, closing her eyes as she brought it down between his shoulder blades. He fell down in a heap, and for just a moment, Titania looked at him, shocked at what she had done. She had to get out of there, and quickly; he would not be unconscious for long.

  Damn again, she thought, he has fallen directly on top of my reticule. She could not bear to reach under him to grab it, and what if he awakened while she was sneaking her hand under his chest? The reticule be damned, too.