Never Less Than A Lady

by Mary J. Putney

  For a proud man, he was accepting a great deal. She could do the same. Voice unsteady, she replied, “I believe that it is. If you truly wish it, Alexander David Randall, I will marry you.”

  “I’m glad,” he said simply. He squeezed her hand, then released it. Wise man.

  “Where do we go from here, Major?” She smiled crookedly. “First step, I imagine, is to get away without Crockett and his men seeing us.”

  “I’ll listen for them the rest of the night. They’ll spend time searching for you in the area where you escaped. Eventually, they’ll have to head back to Hartley or go on toward Carlisle, based on their best guess of where you might run.”

  “They probably think that as a weak female, I’ll head back to Hartley since it’s where I have friends.”

  “Very likely,” he agreed.

  She bit her lip. “I hope they don’t hurt anyone there.”

  “They’ve already attracted enough attention, so that’s unlikely,” Randall assured her. “I imagine they’ll station themselves on the road and fields outside the village so they can catch you before you return home.”

  She was unable to repress a shudder. “I feel like a mouse being stalked by cats.”

  “They won’t find you. Since they might be anywhere along the road, we’ll go to Carlisle cross-country. I’ll hire a carriage there. You can send a note to Hartley that you escaped your kidnappers but won’t return.”

  She hesitated. “There are a few items at my house I wish to retrieve. Mementos from my mother and the like.”

  “We can stop for them later,” he said, “but first Scotland and marriage.”

  She made a face. “A Gretna Green marriage? Vulgar but necessary, I presume.”

  “Gretna Green is neither necessary nor desirable,” he said firmly. “The town is famous for runaway marriages because it’s the most southern spot in Scotland, but we have time to go farther. I think we should marry from the house of my friend Kirkland. You’ve met him. His respectability will lend countenance to the marriage.”

  Kirkland had been one of the three friends who had come north to find Ashton. Dark and clever and contained, he had treated Julia and Mariah with courtesy and tolerance. Marrying from his house would be far better than a scandalous Gretna Green ceremony. “By marrying you, I come under the protection of all you Lost Lords of Westerfield, don’t I?”

  “Indeed you do.” That glint showed in his eyes again. “We’re a formidable lot in both practical and social terms.”

  “Believe me, I appreciate that.” She had been alone for so long. The idea of protection was gratifying. “We shall need to agree on a story of how we came to marry.”

  “Something less than the truth since part of the exercise is to reestablish you socially.” He thought. “Distraught from the tragic death of your husband, you left society and took up residence with a distant cousin in the country. Later, you became friends with the Duchess of Ashton—that part of the story is very important, you are a very dear friend of a duchess—and we met through her, since I’m close friends with the duke. Having sold out of the army, my thoughts turned to matrimony, so I sought you out and proposed to you.”

  “You mentioned earlier that you’d sold out. That must have just happened?”

  He nodded. “Daventry informed me the last intervening cousin had died and I must return to England and prepare myself for my future responsibilities by finding a wife and establishing a household.”

  “I’m surprised you were willing to do anything he suggested,” she said dryly.

  “I forced myself since it was in accord with my own wishes,” he explained.

  “It’s a good story,” she agreed. “Simple enough that we can keep it straight.”

  “It’s not that far from the truth,” he observed. “I did sell out and determined I should be looking for a wife, and I thought of you.”

  She studied his face. “Yet you traveled to Hartley to visit Sarah Townsend. Does my exalted birth make me more marriageable? A village midwife would be far beneath your station.”

  “You were never less than a lady, even as a village midwife,” he said slowly. “Granted, your rank will make it easier for others to accept you as my wife, but the main reason I looked elsewhere was because you appeared to want nothing to do with me. I didn’t think I could change your mind, but I did want to see you again. Just in case.”

  She looked down at the embers of the fire. “You humble me, Major. I don’t deserve your regard, but I’m grateful for it.”

  “To say you don’t deserve my regard implies that I have poor taste,” he said with lurking humor. “Quite the contrary.”

  She laughed. “My apologies.” Her laugh turned into a yawn.

  “Sleep now. You must be exhausted.”

  “I am.” She raised her gaze to him. “I would never have imagined such a day as this one.”

  “Nor would I. Yet here we are.” He gave one of his rare, surprisingly sweet smiles. “I think we shall deal well together, Julia.”

  “I hope so.” She lay down and wrapped the blanket around her, so tired that she didn’t mind the unyielding floor. Agreeing to marry a virtual stranger was madness. But it was good to have someone concerned on her behalf. She’d been alone so long.

  Chapter 7

  Randall eased down next to the door and leaned against the wall. His damaged leg ached abominably as he stretched it out. He had demanded far too much of his body today, but it had been worth it. Julia was safe, and he’d see that she stayed that way.

  He opened the door a few inches so he could listen to the night. Any travelers on the road far below would be audible, but at this hour, there were none. Only the sounds of small animals rustling about their business, and the implacable softness of falling rain.

  Strange how important Julia had become to him, given that they might never be able to have a real marriage. Yet important she was.

  He studied her sleeping form where she lay wrapped in the blanket by the fire. With the strain gone from her face, she looked very young. Fragile. Even knowing Branford’s cruelty as well as he did, Randall still couldn’t understand how his vile cousin could have brutalized a gentle young bride.

  But he didn’t doubt a word of her story. He guessed that she couldn’t speak of the worst things she’d suffered. Like a soldier after battle, she might never be able to reveal the full horror of what she had endured.

  But by God, he would never let anyone hurt her again. He was amazed that she had agreed to marry him. He doubted that was because of his dubious charms. More likely, she wanted to feel safe, and to regain the life she’d lost. No matter. Though she was quite right to say he was insane to take on such a damaged bride, he had no regrets.

  A whimsical thought struck. Back in his school days, he’d loved the medieval tales of courtly love. Lady Agnes, headmistress of the Westerfield Academy, had specially ordered more books for the library because of his interest. The idea of a knight’s selfless devotion to a matchless woman who was far above his station had struck him as profoundly noble and romantic. That ideal had become part of him. Julia was his lady, and he was the knight sworn to her service.

  He smiled a little. They had updated the story to modern times, but finally he had the chance to swear service to a woman he cared for deeply.

  Caring was the key. When he lay neglected in Daventry’s London house, waiting for wounds and fever to kill him, he’d gone a long way on the journey toward death. Though Ashton had rescued him, he’d not fully returned to life in the months since.

  He’d lived the year since then in a dank fog of pain and emptiness. He kept moving forward, one step at a time, because life was too precious a gift to waste. But he’d known damned little happiness or satisfaction.

  That was one reason he’d been so easily persuaded to sell out. A soldier who didn’t much care if he lived or died wouldn’t last long on the battlefield. On some level, he retained the hope that in time he’d move beyond melancholia.
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br />   Now he had someone to care about. He wanted Julia to feel safe and happy. He wanted to be with her because in her presence, he felt a blessed sense of peace.

  If she reclaimed her life and decided to live without him—well, there would be satisfaction in knowing what he had done for her. The purest service was selfless, though he doubted he would ever be that pure. He would gain from their marriage no matter what strange path it took.

  He stretched out full length, using his saddlebag as a pillow. Despite his aching body, he felt better than since the French had come near killing him in Spain. Tomorrow, they would travel to Scotland and marriage.

  Tonight, he dozed with listening ears.

  Julia’s exhaustion helped her sleep, but she woke stiff from her night on the hard floor. It took a moment for her to remember where she was, and why. Ah, yes, her carefully constructed life had been blown to pieces yesterday.

  The hut was no longer dark, and she guessed that dawn was breaking. No sign of Major Randall.

  She got to her feet creakily, trying not to wonder too much about what the future held. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she headed outside. The rain had passed and the sky was cool and clear, with just enough light along the eastern hills to show approaching dawn. The road was somewhere below, out of sight but not out of mind.

  Randall joined her, silent as a shadow. He stood close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her.

  Her affianced husband. The thought was not quite as bizarre as it had been the night before. Voice low so as not to disturb the dawn peace, she asked, “Any sign of Crockett and his men?”

  “I heard a pair of horses riding west along the road a little earlier. It might have been them. If the carriage harness was unrepairable, they might have split up and be heading in both directions.”

  She shivered at the thought. “A good thing we’re traveling cross-country.”

  “With luck, they’ll think you ran off into the hills and that you’ll die of exposure, being a helpless female on her own.”

  “People do die like that in this wild country,” she agreed. “But surely Crockett will know I must have had help to escape?”

  “Not necessarily. The fellow I hit on the head probably won’t remember exactly what happened. They might assume that you clipped him with a rock and cut the horses’ harness before you ran.”

  “Would that I was so intrepid!” She bit her lip. “I hope Crockett didn’t hurt Haggerty for letting me escape.”

  “There are better objects for compassion than Haggerty,” Randall said dryly. “Time we had a bite to eat and got started.”

  Hoping Crockett would eventually decide she’d gone to her doom in the hills, Julia returned to the hut. They each had a couple of bites of bread and cheese and a swallow of cider. After Randall saddled and loaded the horse, he turned to help her into the saddle. “You’ll have to ride astride.”

  She frowned, thinking of his bad leg. “Aren’t you going to ride?”

  “Turk had a hard day yesterday,” he replied. “I don’t want to ruin him by riding double today. It’s only about ten miles to Carlisle. We should be there by early afternoon.”

  Knowing better than to argue, she let him help her into the saddle. When she was settled, she tugged at her skirts, but they barely covered her knees. Randall’s gaze slid away from her indecent display of leg, for which she was grateful. Taking the horse’s reins, he headed into the hills away from the road.

  They soon picked up a sheep track that led in the right direction. Mists pooled eerily over lower ground, gradually dissipating as the rising sun brought warmth and light to the wild landscape. She thought wryly that the ride would be pleasant if she wasn’t fleeing for her life, hungry, cold, and in dire need of a wash.

  Major Randall was an easy companion, and he always knew exactly where he wanted to go. Sometimes they had to vary their course when a hillside became too steep, but he never hesitated in choosing a direction. After an hour or so of riding, she asked, “Do you have a compass?”

  “The one in my head suffices. I never get lost.”

  “That must have made you popular for leading patrols in the Peninsula.”

  “It did. We always made it back to camp.” He gestured at the green hills. “It’s a pleasure to travel overland without having to worry about French cavalry.”

  “I think I’d prefer the French to Crockett.” His limp was worsening. Guessing he would rather die than admit weakness, she said, “Hold up for a minute. I want to walk.”

  He halted, but said, “You can stay in the saddle. You weigh so little that Grand Turk hardly notices.”

  “I like walking. Especially since I spent yesterday cramped in a carriage with criminals.” She swung her right leg over the saddle and slid off. Turk was a tall horse, and she stumbled when she reached the ground. Randall caught her arm to steady her, letting go before a suffocating moment of discomfort could flair into something worse.

  Glad she had been wearing sturdy half boots when she was abducted, she fell into step beside him as they resumed their trek. It felt good to stretch her legs. And very odd to be traveling toward her wedding to a near stranger.

  This close, she saw the lines of pain in his face, and the limp was noticeably worse. “Grand Turk doesn’t seem particularly tired. Why don’t you ride for a while?”

  “I don’t need coddling,” he said shortly.

  Julia always shrank back when a man was angry with her, but bad temper from someone in pain was a different matter. “It’s not coddling to give an injured leg some rest when it’s having a bad day.”

  “There are no good days,” he snapped. “Only bad and worse.”

  “Then you definitely need to be riding,” she said mildly.

  He scowled at her. “Pray oblige me by minding your own business.”

  She had to laugh. “If we are to marry, you are most certainly my business. As you have made me yours.”

  After a startled moment, he gave her a reluctant smile. “That’s hard to argue with. Sorry to be such a bear. As you observed, my leg is acting up today, but for now, it’s better to walk so it doesn’t tighten up.”

  “What kind of wound was it?” When he glanced at her askance, she said, “For lack of anyone better qualified, I was Hartley’s surgeon and physician as well as its midwife. I’ve dealt with all sorts of illnesses and injuries.”

  “I’ve been poked and prodded by experts,” he said without enthusiasm. “The general opinion is that I should be dead, and not losing the leg borders on the miraculous. I doubt you could do anything to help.”

  She gave him a cheerful smile. “Probably not. I’d just like to satisfy my ghoulish curiosity since disease and injury have always interested me.” That had been true even when she was a child. In a better world, she would have been able to study medicine rather than marrying too young.

  “Since you put it that way…” Another brief smile. “I was chewed up by shrapnel at the Battle of Albuera. The surgeons did their best, but there are still bits of sharp metal moving around in appalling and uncomfortable ways.”

  She supposed that was all the explanation she was likely to get from a military stoic. “That’s the wound that sent you to Daventry’s attic?”

  He nodded. “Heavy bleeding, infection, fever. I was out of my head when someone decided I should be sent back to my uncle’s tender mercies. My batman, Gordon, would have stopped that if he could, but he was wounded, too.”

  “That battle was in May last year, wasn’t it?” At his nod, she said, “Wasn’t that about the time Daventry’s younger son died?”

  Randall sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. The boy had always been sickly, and he died of a fever just before I landed on Daventry’s doorstep. My uncle was wild with grief. I suspect that’s why he sent me to the attic to die—because I was alive and his sons weren’t. He’s never liked me, but he wasn’t murderous.”

  Julia winced inwardly at Randall’s
flat acceptance of an appalling situation. “Since you were the heir, one would think he would want you to survive.”

  “At the time, there was still a cousin or two in line, so I wasn’t needed.”

  “I hope you’re right that he’ll find you more valuable now that you’re the last heir,” she said dryly.

  “He does now that he’s had time to recover from the loss of his son.” Randall replied. “I never even met the boy. He was born after you ran away. His mother, the second countess, died a few days later.”

  “Your uncle has been unlucky in his children and wives,” Julia observed. “I never met the current countess, but I was told the first two endured numerous miscarriages and stillbirths.”

  “His third wife is a widow who had three healthy sons with her first husband. My uncle must have hoped that would guarantee fertility, but it didn’t. So if he wants the Daventry title to continue, he’s stuck with me.” He glanced at her. “And with you.”

  Who would be another Lady Daventry who would produce no heirs. Perhaps the title was fated to become extinct. “It will be interesting to see how this family drama works out.” Julia studied her future husband’s face. He looked gray, and was obviously in pain. “Perhaps now riding would be better than walking?”

  He muttered an oath under his breath. “Perhaps, but I’m not capable of riding when a lady is walking.”

  She didn’t mind walking while he rode, but since he did, she addressed the horse. “Turk, are you willing to carry two people? No more than three or four miles.”

  The horse turned its head and nosed her chest in a friendly way. She smiled and buried her fingers in his mane. “I think he just said yes.”

  “He does seem to be moving well despite the hard riding yesterday,” Randall conceded. “Turk is a first-class horse. I wonder if Townsend would sell him?”

  “He already refused an offer from a duke, so I think not.”

  “Ashton tried and failed? Then Townsend certainly won’t sell to me. Very well, Turk, since you look willing and we don’t have to move fast, we’ll try.” He mounted, wincing at the strain on his leg, then offered his hand to Julia. She put her foot on his and swung up to perch pillion style behind him. The horse made no objections.