The Notorious Bridegroom

by Kit Donner

  Isabella spun around on her chair and spit, “No one laughs at me. Who has cast me as an object of ridicule? How dare you suggest such a thing?” Her long fingernails curled around the arm of the chair.

  Sansouche laughed without humor. “Why, my dear, it is obvious you and Londringham have spent very little time together lately. He hardly notices you. Last night while you entertained in the salon, Londringham enjoyed a game of cards before retiring early. Much earlier than you. I must remind you that your intimate friends below are like eager vultures awaiting word that your liaison is dead in order that they may be the first to carry the sweet bits back to Town for the digesting. Perhaps you could return with me and regale your associates with your version of the truth. I would prefer you and Colette to travel with me.” He waited for his cousin’s response.

  Her blue eyes burned a dangerous light as she nodded, her face pale beneath the bright rouge. “I shall return to London with you as you have suggested. But I swear the earl will not live without comeuppance for the trouble he has caused me. I am not through with him yet.” She sighed. “Besides, the country life has bred ennui in me. Have you completed your business here?”

  Her question brought Sansouche quickly to his feet, but he answered in a cool voice, “I think it better if we all play our parts more discreetly than some of us have played heretofore. We have decided to meet in Town for the remainder of the time left. But we shall return.” At the door, he turned with a sly smile to Isabella and asked, “Who knows? Perhaps it will be with Londringham’s head on a pike?”

  When her cousin had left the room, Isabella continued to comb, tuck, and touch her appearance into presentability. No one plays her for a fool, she thought to herself. “Colette? Oh, where is the girl? She is more absent than I should allow.”

  As Sansouche sauntered down the stairs to look for im-bibement to start the day, he caught sight of Patience in the study. He watched her from the shadows, a thoughtful expression on his face. She was a bold one. His little maid had failed to appear at the requested time. And he was quite sure he had seen her in the garden last night. But when he had reached the terrace, she was nowhere to be seen.

  The necklace in his pocket jingled as he headed down the stairs. It was hers. The engraving distinct in the smooth metal. All in good time. I wonder if they have found her brother yet. Rupert Mandeley had to be here somewhere. His men would find him soon enough. And yet another of his crimes would go unpunished. In fact, Sansouche could not fathom why it had taken this long to find the missing Mandeley.

  The Frenchman could not linger in the country much longer, though he would like to stay—if only for the great pleasure of watching Patience himself to see if she met with her brother. Sansouche rubbed his hands together. It was simply a matter of time. Time that was surely on his side.

  Bryce paced restlessly in the parlor, the day’s events on his mind. The exercise helped his knee, still stiff from last night. He was elegantly attired for the hunt in his tan breeches and tall, black top boots. A white shirt and cravat under his black riding coat completed his attire.

  So much to do, and with no new information, he was frustrated in being forced to find an alternative plan. The constable had sent word that they had yet not located Carstairs’s cousin Rupert. Bryce believed the young man might know the identity of the murderer. However, not only was Mandeley hiding from the law, but the young man might also have sensed a threat from the real killer. He must be found before Carstairs’s murderer located him first.

  As for the French spies in their midst, unfortunately none of his local sources had turned up any new information. Red reported that no unusual operations on the shore, in the churchyard, or near the bonfires had occurred since that night on the cliffs. No reason for this inactivity made sense. But Bryce knew they were still out there, planning the downfall of England.

  With Red following Sansouche to London and Kilkennen on a trip to France, Bryce reasoned he himself would have to travel among his land tenants to try to uncover information. There were so few people he could trust.

  Patience. Could he trust her? He remembered their first night at the fair. Was she a Madonna or did she owe loyalty to England’s enemy? By God, he wanted to believe her. Last night on the balcony he had. She knew how to haunt his dreams and light his desire, but who was she? What was she really doing here?

  He had never known a woman he could have faith in. The women in his life had taught him not to trust anything in skirts.

  But what dormant dreams the young woman had stirred in him last night. He smiled when he thought of the artless passion reflected in her lovely hazel eyes. How much would she make him pay, and with what? Currency? Or something less familiar…his heart?

  Staring into the cold ashes brought him back to the night in the French cottage, holding Edward dead in his arms. A woman had led Edward to his death. Surely his brother’s death must have taught him something. What kind of world did they live in, that murderers and spies walked freely among polite society and that trust must be won, not instantly granted?

  Kilkennen found him in the front parlor and walked with him out to the stables for the morning hunt.

  The weekend finally over, the countess’s guests took their leave of Paddock Green. Patience had managed to avoid Sansouche and the others throughout the last day and breathed a sigh of relief when they all prepared to depart.

  She rose wearily from her cramped position on the floor having spent several hours organizing Lord Londringham’s books and much more work still lay ahead. Although the sun shone yet brightly, a hungry stomach growl and a dusty dryness in her mouth reminded her of a need for tea. She had seen his lordship only at midday, when he was bidding his guests a safe return to Town.

  Out the window, she watched with great interest when the countess and her cousin climbed into a hired carriage. Before they left, Bryce walked down the steps and handed a long jewel case into the carriage window to the countess. Patience could almost hear the countess’s squeal of delight.

  The bell clanging frantically disturbed Patience’s sleep. She awakened immediately, her heart thumping, and leapt out of bed. After pulling on her gray dress and cap, she flew down the stairs behind the other panicked servants, plaiting her hair as she ran. In the atrium the rest of the servants had gathered, their frightened voices raised in a chorus of noise. Word drifted back to Patience in the back of the hall.

  Napoleon had landed. His troops were on British soil.

  She grasped her arms tightly, trying to control her shaking. The French were in England! Swallowing her fear, she headed off to find Bryce, working her way into the atrium, where she discovered him talking in hushed tones to the butler. He looked as if he had not been to bed.

  Bryce glanced over to her, and their gazes met briefly, his conveying courage. He nodded to her and vanished through the front door.

  The butler Marlow commanded everyone’s attention by standing on a nearby bench and clapping his hands. He spoke urgently. “We all know what we must do. Lucky has two wagons hitched and waiting outside. Keep calm, this could be a false alarm. I want everyone to get into the wagons immediately. Take as few belongings as possible, there is not much room. We shall take the old Tyler road to Winchelsea where his lordship has instructed he will meet us with further directions. He will have news for us then. And keep quiet, we must exercise the greatest silence.”

  Before the butler could finish his speech, the anxious servants had already bustled out the door, a few carrying brooms for weapons and most in either working clothes or their bedroom dress, propelled more by fear of the French than by propriety.

  Lem. Patience scanned the small area of scurrying servants around her. She could not find him. She saw Myrtle and Melenroy head down the porch but no sign of the little footboy. Patience started for the stables, believing the boy might not have heard the warning bell.

  She grabbed Myrtle as she was climbing into the wagon and petitioned her, “Please, do not let them lea
ve without us. I must find Lem. We shall return shortly.” Patience did not wait to see if Myrtle did as she bid.

  Lem was indeed in the stables, looking for Gulliver. Together they called his name, and finally located the dog by the chicken coop. The little boy grabbed his collar, and they hurried back to the front of the house. Too late. They watched as both wagons rattled and shook down the lane.

  Wide-eyed, mouth agape, Lem said, “They left us be’ind. The Frenchies will get us! What will we do?”

  Patience took his little hand in hers. “Lem, you must be a brave soldier. We will not let those awful Frenchmen capture us! There are still horses left. We can, umm…I know, the gig! We shall harness one of the horses to the gig and follow them.”

  Anxious to catch up to their companions, they worked feverishly, hampered by the light drizzle of rain that had begun. Lem was quite proficient at hitching Calliope, a calm sorrel, to the little gig, and they were soon pushing Gulliver into the carriage and climbing in after him.

  Patience flicked the reins, and off they went in a whirl down the wet lane. She brushed a wet strand of hair from her eyes, her mouth dry from fear. Any moment she expected French soldiers to spring from their forest hiding place and shoot. She had to get them both to safety. Lem looked to her for courage, which she knew she lacked in great supply. She concentrated on reaching Winchelsea and sent a prayer to Heaven for Rupert’s care as well as for the safety of her family in Storrington.

  The rain began pouring from the night, making it difficult to see the road or to find the retreating wagons. Gulliver whimpered from his position on the floor as the carriage rolled and rocked in their hurried flight.

  Patience shouted to Lem, “Do you know where the old Tyler road is?”

  Lem jumped in his seat. “I almost think so.”

  Farther down the road, Lem bounced up and down. He tugged on her arm, pointing, “I think that’s it!”

  “What?” she cried, trying to avoid the deep ruts.

  Calliope was becoming increasingly jittery and difficult to control while rain pelted the carriage roof, making conversation difficult.

  “I think there’s the Tyler road!” He yelled urgently.

  “But how do you know? Are you sure?”

  The little boy’s head bobbed up and down. Hoping he knew of which he spoke, she directed the little dogged horse down the dirt lane.

  They turned down Tyler road and a mile along their path, she bit her lip when the carriage hit a large bump. The reins almost flew out of her hands as they jerked in their seats. But they kept going.

  Patience shivered from the cold wetness as well as from fear. She had no idea where they were and worried whether the next person they met on the road would be friend or foe.

  Hoping they’d reach Town soon, Patience, blind to the moatlike hole on the side, guided the little gig deep into the molasses mud.

  After several attempts to escape their trap, she handed over the reins to Lem. “Hie Calliope, I shall get behind and push.”

  As she jumped away from the carriage, he called after her, “Be careful, miss.”

  She wiped an offending lock of hair from her forehead and felt a streak of mud trail her fingers across her skin. Within minutes the gushing rain soaked her mantle and dress to the skin. Although more than a little tired and scared, she could not give up.

  She slipped at the back of the carriage, trying desperately to gain a foothold. After rocking the coach and falling face-forward several times into the black mire, she finally felt the wheels break free from imprisonment and leap down the road.

  Filthy and exhausted she watched in dismay, her mouth agape, as the carriage tore down the path, already merging with the night. She hiked her dress and ran after the carriage, realizing fear ignited her with speed she did not know she had.

  Not far down the road, she finally caught up with the runaway coach. Lem tried his best to control the little mare, who continually jerked her head up and down impatiently. After a few attempts, Patience pulled herself into the jolting coach.

  “Sorry, miss, I couldn’t control ’er. She got away from me!” His earnest expression begged for forgiveness, his white face streaked brown with mud and awash with fright.

  Patience took over the reins and smiled wearily, trying to catch her breath, “I know. She is just scared like the rest of us.” When she snapped Calliope into motion again, wishing feverishly this night would end, they were once again stopped in their tracks. But not by mud.

  Three masked highwaymen blocked their path, each man on the left and right held menacing pistols.

  “Please to give us your valuables,” the man in the center calmly instructed.

  Chapter 14

  Patience’s heart caught in her throat. She could not speak for the fright whipping through her as her body tensed. I must be brave. There must be a way. She studied each man briefly, weighing the dangers before her.

  The first man on the left, tall and thin in his saddle, struggled to control his horse with one hand and hold a pistol in the other. The thief leading their little band rode between the other thieves but carried no weapon. The last thief was by far the largest man controlling his skittish horse. He looked uncomfortable both on his horse and at holding a pistol at their carriage.

  Something seemed familiar about them.

  The thin man to Patience’s left snorted. “Ye don’t ’ave to ask politely, jes’ say, ‘Give up yer money and yer jewels or forfeit yer life,’” he told his companion in disgust.

  His companion shook his head with such spirit that his handkerchief fell away from his face and floated away into the night. A quick grab came up empty.

  “Blast it! Damn the mask!” He hurriedly raised his hand in front of his face, but though Patience peered intently into the dark, she still could not quite make out his features.

  She grasped Lem’s hand with her right hand, holding the little mare still with her left. For some unknown reason, she believed they would not hurt her or Lem. These men were obviously unskilled robbers. And what was it about them that sparked a hint of recognition?

  The voice of the man who had lost his mask—“Begging yer pardon for me language,” he surprised them all by saying.

  The tall, thin man grew impatient. “Enough of these gentrified pleasantries, General.” Looking at Patience and Lem, he told them, “Folks, ’and over yer valuables. We don’t want to ’urt ye.”

  Patience straightened her back and looked determinedly at the trio. The would-be smugglers had apparently decided not to find an honest job. “We have nothing of value,” she told them matter-of-factly.

  The men stared at her blankly, unprepared for her answer before the thin man told her, “But ye must ’ave something to steal. Per’aps I’ll ’ave to take a look inside yer carriage.” He must have thought this statement would dampen Patience’s bravado.

  But she planned to wait them out. “Gentlemen—I may call you that?” Not waiting for them to acknowledge her, she said, “I must needs bring to your attention that we happen to be fleeing from the French who have been sighted and are probably bringing their boats to shore as we speak. We are headed to safety and carry nothing of value. I assure you no trinkets or coins do we possess on our person,” she stated succinctly. She heard Gulliver issue a low growl.

  The thin man quickly changed his tune. “The Frenchies—’ere? Max, let’s get away from ’ere. They’ll shoot us for sure.”

  “Don’t ye remember? Ye are to call me General! And yer not supposed to use any names! Can’t ye see the lady is bluff ’n? Those frog-eat’n Frenchies are too afraid of we brave Englishmen. Now, back to the matter at hand,” the General finished.

  The thin man and the large man did take a cautious look from side to side, as if expecting unwanted French intruders. In the dim lantern light bumping along the carriage side, the three men turned to each other, talking animatedly. The General forgot to keep his face in the shadows, obviously not too concerned that Patience might recognize
him.

  Patience decided to continue to press their cause. “Please let us pass. Our enemy will soon be upon us, and all our lives will be forfeited.”

  Just then a rustling noise in the forest bed placed everyone on guard. The thin man jerked his horse anxiously around and accidentally nudged his cocked pistol. The pistol roared in his hand, whistled off the General’s hat, and frightened gentle Calliope, who charged toward the thieves, effectively routing them from their blockade.

  Patience and Lem left the men far behind on the Tyler road. But not before hearing in the night wind, “Ye almost killed me and made a ’ole in me ’at,” shouted a voice.

  “Me? You stole the pistol. ’ow was I to know it were loaded? Ye think that was a Frenchie?”

  Where was she? Bryce deliberated while swatting his whip against his boot in agitation. Winchelsea’s streets were almost empty at this late hour. After racing to Winchelsea’s port and conferring with a lieutenant, he had learned that the raging bonfires had been misinterpreted. Men were already dispatched to inform the alerted countryside that British soil was still safe from French invaders. Bryce informed the lieutenant he would make sure everyone from his district found their way safely home.

  He had already sent his servants heading back toward Paddock Green. One of the maids told him that Miss Simmons and Lem had stayed behind.

  But why? Unless she was meeting with someone. In which case, why was Lem involved? And whom was she meeting? He did not want to believe Patience capable of treason, but why was she not here? Marlow said the wagons had arrived over an hour ago at their arranged meeting place.

  He would find her and learn the answers. Barely winded, Bryce’s horse pawed the ground, ready for a run. He mounted Defiance and tore off into the night. And he wondered what story she would spin in her defense as a lost goat baaed from the side of the road.