A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  “Are you all right, sir?” Powell slid him a questioning look, his used Bible slipping precariously across his lap as they rounded a corner toward the south London area. He stopped it with the flat of his palm.

  Miles hesitated. Powell had been with him since he turned eighteen. The man was not much older than he, though he behaved like an old man sometimes. Confiding in a servant was not the wisest choice, but then again, they knew all the goings-on anyway.

  “What do you think of my betrothal to Lady Elizabeth?” he asked carefully.

  “Very sudden, sir, and unlike you.”

  Miles nodded, gratified by the honest words. “She is not Anastasia.”

  “Not in any way, sir.” The words, spoken with vehemence, rippled through Miles.

  “You think not?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Somewhat comforted, though he knew not why, Miles nodded his thanks. “She may be at chapel this morning,” he finally said. His voice sounded rough in the early morning.

  “That is good news. The lady does not strike me as the type who cares for the pomp and circumstance of a London church.”

  “That is true. I believe she prefers a smaller, more quiet church experience.”

  “This may be out of place, but what weighs on your mind, Mr. Hawthorne?”

  Miles sighed. He slid a glance to Powell. Faithful valet for so long. “Your discretion has always been greatly appreciated. I value your service. Forgive me for waiting until now to ask this of you, but I believe I may need to make some serious inquiries. Perhaps even engage the services of a runner.”

  “Bow Street?”

  “Possibly. There have been odd incidents at the factories. Mysterious equipment failures and a discrepancy in the books. Do you know how to go about engaging a detective?” His specialty lay in business, not law. And all of his instincts were screaming that something was amiss.

  “I believe I can find out, sir.”

  “Excellent.” They were nearing the chapel. Traveling through a pretty little part of London filled with small homes and clean streets. The smell of the Thames was not so strong here and the chapel’s tall structure could be seen from the street.

  “Only pray I do not make a muck out of this situation.”

  “Sir, if I may.” Powell placed his hand on Miles’s shoulders, a gesture completely out of the ordinary for his usually staid valet. “I shall be praying for you daily, but do not forget that Lady Elizabeth is unusual, different than others of the ton.”

  “Thank you, Powell.” Miles exited the rig and together they walked up the stone pathway to the chapel, which sat on a little hill above the homes. The mist gathered about the steeple, a protective shroud of silver droplets. At the door, two figures huddled, one small of stature with hair the color of an aged rose.

  Elizabeth.

  His pulse quickened despite every instinct to tamp it down. As they neared, he heard Powell draw in a deep breath. Distracted, his gaze shifted to the woman next to Elizabeth. She looked familiar. Her lady’s maid, a pretty woman with a great poof of blond hair twisted into a chignon.

  He glanced at Powell. His butler wore a rapt expression. The bell tolled, chiming through the air in sweet, melodic notes.

  “At last.” Elizabeth rushed forward. “I believe we may be late, but I did not want to go in without you. I thought it best for Powell to escort Jenna to the servant’s gallery.”

  Powell and he exchanged a glance.

  “My dear, this is a small chapel. There is no servant’s gallery, for inside those walls, all are equal.”

  Elizabeth’s brows rose. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

  Miles grinned. “Not once, my lady? Surely a woman of your book learning has read of places in which social standing is irrelevant.”

  “Only in Utopia, sir.” But she answered his grin with a shy smile of her own, and in that very second, all felt right with his world. They entered the chapel together, and though the service had started, some turned to wave. A few curious glances flickered toward them, but they quietly found seats in the very back without causing any great disturbance.

  The pastor’s voice, flavored with a thick Scottish accent, spoke of worries and casting them all on the Lord. It was a good service, and at the end, his shoulders felt lighter.

  As their group left the church, his friend Langford approached them. His wife followed behind. “Miles, are we still on for next week at Vauxhall Gardens?”

  “We are. You remember Lady Elizabeth, my betrothed?” He watched her closely.

  Her face flushed but she kept her gaze steady as she murmured a greeting.

  “My darling Sarah will be going, as well. How many in our party, Miles?”

  As they talked, they meandered to where the curricles were parked. Like Miles, Langford lived in London. He worked in investments.

  They exchanged pleasantries and Miles was proud to see Bitt hold her own in the conversation, even finding a shared enthusiasm with Langford’s wife about some lady writer he had never heard of.

  After they had left, he faced Elizabeth. “Vauxhall Gardens next week.”

  “I shall look forward to it. Did you hear anything about the ledgers?”

  “Looking into it.” Miles grimaced. “I confess to finding the entire matter surprising. It’s odd. You would think Shapely would have told me if he carries more than one ledger.”

  “It’s a possibility I hadn’t considered.”

  “But why all of the accidents?” He shook his head, surprised that he felt the liberty to tell her these things. “Something doesn’t add up.”

  She gave him a winsome smile. “I have every confidence that you shall resolve the matter.”

  Her faith in him was rewarding. Would he live up to her expectations?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Miles paced the entrance to Vauxhall. He was early, he knew, but he’d wanted to make sure to be there when Elizabeth arrived. It was her final bow to his whims. She’d visited his factories and planned their betrothal ball flawlessly. He felt certain that tonight was to be a success, as well. She had seemed more comfortable with Langford’s wife at church. Perhaps because they had already met at Drury Lane. Althought tonight, there were others in the group with whom she might feel uncomfortable. Lord and Lady Maxwell often intimidated people, but Lord Maxwell was one of his closest friends.

  He scanned the crowded entrance and then pulled out his pocket watch. Almost eight o’clock. They should be arriving at any time. His overcoat warmed him. Perhaps it had been a bad choice.

  He dropped the watch back into the pocket of his buckskins and flexed his fingers.

  “Miles, old chap.” Lord Maxwell appeared out of a group of the fashionably dressed peerage. His wife, a raven-haired beauty who’d had her come out when Anastasia did, was at his side. She gave him a cool nod.

  “Jonathon, glad you made it. Langford is on his way.”

  “Are the Curleys joining us, as well?”

  Miles glanced at Lady Maxwell, knowing that Mrs. Curley was a particular friend of hers. “Yes, I made sure to invite them.”

  He exchanged a knowing look with Jonathon. His friend’s marriage had not been a love match and often the two were in discord. Thankfully, Mrs. Curley’s presence might soften the tension and distract Lady Maxwell, leaving the rest of them to enjoy the entertainment Vauxhall Gardens offered.

  The subject of their conversation arrived just then. Miles shook Jacob Curley’s hand. His wife immediately joined Lady Maxwell, moving off to the side to engage in gossipy whispers. Langford and his wife came on the heels of the Curleys.

  “Have you seen Lady Elizabeth?”

  “You did not pick her up?” Lady Maxwell’s voice held a touch of scorn that set his teeth on edge. “I suppose you were
busy working.”

  “Ignore her.” Lord Maxwell took Miles’s arm and steered him to the right. “I believe I saw your lady hovering near the pavement. Perhaps you should fetch her? We will wait here for you.”

  Miles nodded, setting off to where carriages dropped their passengers. In the midst of all the finery, the top hats and skirts, he thought she’d be hard to find but, no, he spotted her almost immediately.

  Her dark red hair stood out, two curls trailing down her shoulders, standing out against a wispy dress that gave her an ethereal glow. When she saw him, her eyes widened and she rushed forward.

  “I am so happy to see you.” Her usual reserve faded beneath the panic he saw in her eyes.

  “Why didn’t you let me escort you?” He took her arm, tucking it under his as he led her toward their party.

  “Mother insisted I meet her charity group.”

  A chuckle escaped, rumbling through him. He could only imagine her discomfort. “You should have mentioned prior plans.”

  “They were last-minute.” Her voice took on a thoughtful tone. “Mother wanted me there. I didn’t know how long the entanglement might last... It is so very lovely here. Have you been before?”

  The darkening evening cast muted light upon her features, capturing the piquant turn of her nose and deep guilelessness of her eyes.

  “Many times.” He gestured to where their group awaited. “I take it you have not.”

  “I always considered Vauxhall Gardens a shallow entertainment. I believed I could read of it and experience what I needed, but perhaps I was wrong. Just look how beautiful they have decorated everything.”

  Indeed, Vauxhall Gardens, a prominent London venue, offered paying guests great value in amusement. Fireworks, a light supper, desserts, gardens, the pleasures knew no bounds. Great lanterns of light decorated the various pathways. Miles knew from past experience that the food was overpriced but nothing could compare to the shows inside.

  “I want to thank you, Elizabeth.” He paused in walking.

  “Whatever for?”

  “For performing admirably the silly favors I asked of you. I see now the fear behind my requests, but you have rarely chided me over it.”

  “You are the one who has rearranged your life for my sake. There are no thanks needed.”

  Their eyes met. A mutual recognition passed between them before they continued walking.

  When they reached his friends, he introduced Bitt. Her manners were impeccable, though he sensed tension in her words. She seemed unusually stiff. He only hoped the darkness of night might relax her. If she was worried about her birthmark, it was not so noticeable in this lighting.

  They entered the gardens and his schedule went according to plan. They ate thinly sliced meats and delicious tarts. When they watched the fireworks, he could not help but notice Bitt’s rapt expression. She clutched her hands to herself, eyes wide and unblinking as colors exploded against the inky sky.

  Anastasia had been bored, he recalled, just as Lady Maxwell looked. She’d made a few snide references to his marriage to her friend during the evening, but thankfully Bitt had been involved in conversation with Langford’s wife about Shakespeare and which works were his greatest. He was not surprised that Elizabeth preferred the ones that weren’t named after characters. Apparently most of the named plays were tragedies.

  His Elizabeth longed for hope and happy endings. He was sorry that she had lost her chance at love, thanks to Wrottesley. And thanks to him, for he knew he was incapable of being the kind of husband she deserved.

  After the fireworks, their group walked to where boats waited to ferry visitors across the Thames to see the gardens.

  “Did you walk Westminster bridge when you arrived?” asked Lord Maxwell of Miles.

  “The bridge was our best opportunity to be seen,” put in his wife.

  Artifice was quite unbecoming. “I did not.” Changing the subject, he said, “A boat ride is ideal on this starry night.” They filed into the boats and Miles searched for Bitt. Despite the glow of lanterns and stars, she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is Lady Elizabeth?” Langford’s wife stared up at him from where she sat in the boat. Miles glanced down the shoreline, but did not see his betrothed. He looked in the other direction, the muscles at the back of his neck straining. A tic picked at the corner of his eyelid.

  “The last I saw her, she looked like a marred little bird staring off into space,” Lady Maxwell drawled. She tittered and Curley’s wife joined in, though quietly.

  A giant swell of anger bowled through Miles, locking his jaw so tight he could barely speak. “And that was?”

  “Near the palace,” she supplied, her eyes unreadable in the black night.

  “You all go on without me,” he said tightly.

  “Shall we wait for you anywhere?” At least Langford’s wife showed some kind of concern. The other two talked amongst themselves. The men waited for his answer.

  He clasped the back of his neck. In a place as crowded as Vauxhall, it could be hours until he found her. If he found her at all.

  How had things turned so sour so suddenly?

  “Go on ahead,” he said at last. “The night is nearly over for me. I shall find her and then leave for home. I’ve a busy schedule tomorrow.”

  He bid his friends farewell and then turned back to the paths that led to the palace structure. Nothing showed him just how much a failure he was as this night had.

  His wife had died from a broken spirit. He had not been able to save her.

  Elizabeth was alone in this place, possibly scared out of her wits, and he had been the one who was supposed to protect her.

  The third test for his betrothed, but he realized that it had also tested him.

  And he’d been found wanting.

  He had to find Elizabeth, he realized. Heart pounding, he strode forward. Determination roared through him, strengthening his legs, fisting his hands. He would find her and keep her safe.

  He could not fail this time.

  She was too important.

  * * *

  Flowers everywhere. They hung in the trees, floating clouds of suspended fragrance. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, pausing at the juncture of a path to appreciate their beauty. The group meandered ahead. She would catch up. She wanted this moment to just breathe in the exotic chaos of this place.

  The Grand Walk had been interesting. She’d seen the more fashionable members of the ton promenading in their fine silks and furs, showcasing the most recent styles from Paris. Their supper box had been surprisingly comfortable. The food had not been as tasty as she expected. The meat had been thinly sliced, but the dessert had been delicious and there had been quite a variety of puddings served.

  She moved closer to the path, which veered to the right. Its serene, gently lit serpentine curve beckoned her. How oft she had read of Vauxhall in the paper. No amount of words could describe the experience, though. Her senses had been regaled with the smell of fireworks, the booming explosion of light behind her eyelids and the entrancing shower of colors raining down to earth. The echo still filled her mind.

  And the music. Oh, the music here had been worth every shilling spent. Miles had paid for the outing, and she must be sure to thank him.

  She blinked and looked down the path. Her party was nowhere in sight. She set a brisk pace, passing another pavilion swirling with colorful arrays of costumed entertainers. Panic edged her throat, suturing her windpipe closed. The walkway seemed unbearably crowded, each person not the one she sought.

  If she didn’t find Miles, should she go home?

  Yes, her brain insisted. Go home. Do not allow nerves to win. Clutching her dress, she passed a large tower surrounded by a thick mix of people. She skirted around them. Surely she must reach Miles soon.

 
Perhaps it would be better to wait to the side. If he came looking for her, she would not want them to pass each other by. That idea relieved her panic. She walked to the side, standing near a rainbow triad of lamps. Though she hated being in the light, where everyone might stare, the position provided the best opportunity for Miles to see her should he walk past.

  And so she waited, her thoughts circling in lunatic patterns, her heartbeat tripled by nerves. Her knuckles ached from squeezing her purse, but she could not seem to relax.

  Moments passed, in which she ruminated on the night. The pleasures and gallantries, the underlying tension she believed to be caused by Lady Maxwell and Mrs. Curley. Those two had not fit with the rest of them. Mrs. Langford presented an amiable and intelligent nature. The men held interesting conversations about the state of politics, France and the Prince Regent. Mr. Curley, in particular, had been quite knowledgeable about the myriad of original paintings in Vauxhall.

  But the two women...their snickers and sidelong glances dampened the mood at times. Elizabeth could not help but feel that Lady Maxwell’s words carried an underlying scorn when she spoke to Miles. She’d even commented about Anastasia in Elizabeth’s hearing...a tiny comment about beauty being wasted, but she wasn’t sure what the lady had meant. Only that she seemed to blame Miles for Anastasia’s great sadness.

  Elizabeth had discreetly looked into Miles’s first marriage and discovered that Anastasia had been deeply unhappy. But surely he was not to blame? From all accounts, he had loved her dearly.

  Elizabeth shifted, her feet aching and the cool breeze from the nearby Thames coaxing goose bumps to her skin. The sounds that had been so exciting now clawed at her serenity, grating on her nerves. She searched the crowd for Miles, for his broad-shouldered physique and perfect top hat.

  He had looked so dapper when she arrived. So very much the gentleman. One might never guess that his father had been raised in squalor and worked himself into the realms of wealth and high society.

  Sometimes she could hardly believe that they were to be wed. Married, in actuality. Yes, it was for convenience, but she would not deny the part of her that longed for caring, that thought perhaps, within a few years, he might feel something toward her beyond friendship.