Rushed to the Altar

by Jane Feather

  Jasper let himself out of the house, closing the door softly behind him, resisting the childish urge to bang it loudly. His patience had quite suddenly and without any warning finally snapped. He was deeply wounded and frustrated both by Clarissa’s lack of confidence in him and by the fact that she could continue to use him for whatever purpose of her own, even when he knew she understood that their liaison had gone way beyond a simple practical contract that benefited them both. But he also knew that, despite his own hurt, he should not have spoken to her in such a manner. He could see her jade eyes widening with pain and bewilderment throughout his nasty little speech, but he hadn’t been able to help himself; the words had just spoken themselves. Even now, despite his remorse, he was still angry, frustrated beyond bearing with her obstinacy. Why wouldn’t she trust him?

  He walked quickly through the cold night, hoping to clear his head, cool his temper, return to his customary rational self. But he was still bitter, still angry when he entered his own house, and when he awoke in the morning he was still determined to leave Clarissa to her own reflections for a while.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Clarissa slept fitfully and awoke with a dull headache and aching limbs. She wanted nothing so much as to stay curled up under the quilt and let the day go on without her, but when Sally came in with her hot chocolate she forced herself to sit up.

  “It’s a beautiful day, ma’am.” Sally pulled back the curtains, letting in pale November sunlight. “Cold and crisp . . . bit of night frost. What gown will you wear?”

  “Anything suitable for walking.” Clarissa sipped her chocolate. “I’ll need you to accompany me, Sally.” At some point in the long and restless night she had come to a conclusion. There was only one way out of the present morass. Nothing was more important than her brother’s safety; her own concerns must take second place. Francis would not be safe until her marriage to Jasper was solemnized and they were on their way to Northumberland. Of course she’d have to find a way to convince Jasper that they needed to take the child with them, but something would come to her.

  That difficulty was minor compared with the present problem of how to persuade Jasper of the need for haste after the night’s dreadful confrontation. Even before that, he hadn’t seemed to be in too much of a hurry for a wedding. Indeed, if he so wished, he could wait until his brothers had taken their own wives, since their uncle’s fortune would be shared only if they all fulfilled the terms of the will before the old man’s death.

  “Send Frank up to me, Sally,” she asked as the abigail finished doing her hair. “I want to talk to him before we leave. Oh, before you go, I’ll wear that blue silk hat with the veil.”

  “Aye, madam.” Sally lifted the hat out of its box, turning it on her hand with an admiring look. “Right pretty this is. The veil’s a nice touch. He’s such a bundle of energy, that boy. He needs to run it off before he gets into any more mischief. Mistress Newby was at her wits’ end yesterday with those two lads, egging each other on. ’Tis only natural with youngsters like that; if they don’t have enough to do, they get up to all sorts.” Sally tutted, shaking her head, and hurried away.

  Clarissa had noticed her little brother’s restlessness. At home in Kent, apart from the few necessary hours he spent in the vicarage schoolroom, he was never still, running around outside, roaming the estate, haunting the stables, perfectly at home in every tenant’s cottage, where he was a great favorite. It was really not fair to keep such an active ten-year-old confined within doors indefinitely. Some compromise had to be reached.

  Francis burst unceremoniously into his sister’s bedchamber just as she’d reached this conclusion. “Sally said you wanted me, ’Rissa.”

  “Yes, I did.” She turned on the dresser stool and held out her arms to him. She had to put him on his guard without scaring him too much. “Listen to me carefully, love. I think Luke may have seen me last night . . . no, it’s all right, don’t look so scared. He doesn’t know where we are, but we have to be extra careful for the next few days. You understand?”

  The child nodded vigorously, his eyes still wide with fear. “I’ll never go outside . . . never. Not even in the yard with Sammy.”

  She smiled. “I think you’ll be safe enough in the yard, but nowhere else without me.” He was beginning to fill out since his rescue from Wapping and she could feel his restless energy as a palpable force in the wiry frame. “I have to go out in a minute, but when I get back we’ll go for a walk in the park.” It would be safe enough. The last place they would run into their uncle would be strolling decorously through Green Park. It was a place for children and their nursemaids, not men-about-town.

  “All right.” Francis nodded. “Can I take a ball?”

  “If you have one.”

  “We found one in the shed in the yard.”

  “We’ll go when I get back.” She stood up and reached for her pelisse. “Try not to plague Mistress Newby while I’m gone.”

  He grinned at her and her heart turned over. He was almost back to his old self. She sent him back to the kitchen and adjusted the veil of her hat before going downstairs. It concealed the upper part of her face quite adequately, completely covered her hair, and made her feel less vulnerable.

  It was quite a short walk to Upper Brook Street. She walked briskly, her eyes darting from side to side beneath the veil. There were plenty of people on the street, all hurrying about their business, no one taking any notice of anyone else. Sally struggled a little to keep pace with her and was quite breathless when they reached the handsome façade of Blackwater House.

  Clarissa began to have doubts even as she raised a hand to the door knocker. Perhaps he would refuse to see her. Or perhaps he would assume she had come to make everything right, to pour out her soul to him. But she couldn’t do that. She was into this deception way too deep to wade out of it with a simple confession. She wouldn’t blame him in the least if, once he knew how she had used him, he canceled their agreement out of hand. Until Francis was safe from Luke, this miserable estrangement would have to continue.

  Resolutely she lifted the lion’s head and let it fall with a bang. The door opened within a few minutes and Jasper’s butler regarded the visitor with a look of surprise. It was early for morning callers, even of the mistress variety. Clarissa smiled, relieved that she remembered his name. “Good morning, Crofton. Is his lordship at home?”

  “I believe so, ma’am. But I don’t know if he’s receiving visitors as yet.”

  “Then perhaps you’d be good enough to ask him if he would receive Mistress Ordway.” She stepped past him into the hall and Sally scooted up behind her.

  “If you’d wait in the library, ma’am . . .” Crofton opened the door to the room. “Your abigail can remain in the hall.”

  Sally sat down placidly on a bench along one wall as Clarissa entered the library. It was the same shabbily cozy room she remembered, with an inviting bright fire in the grate. Her gaze fell on the sofa where he had first kissed her properly and the memory filled her with longing. Would they ever be so close again? Would he even receive her? She didn’t think she could bear another angry attack, when all she wanted was to put her arms around him, press her lips to his, tease him to the peak of desire as she knew so well how to do.

  Jasper was finishing dressing when Crofton announced his visitor. He felt a surge of hope. Was she finally ready to tell him the truth? To open herself to him? Why else would she be here after last night?

  “I’ll be down directly, Crofton. Bring coffee to the library.” He slipped his arms into his coat and went downstairs, trying to conceal his eagerness. He crossed the hall and entered the library.

  Clarissa was standing in front of the fire, facing the door. Her face was pale but resolute and Jasper felt his hopeful eagerness fade. She was not there to make things right between them.

  “You choose an early hour for visiting, ma’am.” His voice was cool and dry. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?”

&n
bsp; It was worse than she’d expected. In the face of that glacial chill, Clarissa felt the words clog her throat. His black gaze was impenetrable, with not the faintest remnant of the amused warmth she was so accustomed to. His fine mouth was set in a humorless line. But she couldn’t break down. If this was how it was to be, then so be it. All she needed was the marriage that would bring her the protection of the Earl of Blackwater and a journey to Northumberland. Just the bare bones of the contract agreed between them.

  “I thought, in view of the way matters are between us, my lord, that we should hasten the day of our marriage.”

  He flipped the lid of a small Buhl snuffbox and took a leisurely pinch. “Indeed . . . in view of the way matters are between us . . . Mmm.” He dropped the snuffbox back into the deep pocket of his coat. “Well, let us see how those matters stand.”

  She could bear it no longer. “Oh, please, Jasper. Don’t make things so difficult. You need this marriage, and I need what it will give me.” Which was perfectly true, although what it would give her was not what had been offered. “What point is there in delaying something that benefits us equally?”

  He said nothing, merely rocked slightly on his heels, regarding her meditatively. “Equally?” he murmured with a faint question mark.

  “Last night, you said that you would insist only on the original terms of our contract. As you pointed out, you have paid handsomely for my part in this charade. I am merely asking that we complete it soon, since prolonging the process is not giving us any pleasure.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “It has given me a considerable amount of pleasure on occasion.”

  She felt herself blush. “And it has me, too. As you well know, my lord. But for some reason that isn’t happening anymore, so I would be grateful if we could complete the terms of the contract and go our separate ways.”

  Never would she have thought herself capable of such an impassioned lie so absolutely against her own will. But it was said, and she saw anger, then disdain, cross his face. “Your arguments are unimpeachable, madam. I will make the necessary arrangements as soon as possible and will escort you to Blackwater Manor in Northumberland, where I must insist you remain for a minimum of six months.”

  “And you?” Her voice was quiet.

  He gave a short crack of derisive laughter. “As I said last night, you may rest assured I will not burden you with my presence, Mistress Ordway.” He turned as Crofton came in with a tray of coffee. “Mistress Ordway is leaving, Crofton.”

  The butler concealed his surprise and curiosity with a bow of acknowledgment. The mistress, it seemed, had seriously offended his lordship. The earl was rarely angry, but there was no mistaking the controlled rage consuming him now. Crofton opened the library door for the lady, who walked straight past him, head up, her eyes fixed ahead.

  The abigail jumped up as they entered the hall. “Are we leaving, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Sally.” Clarissa tapped her foot as the butler opened the door, then she sailed through it with a murmured “Thank you, Crofton.”

  She walked fast enough for Sally to have to trot to keep up with her. She was furious herself now. Furious with Jasper for treating her with such disdain, for embarrassing her in front of his servant. And furious with herself for getting herself into this convoluted mess. Lies bred like rabbits, it seemed, and she began to wonder if she would ever be able to untangle her tongue sufficiently to start telling the truth again once it was possible.

  Luke found the house on Half Moon Street with little difficulty. It was a small street and one inquiry brought him the information he sought. He stood in a narrow alley leading to a mews opposite the earl’s house. There were windows on the ground floor to one side of the front door, but an attempt to enter the house through them would easily be witnessed by the houses opposite. The back of the house would presumably be reached by an alley further up the street, similar to the one he stood in now. It would lead behind the houses to the mews. But the idea of breaking, entering, and abducting didn’t strike him as particularly feasible. Too noisy for a start, and Clarissa would certainly put up a fight.

  He was debating various possibilities when two women came up the street on the opposite side. One of them wore a fur pelisse and an elegant little hat with a spotted veil. The other he guessed was her maid. When they stopped at the earl’s door, he pressed back against the alley wall. It had to be Clarissa and an abigail. She had to have Francis in the house with her. She wouldn’t have let him out of her sight once she’d snatched him from the baby farmer.

  The door closed behind them and Luke remained where he was, tapping his teeth with a fingernail as he considered his next move. In a few minutes the door opened again and Clarissa emerged with her brother, who was bouncing a ball and jumping up and down with excitement. Clarissa took his hand firmly and they walked off in the direction of Piccadilly.

  Luke smiled. He had them both now. All he needed was a plan to scoop them up. He waited until they had reached Piccadilly at the end of the street, then walked quickly after them, keeping a good distance back, losing himself in clumps of pedestrians. He reached Piccadilly and caught sight of them across the busy thoroughfare entering Green Park. He didn’t follow them. He would be too conspicuous among the nursemaids and their charges frolicking among the bushes and around the pond.

  He walked along Piccadilly and hailed a hackney.

  Clarissa found some tranquillity watching her brother kicking his ball across the grass, running along the pathways, his still-thin cheeks red with cold and exertion. He’d stopped at the pond and watched enviously as two boys played with a wooden boat, pushing it into the pond with sticks.

  “Next time, can Sammy come too, ’Rissa?”

  “Maybe,” she said vaguely. “We’ll have to see. It depends on whether Mistress Newby needs him.”

  Francis nodded and jumped gleefully into a pile of crisp brown leaves, carefully assembled by one of the gardeners. Clarissa smiled and strolled along the path, her eyes ever watchful beneath her veil. It was impossible to imagine Luke here, but she wasn’t going to drop her guard for an instant.

  She let Francis play for an hour and then called him. “We must go home now, love. It’s nearly noon.” She smiled fondly. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Starving,” he responded, taking her hand and prancing along beside her. “Mistress Newby promised to make apple fritters.”

  “Then we should hurry.” She held his hand tightly as they crossed Piccadilly, dodging a brewer’s dray piled high with beer kegs.

  Francis, who, until his uncle had removed him from his own home, had never ventured into a town bigger than Sevenoaks, gazed in wide-eyed fascination at the scene surging around him. Carts, horses, carriages, vendors pushing carts shouting their wares, stray dogs dodging between carriage wheels.

  “Can we come out again, ’Rissa?”

  “Yes, we’ll try to take a walk every day.” She turned onto Half Moon Street. A hackney was parked on the opposite side of the street from the house; the two horses between the shafts stood with their heads down, a picture of melancholy.

  The carriage began to move as Clarissa and her brother approached. She watched it warily but it was just an ordinary hackney. The horses lifted their heads as the driver cracked his whip and they pulled the carriage into the middle of the narrow street an instant before Clarissa and Francis reached their own front door.

  It happened so quickly that Clarissa could never remember the exact sequence of events. The door of the hackney opened with sudden violence just as they were abreast of the vehicle, knocking her sideways against the wall of the house. She hit her head and for a moment saw stars, then she heard Francis scream. Rough hands grabbed her upper arms and dragged her bodily into the carriage. She fell to her knees on the floor as the hackney started moving with a jerk.

  She looked up, stunned and bewildered. She could hear Francis whimpering but for a moment she could see only her uncle sitting on the seat opposite, his arms folded,
regarding her with a thin smile.

  Clarissa struggled up from the floor of the hackney and sat down on the bench next to Francis, who was cowering in a corner. She looked at her uncle. “You’ll pay for this.”

  He reached over and with a leisurely movement gave her a backhanded slap across the face. “Oh, I doubt that, Clarissa. You and your brother are my wards. I have the legal authority to do anything I wish with either of you. If I took you before a judge and laid a charge against you that you had abducted my ward, you would find yourself picking hemp in Bridewell. As it is . . .” He smiled. “I have another solution for you . . . a much neater one.”

  Clarissa felt cold. Her face burned and she could taste blood from the corner of her mouth where his ring had cut. She touched the lump on her head where she had hit the wall. Francis was still whimpering softly. She reached for him, drawing him against her breast, stroking his face. The child mustn’t know she was afraid. She had to ignore her hurts and somehow defy Luke, if only with her manner. But she couldn’t ignore her terror at Luke’s cold satisfaction, his absolute confidence that nothing would prevent him now.

  She glanced at the door, wondering if she could fling it open and tumble out with Francis held tight against her. But she knew it wasn’t possible. They’d probably fall beneath the carriage wheels and solve Luke’s problems themselves.

  She leaned back, still stroking her brother’s hair, closing her eyes as if she had not a care in the world. Until the hackney lurched to a stop.

  Luke leaned forward and Francis cried out. His uncle held a knife. He hauled Francis out of his sister’s embrace and held him with an arm around his throat, the knife pricking behind the child’s ear. “Step down, Clarissa, and stand quite still.”

  She didn’t need him to amplify his threat. Francis had stopped whimpering and, dry eyed, looked at his sister in shocked inquiry, the tip of the knife pricking his skin. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and obeyed her uncle’s instructions, stepping down from the hackney to the street. They were outside Luke’s house on Ludgate Hill.