Chapter Eleven #3
“Very well, if that’s what you want, we will go to Belgium and visit the battle ground.”
Her face lit up and she reached across and touched his arm. “Thank you, Marcus. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.” Her smile stole his breath and caused his mouth to dry. He swallowed.
Her delight seemed a disproportionate reaction, and made him curious as to where her other honeymoons had been. But before he could ask, she added, “I’ve never been anywhere, you see, not out of England. Not even to other parts of England.”
He frowned, but she continued, “Both my husbands took me directly to their homes after the ceremony, and there I remained.”
“You’ve never been to the beach? Not to Brighton or Worthing or Scarborough?” he said incredulously, naming some of the more fashionable seaside resorts. “Or to other fashionable places, like Bath or the Lake District?”
“No. I’ve never even seen the sea. My second husband often visited Bath to take the waters, and he always brought several bottles of the water back and made me drink them.” She pulled a face. “It’s nasty stuff, but he said it would help with my infertility.”
“He didn’t take you with him?”
“No, never. I never went anywhere. So, you can imagine how happy it makes me that we will travel to Belgium,” she said brightly. “I will get to see the sea and visit a foreign country.”
Marcus held onto his temper. She’d been virtually imprisoned by both of those husbands of hers, like a wild bird in a cage. And her blasted brother had connived to do it again. “If there is anywhere you’d like to visit—anywhere in the world,” he said grimly, “just say so and we will go.”
She gave him a surprised look. “Thank you.” She glanced at the sun. “I suppose we’d better be getting back. Lady Gosforth will be stirring soon, and I’m sure you have more important matters to attend to.”
“None more important than you,” Marcus murmured as she trotted ahead.
#
“DRAT! HARRY AND NELL won’t be coming,” Lady Gosforth announced at breakfast. She was perusing a letter that had just arrived.
“Why not?” Marcus asked. He’d made a habit of joining them for breakfast since the betrothal had been announced in the papers. “There’s plenty of time. The wedding’s not for another week.”
She shrugged. “Harry’s gone to Zindaria with Mr Delaney, to help him bring his latest crop of yearlings back.
And one of Nell’s precious mares is due to foal any day and she can’t leave it.
It’s always horses with those two!” She dropped the letter and scrabbled through the rest of the correspondence that Peverill had brought in.
Marcus explained to Tessa, “Delaney is Harry and Nell’s partner— they breed horses—and each year Delaney is entitled to take his pick of the yearlings from the Royal Zindarian Stables.”
Tessa nodded, not very much more enlightened.
She knew that Zindaria was the small European principality where Marcus’s brother Gabe was Acting Regent for his wife’s son, little Prince Nicky, who was heir to the throne.
But she knew nothing about horses and why Mr Delaney would get the pick of their stables.
“I’ll explain later,” Marcus murmured, as with a cry of triumph, his aunt pulled an elegant-looking letter with gold edging from the pile, ripped it open and scanned the contents.
“Blast and botheration! Gabriel isn’t coming to the wedding either—though it doesn’t surprise me.
” She glared at Marcus. “And that’s what you get for having a hole-in-the-corner wedding with not enough time for people to plan!
Nobody, not one relative, will be there to see the Earl of Alverleigh marry! ”
“Why? Are you not coming, Aunt Maude?” Marcus asked with an innocent expression. His eyes glinted in amusement. Since their betrothal had been announced, Marcus seemed so much more lighthearted. It was, Tessa hoped, a good omen.
His aunt gave him a baleful look and said in an austere voice, “Don’t be ridiculous, Marcus. Though it would serve you right if I didn’t go. I will attend, of course, to ensure it’s done properly!”
Marcus gave his aunt a lazy smile. “I did say we wanted a small wedding, after all. This sounds perfect.”
His aunt gave him a long, irritated look, then snorted and returned to her correspondence.
#
“THERE Y’ARE, M’LADY. You’re gunna look gorgeous.” Miss Chance stepped back to let Tessa view her reflection in the large mirror that took up half the wall of the back room at Miss Chance’s.
It was Tessa’s final fitting. The wedding was only a few days away. Her nerves weren’t getting any better, but she was determined: she would be a good wife to Marcus. He was nothing like her previous husbands. Or her father or brother.
He listened to her. And she cared for him. She was determined to make him happy. She turned to look at her reflection.
“Ohhh.” The dress was lovely. And it was nothing like she’d worn for her previous two weddings where she’d looked—and felt—like a stiff little doll.
Here, she looked like . . . herself. The soft violet fabric of the dress shimmered beneath the fine, floating gauze overlay, which was embroidered here and there with tiny violets.
“We made you this, too. D’ya like it?” Miss Chance reached up and popped a little circlet of silk violets over Tessa’s short curls.
“It’s perfect,” Tessa told Miss Chance. She adjusted the circlet and swished the dress back and forth. “It’s all just perfect.”
“Oh, m’lady, you do look beautiful,” murmured Bragge, behind her. Bragge had attended all Tessa’s fittings with her—part chaperone, part advisor. “Congratulations, Miss Chance, the dress looks even lovelier than I’d imagined.”
The little woman grinned. “Told ya it would be. Now, let’s get it all off, and we’ll make those last few adjustments. I’ll send it round to Alverleigh House tomorrow.”
Tessa dressed in her usual drab street clothes, feeling a little like Cinderella after the ball. Once she was married, she wouldn’t ever wear these clothes again. Lady Gosforth said she intended to burn them, but Tessa was giving them to Sutton to sell.
All her new dresses were lovely. Miss Chance had somehow divined the exact styles that suited Tessa, without making her feel uncomfortable or as if she were playing a part.
She felt, for the first time in her adult life, like herself.
Dressed again in her street clothes, she put on her hat and gloves and said, “Ready, Bragge?” The carriage had been sent for. Thanking Miss Chance and her assistants again, Tessa and Bragge stepped out onto the pavement to enjoy the fresh spring breeze while they waited for the carriage to arrive.
Wheels rattled over cobbles, and without warning two men jumped out of a shabby carriage.
One of them knocked Bragge into the gutter while the other shoved a bag over Tessa’s head.
She screamed and struggled, but the sound was muffled, and before she knew it, she was picked up and flung into the vehicle. It moved off with a jerk.
She struggled, and received a blow to the head that left her dizzy. A rough voice said, “Shut your mouf if you value your life.” Rough hands tied her wrists together.
The bag smelled musty and dusty and she wanted to sneeze. She could hardly breathe. They’d twisted something around her neck to keep the bag fastened tight.
Who were these men? What did they want?
The vehicle rattled along at a fast pace, swerving and bumping. Tessa rolled back and forth, struggling in vain to keep herself stable, until a pair of boots landed on her stomach, keeping her relatively still. Though less comfortable.
“What do you want?” she said through the bag.
“Shaddup.” He kicked her.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I said, shaddup!” He kicked her again, harder this time. It really hurt. She subsided, her head and now her ribs aching, dizzy. She was dizzy but her brain was whirling with questions. What on earth was going on? She was being kidnapped, but for what reason? Ransom? And by whom?
There was only one answer: Edgar
Marcus thought he was half-way to America, but he must be mistaken. It seemed Edgar had decided to return and try one more time to marry her off. Ooohh, it was just like him, she decided, her fear turning to fury.
Her ribs ached from those kicks. Yes, he was angry with her for escaping him and causing him so much trouble.
It felt so much like something Edgar would do. When they got to wherever the kidnappers were taking her, they would probably be met by a minister and Sir Henry Lester. Or some other rich, ancient groom.
Of course it was Edgar. Who else would want to kidnap her?