The Marriage Bargain

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Gavin kneed the horse further along the street. A few curious onlookers glanced his way as he rode by. An owner swept the entrance to a small butcher shop. A hand-lettered sign hanging in a draper’s window stated it was open for business. Across the narrow street, a milliner had just placed a fancy bonnet trimmed with fluffy plumes in the shop’s window. Catching the earl’s eye as he rode by, she sent Gavin a coy smile. He touched a gloved finger to his top hat’s brim and nodded back.

  Two large, wooden wagons and a closed carriage stood along the street. Sleepy-eyed horses dozed, awaiting return of their owners or drivers. As Gavin neared the end of the short street, he came upon three small, identical, thatched-roofed cottages. High grass sprouted between the dirt thoroughfare where a narrow verge was backed by a stone wall. A one-lane bridge, built of the same stone as the wall, spanned a meandering stream. The narrow bridge led east toward the Channel. Gavin had ridden into Surrey from the west to Wyndemere. He reined his mount into a halt, his eyes peering at the rugged landscape beyond the bridge.

  The blast of a carriage horn alerted travelers to board or be left behind. Soon a coach pulled by four prancing steeds burst from the inn’s stable yard. A burley driver handled the ribbons as metal shod hooves pounded toward the earl. Gavin reined his nervous mount to one side. Ironclad coach wheels threw up clouds of gritty dust as they rumbled past, clattering noisily across the stone bridge. Postillions urged the horses upward toward England’s east coast. Taking his twitchy mount firmly in control, the earl turned the animal back toward the White Dove Tavern

  Damn if I’m not curious as hell about Emily Dancy and her family. Maybe a tankard of ale or two and some questions will elicit a bit of useful information in the pub.

  * * * *

  Emily was awakened by noises from the bedchamber next to hers. Masculine grunts and feminine squeaks and giggles. She sat up, fully awake now, her cheeks stung by blushes as she rolled out of bed, guessing what was going on next door. She poured water from a pewter ewer into a china basin set in the washstand, and doused her hot cheeks with the cool liquid, drying her face and hands with a fluffy cloth. She couldn’t help herself, and she held her breath and listened. Silence reigned next door. Emily exhaled as questions crowded her brain. What exactly did married people do in bed?

  The idea of being in bed with a man had Emily’s heart palpitating. Do they kiss and hug? Emily rarely hugged anyone except her mother. Or maybe Wilma. What did it feel like to be crushed against a man’s body? For example, genial Lord Harry?

  Naughty thoughts slashed across Emily’s mind.

  What about the earl? What on earth brought him to mind?

  Emily knew the reason for that, and answered her own question.

  Last night I stood very close to him in the dark, talking, and I felt…things.

  Her skin heated. She couldn’t forget when his warm breath brushed the back of her neck and shoulders. Or when he leaned real close and offered her his kerchief. How very handsome he looked in evening dress. For a scary instant, she wanted to hug him because he had been so…nice…about everything. Now, wasn’t that notion utterly ridiculous!

  Unconsciously, Emily’s mind flipped back to Anthony Kendall. She had wondered if he would kiss her. Instead, he did nothing improper. And quite happily, she knew that kiss would never happen.

  Her mind still churned, however, by curiosity. And it led her down an uncharted path. Sounds from the Porters’ bedchamber had her nipples tingling against her night-rail when she took a deep breath. She cupped her breasts to stop the odd feeling. A jolt of pleasure ran along a nerve when she brushed across the tip. She gasped, startled at what she felt. Then, slowly, she experimented. Rubbing a nipple sent new sensations to the place between her thighs. Feeling sheepish, she squeezed her legs together.

  Emily wondered if Wilma touched herself there. If so, did she like it? And what if—

  Her mind froze. Wilma must know everything after being married for two years. Good heavens! She thought. What if she never married? A lonely, dried-up, spinster-governess without a husband or family to comfort her during her old age.

  “Miss Dancy? Are you awake?”

  Emily caught her breath. Wilma’s lady’s maid was at the door.

  “’Tis me, Betsy.”

  “Oh, unh, Betsy. Yes, I’m awake. Please, come in.”

  “Good morning, Miss.” The girl pushed the door open with an elbow, a loaded tray held in front of her. “I hope I didn’t disturb ye none. I brung up a pot of hot chocolate, a crock of butter, two scones, and a jar of orange marmalade. I thought ye might like something to nibble on before going down for a full breakfast.”

  Emily glanced at a china clock on a nearby table. “Goodness, Betsy, it is after eight o’clock. I wonder what kept me asleep so long.”

  “Must’ve been excitement from y’tidday, Miss Dancy.”

  “Please,” Emily said, “call me Emily? I’d like it if you would.”

  “But—”

  “Lady Wilma is your mistress, not me. There’s no distinction between you and me, Betsy. I’m a governess and an employee just like you, only in a different capacity.”

  “Well, miss, if that’s what ye think is right…”

  “Yes. I do. Now,” Emily smiled, “my mouth is watering for a cup of that hot chocolate.”

  Betsy grinned and set the tray on a table next to a chair. “Sit yourself down…err, Miss Emily. I’ll fix it for you while you don your dressing gown.”

  Emily sipped hot chocolate and bit into a warm scone dripping with fresh-churned butter and marmalade. Meanwhile, Betsy meandered around the room, straightening things on the vanity table, retrieving several tortoiseshell hairpins that had fallen to the carpet during the rush to get Emily dressed for last night’s formal reception.

  “I dare not tap on m’lady’s door yet,” the maid explained. “Not till she yanks on a bell cord to summon me.” Betsy winked over at Emily slyly. “She and Lord Harry are like newlyweds even though they were wed almost two years ago.”

  Emily looked up, her expression openly curious. “And?”

  “Well, Lord Harry, ye see…” Betsy chuckled lightly. “He’s as randy as a billy goat most mornings. And I seen them sneaking off times during the day, too. Och, the noises he makes. Ooooeee! M’lord enjoys himself aplenty with his lady wife. I’m surprised she ain’t increasing.”

  Emily’s cheeks turned rosy. “I wouldn’t know, Betsy. It was only a week ago that Lady Wilma and me found each other after being separated for two years. We were bosom bows in Toynton-under-Hill. Then my parents were killed, and I was sent off to London so we lost touch.”

  “Aye, ’tis a shame to lose a close friend. My favorite cousin went into service as a nursemaid when a family moved to Bath. We was real good chums. But she niver sent me her direction, and I didn’t know where to write. I still don’t know what happened to her.”

  Emily nodded, sympathetically, and swallowed the rest of her hot chocolate.

  “Well, now, Miss Emily,” Betsy went on, “I’ll help you dress. When I came up here, I heard some gentlemen talking. They’re exploring the duke’s estate on horseback. Do you ride, Miss Emily?”

  “Me? No, Betsy. My father kept a carriage horse, but no riding horse.”

  “Ah, well, I’ll do your hair up for ye. Them young dandies will be back here flocking around ye again when they return from a gallop.

  Chapter 6

  THE tap room of the White Dove Tavern was almost empty. Gavin made himself known to the owner, Bartlemew Whiggs, but didn’t mention his title. He ordered a tankard of ale and drank it slowly while asking casual questions.

  “I smoked the last of my favorite cheroots yesterday. Is there a tobacconist in the village who stocks little cigars?”

  “Best try Gar Finley’s shop, Mr. Fielding. Gar’s been ‘round the world, he has. Stocks most everythin’ a fine gentleman like you would need. Ole Gar, he sailed the seven seas men
ding sails, so if’n you need new duds, he’s a fine tailor, too.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be staying at Wyndemere Castle for a few days. How long have you done business here, Mr. Whiggs?”

  “My da owned the White Dove b’fore me. Four decades ago or more. I rushed the growler for ’im as a boy.”

  “Aha, then you must know everyone in the village.”

  “Aye, that I do.”

  “Don’t mind me asking, but I’m curious. What do you know about the Dancys?” Gavin swallowed the last of his ale and tossed a silver coin onto the mahogany bar. The bartender grinned, and grabbed the earl’s mug and quickly refilled it.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I heard the parents died here a few years back.”

  “Aye, they did. They were a fine couple.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Carriage accident. Axle broke. John Dancy and his missus were thrown out of the open carriage. Landed on a pile of sharp rocks, both ‘o them. Hurt bad, they was, comin’ back from market day. Heard they broke their necks. A stranger found ’em. They niver woke up. The horse had to be put down, too.” The barkeep paused. “The Dancys had a daughter.”

  “The daughter had no relatives?”

  “None. No…wait a minute,” Whiggs hesitated. “Aye, now I recall. There was one, a brother older, I think, than John Dancy.”

  Gavin leaned forward. “Who? Who was he?”

  “Eustace Dancy was his name. And I remember hearing he was a real troublemaker. Did some thievin’ hereabouts. That much I know fer sure. But he never got caught.”

  “No magistrate, Mr. Whiggs?”

  “Not then, but yer lookin’ at the village’s magistrate now. Word got ‘round that Eustace feller weren’t blood kin of the Dancy’s. Seems he was ’dopted by John’s parents when John’s mother was thought ta be barren. But it surprised his parents somewhat when John was born.” Whiggs chuckled and went on. “I saw Eustace once or twice when he visited John and Grace. Never stayed long. Last I remember seeing him ’twas a day or so before the Dancys’ accident almost two years ago.”

  Gavin’s mind spiraled. Could Eustace have had anything to do with the Dancys’ death?

  “Tell me the rest.” Leathem sipped at his ale, prompting the man to go on.

  “As I said, both the Dancys were killed…them and the badly injured horse still in the traces of their wrecked carriage and lying scattered on the steep slope hours after the accident took place.”

  “Is the stone bridge the only road out of the village?”

  “Aye. The road rises up steep-like from level ground into the hills farther east. The

  Dancys were comin’ home, not leavin’. Must have been goin’ downhill too fast when one of the carriage’s wheels come off.”

  “Umm, could be.” Gavin swallowed another mouthful of ale. “You say you never spoke to Eustace Dancy?”

  “No. I didn’t like his looks neither. Rough and tumble. And I heard he was a nasty-mouthed bastard.” Whiggs balled the bar rag up between his fingers. “John Dancy and his missus was good people. He was a cooper and she took in fancy sewing. They lived quietly with their young daughter.”

  “What about her?”

  “The daughter? Umm? Well…she was a pretty little thing. She made friends with Squire Traymore’s eldest daughter. Them two was soon bosom bows.” Whiggs chuckled. “Grew up fine-lookin’, both of them. Squire Traymore’s wife sent young Wilma off to a ladies’ finishing school so she could make her come out. Dancys’ gel was heartsick missin’ her best friend somethin’ terrible.” The bartender leaned in close. “’Twas rumored the Dancys saved up for their daughter’s come out, too. But they died real sudden like.” Whiggs shook his head sadly. “Who knows? Mebbe John’s adopted brother stole their life savings.” The bartender winked, knowingly. “He came here right after the Dancys were buried and took the gel off with him. It was rumored later he was made her guardian in John’s will.”

  The taproom was growing noisier now as customers from the village dribbled in. The bartender moved off to pull several mugs of ale for them before returning to converse with Gavin.

  “Kin I fill yer tankard, sir?”

  “Only a few more questions, if you don’t mind, Mr. Whiggs. Do you know if Eustace took the girl to London with him?”

  Whiggs scratched his head. “I wouldn’t know where he took her.”

  “Would you know Eustace Dancy if you saw him again?”

  “Aye, that much I would. As I told you, he was rough-lookin’. Nothin’ what I’d call a gentleman. I didn’t like his looks nor him. I saw him shove the gel into a carriage that day. She sure didn’t want ta go, but he made her. Then he jumped in with her, and drove off in a big hurry. Can’t rightly say what happened to her.”

  “Do you know where the Dancys came from originally?”

  “Naw. John niver mentioned his former life. His wife neither.”

  Just then, an ancient villager entered the tap and shuffled his way to the bar. The bartender glanced over at him, quickly filled a tankard, and carried it to the old codger. “How ye be this mornin’, Jonas?”

  “If yer askin’ if I be still breathin’, Bart Whiggs, my answer is aye,” the old man quipped, giving him a toothy grin. “Ye may not get the same answer t’morra if ye ask me.” He cackled crustily, slapping the bar with a gnarled hand. Foam splashed over the rim of his full tankard.

  The bartender grinned and wiped up the spill, turned and went back to speak with Gavin.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Fielding, Jonas there might know more. Been here more’n thirty years. He knew John Dancy. The missus, however, kept pretty much to herself, didn’t mingle with the village women.”

  By now, more villagers had entered the taproom, settling on benches at tables.

  “I appreciate what you told me, Mr. Whiggs.” Tapping his knuckles on the mahogany bar, Gavin waved a ‘thank you’ to the barkeep. The coin he threw down on the polished wood would more than compensate for the ale along with the information he gleaned from the bartender.

  Outside, Leathem paused and squinted along the narrow street one more time, eyeing the stone bridge and the steep hill leading out of the village. He was still curious about Emily’s folks and Eustace—especially, where Emily and her parents came from originally. How did Eustace fit in with her family? He wondered, too, about Emily’s friendship with Lady Wilma Porter. Perhaps he’d learn more from Harry, do some casual snooping at Wyndemere. But before he left the area, he’d make another visit to Toynton-under-Hill and the White Dove Tavern.

  Gavin mounted his borrowed horse and rode back toward Wyndemere and what activities, if any, the duke and duchess had in store for their guests this afternoon.

  * * * *

  Emily decided she would sneak away this morning to visit her parents’ and grandparents’ graves. It was no hardship to walk from the duke’s castle to the village. As girls, she and Wilma had strolled along that country lane often.

  “Betsy, I wonder if you can help me with something?”

  “Of course, Miss Emily. What is it?”

  “Lady Wilma and Lord Harry aren’t yet awake, but I am. I’m going to take a walk. It may sound foolish, but the castle is so vast I’m not sure I can find a way to the outside. Can you show me?”

  “No problem, Miss Emily. It weren’t easy for me to find my way either,” she replied with a giggle. “This place is big. One of the maids had to show me. Come on, follow me. I’ll show you out through the kitchen.”

  Outside, Emily encountered men weeding the kitchen garden. She stopped to speak with one of them.

  “May I bother you?” she asked. “Can you tell me how to get to Toynton-under-Hill from here?”

  Looking up from his chores, the man asked, “Yer thinkin’ o’walkin’ there alone, Miss? Would ye like me to find someone to accompany ye?”

  “No, no, don’t bother anyone. I lived in the village
until two years ago, but…”

  The middle-aged workman, dropped his hoe, and yanked off his cap, clutching it one-handed. “Ye lived in Toynton-under-Hill, Miss? I wonder if ye could be—?”

  “Emily Dancy? Yes. Do I know you?”

  “I’m Rufus, nephew to Jonas Sparks, Miss Dancy. I’m back from Wellington’s army.”

  “Of course! I remember your uncle.”

  “The duke hired me jest recently, or I don’t know what I’d do. What with missing this arm half cut off and all…”

  Emily only now noticed an empty sleeve pinned to the man’s jacket.

  “I’m sorry about your arm, Rufus.”

  “No sorrier than I am, Miss. But I heard of yer loss, too, a few years ago.”

  “Thank you, Rufus. Yes, I still miss my parents.”

  “Are ye employed here like me, Miss Dancy?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It just happens that I’m a guest here for the week.”

  “Well, now,” he said, grinning. A gap in his smile displayed a missing tooth. “Then ye’ve come up in the world, ain’t ye?”

  Emily skipped explanations with a vague reply how she became to be at the duke’s party. “I suppose you may say that.” Abruptly she changed the subject. “Can you direct me toward the village from here, Rufus. It’s been a while, and I’ve a mind to visit my relatives’ graves.”

  “Aye. There’s a short cut through the back garden, though it’s not used much nowadays. It will put ye on the wilderness path that leads to the lane toward the village.”

  She chuckled. “I became befuddled when I came out the side door. I should have remembered that. Wilma Traymore and I walked that wilderness path many times.”