The Spinster and the Earl (25 page)

Her heart sank. She knew she could no longer count on receiving help from that quarter. They were in league with the devil. She would have to devise another plan of escape, and quickly.

*    *    *

Later that evening, one of the serving girls, Mary, brought up a white-laced wedding veil with word that the viscount wanted her to wear the delicate confection. Looking it over, Beatrice knew that unlike the simple white wool dress that had been loaned to her by a local baker’s daughter, this veil had come from someone of her own rank. The delicacy of the silver inlaid lace, beaded with precious diamonds and pearls, bespoke of a bride endowed with great class and wealth.

If only . . . she shivered. She would have been a happy bride once. Her regrets concerning the earl were too numerous to dwell upon. Now here she was, waiting to marry the blackguard who’d kidnapped her. A man she despised. She had no one to blame but herself. Her own, stupid pride.

If only she had accepted the earl’s proposal, none of this would have happened. Tears slid down her cheeks for what might have been. Aye, she could have married Captain James, the Earl of Drennan, and been happy. Even if he only felt a certain amount of possessiveness for her. But then that would have been better than the loneliness she’d felt before he’d come into her life.

Aye, they could have shared so much together. But what good were her regrets doing her now? She had to shake off this self-pity and put her quick wits to use. And these blasted tears were of damnable little use to her. She wiped them away furiously.

Think, Beatrice,
she told herself.
Think, m’girl, and get yourself out of this dreadful mess.
She looked down at the elegant confection.

The veil—maybe someone had . . .

“Where did this come from?” she asked suddenly, looking over the elaborate headpiece for clues. “Did the viscount’s mother send it?” Even as she asked, she hardly believed that the woman who had once hated her could have provided such a thoughtful and sentimental gift.

“Nay. It be from Dovehill Hall, ma’am,” explained the maid with some pride. “From the young lady what got married to old Lord Langtry last month.”

“And how did she come to know of me?”

“Oh, ma’am, when the viscount came here last week for their wedding, he stayed with his lordship and Lady Langtry at Dovehill Hall, as their only guest.”

“He stayed there?” she asked, curious to know more of the Langtrys, not being acquainted with the name. “You wouldn’t happen to know what they talked about, would you?”

“Aye, my lady. I’m sorry to say that I do,” the maid whispered as if it were still a secret. “Told them of his plans concerning you, the viscount did. And all about how he planned to marry you.”

The servant gave a slight shudder. She’d not quite forgotten that night, how the young lady had almost fainted at the sight of old Lord Langtry, her intended bridegroom.

“To be sure, it be right peculiar at the hall. They act different than the rest of us, the quality do.” The maid had the good graces to blush, remembering belatedly that her ladyship was quality herself.

“In case you didna already know, the young lady was married to her husband, Lord Langtry, for a great sum.”

Astonished by the queer way the maid referred to her ladyship’s dowry, Beatrice asked, “How so?”

“Her guardian, Squire Lynch he be, offered her to his lordship in exchange for a pile of gold coins. I saw it m’self. It filled twenty-five leather purses, it did.”

“My word.” Beatrice blanched, realizing that they were discussing none other than Squire Lynch’s orphaned ward, Lady Kathleen. She was the young heiress she’d met long ago at the village church in Urlingford.

“But Lady Kathleen is barely fifteen. He couldn’t have married her off. Her trustees would never have permitted it. She’s clearly under age.”

“She’s fifteen as of yesterday, ma’am. They took her to Gretna Green to tie the knot. And then brought her back here, so as to avoid the law. Lord Langtry being the magistrate here and all. There’ll be no trouble, ye understand?”

“The poor child,” she said, nodding.

She did understand. And it made her own present predicament seem not nearly as sinister. Poor, poor, young Lady Langtry would now never have the opportunity of knowing that heady feeling of falling in love. Her youth had quite literally been stolen by her greedy uncle.

“I hope her husband treats her well and that she’s found some happiness,” she said fingering the veil, feeling the finely crocheted threads of lace.

“Here, ma’am,” said the servant pointing to a small piece of paper tied to it with a sliver of white ribbon. “It looks as if she wrote you a word to go with it, don’t it? Probably wishing you the best for your own future happiness.”

“No doubt,” Beatrice answered weakly, for every moment they spent in this tiny airless room was bringing her closer and closer to that which she most dreaded. She looked down at the small parchment of paper, unfurling the scroll.

It simply read:
Take heart. I have sent word concerning your whereabouts. Trust no one. Signed, Lady Kathleen Langtry.

She crushed it to her bosom, her hopes soaring with relief. Help had been sent for. She would soon be rescued!

“What’d it say, my lady?” asked the maid trying to peer over her shoulder. “I can’t read none m’self. It all look like chicken scratching to me, it does.”

She spread the paper open for the maid to see. She had to keep the simple woman’s confidence until she was rescued, or they might move her away to yet another hiding place.

“See the message is as you thought. Her ladyship merely wanted to wish me well with the viscount.”

“Well, ain’t that nice.” The maid nodded as she hung the veil beside the dress that had been chosen for her to wear. “I always thought she was a sweet, young lady, I did. Not like some I hears that likes to try and castrate a gentleman.” She nodded at the famous shrew. “Not that I think the viscount is likely to put up with such tricks once you’re married.”

Pretending to pay avid attention to the servant, Beatrice prudently dropped the short missive into the hearth’s fire. None would know of her impending rescue. She had now only to pray that the earl and her father would find her.

*    *    *

Beatrice paced her tiny, shabby chamber. It was nearing the dinner hour and soon the wedding would take place. There was still no sign of the earl and her father.

Nary a sound of dissent came from below. Indeed, if she were to go by the boisterous laughter she heard, it sounded as if all the visitors to the inn were celebrating the impending nuptials.

Mary approached her with the borrowed wedding gown. “It’s time you were dressed in your finery, my lady. They say they intend to hold off serving dinner until you and the viscount are wed. Aye, and for once even the priest has arrived beforehand to see to it the deed’s done.”

“Let him wait,” said Beatrice, wringing her hands, worriedly looking out the tiny window. Where were her promised rescuers?

“What’d you say, my lady?” asked Mary, giving her a sly glance, her voice sharpening. “Listen well, your ladyship, the viscount told me ’imself he’d come up and fetch you if you didn’t hie yourself t’ him in good time. Aye, and if I was you, I’d be setting m’thoughts on how to placate your new husband. From what I understand, he’ll not likely make ye a gentle one.”

Beatrice dumbly nodded at that bit of advice. She needed no one to remind her of the feel of the viscount’s riding whip brushing against her cheek, or of his violent threats. She closed her eyes against the fear roiling inside, willing her heart to cease its frantic hammering.

“Help me prepare,” she whispered, fingering the bridal veil, her hopes secretly lying with its owner.

*    *    *

Lady Kathleen Langtry looked at her dour companion, Mistress O’Grady. The grim-faced lady in plain black was more like her prison warden than her paid companion. The woman, who had once been the housekeeper of this large manor house, had been told by her husband to keep an eye on her. And keep an eye on her she did.

Every word and action Lady Langtry made were duly noted in a little black book the woman kept by her side. There was not a word or gesture the plain woman did not note and criticize.

Her husband, she shuddered thinking of the crippled old man her uncle had married her off to, knew everything she did and every word she said. It was almost maddening. She had overnight become a prisoner in what was supposed to be her home. Before her marriage, she had been simply a neglected orphan living unobserved in her uncle’s house. Now she was the child bride of an old, lecherous lord, who had incarcerated her in this gloomy tombstone of a manse.

She leaned her head back against the stiff, red sofa and inwardly sighed. Her golden blonde curls contrasting against the bright red material of the lounge chair as her sad blue eyes looked up at the ornate ceiling above her. But she had a plan.

She may not have been able to help herself out of such a grim state of being married to an old man she did not care for, but she would do her utmost to try and save another from the same, dreadful fate. She had devised a plan to help the Spinster of Brightwood Manor not marry that villainous fop who’d attended her wedding dinner. It was the same horrible night she’d heard of the criminal plot to kidnap the rich heiress and force her into an unwanted marriage.

“Mistress O’Grady,” she said innocently turning to the other woman. “I should like you to tell the stable boy to saddle my horse this afternoon. I intend to go riding today.”

“Indeed, ma’am,” answered the other, her coal-black eyes looking down at the china doll figure of the young lady who had overnight become the mistress of the house where she had always reigned supreme. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, my lady. In fact, I’m quite certain that Lord Langtry would object to it. He thinks it’s very bad for your health to go riding about in the country.”

“But you’re wrong, Mistress O’Grady. I have already spoken with him,” the young mistress said firmly, knowing ahead of time what her reply would be. “I have already obtained my husband’s permission to ride this afternoon.”

“Then I shall have someone accompany your ladyship,” O’Grady replied smoothly, her dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

It was well known that the housekeeper did not know how to ride, and would not be able to keep up with her ladyship if she tried, the young lady being a horsewoman of some skill. She had counted on her companion not riding.

“That will not be necessary,” she said, feeling the test of wills between her bare fifteen years and the others odd fifty.

“But I insist. His lordship would want someone to accompany you, Lady Kathleen. You are still young and unknowing of the world and the dangers others may represent to you, especially gentlemen. I, therefore, feel it to be my duty to send at least our stable master with you,” the companion reiterated more firmly.

“As you wish,” answered the child bride sweetly. Everything was going according to plan.

*    *    *

That afternoon, dressed in her oldest riding outfit, the same ill-fitting one her uncle had given her when she first came to live with him, Kathleen sat calmly astride her horse. He had taken all her beautiful riding clothes and sold them to pay off his gambling debts. Before she lived with her uncle, she had a stable of horses and ponies of her very own. That was before her parents had died in a typhoid plague and left her to the negligent care of her loathsome uncle, Squire Lynch, and his corruptible solicitor.

“Why are you wearing that rag?” asked Mrs. Ryan appearing beside her. “I thought his lordship had ordered you to burn all those old clothes.”

“My other one is still being fitted by the modiste,” she lied. “I have no other riding clothes to wear. So I put these on.”

“Very well,” answered the grim woman. “I suppose if you keep to the back roads, no one will see you.”

“Indeed not.” Kathleen nodded, and picking up her riding whip, walked around the frowning woman towards the stables.

Instead of entering the stables, she walked beyond them to a small wood where a gardening hut stood on the edge, well-screened from the main house.

She opened the door and stepped inside. In the half dark, she took off the old riding dress, and stepped into a pair of boy’s breeches, pulling an old blue peasant shirt on. She wrapped her hair up into a broad, leather shepherd’s hat pulling the floppy brim low over her face.

“What goes on ’ere?” she heard the gruff familiar voice of the stable master behind her. “And who might ye be, lad?”

“Uh . . . I’m the new house boy, Jeremy O’Conner, sir,” she said stammering, holding onto the brim of her hat in a manner she hoped the stable master would not find peculiar. “I brought you word from the big house, master.”

“Oh, you did, lad,” said the stable master. “And what is it?”

“The uh, lady, the one what’s always dressed in black?”

“Aye, that be Mistress O’Grady,” he said impatiently. “What’s she want?”

She tried putting on her best servant accent. “She, uh, said that you weren’t to wait no more for the young mistress. She up an’ changed her mind, she did . . . decided she didn’t want to go riding after all. But they wants me to have a pony to fetch some needles and thread in the village for them.”

“They did, eh?” The stable master nodded. “Very well, you brought your message, lad. Here, I’ll give you a hand with that black pony there. Buttons, he’s called, lad.”

The stable master went and fetched a saddle for the pony. He strapped the saddle onto the small mount and gave her a hand up.

Smiling, Lady Kathleen kicked her heels into the pony’s flanks and departed, heading towards the tavern where she’d heard the earl and his men were waiting for news concerning the kidnapped Spinster of Brightwood.

Cautiously, she approached the inn. Word of mouth had made it known about the parish that a small fortune had been posted as reward for news of the wealthy spinster and her kidnappers. It had not been difficult to learn where the gentlemen searching for her had decided to rest before continuing their frantic search.