William Nye’s lip curled. “Have you?” he asked contemptuously and reaching for a bottle of liquor, poured himself a liberal slug and knocked it back, before shaking his wet hair like a dog out of his eyes. With a start, Mina noticed his knuckles were raw and bleeding. She watched as he caught the edge of the towel and dragged it back over his head, rubbing at his dark hair as if for all the world he was in the privacy of his own room, instead of a public house. Slowly, as though taking its cue from him, conversation started back up around them and the fiddler retrieved his bow and started picking out a tune.
Glancing at Lord Faris, Mina thought he looked rather deflated for a moment before he recovered himself and swaggered back toward the bar. “Perhaps we should take it into a private parlor, Nye,” he suggested.
Without even a word, Nye turned on his heel and marched across the taproom heading for a side door. Lord Faris turned toward her and showily offered his arm. Ignoring it, Mina stalked past him, trying not to stare at the almost indecently masculine display in front of her. William Nye possessed the broadest shoulders she had ever seen, and a muscular tanned back, she found almost shocking to behold.
Certainly, her papa had possessed no such body, the heavy muscle mass speaking of the almost animalistic strength of an ox or a bullock, she thought. He seemed more like a beast than a man. His fawn trousers were damp and clinging over muscular thighs and buttocks in a fashion that made her blush. She could only assume that he had stood under a pump or partially submerged himself in a water trough to get so thoroughly soaked through.
Her cheeks burned with indignation as the door swung shut behind him and she had to make a grab for the latch to drag it open for herself. He was no gentleman! Showing a rudeness that her mother would likely have swooned at, she in turn let it close in Lord Faris’s face, as she hurried down a dark passage after William Nye’s heavy tread.
One solitary oil lamp burned in the corridor, casting its sickly yellow light over the garish wallpaper. For a moment, Mina paused, unsure which of the paneled wooden doors Nye had passed through. Hearing a step behind her, she plunged into the first on her right and almost barreled into Nye’s massive bare chest.
“Oh!” She took a hurried step back but was prevented from retreating by Lord Faris’s coming in behind her. The private parlor was wood-paneled and sparsely furnished with a large covered screen, a scarred table, and two benches. Mina glanced disparagingly at the dusty benches and fancied the table surface would be sticky.
“Take a seat, Mina,” Lord Faris requested, sidling past her to sit at the bench. “Nye.” To Mina’s disapproval, she saw he had caught up a dusty bottle from the bar and held three glasses which he set down before him with great ceremony before filling them a third way full with a dark, purplish-red drink. “To our bargain,” he said, raising one of the glasses and draining it. Neither Mina nor Nye reached for the other glasses.
Covertly she watched as William Nye folded his massive arms across his chest in an attitude of utter intractability. “Bargain?” he bit out. “What bargain?”
Lord Faris smacked his lips. “Excellent claret, my dear Nye,” he murmured with a sly smile. “Almost as good as your French brandy.”
“If you have a point, I suggest you get to it.” Nye’s cold eyes flickered to her again, then slid away.
Lord Faris reached for the second glass and paused with it a moment. “It’s about that small matter of Vance House,” he said thoughtfully. “We both know my father intended it for you, but alas made no such reparation in his will.” Mina watched Will Nye stiffen perceptively. Whatever he had been expecting, it had not been that. “I am prepared, shall we say, to makeover the necessary documentation to you, the deeds etcetera to make good my father’s wishes.” Lord Faris paused, clearly expecting an answer but Nye gave him none. “There is, however, one small condition.”
Mina tensed as she watched Nye’s green eyes narrow to mere slits. He looked like a venomous snake at this point who might strike at any moment. “Which is?” he said through gritted teeth when he realized the other did not intend to speak without a response.
Jeremy Vance, Viscount Faris smiled. “I wish to simplify my arrangements and gather my loved ones closer about me. It is not convenient to have them scattered so far and wide. As such, I have had my son and heir recalled from school and shall require you to marry Mina here and bring her under the fold.”
Mortified, Mina shut her eyes tight a moment, her fingers gripping the table-edge hard. When she opened them, she found Will Nye staring at her. Then slowly and deliberately he spat on the ground and then raised his eyes to her in cold contempt. “You’d have me marry her?” he said turning back to Viscount Faris.
“Indeed. A real lady and a fine wife she’ll make you Nye,” Jeremy replied heartily.
Mina could feel her expression stony and unresponsive as Nye’s eyes roamed over her with an insolence that made her palm itch to slap him. It seemed almost like her vision blurred as she flared hot as a furnace before the next instant turning as cold as the grave. Her feet felt so heavy on the floor she almost feared she might splinter the boards and sink through it. She felt short of breath and yet, if her lungs didn’t feel so empty, she would have screamed with impotent rage.
“Lose the cloak,” Nye said, jerking his chin at her.
“I will not,” she answered through gritted teeth. Did he really expect her to display herself like cattle?
“Is she with child?” he asked abruptly, turning back to Lord Faris.
Mina gasped at this, but Jeremy merely gave a choked laugh. “Nye, you wound me,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. “You think I would foist some bastard brat on you?” Nye went very still at his words and then Jeremy added with silky malice. “I am not my father.”
They stared at each other and Mina noticed it was her brother whose eyes lowered first. He had a hectic flush on his cheeks now. He was at the reckless stage of intoxication that Hannah had described to her before. It was at this point that men could be at their most dangerous. To others and to themselves.
“I am not with child,” she said in a clear, carrying voice. When Nye did not tear his angry gaze from Jeremy’s face, she started unfastening her cloak with clumsy fingers until it fell at her feet and her slim figure in its starkly black buttoned-up gown could plainly be seen.
Nye’s gaze turned to her. His eyes were hard and glittered with fury. He barely seemed to register her words.
“I am not with child,” she repeated. Finally, he seemed to focus on her words and his gaze raked over her again, coldly assessing this time. With a short nod, he acknowledged the truth of what she said.
“Shall we proceed?” asked Jeremy, clapping his hands together unsteadily. “Send for the parson!”
“I do not think that is how it works, my lord,” Mina said urgently. “There are banns which must be put up for three weeks beforehand and—”
“Mina, Mina.” Jeremy Vance chuckled. “I am Viscount Faris and half these lands hereabouts belong to me.” He extended one hand before him, palm up. “You seem to forget the local rector’s living is mine to bestow, like so many others. Is that not so, Nye?” Nye looked contemptuous. “If I have Reverend Ryland summoned now, he’ll perform the ceremony at my say-so. Then we simply apply for a pardon afterward to make up for the lack of a special licence. If you two are shacked up together like a regular pair of lovebirds, there’s none would stand in the way of making it legally binding.”
“It’s hard to forget something I did not know in the first place,” Mina commented caustically but was ignored.
“I want the deeds to Vance House in my hand before I’ll take her,” Nye growled.
“Not the most trusting soul, are you, Nye?” Jeremy commented with a wry twist of his lips. He drained the second glass of claret. “I will give it to you as a wedding present. I am a gentleman and as such my word should be—”
“In my hand!” Nye roared.
“Oh, very well!” Lord
Faris sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Lord, was there ever such an untrusting fellow!”
“And I want to be married from a church,” Mina said, bracing herself for argument. There was a short, heavy silence.
“Have Ryland unlock the church,” Nye said at last with a shrug, not looking at her, but straight at Jeremy. “You pay his living, so you call the shots.”
“People seem to be forgetting just whose show this is,” her half-brother complained and was ignored. “Oh, very well,” he said, clambering to his feet. “Let us first go and make the announcement in the bar, drink a few rounds and then I shall get Juggins to take me home to Vance Park fetch the deeds and then on to the village.”
“No,” said Nye heavily. “First you go and fetch the deeds and then we’ll all make our way down to the church.”
“All?” Mina echoed incredulously.
The faintest ghost of a smile touched Nye’s lips. It was not pleasant. “Aye, all,” he said. “Weddings need witnesses after all.”
Remembering the motley assortment of patrons in his barroom, Mina shuddered.
3
If Reverend Ryland blinked at the strange congregation who awaited him at the church door some three hours later, Mina could not blame him. The clock struck midnight as he fumbled with the huge key in the lock and when two burly men stepped forward to help him drag the creaking door open, Mina saw blood splatter on their breeches and deduced they were likely prizefighters who had recently been brawling in The Merry Harlot’s courtyard.
“’Ere, darlin’,” said a redhead in a scarlet silk dress which clashed violently with the profusion of sausage ringlets framing her face. “Put this on instead of your bonnet. This is a wedding, not a funeral.” She laughed and drew a shabby cream silk shawl from around her neck. Mina opened her mouth to protest it really wasn’t necessary, but the redhead was already tugging on the black ribbons of her bonnet. “It can be your somefink borrowed too, can’t it? My name’s Effie by the way. Jeb’s my man.” She nodded toward one of the hulking brutes who had helped with the church door.
“Is he a fighter too?” Mina asked, watching as Effie cast her second-best bonnet onto a pew. She must remember to pick that up on the way out.
“That’s right, but we ain’t from ‘round these parts. We only roll up in this hole in the corner every few months.” Effie draped the scarf over Mina’s bared head. It was still warm from being tucked about her bosom. “There, now you look the part,” she said with a nod of approval. Her scarf smelt strongly of perfume and some other musky scent Mina could not identify. She peered through it with difficulty for the heavy pattern was elaborate.
“Much better. Shame you ain’t got no flowers, though,” Effie lamented.
“Excuse me, ladies, did someone say flowers?” asked a voice on her right and Mina made out a short figure sketching a bow. “I gathered these from the roadside as we made our way down to the village.” Mina thought it was the older gent with the fluffy whiskers who had winked at her back at the inn but could not be sure. Everyone presently looked like mere shadowy outlines to her now. “Hold your hands out, my dear.”
“Ooh, them delphiniums are your somefink blue too, my dear!” Effie said approvingly.
Mina stuck her hands out blindly in front of her and felt a bunch of wet stems placed into them. “Thank you.” She grasped the bouquet and took a few steps forward.
“’Ere, don’t you try escapin’ now, my lass,” some wag wheezed close by, and Mina deduced she was heading in the wrong direction. She stood stock-still, then spun around in confusion, until someone caught her elbow.
“This way,” a gruff voice said and strangely enough, Mina felt herself relax for she recognized who this was. It was quite unmistakable. Nye marched her up to the front of the church, not relinquishing his firm hold of her elbow for an instant.
“’Old up Will Nye,” Mina heard Effie cry out. “She ain’t got nuffink new!”
“Give her a shiny sixpence for her shoe!” someone else suggested. Mina heard the chinking of people checking their pockets. “I’d better get it back,” she heard someone grumble. “Here!”
“Take off your shoe,” Nye rumbled impatiently, close to her ear.
Mina stood up straighter. “I can’t—”
He swore and the next thing she knew, his large hand had seized her ankle and was forcibly removing her shoe. Mina let out a small yelp as he then forced her foot, none too gently back into it. She could now feel the intrusive sixpence against the ball of her foot. Indignation swelled in her breast and rather imprudently she drew in a large breath, only to be overwhelmed by the scent from the scarf.
Lifting the edge of the veil, she had the presence of mind to bring the fresh wildflower posy under her nose and take a large gulp of that to dispel the fug.
Someone in front of them cleared their throat. “I will require your full names, please and the place of your birth,” requested a ponderous voice Mina guessed must be that of the clergyman.
“William James Nye of this parish.”
He squeezed her elbow and Mina lowered the flowers to speak, “Minerva Walters of Castle Combe in Wiltshire,” she choked out, then sneezed.
Mina heard a pen scratch over paper as their dates of birth were duly recorded and the names of their parents.
“Do you solemnly swear there exists no just impediment to your marriage?”
They both swore and then the vicar’s voice rose querulously. “Whoso giveth away this woman in holy matrimony?”
“I do,” her half-brother’s voice rang out with self-importance and Mina heard his hasty step approach. “Let the record show Jeremy Vance, fifth Viscount Faris,” he proclaimed.
The ceremony proceeded and Mina concentrated on surreptitiously lifting her veil to get a gasp of fresh air when she could. The church was lit only by a few candles and added to the overall impression of murky gloom. Afterward, she could not have described the interior of the little church, not for a hundred pound. She could see though that it was a far more rural affair than the austere limestone one she was used to attending in Bath. St Stephens had painted ceilings, a wide chancel, and an extensive vestry whereas this poky church seemed more like a cave. With a start, she realized their vows had ended.
“Give ‘er a kiss then, Nye!” called out a raucous voice.
“Fuck off, Jeb,” came her new husband’s surly reply, as he turned away and stalked back down the aisle, leaving her open-mouthed and deeply shocked at his profanity in a sacred place. The congregation, such as it was erupted into hilarity, as though for all the world he had uttered some grand jest. Mina turned back toward the vicar with flaming cheeks, but Reverend Ryland was feigning a deaf ear as he fussily moved his bookmark and closed his Bible.
“Good luck to you, madam,” he said with pursed lips, casting his eyes heavenward.
“She’ll need more than luck,” Jeremy predicted with a short laugh. The place was rapidly emptying now as people jostled and bustled out of the pews, almost falling over each other in their haste to follow the bridegroom back out of the church.
Mina whirled around, glared at her half-brother, and then started hastily back up the aisle. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? She only knew one certainty and that was that she was being left behind. She had only managed a few steps when she stumbled over her own unfastened shoe, as her stockinged foot came out of it. She had to grab at the back of a nearby wooden pew to stop herself from tumbling into a heap on the floor.
Suppressing a sob, Mina cast down her posy of flowers and tore the shabby veil from her head. She would not cry, not in front of this ill-bred rabble. Sinking down onto the floor, she made a grab for her shoe and pulled it on, as the silver sixpence fell out.
“Come now,” came Lord Faris’s mocking voice. “Don’t tell me the erstwhile schoolmistress is so summarily defeated by a few sundry whores and villains. And you named after the goddess of wisdom and strategy.”
Mina yanked her shoel
aces tight as she did her best to gather the scraps of her lost dignity about her. “Go away, Jeremy,” she said in a voice that shook with anger.
He gave a low laugh. “And just how do you propose to return to The Harlot without me?”
“If I must return to that loathsome place, then I shall walk,” she told him through gritted teeth.
“If you must?” he echoed, sounding vastly amused. “My dear sister, is it possible it escaped your notice that you are now the landlady and proprietress of that establishment?”
Between her nerveless fingers, Mina’s shoelace snapped.
4
Mina hobbled around the last bend in the road and leaned heavily against part of a fallen-down stone wall. She had a blister on one heel and was out of breath from the steady uphill climb. She fanned her hot face with her bonnet, which she had finally found, lying under a wooden bench, sadly crushed and dented. No doubt it had been trampled underfoot in the hasty exodus from the church. Her hair was coming down around her ears in straggling rat’s tails and even in this light she could discern streaks of mud at the hem of her skirts. She had long since discarded the delphiniums by pitching them over a stone wall, though Effie’s makeshift scarf was still draped around her neck as likely the redhead would want it back. The silver sixpence she had tucked into her hidden pocket, resisting the impulse to fling it after her bouquet. She could not afford such gestures, she told herself sensibly, even though it did seem an unlucky charm to have about her.
Looking on the bright side, she could at least see the faint lamplight ahead of her from the inn and hear the squeak of its sign swinging to and fro. At the beginning of her climb, she had caught snatches of faint laughter and voices on the path ahead of her, but they had fallen off after a while, leaving her alone to plod on in pitch-black darkness, prey to her own fears. In the distance, she thought she could hear the crash and boom of the sea over the cliffs, but she had not yet caught a glimpse of it.
A Bride for the Prizefighter: A Victorian Romance Page 3