The Accidental Bride

by Jane Feather

  “No, Phoebe, it’s out of the question. Your place is here, not racketing around the countryside with my troopers. Now let’s go to sleep. I’ve been riding all day and I’m awearied.”

  Phoebe’s mouth had taken a stubborn turn, but she lay down beside him as he reached out and snuffed the candle.

  She lay listening as his breathing moved into the deep, regular rhythm of sleep. He was impossible! she thought. There was no logical reason why she shouldn’t go with him if she was willing to ride.

  Silver moonlight fell onto the chest at the foot of the bed and caught the bright gleam of his belt buckle. His keys were still hooked to his belt.

  It would be the matter of a moment to take the soft wax that had fallen into the saucer that held the candle and take an imprint of the keys. She hadn’t seen Brian’s document yet, but with Cato about to leave, there was no telling when she’d have this opportunity again . . . at least before he returned from Italy.

  She slid to the floor. She stood immobile, listening to his breathing. The rhythm didn’t change. She crept on tiptoe around the bed to the candle and lifted it from the saucer. There was a goodly quantity of spilled wax, and it had not yet hardened.

  Phoebe scooped the wax into her palm and kneaded it into a ball, then she tiptoed to the foot of the bed. She wouldn’t even have to remove the keys from his belt. But which one was the key to his desk? One of the two smaller ones, it had to be.

  She knelt, holding her breath, and gingerly separated one of the small keys from the rest of the bunch. There was a tiny chink as one slipped and knocked against its fellows. Phoebe held her breath. She had no idea how she would explain what she was doing on the floor in the dark, clutching a ball of wax, if Cato awoke.

  Her blood was so loud in her ears it almost deafened her. Swiftly she pressed the key hard into the wax, then she turned the ball over and did the same with the second of the smaller keys.

  It was done. The rest was simple. If she decided to go along with Brian’s plan, he could have the keys copied. Cato would be away. It would be a simple matter to open the desk, borrow his seal, affix it to the document, and sent it to headquarters. She could tell the messenger who carried the paper that Cato had left it with her with instructions that she was to see it got to Cromwell as soon as possible. And they would sing Cato’s praises to the skies, and no one would ever question his loyalty again. And he would have to look upon his wife, who had saved him from dire peril, as something other than a domestic encumbrance who should know her place.

  It was simplicity itself.

  Phoebe stood up, the ball of wax flat on her palm. Cato would have to acknowledge then that she was resourceful, able to help him even when he couldn’t see difficulties himself. That she could be trusted to partner . . .

  Phoebe sat down abruptly on the chest. Trusted? What in the devil’s name was she thinking? How could she have been so stupidly naive?

  How could he ever trust a wife who went to such devious and distasteful lengths to prove anything? It was a disgusting thing to do. The entire surface of her skin prickled with revulsion. How could she ever had allowed Brian Morse to persuade her that this was even possible?

  But she knew the answer. She’d been so eager to find a way to impress upon Cato her worthiness to be taken into his confidence that she’d fallen for Brian’s scheme like a ripe plum to the picker. She’d told herself she was using Brian, not the other way around, but of course it had been the other way around. Brian inhabited the nasty, dirty world of spies. Such schemes were second nature to him, and he’d manipulated her like a puppet handler. How had she so easily dismissed Meg’s warning? Meg was always right about such things.

  Phoebe glanced towards the bed, making out the shape of Cato’s body beneath the coverlet. His head was a dark shadow against the white of the pillow, and one strong brown arm was thrust out of the sheet, his hand flung wide, palm up, the fingers curled loosely.

  Her heart was swept by an invincible surge of love. And then the familiar wash of frustration. How could she love him so completely, so without condition, knowing that he didn’t, perhaps couldn’t ever, feel the same for her? Was it something she had to accept?

  Her lips set firm. Not yet.

  Perhaps there was another way, a more honest and straightforward way. Perhaps she could catch him off guard. Surprise had always made him more susceptible before, more willing to listen to her. And then she would have something to tell him that would prove what a valuable ally she could be.

  Phoebe couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t thought of this before. Brian had caught her off guard. He’d traded on her emotions to achieve his own ends. But what exactly were those ends? Phoebe now felt sure they had nothing to do with gaining Cato’s trust.

  Cato would be interested to know of his stepson’s nasty little plan. And it would give her every excuse for surprising him.

  Phoebe crushed the ball of wax in her hand, kneading it once more into an amorphous shape. She dropped it into the saucer and climbed back into bed.

  Brian strode into the house the next morning and found it abuzz. “Lord Granville is going away, sir,” Bisset informed him. “For quite some time, as I understand it.”

  “Where to?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.” Bisset moved off with an air of importance.

  Brian stood frowning. How was this going to affect his own plans? And why hadn’t Cato told him himself?

  “Is Lady Granville in?”

  “She went to the stables, I believe, sir.”

  Brian headed back to the stables. Phoebe, with an expression of grim determination, was stroking the nose of a rather pretty mare.

  “Ah, there you are. I was looking for you,” Brian said, dropping his voice as he came up to her. “Bisset says your husband’s going away.”

  “Yes.” Phoebe nodded.

  “Where to?”

  “You had better ask Cato,” she replied, her tone cool as she forced herself to stroke the length of the mare’s neck. Cato hadn’t said his destination was a secret, but she had no intention of ever again confiding anything to Mr. Morse.

  Brian frowned. Something was amiss. “I have the document to show you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When does Cato leave?”

  “He said in two days.” Experimentally Phoebe moved her hand up onto the horse’s withers. Sorrel turned and nuzzled her neck.

  Phoebe controlled the urge to jump back and stood very still. “I wish they didn’t have such big yellow teeth,” she muttered.

  Brian was growing impatient, but he continued to keep his voice at a low pitch although with an edge of urgency. “You’ll have to get the keys before he leaves. I imagine, if they’re sending him off on some mission, they’re trying to get rid of him. If they distrust him, they won’t want him around during their debates over the king’s future.”

  He paused for a minute, then added softly, “They might even intend that he not return from this mission. Of course, Cato’s so stubborn he wouldn’t consider such a possibility.”

  This had not occurred to Phoebe. Her hand stilled on the mare’s neck. Could Parliament be deliberately putting Cato in danger?

  “It’s even more important now that you get the keys without delay.” Brian’s low insidious voice flowed over her. “We must convince Cromwell and his peers of Cato’s loyalty before it’s too late.”

  What he said made sense, but Phoebe was beyond Brian’s seduction now. Somehow she would persuade Cato to listen to reason, persuade him to defend himself against these charges. Somehow she would manage to convince him that she knew what she was talking about.

  “No, I’m not going to get the keys,” she said, from the other side of the mare where she was continuing her getting-to-know-you journey.

  Brian was suddenly very still. He couldn’t have lost her. Yesterday he would have sworn he had her in the palm of his hand. “What do you mean?”

  Phoebe reappeared, ducking beneath Sorrel’s neck, impressed with the confid
ence with which she accomplished the maneuver. “It’s too dishonest,” she stated with devastating candor. “It’s a nasty, devious trick. I can’t think why I ever thought I could do it. It may be something that you could do without conscience, but I can’t. I’m not in the habit of it.”

  Brian could not believe his ears. He had lost her. Without her cooperation his carefully constructed plans were in ruins. How had it happened? What had he missed? What possible mistake could he have made?

  “Why, you stupid little ninny!” he exploded in an undertone, unable to take in the depths of his disappointment. “You think you can prate ethics at me! What do you know of anything? You’re a pathetic, infantile fool!”

  Instinctively he found the words that would hurt the most. “Look at you . . . a walking disaster, a disgrace to your sex. I tried to help you, but it’s hopeless. It would take a miracle to turn you into anything remotely approaching a woman! And you, you pitiable scrap of flotsam! You dare to preach to me! Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Phoebe stared at him, shrinking from the ugly, twisted viciousness of his countenance. All civility, all grace, had been stripped away, and she knew she was seeing the real Brian. The Brian Meg had seen beneath the urbane surface. The Brian Olivia knew. And it was a terrifying sight. This was a man who knew no boundaries.

  “You would ruin everything with your stupid childishness,” Brian raged softly. “You think for one moment that you know better than I do? Do you?” He pushed his face close to hers, spittle flying with each word.

  Phoebe could find nothing to say. She felt sick. She told herself that they were in the middle of the stable yard, surrounded by grooms and troopers. Brian might look as if he would hurt her, but he couldn’t do so, not here, not now.

  “I cannot do it,” she repeated, keeping her voice steady even as she took a step back from him. “Deceit is no way to gain someone’s trust. You must surely see that.”

  “You ninny! You utter fool!” he said again, but he was regaining control of himself, and biting scorn replaced the savagery of before. “I offered you a golden opportunity . . .. I should have guessed you wouldn’t have the courage or the intelligence to take it.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.

  Phoebe was shaking. Maybe she’d been a little tactless but nothing she’d said warranted such a violent response.

  She found she was stroking Sorrel’s neck and discovered that she was gaining some steadying comfort from the animal’s placid nuzzling. Brian Morse had had a lot more invested in his nasty little plan than he’d let on; that much was clear. So just what was it that he’d hoped to achieve with her cooperation? Cato would definitely be interested.

  “Have I kept you waiting, Phoebe?” Olivia came hurrying across the cobbles. “I was saying goodbye to Meg. She says she’s going home today.”

  “Yes, I know,” Phoebe said, sounding distracted. “I tried to persuade her to stay longer, but she wouldn’t.”

  “So, why are we going into Witney?” Olivia turned to mount her own pony, held by a groom.

  Phoebe didn’t reply immediately as she concentrated on mounting Sorrel with at least an air of confidence. She took up the reins, trying to remember Cato’s instructions.

  “I need to pawn my rings again,” she said when the groom had moved away.

  “Are you going to buy more c-clothes?”

  “No, I need money for a journey.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

  Phoebe put a finger to her lips as their escort trotted across the yard towards them.

  “Are you ready, Lady Granville?”

  “Yes, indeed. Ride ahead of us if you please.”

  “Two in front and two behind, m’lady,” the sergeant said. “Those are our orders. There’s no knowing what we might meet on the roads.”

  Phoebe remembered the ambush on the Eynsham road and made no demur. The troopers fell into place and she urged Sorrel into a walk.

  Olivia brought her pony alongside. “So, where are you going?” she prompted quietly.

  “To Harwich, with Cato.”

  “But why do you need money?”

  “Because he doesn’t know I’m going to go with him,” Phoebe returned, a sparkle in her eyes. “And I wish to be independent for once.”

  Olivia could understand this but she looked dubious nevertheless. “You’re going to surprise him again?”

  “Yes,” Phoebe said firmly. “I’m going to give him the surprise of his life.”

  Cato looked up at the sound of a soft tap on the open door of his study. “Good day, Mistress Meg.” He half rose from his chair, gesturing that she should come in.

  “I’ll not keep you above a minute, Lord Granville.” Meg came towards him with brisk step. “I wish to thank you for your hospitality. I’m sure it’s not what you would have chosen to offer.” Her eyes had a twinkle that took any potential sting out of the words. “Phoebe has some of the characteristics of an avalanche on occasion.”

  “Pray be seated, mistress.” Cato indicated the chair. “You’re quite recovered?”

  “Oh, yes, quite, I thank you.”

  Cato leaned back in his chair, turning his quill in his hand, regarding the woman keenly. “How do you think you’ll be received in the village?”

  “There’ll be fences to mend,” Meg replied. “But as I told Phoebe, you don’t fight superstition by running from it. They’re ignorant folk but perhaps I can teach them something.”

  “You’re a brave woman.”

  Meg smiled at that. “Hardly, when I have the might of Lord Granville behind me as a protection. They’ll not touch me again.”

  Cato could detect irony in both smile and tone, but he wasn’t sure how to answer it. “Then should I say you’re a forgiving woman?”

  Meg inclined her head. “Maybe.” She rose from her chair. “I’ll be leaving now, my lord.”

  “Just one minute.” Cato rose too. He pulled at his chin for a minute while Meg, politely patient, waited for him to gather his thoughts.

  Finally he said, “I have to go on a journey. Probably of some months. Would you keep an eye on Phoebe while I’m gone? She trusts and respects you. I can think of no one else who might be able to steer her clear of pitfalls.”

  Meg regarded him steadily. “Phoebe is her own woman, Lord Granville. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll give her more credit than you do. She doesn’t lack for sense.”

  “I worry about her,” Cato said with a hint of desperation.

  Meg paused. “I will have a care for my friend, you may rest assured.”

  “I thank you,” Cato said to her retreating back. Strangely, he felt comforted. The woman had a power about her.

  He pulled the bellrope and sat down again, reaching for the small knife he used to sharpen his pens.

  “My lord?” Bisset bowed in the doorway.

  “Ask Mr. Morse to come to me, if he’s in the house.” Cato didn’t look up from his task.

  “I believe he’s abovestairs, my lord.” Bisset left with stately tread to deliver the summons.

  Brian was pacing his bedchamber, trying to calm himself after that explosion of rage. It had been a grave error, had revealed far too much to Phoebe, and somehow he had to control the damage. His plans were in ruins, and with Cato going away, time was desperately short to come up with an alternative.

  Bisset’s summons was too soon. The blood was still pounding in his head and he wasn’t sure he could show a calm exterior to Cato, but he had no choice but to obey the call. He walked casually downstairs, breathing slowly and deeply, and outside the closed study door he paused, took one more steadying breath, and knocked and opened the door.

  “You wished to see me, Lord Granville?”

  “Yes, come in, Brian.” Cato laid down both quill and knife. Brian looked rather pale, he thought.

  “There’ve been some new developments and I’m going away for several months.”

  “So I heard, my lord. May I ask where you
’re going?” Brian gave a slightly self-deprecating smile. “Or is it a state secret?”

  “No. I’m going to Italy.”

  “On a mission for Parliament, I presume.”

  “You presume correctly.” Cato gave him an agreeable nod. There was no reason for Brian to disbelieve this destination. Parliament’s agents were spread all over the continent.

  “If you’ve a mind to,” Cato continued gravely, “I have a mission for you too.”

  “Anything I can do to prove myself,” Brian said with eager boyish enthusiasm.

  “We need someone to go to London, to spend time in the taverns and clubs. We need to gather the temper of the people. With the king on his way to Scotland, it’s imperative that we discover what attitude London will take towards a Presbyterian covenant. We need someone who can assess and judge what he hears. I believe you could do that better than anyone.”

  Brian bowed low. “I’m honored by your trust, sir. I’ll go and pack up my traps. I’ll be on my way within the hour.”

  He hastened from the room, his expression now hard, his eyes calculating. He was not going to London. Wherever Cato was going, Brian was going too. One plan was in ruins, but he was adaptable. Another opportunity would turn up if he was ready for it.

  19

  “I think someone’s followin us, m’lord.” Giles eased his mount closer to Cato’s on the lane. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder.

  “I’ve ’ad the feelin’ like fer the last five miles. A pricklin’ up me back.”

  “You haven’t seen anything?”

  “Nah.” Giles shook his head. “It’s jest a feelin’ like.”

  Cato nodded. “Let’s get around that corner and wait for them, shall we?”

  “Aye.” Giles looked happier, his frown lifting. “Mebbe nothin, but we might as well ’ave a look-see.” He dropped back to give instructions to the six troopers accompanying them.

  So, why would someone be following them? Cato wondered. If it was someone interested in his movements, they would surely be a little more secretive.