“A Viscountess!” Mrs. Irongate exclaimed, as she hugged Mallory good-bye.
“Oh, now, dry your tears, Lydia,” Mrs. Watkins said. “We should have known something was up the minute we saw the ring he placed on her finger last night.”
“Oh, but Emma,” Mrs. Irongate said, “think of the things we’ve said to Mrs. Dawson—I mean, our lady…” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh no, that’s not right.”
“The Viscountess,” Mrs. Watkins supplied for her.
“Yes,” Mrs. Irongate agreed, bobbing a curtsey. “The Viscountess.” Fresh tears of joy rolled down her cheeks. “It’s so romantic. You looked beautiful, dear, in the yellow gown last night. Just like a true lady.”
Mallory left the two women crying and waving their farewells from the kitchen door. John had received Lord Woodruff’s permission to borrow his coach, which was still hitched to the horses after the ride to church, and they’d packed what little clothing and personal items they had in the hamper. Freddie Hanson was going to drive them to Horsham, where they would hire another coach. John was hoping to meet Roger on the road. If not, he would send a message directly to Major Peterson from the Horsham posting inn.
While he was busy, Mallory took a moment to return to the cottage. It looked so forlorn and empty now…
She walked through the open front door and stood in the middle of the room. The mattress was bare since she’d returned the sheets and coverlet to Mrs. Irongate. The smoke stains on the whitewashed walls were more noticeable now, and she missed the smell of fresh baked bread that had already disappeared from the room.
This cottage had been their first home, and she realized she was going to miss it.
“Are you ready to go?” John said from the doorway. He stepped inside. “Mallory, you’re crying. What’s wrong?” He wiped several big, fat tears from her eyes with his thumbs.
Mallory threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. “I love you so…but I’m afraid. What if we leave here and you find you don’t love me as much as you’ve loved me here?”
He pulled her away so that he could look in her eyes. “Mallory, I will always love you. I love your intelligence, your wit, the way you laugh, and the way you cry.” He brushed another tear away. “But most of all, I love your courage…and that in my darkest hour, you stood beside me. You’re everything any man could ever want in a wife, whether he’s living in a small cottage or in a grand castle.”
He kissed her then—and by the time he was done, Mallory could barely stand on her own two legs, let alone doubt his love.
Fifteen minutes later, they set out in Lord Woodruff’s coach to meet their fate at Craige Castle.
They met Roger on the road outside Cardiff Hall and John sent him back with a message for Major Peterson to meet them in Chelmsford, a point halfway between London and Craige Castle, as soon as he was able.
In Horsham, Hanson bade them godspeed and good luck, then drove the aged coach back to Cardiff Hall. John hired a driver and a sleek, well-sprung coach pulled by a spirited team.
“We might as well travel in style,” he told Mallory, as he knocked on the roof, a signal for the driver to start.
“We’ll be on the road for days. What shall we do with our time?” Mallory asked, disappointed to be leaving on a Sunday rather than on a day of the week, when the shops were open. She would have appreciated a book or small game of some kind to while away the hours to Craige Castle.
“Oh, I imagine I can think of ways to keep you entertained,” John said, with a suggestive smile.
“Entertained? How?” she asked.
John pulled the shade down over the coach windows and kept her very well entertained, indeed.
They spend the nights at coaching houses. Major Peterson was waiting for them in Chelmsford with five hired men.
Mallory knew John would prefer to be riding with the men, but he stayed in the coach with her. She felt guilty.
“You’d make better time if you rode with Major Peterson and left me behind,” she said.
“Louis will be there no matter when we arrive,” he told her.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he thinks we’ve left the country…and because my uncle obviously believes I’m stupid.” John smiled. “I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when I walk through the front door.”
It took them another day’s travel from Chelmsford to East Anglia. Both John and Mallory had grown more quiet, the closer they’d come to their destination.
Mallory stared at the passing scenery, watching it become more and more familiar. Finally, she gathered her courage and turned to her husband. She touched his hand resting on the seat between them. “John, I’d like to see my mother before we go to Craige Castle.”
He frowned at her. “She’s with your squire, isn’t she?”
Mallory slid across the seat to him. “He’s no longer my squire, but yes, I need to see him, too.” She covered his mouth with her fingers to stop the protest he was about to make. “John, do I have any reason to be jealous of other women in your life?”
He leaned away from her as if he knew where this conversation was leading and didn’t like it one bit. “Of course not.”
“Then you have no need to be jealous of Hal. But I do owe him an explanation, and my mother as well, about what has happened. I must do it now, John. It won’t get any easier the longer I wait. Furthermore, Hal is the Magistrate. He can help us, but first I must face him.”
He pressed a kiss against her finger and then stuck his head out the window, shouting for the coachman to pull up. “You will need to give the coachman directions to Squire Thomas’s home.”
They pulled up the drive of Squire Thomas’s home several hours before dark.
John was impressed. The rambling country house was larger than Cardiff Hall and showed more signs of prosperity. The cobbles in the drive were fresh and new. A manservant opened the front door to greet the visitors. His eyes went wide when he saw Mallory, and he rushed out to help her from the coach.
A minute later, Lady Craige and a gentleman came hurrying out to greet her.
Mallory squeezed John’s hand. “Please, give me a few moments alone with them.”
John was not happy, but she didn’t wait for his consent. Instead, she walked forward to hug her mother.
Lady Craige was much the way John remembered her. Mallory had told him that her mother had donned black at her father’s death and never taken it off. She was a touch shorter than Mallory, and though they had the same coloring and similar features, Lady Craige lacked the alertness and directness in her gaze that John so admired in his wife.
Hal Thomas was a complete surprise.
Far from being a pudgy, balding, self-important squire, the man was almost as tall as John himself. He had the wavy black hair women so often found attractive and that John wanted to dismiss as effeminate. But what was truly disconcerting to John was that Thomas had something that John had envied all his life, a look and air of respectability, of good family and fine breeding. No scandal had ever touched this man’s name—and it said a great deal about the depth of Thomas’s affection for Mallory that he would be willing to marry a divorced woman.
Thomas ignored John’s presence while Lady Craige scowled fiercely at him, then the three of them went into the house. John watched them walk away: Lady Craige in her black, Thomas in his well-cut jacket and shining boots, and Mallory in the lovely yellow dress she’d worn the night of the harvest home. She and Thomas made a handsome couple—and John hated the thought.
After three minutes of waiting, he was tempted to enter the house, throw Mallory over his shoulder, and ride off with her. Instead, he cooled his heels pacing up and down the drive.
Peterson and the other men had watched the homecoming silently. Now Peterson approached him. “I believe we’ll travel up the road a bit to a posting house in search of fresh horses. Do you wish to accompany us, or should we bring you back a mou
nt?”
“Bring it back,” John said curtly.
Peterson smiled. He tried to cover it with his hand, but John caught sight of it. “What is so amusing?” he growled.
“You,” Peterson said. “I never thought I’d see the day you were in love.”
John didn’t deny it. “She’s my life.”
Peterson laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”
“Well, let’s just hope I can keep her.”
“Craige, she’s mad for you. No other woman would have gone through what she has the past several weeks if she wasn’t in love.”
John stared at Thomas’s front door. “I believe that, but he can offer her so much more.”
“John, don’t be a jealous fool. Your lady loves you.”
Peterson left with the others. John resumed his pacing.
It seemed like hours before the door opened and Mallory came out. Lady Craige and Thomas followed her, their expressions grim.
John had been leaning against the coach, and he now pushed away. He searched her face, afraid to see some change in her feelings toward him mirrored there.
Mallory crossed the cobblestone drive, and with a reassuring smile, placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Mother, you remember John.”
“I do.” Lady Craige’s voice could have frozen the Thames.
“It’s good to see you again, my lady,” John answered, and made a courteous bow. He knew better than to move closer to her.
“And this is Hal Thomas, who has been a very good friend to my mother and myself.”
John could tell from the man’s rigid stance that he wasn’t any happier about Mallory’s choice than Lady Craige was. Therefore, John was surprised when Thomas stepped forward and offered his hand.
“Congratulations, Craige,” the squire said.
Releasing Mallory’s hold, John took the few steps necessary to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, the next thing John knew, he was knocked flat to the ground by the power of a left fist.
Stars flashed before his eyes as Mallory cried out in alarm. John shook his head and raised himself up on one elbow. He gingerly moved his jaw back and forth to be sure it wasn’t broken.
Mallory had dropped to her knees beside him, but John held up a hand to ward her back. He looked up at Thomas. “You throw a strong left punch.”
“So I’ve been told,” came the calm reply. The squire offered his hand to help John up.
Accepting his offered hand, John said, “I suppose that was for Mallory.”
“Aye, and for the seven years you left her alone.”
“Well, I deserved the punch.” He held out his hand.
Thomas took it. “You won this time, but don’t ever mistreat her, Craige, for I’ll be there to sweep her up if you do. I shouldn’t have lost her this time.”
“There will be no next time,” John promised.
Thomas turned to include the women in their conversation. “Let’s go inside then and see what we can do about bringing this uncle of yours to justice.”
The plan they made was simple. They formed a party of ten mounted men, which included some of Thomas’s servants, and rode straight into the confines of Craige Castle. Mallory was unhappy to be left behind, but neither John or Hal wished to risk her life.
It was a dark, misty night with heavy fog, and no one challenged them until they were inside the old courtyard past the rebuilt stone walls. There, three rough-looking characters were huddled under the eaves, trying to stay dry. They carried rifles.
Without waiting for the others, John dismounted and walked right up them. “Good evening to you, gentlemen.”
The largest of the group blocked his path. “We don’t like visitors here,” the man said in the unmistakable accent of a Thames arkman.
Now John was sure Louis was here. He didn’t waste time, but jabbed the man in the gut and then knocked him out cold with a blow to his jaw.
The other two men started for him, but Peterson’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “I’ve got a brace of pistols trained on each of you. You’d best put down your weapons.”
The men quickly complied.
While one of Thomas’s servants tied them up, the squire said to John, “You don’t plant such a bad facer yourself.”
“You’d be wise to remember that.”
Thomas laughed. “What I don’t understand is why you would take on an armed man with nothing but your fists.”
“I was gambling his powder wasn’t dry,” John answered, and then led the way into Craige Castle.
They found Louis Barron dining alone in the great hall. John motioned for the other men to stay back in the shadows while he stepped for ward.
“Good evening, Uncle,” John said.
His uncle looked up from a stuffed capon and all color drained from his face. Louis had the Barron looks. Like John’s father, he was short of stature, with light blue eyes and graying blond hair. He wore a napkin for a bid over his yellow velvet evening jacket. “You’re back? You can’t be. I sent men to Italy to make you sure you didn’t return. They didn’t kill you, did they?”
John sat on the edge of the table. “I never left for Italy, Uncle.”
“But I saw proof. There were tickets.”
“Purchased, but not used.” John reached over and united the napkin. “Why did you do it, Louis?”
Tears pooled in the man’s eyes. He looked away and collected himself a moment before saying, “I got damned tired of working for my living—and being poor.”
John scoffed at the idea. “You were far from poor.”
“You don’t know. You didn’t have my expenses. You never cared for much in the way of comfort, like I did. And it wasn’t fair.”
“What wasn’t fair?”
“That you inherited. You’re a bastard. I’m the real Viscount Craige. This all would have been mine—”
“And so you stole it.”
Louis clapped his hands down on the table. “I’ve just righted an injustice.”
For a fleeting second, John felt pity for the man—and just as quickly squashed it. By Louis’s own admission, he’d wanted to do more than steal John’s money; he wanted to see him dead. But it wasn’t fear of his own life that made John angry—it was that Louis had threatened Mallory.
“And I’m here for vengeance,” John said grimly.
Louis’s eyes opened wide. He shoved the chair back and looked as if he were about to bolt, but instead, fell to his knees at John’s feet. “No, John, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can. Where’s the money, Louis?”
His uncle started shaking. “I have some of it, but I lost a great deal.”
“Tell me.”
“I lost it gambling, John. I got in debt over some heavy play.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Years. My brother wouldn’t help me, and it made me angry, because it all should have been mine. But then, I realized I had your money, the funds you had from your mother, and I borrowed some.”
“Borrowed?”
“I would have paid it back. I planned to.”
John shook his head. “I would have given it to you, but instead, you stole it and forced my wife to go without.”
“Oh, John, look around you. The estate is fine,” Louis said, but they were the last words he spoke for a few seconds, as John grabbed him by his neck cloth so tightly that the man couldn’t breathe.
Peterson came forward and touched John’s arm. “Don’t murder him, Craige—he’s not worth it.”
John stood and let Louis drop to the floor, where he gagged and choked, trying to draw breath.
“What about the rest of the money?” John demanded impatiently.
Louis struggled to his feet. “Most of it is gone,” he croaked out. “I kept gambling with it, hoping I could recover my losses, and then I was in so deep I had to go the moneylenders. That was years ago. I’ve been borrowing from them using your n
ame ever since.”
“Then when I returned from the war, you decided to leave,” John guessed.
“I knew it couldn’t go on much longer. I took what I felt was rightfully mine, Craige Castle, and left London.”
John turned on his heel and walked away, afraid he’d strangle the man if he stayed close. At last he exercised enough control over himself to ask, “Is there any of it left?”
“A good amount,” Louis said. “It’s in a strong-box up in my bedroom.”
John nodded to Thomas, who stepped out of the shadows. “This man is Squire Thomas, Louis. He is the local Magistrate. I am remanding you to his custody. Goodbye, Louis. We shall never see each other again.”
“But what will happen to me?” Louis asked.
“I’ll see you deported,” Thomas answered. “Especially after witnessing the confession you’ve just made.”
Mallory paced the floor of Hal’s front hall. Her mother was just as nervous. She sat in the drawing room, twisting a handkerchief in her lap.
They both heard the horses on the front drive at the same time. Mallory reached the door first and flung it open.
John sat on a dappled gray horse in front of the door. Behind him, the others dismounted—except for John’s uncle. Mallory barely remembered the man from the wedding. With his arms tied behind his back, he sat waiting for one of Thomas’s servants to help him down from the animal.
John held out his hand to her. “Mallory, come join me.”
Without a backward glance, she went over to him. He reached a hand down, and taking hold of her wrist, pulled her up to sit in front of him. She spread the skirts of the yellow muslin over her legs.
“Wait!” Lady Craige said, starting toward them. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” was John’s answer, and he put his heels to the horse.
His body shielded her from the mist as he rode down a road she could walk in her sleep, the road to Craige Castle.
“You found him?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And the money?”
“There is some.” His jaw tightened a moment in anger and she laid her hand against it.
Falling in Love Again Page 28