Even as she struggled for words, he saved her from having to respond by rising to his feet in a sudden change of attitude. “I will ask the landlord’s wife to put some ointment on the scratches. Then we must be on our way. We should easily reach Tenton tonight.”
“Tenton? Are we not going back to London?”
“When you disappeared,” he replied, “I had no idea what had happened to you, or how long it might be before I could return you to Charles Street. I sent for Cassie, informing Mrs. Boone and your household that you were accompanying my mother and Arelia to the country. It was the best I could do to allay suspicion. I doubt they believed the half of it, but they have no evidence to support any other theory.”
He strolled into the hall calling for Mrs. Weaks while Anne looked after him with a troubled frown.
Chapter 19
A short time later, Tenbury’s coach set off toward Wiltshire. While Jack occupied one seat and Cassie and Anne shared the other, Tenbury and Murdock accompanied the coach on horseback. When Murdock suggested that his lordship travel inside the coach, seeing as he had not slept the night before, Tenbury replied that if he had been interested in his groom’s opinion, he would have asked for it. Murdock thereafter lapsed into silence, speaking only when spoken to. The trip passed uneventfully, the coach arriving at Tenton Castle after dark.
Arelia and Lady Tenbury made a great fuss over Anne and Jack, hovering like mother hens and directing servants to prepare rooms. They all settled in the salon, where Arelia demanded to be told all the details of the robbery.
“I need to speak with Miss Waverly,” Tenbury said. “If you will excuse us, perhaps Jack can answer your questions.”
Anne accompanied Tenbury across the hall to the library. When they were inside and the door firmly closed, she took a seat while he stooped to stir the fire to life and add a few logs. Next he kindled a taper and began lighting more candles.
Anne sat regarding him expectantly. He had asked for the interview but now seemed reluctant to begin.
“What was it you wished to say to me, my lord?” she asked.
Tenbury extinguished the taper and replaced it on the mantel before coming to sit near her. “You asked me earlier today if we were returning to London. You do understand why we cannot?”
“Because you think people will discover what happened last night.”
“I cannot say, and it matters little what story the gossips ultimately spread. What concerns us is that you were seen leaving town in an open carriage with my brother. You did not return at the time you were expected; in fact, you did not return to your home at all. Even in my household, where the servants are loyal to the family, such a tale could leak out. In your house, with servants newly hired, there is no question the story will be all over town in a matter of days.”
“I was considering this on the drive down here,” she offered, “and I have decided that perhaps it would be best if I returned to Pentworth House.”
“The scandal will eventually follow you there. There can be no escape from it.”
“You draw a grim picture, my lord.”
“Perhaps I do, but I assure you it is a realistic one. It is vital that you understand the seriousness of the situation.”
Feeling the pressure of tears mounting behind her eyes and unwilling for him to see her cry, Anne rose and walked to the fire, pretending to warm herself. His words had, in fact, chilled her to the quick. Her future, which only a few days ago had appeared so rosy, now loomed before her as a fearful, bottomless chasm.
“You may, of course, go to your home if that is what you truly wish,” he said. “There are, however, several other options you should consider.”
She turned, forgetting her tears, eager to hear of this ray of hope in a seemingly hopeless situation. “And what are they, my lord?”
“You could marry—as soon as possible. The gossiping tongues would not be stilled, but they would speak of elopement, not ostracism. Is there anyone to whom you have formed an attachment— someone in London perhaps?”
“There is no one,” she said, almost imperceptibly.
“I must tell you that Jack is most willing to offer. He is very conscious of his obligation—”
“I could not accept him,” she interrupted, “for I do not consider any of what happened to be his fault. He was wonderful—brave and caring. I would not reward him by binding him in a marriage he did not seek.”
“Do you love him?” Tenbury asked, holding his breath while he waited for her answer.
“I love him as a dear friend.”
“There is one final option you must consider. I would be honored if you would agree to become my wife. I have a special license. With your consent, I will go and speak with Dennis Pearce immediately; he could marry us tonight.”
Dozens of questions leaped to her mind together, all struggling for the uppermost place. Why was he offering this? Did he feel responsible because Jack was involved? Or was there more to it? Then there were the questions on her side. How did she feel about Tenbury now? Could she trust him, or was there still, as there had been when they met, a motivation she knew nothing of?
With all this turmoil in her mind, her voice was still. He seemed to take this lack of objection as a form of consent. “I will go and speak with Pearce,” he said and turned to leave the room.
In desperation, she found her voice. “Please wait, my lord. You must give me time to think.”
“I am afraid there is little time, and even less to think about. You may return to Pentworth, a social outcast who will be an object of scorn and crude speculation, or you may choose to be my wife.”
She lowered her eyes to the floor, once again blinking away tears.
Her total dejection, her grim, hopeless attitude was too much for Tenbury. He had decided during his long ride home that he would not complicate the necessities of the evening with protestations of love. He suspected she was a long way from trusting him, but he found now that his resolution would not hold. Whether she believed him or not, he must at least say he wanted her for herself, not for any other reason. Walking to her, he took her hands and led her to the sofa, then sat beside her.
“You have not asked how I come to have a special license in my pocket,” he said.
She said nothing, but the question was in her eyes.
“That night at the pool,” he said, “I would not have behaved so, had my intentions not been honorable. I nearly asked you then to marry me, but I did not like having secrets between us. So I went to find Chadwicke. On my way through London, I picked up the license on a whim, hoping I could convince you to marry me at once. The memory of that night made me impatient to have you in my arms again.”
His voice had trailed nearly to a whisper. What he saw in her face did not encourage him. She looked troubled, confused. She was so close, her lips so inviting, her expressive eyes swimming with tears. Would action serve him where words had not?
He linked his hands behind her neck and brought her mouth to meet his. As she closed her eyes a tear slipped away and coursed a path down her cheek, yet when he felt her respond, his hopes soared. He ended the kiss before he wished to, even though she had made no attempt to stop him. He held her face in his hands as he whispered, “Anne, I love you. Forget the rest; forget the questions and the doubts and think only of that.” He pushed himself up from the sofa and rang the bell. “I am going to find Pearce. When the footman comes, have him bring you something to eat.”
A moment later she was alone, but those three magical words he had said echoed again and again through her ears. “I love you.” Her father was the only other person who had ever said them to her. Did Tenbury mean them? Or were they uttered from obligation? from guilt? from expediency? He had never wanted any of the women society had to offer—why should he want her?
There was only one answer. She was wealthy, naive, and amenable. She was quiet and unassuming; she would never put herself forward. Tenbury could have her wealth yet continue to live h
is life much as he always had. She would be there, stuck away in a corner. She would never challenge him; he would go his own way.
As unappealing as this was to her, it had two strong elements in its favor. First, as he had pointed out, she had little choice. It was either marriage or social ruin. Secondly, she felt that being a part of his life, even a minor part, would be better than being no part at all. If she ran away to Pentworth House and resumed her reclusive life there, she would probably never see any member of the Saunders family again.
The servants brought her a tempting dinner tray, but she had no appetite. She had made her decision: she would marry Lord Tenbury.
When Arelia entered the room a few minutes later, Anne was able to greet her with an outward appearance of calm. Arelia came to sit close, her concern for Anne’s recent ordeal plain.
“Jack has been telling us what happened. You must have been terrified.”
“The highwaymen were rather frightening, but Jack knew just how to handle them. Then he led us safely through the woods.”
Arelia reached to take Anne’s hands, her countenance grave. “Jack says that you are fine. Is it true? Or is there something you could not tell the men?”
Anne shook her head. “I told them the truth. My legs are sore, and my feet blistered, and I have these scratches on my hands; that is all.”
“If I had ever suspected that road would be so dangerous—”
Arelia paused as the door opened and Tenbury entered. He glanced first at Anne and then spoke to his sister-in-law. “Have you been sharing your news with Miss Waverly?”
“No,” Arelia answered. “We have been discussing the events of this past night.”
“It seems congratulations are in order,” he continued, as he drew Arelia to her feet and planted a kiss upon her cheek. Turning to Anne’s inquiring gaze he added, “Mr. Pearce has just informed me that he and Arelia became engaged yesterday. My felicitations, Arelia. I think you have chosen wisely, and I wish you well.”
Rising herself, Anne added her good wishes to his. She embraced her friend warmly as she exclaimed, “Oh, Arelia, I am so pleased for you—and for Dennis, too! I am convinced you belong together, and I wish you happy.”
Anne’s worries, momentarily forgotten in the face of Arelia’s news, came rushing back at Tenbury’s next words. “Has Anne told you our news? That she is about to become my wife?”
He took Anne’s hand possessively in his as Arelia regarded them suspiciously. Tenbury looked cool and confident, while Anne’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“Has she agreed to become your wife, or is she being bullied into accepting?” Arelia demanded, her voice disapproving.
Tenbury’s eyes hardened as he met Arelia’s challenge unblinking. “She will make a free choice.” Then turning his gaze to Anne, he added, “And she can certainly speak for herself.”
Arelia directed her next question to Anne. “Is this truly what you want?”
Forced to meet Arelia’s penetrating gaze, Anne answered, “If his lordship wishes it, I agree to wed him.”
“If you have any doubts,” Arelia pursued, “we will seek another solution.”
“If you intend to offer alternative options, Arelia,” Tenbury said, “I suggest you enumerate them. What specific solutions do you have in mind?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she answered. “There must be something. We must think.”
“I did just that all day. If the solution Miss Waverly and I have chosen is agreeable to us, I fail to see what right you have to object.”
Arelia looked at Anne again, hoping to see in her eyes what she seemed unable to say. “If this is what you want, I certainly will not object. But I do not wish to see you made unhappy.”
“If you believe I would make her so, Arelia,” Tenbury said, “you have missed the mark.”
“I do not think you would intentionally do so, Tenbury, but marriage is—”
“Different things to different people,” he interrupted. “I suggest you confine your thoughts to your own upcoming nuptials and leave the concerns of ours to us.”
Arelia easily detected the edge to his words, a tone she recognized as one meant to silence her on the subject. She bit back her next response.
Tenbury turned to Anne, collecting her other hand. “I think we could both benefit from a few hours’ sleep. Pearce said he would meet us in the chapel at ten o’clock. Is that acceptable?”
She smiled tentatively and nodded.
“The chapel, then, at ten o’clock,” he said.
“I will be there.”
Anne and Arelia left the room together. Within a few minutes, Tenbury also went abovestairs to bathe and rest. He had been in the saddle for the best part of twenty-four hours. Warmed and refreshed by a hot bath, he stretched out upon his bed and was sound asleep within seconds.
Arriving at her room, Anne declined to rest. She had slept at the inn and in the coach. She insisted she was not tired and knew she would never sleep with her wedding only a few hours away. When Arelia, despite Tenbury’s warning, tried to question Anne further on the subject of her marriage, Anne burst into tears and was unable to answer.
Having shattered what little control Anne had left, Arelia was instantly remorseful. “I am so sorry. Tenbury warned me to say no more, and I should have heeded him. You have been through much more than anyone should have to bear—I promise I will not add to your distress. Come, we need to choose a gown for your wedding. What shall it be?”
Since Cassie had been unpacking for an hour, the two trunks were nearly empty. Anne’s gowns hung in a row in the wardrobe. Arelia drew forth an evening gown of ivory silk, decorated with row upon row of French lace.
Anne seemed not to care what she wore. When it came time to dress for her wedding, she stepped without comment into the chemise Cassie set out for her and then allowed herself to be laced into her stays and buttoned into the gown. With her hair dressed to Arelia’s satisfaction, she accompanied Arelia and Cassie to the drafty chapel in the oldest part of the Castle. It lacked two minutes before the hour of ten.
There had been insufficient time to properly warm the chamber, therefore the thick stone walls of the small chapel emitted damp, cold air. Slivers of pale moonlight penetrating the high, narrow windows did little to dispel the gloom. On the altar, however, many candles had been set. Their flickering light bounced off the uneven walls, casting eerie shadows. In the circle of light Dennis waited. Lady Tenbury sat with Jack in the first pew while Tenbury stood nearby, partially facing the door at the back.
He saw Anne the moment she entered and came immediately to meet her, taking her hand and threading it through his arm. “You look lovely,” he said as he smiled at her and led her down the aisle to where the others waited. “Mr. Pearce requested Cassie and Murdock as witnesses,” Tenbury explained.
When Dennis glanced at his betrothed and saw the concern in her face, he suddenly wondered if all was as Lord Tenbury had explained to him. He shifted his gaze to Anne. She was returning Lady Tenbury’s smile. The smile seemed genuine enough, yet there appeared to be a great deal of sadness behind it. Despite Lord Tenbury’s assurances of Anne’s compliance in the ceremony, Dennis felt constrained to speak. He stepped nearer to Anne. “Is it your wish, Anne, to wed Lord Tenbury?”
Looking him straight in the eye, without blinking, and with only the slightest tremor in her voice she said, “Yes, Dennis, it is.”
“Very well,” he said, addressing the group altogether, “Shall we begin?”
Chapter 20
The small group gathered before the altar, and Dennis began the familiar marriage ceremony. As he spoke each portion of the service, Tenbury and Anne made the appropriate responses—to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer …
When Tenbury took her hand to place the ring on her finger, he found that her hand was shaking. The ring was a family heirloom, one of many gold rings in the Tenbury collection. He slipped it over
her knuckle, solemnly repeating the final words he needed to speak: “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
In a moment she would be his wife. It was what he wanted. Anne looked up to meet his eyes, and what he saw in them shook his resolution to its foundation. He knew that a bride should have joy and love shining in her eyes. As he looked at Anne he saw only strife, fear, and sadness. He was getting what he wanted, but she—she had been given no choice.
Through this maze of thought Dennis’s voice penetrated. “… have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company—”
“Wait,” Tenbury interrupted, halting Dennis in mid sentence. Ignoring the others, looking only at Anne, holding her hands in a viselike grip, he said,
“I cannot do it. I thought I could … but I cannot be sure … and I will not force you.” Then he spoke to the others. “I must apologize for calling you here unnecessarily. Forgive me.”
Without another word to anyone he walked down the aisle and left the chapel. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing hollowly through the room.
None of those left behind spoke, none moved. They all stood as if turned to stone, all trying to understand what had happened. Tenbury had been the impelling force behind this ceremony: he had suggested it, ordered it, arranged it, taken control. Then, at the climactic moment he had called a halt.
The seconds dragged by. Anne stood with her head bowed, turning the ring on her finger. She had his ring but was no bride, no wife.
She looked up to find Dennis watching her and then turned quickly to Arelia, Lady Tenbury, and Jack. Anne was first to break the silence. “What did he mean? I do not understand. He was the one who insisted …” When no one answered she asked, “Did any of you have his confidence? Do you know what he meant? What was he not sure of?”
Lois Menzel Page 20