Chapter Twelve
Only those truly in love could withstand eloping to Gretna Green, Charlotte thought as she rested her exhausted body against Hugh. The journey thus far had been agonizingly long. They’d made multiple stops to refresh the horses and take their meals at various inns, and it seemed to Charlotte that their goal of standing before a priest and swearing to love each other for all the days of their lives had become a faraway dream. She wanted nothing more than to be Hugh’s wife so they could start their lives together—a life no man could put asunder. But until she became legally his, she could not rest.
Lucas’s odious presence lingered in Charlotte’s mind. Each stop they’d made during their journey left her feeling sick with anxiety lest she encounter him again. Hugh had no such fears. Lucas would not report the stabbing, Hugh had reassured her, because he’d have to admit that he’d abducted a young gentlewoman who’d acted in self-defense when he’d tried to take liberties with her.
And, in the event Lucas was stupid enough to pursue them, then Hugh would make certain the rogue lost the use of his wandering hand for good. Yet, the hollow feeling in the pit of Charlotte’s stomach remained. Lucas wouldn’t forget that she’d pinned his hand to the table with a knife so she could escape his clutches, and he would want his revenge.
“We’ve arrived, my love,” Hugh said, nudging her slightly.
Charlotte blinked before sitting up. Had they truly arrived? She peered out the carriage window to see the sun sinking behind a small village with sparse buildings. Her body pulsed with anxious excitement, and her mind raced with questions. It was almost nightfall. How long would it take before a priest could marry them? Would they be able to spend their first night in Gretna Green together? Or would they have to wait? She yearned to lay in Hugh’s arms—as his wife—and dreaded the notion that they’d have to sleep apart and wait until the morning to be married. If she could jump out of the carriage straight into the church, she’d do it happily.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Hugh pushed open the door and stepped outside. Charlotte’s heart drummed as she took Hugh’s hand and descended from the carriage. An elongated white building with a thatched roof and the words “Gretna Inn” painted above its wooden door stood beside a smaller thatched-roof cottage on an otherwise lonely road.
Charlotte looked from one building to the other. Is this where we are to be married? Where on earth is the church?
She craned her neck, searching the horizon. A few buildings dotted the rolling green hills that lay beyond. Charlotte tried to hide her disappointment and concern as Hugh escorted her inside the inn. A red-bearded man with striking blue eyes set beneath a pair of wild eyebrows greeted them as they approached the counter.
“Evening, come from the blacksmiths, have ye?”
“Not yet,” Hugh said. “We’ve just arrived and come to inquire about a room.”
The man shook his head and waved a finger at them. “I don’t allow sinners in my inn. You’ll want to visit the blacksmith’s next door or take two rooms.”
“Of course,” Hugh said. “I’ll go and see him right away.”
“Why the blacksmith?” Charlotte turned to Hugh.
“It’s how they do things here,” Hugh explained.
Charlotte frowned. She knew that elopement meant a quick, unplanned wedding, but a blacksmith?
Hugh reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Don’t worry, it’s all perfectly legal in Scotland.”
Charlotte smiled. As long as they were legally man and wife, she didn’t care who married them.
“Aye,” the innkeeper said. “He’s just finished up another wedding, not half hour ago, and will be wanting his supper soon. You’ll be lucky if you can get him to perform the ceremony tonight.”
Charlotte bit her lip.
“Perhaps if I pay extra,” Hugh offered.
“The priest won’t take kindly to that.” The innkeeper shrugged. “But he is a good friend of mine, so for a small fee, I might be able to persuade him to marry you tonight. On account of the fact that I only have one room left in the inn.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Hugh reached into his pocket and extracted a coin.
“And, of course, the misses an’ me will act as your witnesses for a small fee if you’re in need,” the innkeeper added.
“Indeed.” Hugh pulled a second coin from his pocket.
The innkeeper’s wife, who’d since introduced herself as Mrs. Bagby, took Charlotte into a small dressing room and helped her out of her yellow traveling dress and into the white, lace-trimmed empire dress she’d packed for her wedding. The dress had been part of her new seasonal wardrobe. Although it was wrinkled from its hazardous journey in the carpetbag, she was more excited to wear it than she’d been to wear any of the countless pristine dresses she’d worn during her two seasons. She paired it with a fresh pair of white gloves and the pearl-studded veil she’d worn the night Hugh had first kissed her.
“What a lovely veil,” Mrs. Bagby said as she secured it to Charlotte’s hair with the accompanying pearl hair clip. “Most women who marry in Gretna Green don’t come so well-prepared.”
“It has a special significance. That’s why I chose to wear it on my wedding day.” Seeing the veil in place, Charlotte felt grateful that Mrs. Bagby had insisted on helping her change before their ceremony. She knew that Hugh would be both surprised and pleased to see her wearing the veil he’d lifted from her face the night he’d first kissed her.
“Did it belong to your mother?” Mrs. Bagby asked.
The question tugged at Charlotte’s heart. She’d never imagined her wedding day without her mama by her side. And what of Papa? Had Mama told him about her elopement? She must have done. But how had he taken the news? Would he be cross with her? Would he accept Hugh as his son? She wouldn’t allow herself to dwell on such thoughts, convincing herself that General Warsham’s love for Hugh and Papa’s love for her was strong enough to bring the two feuding men together again. Perhaps they were enjoying a game of cards at their club at this very moment. She hoped so, but those problems seemed very far away. The only thing that mattered now was that she was about to become Hugh’s wife. And that was going to make her the happiest woman in all of England.
The blacksmith’s overlywarm cottage was littered with tools and smelled like coal, but Hugh would not have exchanged the little cottage for Westminster Abbey had it been offered to him at that moment. He was about to become Charlotte’s husband, and he didn’t care where that happened as long as he did not have to wait a second longer. Hugh silently willed the blacksmith to hurry as the man transformed himself by covering his sooty work shirt with a black coat and tying a white silken cravat around his neck. Then he stood before them in his shabby attire, looking momentarily sober, before consulting the paper in his hand, turning to Charlotte and asking, “Do you, Charlotte Emily Rose, declare that you’d wish to take Herbert Alfred Warsham as your lawful wedded husband?”
Hugh held his breath as he waited for Charlotte’s answer, not because he feared it but because he couldn’t wait to hear her say, “I do.”
Then it was Hugh’s turn.
“Do you, Herbert Alfred Warsham, declare that you’d wish to take Charlotte Emily Rose as your lawful wedded wife?”
“I do,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and extracting the ring, carefully wrapped in silk cloth.
Charlotte gasped as he unwrapped the silk and exposed the exquisite gold band, paved with a row of sparkling rubies.
“It belonged to my grandmother,” he said, slipping the ring onto Charlotte’s finger.
Suddenly, the blacksmith picked up his hammer and struck his anvil, and a sharp clang reverberated throughout the cottage, making Charlotte jump. “I now pronounce you man and wife,” he said, concluding the three-minute ceremony.
Mr. Bagby and his wife applauded, but the room faded in Hugh’s mind as he lifted Charlotte’s veil and, gazing at her face, was taken back to that first glimpse he’d had of her in the garden. The words he’d uttered then came back to him now.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her.
Their humble roomat the inn was small but comfortable, with a four-poster bed, a fireplace, a writing desk, and a window overlooking the unpaved street. It felt like Heaven to Charlotte.
Hugh paid the innkeeper for two copper bathtubs, hot water, and soap to be brought to their rooms so they could soak and wash their exhausted bodies. Charlotte’s tub was placed behind a screened-off area of the room while Hugh’s sat before the blazing fire. As she lay in her tub, enveloped in the warm, soapy water, she gazed at her white dress draped over a chair and thought about Hugh sitting naked in his tub only a few feet away. Thus far, they’d only shared passionate kisses that left her yearning for more, and now the thought of—
“Shall I soap your back for you?” Hugh stood beside her tub, grinning down at her, a white towel wrapped around his taut waist. He was lean and muscular, just like David’s statue. She lowered her gaze to his towel, the image of the naked David clear in her mind.
“Charlotte?” He crouched beside her and dipped his hand in the water, reaching for the soap bar.
She nodded and leaned forward slightly. He rubbed the bar across her shoulders and then let it drop, gliding his hands across her soapy skin. Her body tingled with pleasure at his touch, and she responded eagerly when he leaned in to kiss her. Remembering the feel of his hand on her breast the night he’d first kissed her, she guided him toward it, gasping when he cupped her flesh and then, pulling away from her lips, took it in his mouth.
“Lie back,” he said, finding her mouth again and letting his hand travel down her stomach and slip between her legs. Her body felt so weak with pleasure that had she been standing, her legs would have given way beneath her. He moved his fingers inside her, causing her to gasp out loud again.
“Shall I stop?” he asked, his voice low.
“No,” she breathed rather than spoke and sank lower, affirming her consent with her body.
She gripped his arm as a wave of pleasure rose inside her, building until it swept over her, causing her body to shudder and leaving her weak and delirious.
She opened her eyes to see Hugh smiling down at her. She returned his smile with a genuine and satisfied one of her own.
They stayed atthe inn for three nights, their exhausted bodies waking only for nourishment and lovemaking. Hugh had never known such bliss. Now, he gazed at his wife, sleeping peacefully. Her strawberry-gold tresses framed her face. He caressed her cheek, marveling at her flawless skin, and her eyes—beautiful as emeralds—fluttered open. She smiled, took his hand from her cheek, and kissed it.
“Were you watching me sleep?” she asked.
“It’s one of my favorite things to do.” He leaned forward and kissed her soft lips. “And I have the rest of my life to do just that.”
She reached for him, tugging his waistcoat to pull him closer. “Why are you already dressed? Have you forgotten how we like to spend our mornings together?”
He sighed. “I want nothing more than to tear off these clothes and lie naked next to you in this bed for the rest of my life, but we must make an early start today. I need to check on the horses and with that wretched driver of mine to ensure the carriage is in excellent condition so we can have a smooth journey home.”
“Must we go today?” Charlotte asked.
He nodded. “We can’t hide forever. And you have nothing to fear. Your mama has had days to prepare your papa for our return. And you said yourself that she has more sway over him than anyone and that his biggest concern is your happiness. If all that fails to appease him, then I am sure he will take comfort in the fact that he has usurped his enemy’s son. What greater victory can a man ask for?”
“But what of your father? Oh, it sounds as if he has a frightful temper. Threatening to engage Papa in a duel and cutting off the heads of roses.”
Hugh forced a smile, regretting now that he’d told her about that unfortunate incident. “Papa can be difficult,” he said, “but he loves my mother to distraction. She is the only person who can reason with him. I’m certain that when she reminds him that they, too, eloped to marry in Scotland, he’ll feel more sympathetic.” Hugh squeezed his wife’s hand, eliciting a small smile from her. She suffered enough, worrying about her papa’s health, and did not need to concern herself with his father whom he was certain would not back down from any fight, no matter who tried to reason with him.
His mother had always harbored delusions about her husband, thinking him softer-hearted and more reasonable than he was. But Hugh was certain that General Warsham would be incensed that his son had eloped with the enemy’s daughter. He would view it as a manipulation of his wife and son by the Roses and see it as a declaration of war.