by Nicole Byrd
Louisa gazed at him, and Colin shook his head. He did not deserve such a look of gratitude. “Anyone would have done the same,” he muttered.
He explained again how he had come to know of their peril, reading the note that Gemma had sent to Captain Fallon.
“I suppose you have visited the house and so knew where to come,” Louisa said, looking away.
“No, not at all,” he told her. “In fact, I had to send Fallon’s valet to the stables to question the grooms. How on earth did you learn of the place?”
Both women spoke at once.
“It was on the note that Louisa received from her—from Sir Lucas—” Gemma started.
“It was scrawled on the back of the sheet, and we thought—” Louisa said at the same time, then paused.
“It is all my fault,” Gemma confessed. Despite her obvious attempt at self-control, a sob escaped her. She wiped her cheeks with a damp handkerchief. “I should not have gone, and I should never have allowed Louisa to go with me. But we knew that time was short, and I felt constrained to look for Clarissa there.”
Colin felt a surge of anger toward Sir Lucas. How could the calfling have been so careless with his correspondence? Colin moved across to the sideboard, where a silver tray held several decanters of wine and liquor. He poured three glasses of brandy, bringing the first to Louisa, then handing the next to Gemma, who appeared just as agitated as her friend. He motioned them toward a settee. When they—looking equally doleful—had settled themselves side by side, he took a chair opposite them and drank from his own glass.
“I gather you had no luck finding the captain’s sister?”
“No, sadly. Or at least, not sadly. If she had been held captive in such a place!” Gemma shivered. “But by mistake, we happened upon—upon—”
“My former fiancé!” Louisa snapped.
“Former?” Colin murmured. For the first time, he observed that the betrothal ring was absent from her finger.
“We have ended the engagement,” she said. “I discovered Sir Lucas in the midst of—in that establishment. I told him I no longer wished to marry him, and then I ran downstairs, but my carriage had gone. And when I went back up, Sir Lucas had also departed.”
“Without waiting to be sure that you had safely gone?” Colin interrupted.
Both women stared at him—he had spoken more loudly than he’d intended. He took a deep breath, resolving to take up this matter privately with the young man later. He would wring that silly pup’s neck! For now he said only, “Careless of him!”
Louisa bit her lip. “Yes. I did not know what to do. Despite my veil, men were staring at me in such a way, and some of the girls were making comments. I shut myself in one of the rooms, and since there was no lock on the door, I pushed a bureau against it. I’d thought of tying the sheets together and trying to lower myself from the window, but then you arrived. . . .”
Again, she cast him a grateful glance. “I shall always remember how you saved me, Lieutenant.”
Gemma smiled at him, too. “You are a true hero.”
Colin shook his head. “The greatest danger is still to come,” he warned them. “If this gets out, and it’s bound to, although I did what I could to avert talk, Miss Crookshank will be greatly compromised.”
“Oh, heavens, it’s true what that awful Harris-Smythe said!” Louisa moaned.
Colin cocked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name.
“A friend of Sir Lucas,’ ” she explained. “He saw me there without my veil. Oh, I shall be ruined!” Louisa put one hand to her face. “No lady will recognize me or allow me into her drawing room, and the men—I shall be the joke of the streets!”
“But it’s my fault; you must not suffer for it!” Gemma declared. “I shall say it was me that they saw.”
“So that we are both ruined?” Louisa asked. “It will not help, Gemma. That wretched man knows my name.”
Colin found he was drumming his fingertips on the polished cherry side table. This was little different than an unexpected calvary attack or a sudden foray by the infantry. Sometimes, one had to move quickly, and the best defense was an offense. “I want you both to prepare an overnight bag, at once. We shall leave here within half an hour. Miss Smith, you must play chaperone for your friend. Miss Pomshack is incapacitated, and we cannot wait for her to wake. Anyhow, you can be trusted to hold your tongue, at least until we desire it loosened! But I wish to be out of London before daybreak. We will have to stop at an inn when the moon goes down, but—”
“Running away will not help!” Louisa interrupted. “The scandal will simply follow me wherever I go.” She bit back a sob.
Looking almost as anguished, Gemma put an arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“Perhaps not,” Colin told them, wondering if even he could pull this off. “But we shall not run away from the scandal. In fact, we are going to create a greater one to replace it!”
Both of the women gazed at him as if he had suddenly gone mad. Perhaps he had. But with little time to consider, it was the best subterfuge he could think of.
“Go,” he said.
Gemma took her friend’s hand. “We have to try,” she said. “And I do not believe the lieutenant will fail us.”
Louisa nodded. “No, you are right.” She glanced at Colin, and his heart contracted at the trust in her blue eyes. If he disappointed her, how could he live with himself?
Without further argument—and to his private relief—they both hurried up the stairs.
He summoned the footman. “Tell Miss Crookshank’s coachman to prepare the carriage at once—and yes, I know the horses have been out already tonight but only for a short journey. If he wishes to retain his post, which at the moment is in great jeopardy, he will have the equipage in front of the door before the half hour.”
“Yes, sir,” the footman said, eyes wide.
Colin took a sip of the brandy. He felt both calm and exhilarated, just as he used to before going into battle.
The carriage was ready on time, and the women hurried down only a few minutes late. They descended the stairs carrying a couple of small bags and a hatbox, which he put into the carriage after he handed them up.
“You are not coming into the carriage with us?” Louisa asked.
He shook his head. “I will need my horse later. I will ride,” he told her. “Let us go, before we lose the moon completely.”
He mounted his horse and nodded to the coachman. Colin had already given orders, and the man, still somewhat ashen of face, slapped the driving reins. The carriage moved forward.
They trotted through the streets, which were almost empty at this time of the evening, passing only the occasional carriage or horseman as other late revelers made their way home.
By the time the moon dipped behind the horizon and its pale light faded, leaving the evening sky dark and the road hard to see, they had reached the small inn that Colin had suggested to the coachman earlier. The carriage rolled to a stop, and he motioned to the coachman to wait.
Dismounting, he went in to get a room for the ladies, then returned to explain the halt.
“It’s too dark now for the carriage to safely continue,” he told them. “I’ve obtained a room for you. Stay inside and have your meals sent up. I have told the landlord you are hurrying south to visit a sick relative. But it’s better if you are not seen, not yet.”
“But why—how is this going to help?” Louisa demanded.
He looked at her face, still drawn with fatigue and apprehension. “I will explain it all in the morning. Try to put your fears aside and sleep. We shall pull out of this yet—if not unscathed, at least not mortally wounded.”
She bit her lip, but she nodded. For a moment, a hint of her usual fire showed in her eyes. “Good soldiers are supposed to be as brave as their commander, I take it? We shall not disappoint you.” She led the way, and he saw them inside the small inn, but he paused at the foot of the staircase. “I shall see you in the morning.”
&nb
sp; “You are not staying here?” Louisa asked.
He shook his head. “I must return to London.”
“But it is too dangerous!” Louisa protested. “You said yourself, the darkness—”
“I have ridden through much more murky nights during the war,” he told her. “And I have a bishop to see.”
She blinked in surprise.
“I will explain later,” he promised. And then, although she called after him to wait, to tell her more, he strode rapidly back to his steed.
The room was small, but it smelled pleasantly of herbs. The bedclothes appeared clean, the sheets had been aired, and a small fire burned in the fireplace. Louisa had never felt so weary. Now that she had nothing else to distract her, the weight of all the night’s agitation and alarm seemed to settle upon her shoulders. She sank into a chair and found she had barely enough strength to shed her clothes and don her nightgown. But she roused herself to undo the back of Gemma’s gown, and her friend returned the favor. Soon they both climbed into bed.
As she pulled the linen sheet up to her chin, Louisa recalled the last time they had shared a bed, on the way to London, when her future had still seemed so bright and promising. And now she was ruined forever—she could not see how this strange flight was going to help, and she did wish that the lieutenant had been more forthcoming. . . . But Lieutenant McGregor had some notion in his mind, which was more than Louisa herself could manage.
Coherent thought was impossible. Her head could have been stuffed with wool like the rag dolls she had once played with. She felt sodden with the burden of all her failed hopes. And Lucas—she rubbed her cheek, wiping away what promised to be a new onslaught of tears No, she would not spend her life with a man who so easily betrayed her. She did not care how many other men also made a practice of such things! To see with her own eyes . . .
Gulping back another tear, she tried to banish the horrible scene of Lucas beneath the blankets with the naked woman. She felt Gemma’s light touch on her shoulder.
“Try to sleep,” her friend whispered. “I am here if you need me.”
Thank heavens for that. Louisa sighed. “Thank you,” she said. She shut her eyes against the darkness. Although she would have sworn she was too perturbed for slumber, her body sought its own relief. Presently, the awful memories faded into blackness.
They slept later than they had meant to, but it hardly mattered since they had to await the lieutenant’s return. Although when she woke, Louisa glanced with some concern at the sun’s position in the sky—it must be close to noon—she had no fear that Lieutenant McGregor would fail to return. Despite her former fiancé’s perfidy and despite the lieutenant’s reputation—if it was as bad as he asserted—she had looked into his eyes, and she felt certain he would keep his word.
And indeed, by the time they had washed and dressed and supped, a maid came in with news that the lieutenant awaited them below.
They put down their tea cups at once, Louisa told the servant to have their bags sent down, and then they donned hats and gloves and followed. The lieutenant had told them not to wear the black veils—he wanted nothing to connect them with the mysterious ladies in the bawdy house—but Louisa kept her head down as she descended the narrow steps.
When she looked up to see Lieutenant McGregor smiling at her, her heart lifted, and life did not seem so bleak. He looked tired but satisfied.
“Come,” he said. “I shall ride awhile in the carriage with you. I’m leaving my mount here for the time. The beast is exhausted, and anyhow, we need to speak privately.”
He had been very scrupulous about not coming upstairs, Louisa realized. He was guarding her reputation, although since she had none left, or would not when gossip of the trip to Clapgate got out, it seemed a pointless effort. But his care still warmed her heart.
He assisted them both into the carriage, and Louisa had an irrational urge to cling to his hand and not release it. When they were seated and the carriage moved forward, at last he told them his plan.
“We shall create a bigger scandal, but one that is less irrevocable, I hope,” he told her. “I trust that people will not credit that you could be the lady who visited the bawdy house—”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because on the same night that the veiled lady visited Clapgate, you were on your way out of town for a secret elopement.”
They both stared at him. It was so audacious that for a few moments even Louisa could think of nothing to say.
Louisa drew a deep breath. She—eloping? Scandal, indeed!
“We are going to Gretna Green?” Gemma asked, her voice faint. “I thought we were headed south.”
“We are. I have obtained a special license, with the help of more borrowed funds from the captain’s purse,” the lieutenant told them calmly. “The things are not cheap! We shall be married in Brighton as soon as we arrive.”
“And a marriage—why did you bring me, then?” Gemma persisted. She looked bewildered, a frame of mind Louisa could well understand.
Louisa still could not find her voice.
“Because you must chaperone your friend and be able to swear that we were never alone.”
“But—”
“Miss Crookshank must be able to apply for an annulment,” he explained. “Aside from the fact it would require an act of Parliament, divorce would be too scandalous, no better than the visit to the brothel, and we would gain nothing in our effort to salvage Miss Crookshank’s reputation. But a marriage that is not consummated is much more easily ended, and your uncle, who is a barrister, will be able to assist you. I believe that if her friends stand by her, Miss Crookshank will survive the ignominy of an annulment and still be able to be received by Society.”
At last Louisa cleared her throat. “But why would I do such a thing, elope, I mean?” she asked, hearing how husky her voice sounded.
“Because you were persuaded by a greedy half-pay officer who many of the Ton already know has been on the lookout for a rich bride. Then you came to your senses and refused to continue with such an irrational decision. With any luck, you will have all the sympathy of the Ton, and I shall come across as the villain of the piece.”
“I cannot allow you to take such blame, only to help me!” Louisa exclaimed.
He shook his head. “It’s too late to change our course, now,” he told her. “Trust me.”
She did, against all reason, although something inside her chest ached a little at the price he himself was willing to pay . . . for her!
“But—” Gemma looked distressed.
Louisa pressed her friend’s hand, and Gemma fell silent. There was only the sound of the tlot-tlot of the team that pulled the carriage and the light hum of its wheels rolling along the road. But despite the relative quiet, Louisa was sure that all three of them had minds filled with tumultuous thoughts. She leaned back against the squabs and surrendered to the vibration of the moving vehicle.
Her heart felt light, suddenly, and it was all due to the man who sat opposite them, the man who now refused to meet her gaze.
Louisa shut her eyes, but her thoughts still whirled. But long before they reached the outskirts of Brighton, and the lieutenant had directed the coachman to a reputable-looking posting house, she knew what she had to do.
“Why did you pick this town?” Gemma had asked, staring out the window as they rolled into the fashionable watering place.
“Because Miss Pomshack has a cousin who is a vicar here and can marry us,” Lieutenant McGregor answered.
Louisa looked up, and they both stared at him.
“She was kind enough to share the information with me not long ago,” he explained. “As we were chatting.”
The audacity of it made Louisa swallow, although this time, it was to hold back her laughter. “Do you think he will do it?”
“There is no reason for him not to. You are of age, and we have a license,” he said.
And knowing the lieutenant’s charm and powers of per
suasion, Louisa could really have no doubts, either.
They left their bags at the inn and, after a quick luncheon, asked for directions, then made their way to the church and nearby vicarage where an elderly maid showed them in. When the reverend appeared, he greeted them politely, if with some bewilderment when he heard their request. He was a stout man with the same hooked nose that Miss Pomshack shared, and the same complacent air of staid and perpetual virtue.
“I am happy that my cousin recommended me,” he told them. “She is not with you?”
“No, she had a slight attack of gout,” the lieutenant told him easily. “She was forced to remain in London.”
“Ah, her father was much troubled by that ailment, rest his soul.” The vicar shook his head. “I am sorry to hear that my cousin is having the same concerns. But why were you not married in London?” As he spoke, Mr. Pomshack glanced at Gemma’s respectable attire, and Louisa was very glad that Lieutenant McGregor had made sure to have another lady with them.
This time it was Gemma who supplied the answer. “Miss Crookshank lost her father only just over a year ago,” she explained. “My friend prefers a quiet ceremony.”
Louisa nodded.
“Ah, I see,” the man said, though his expression still seemed somewhat befuddled. But after he looked over the license, he agreed that no impediment existed to prevent their union.
He sent the maid for his prayer book and asked the “happy couple” to stand before him in front of the hearth.
He read the solemn words, and Louisa felt them penetrate her heart. She had dreamed of her wedding for years—she had expected to have a new dress and a church full of family and friends. And yet somehow, just now such things did not seem to matter. Standing in this tiny parlor, dressed in her plain traveling costume, she was aware only of the man standing beside her.
“For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer . . .”
The words droned on, and she and Colin made the required responses. The lieutenant’s tone was resolute, and Louisa was surprised how calm her own voice sounded.