Chapter 23
The second day out from Wexford dawned grey and damp, the sort of morning that could not make up its mind whether to rain or simply sulk. Edward rode a little ahead of the trap, cloak buttoned tight at his throat, collar turned up against the chill.
The road had widened into the Great North Road proper now, hard-packed and busy with the traces of wheels and hooves left by coaches and carts ahead of them.
To his left, Isla handled the reins with her usual stubborn confidence, the little trap skimming along obediently as Morrow took the miles in her stride.
For the first time since leaving Hampshire he felt something like order settling in his bones.
A purpose. The rhythm of the road soothed him.
He did not look at Isla often. When he did he saw the set of her mouth, the line of her shoulders, tense, but no longer wound to breaking.
They had argued themselves into a kind of truce.
An armed one, perhaps, but a truce all the same.
The morning had almost worn into afternoon when another rider appeared on the horizon, approaching at a brisk canter, cloak flapping. Edward narrowed his eyes.
“Another admirer?” Isla called, without turning her head.
“If so, you are remarkably unconcerned,” he replied.
The rider raised an arm in greeting, spurring his horse to close the distance faster. Edward’s hand went instinctively toward the pistol at his belt, then dropped as the man’s features resolved.
“Is that …” Isla began.
“Henry,” Edward finished.
Henry drew alongside with a grin. “By God, Wexford, I thought I would never catch you. You ride like the devil is at your heels.”
“He may be,” Edward said. “Or my mother. Which is much the same.”
Henry laughed, then doffed his hat to Isla. “Your Grace.”
“Captain,” Isla said. “You appear to have lost your regiment.”
“Temporarily,” Henry said. “May I beg leave to join this most respectable procession?”
Edward frowned. “To what end? I did not know you were bound north.”
“Nor did I, until last night,” Henry said cheerfully. “But I find it suits me very well. I have business not far beyond York. I thought a little company on the road might make the miles more tolerable.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Business.”
Henry’s gaze slid away, toward the trap. “Among other things.”
Isla’s curiosity sparked. “You are welcome,” she said, before Edward could speak again. “We have had only Edward’s temper and my own to keep us entertained. A third opinion will be refreshing.”
“Or damning,” Henry said lightly. “Very well. I shall endeavor not to shock you, Your Grace.”
“I should like to see you try,” Isla replied.
Henry chuckled, moved his horse to the other side of the trap, and fell into step with them, launching into an anecdote about a coachman who had attempted to race a cavalry column down the road to Portsmouth and regretted it.
Edward listened with half an ear, the rest of his mind circling around Henry’s sudden appearance like a wary cat around a closed door.
Henry’s business “not far north.” His earlier confession at the club:
There is only Libby for me.
His father’s threat to cut him off. Edward’s stomach sank.
There was, in truth, only one sort of business that led an officer of unimpeachable family to gallop unexpectedly up the Great North Road with that particular brightness in his eyes.
He decided to keep his suspicions to himself until Henry chose to reveal them. It did not take long.
***
They reached the next staging inn in late afternoon, just as the clouds decided at last to produce a half-hearted drizzle.
The inn stood where two roads crossed, its whitewashed front mottled by old rain, a swinging sign creaking faintly in the wind.
Smoke curled from the chimneys; the smell of roasting meat drifted invitingly on the damp air.
Isla drew the trap up before the yard. Edward dismounted, his legs grateful for the change, and handed his horse to a waiting boy. Henry swung down beside him with the ease of a man who considered such motions minor diversions.
They had barely stepped under the low shelter of the inn’s eaves when the distant rumble of wheels announced the approach of a coach.
“Post,” Edward said, listening.
The big vehicle swept into view an instant later, paintwork dulled by road grime, horses blowing.
The coachman called hoarsely and ostlers ran to seize bridles, passengers craned to see where they had arrived.
One passenger in particular seemed very eager indeed.
The moment the coach had jolted to a stop and the door was flung open, a small gloved hand appeared, followed by a bonneted head. Henry surged forward.
“Libby!”
The young woman on the coach steps lifted her face at the cry. Her eyes were clear, bright, and unmistakably alight at the sight of Henry.
“Henry,” she breathed.
He did not wait for the innkeeper or the footman to offer their palms. He was at the coach in three strides, arm up, hands steadying her as she descended.
The world seemed to shrink around them as they met in the muddy yard.
Henry, flushed and wind-tossed; Elizabeth, cheeks pink from the cold, dark hair escaping its pins.
Edward recognized her from Henry’s earlier, half-sheepish descriptions. The woman Henry’s parents had forbidden him to marry on pain of disinheritance. Henry did not appear to remember any of that as he caught her hands.
“You are here,” he said, as if this were a miracle.
“Of course I am here,” she replied, laughter trembling at the edge of tears. “You told me to take the coach to the third staging post and look for the man who rides like he is chasing the horizon. You are late.”
“I was detained,” Henry said. “By a duke with an excess of caution.”
Edward stepped forward, resigned. “You might have warned me you meant to commit social suicide on the Great North Road, Henry.”
Henry’s grin flashed. “And miss the look on your face? Never.”
Elizabeth turned to Edward and dropped a little curtsy, there in the mud. “Your Grace. Henry has spoken of you often.”
“I shall endeavor to forgive him,” Edward said. “You must be Miss Mason.”
“Not anymore,” Henry said loudly. “By the time we reach Gretna Green, she will be Mrs. Ashford.”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened on his arm. Her eyes shone, but there was a flicker of apprehension there too. She knew exactly what he was giving up to stand here smiling in a muddy yard with an army captain and a disapproving duke.
“Your father,” Edward said slowly, “will sever your allowance.”
“Yes,” Henry said simply.
“Your mother will collapse dramatically upon the nearest sofa,” Edward added.
“She does that every Tuesday regardless,” Henry said. “It will be a comfort to her to have a more substantial cause.”
“You will be forced to work,” Edward warned.
Henry’s eyes lit. “Think of it.”
Edward stared at him. “Think of …”
“I can drive wagons,” Henry went on. “I can break horses. I can shoot. I can translate French, badly. There must be some use in that selection of talents, even without an earldom attached.”
“Henry,” Isla said from beside Edward, unable to hold back any longer. “You truly mean to elope?”
Henry turned to her. “Your Grace. You see before you a man standing upon the brink of bliss and bankruptcy. I begged leave to accompany your party so that I might have at least two witnesses to my folly.”
“You will have more than that,” Isla said. “Every crow between here and Gretna will observe and judge you.”
“Crows are less formidable than my father,” Henry said. “But their opinions carry about the same weight with me at present.”
Elizabeth muffled a laugh in her glove.
Edward folded his arms. “Henry. Have you thought about what you will live on?”
“Yes,” Henry said at once. “Bread. Cheese. The occasional potato. Elizabeth assures me she can make a stew from almost anything. We shall be invincible.”
“I am serious,” Edward said.
“So am I,” Henry replied. “I spent all last night thinking of what you would say, and all this morning thinking of what she would say, and there is only one conclusion. I would rather break stones with her than sit in Doncaster House’s finest drawing room without her.”
Edward felt something twist in him at that, half admiration, half something that might have been envy.
“Work will not be a problem,” Isla said, “if you will come but a little east after your wedding.”
Three heads turned.
“There has been a disaster at Strathmore,” she went on.
“Fire. Damage to the house. The tenants’ houses need repairs, the lands require careful tending if they are to yield enough to keep everyone through the winter.
We will need men we can trust. If you desire employment, Captain Ashford, I will ensure there is work for you. ”
Henry blinked. “Work at Strathmore.”
“Yes,” Isla said firmly. “You may learn to herd sheep. Or to check walls for cracks. Or to argue with masons. I am told these are noble arts.”
Henry’s face, already bright, lit further. He looked at Elizabeth. “You see? We are saved. We may be poor and damp and entirely happy in Perthshire.”
Elizabeth looked at Isla. “Are you certain, Your Grace? It is a generous offer.”
“It is not generosity,” Isla said. “It is practicality. You need work, we need workers. Edward may be induced to lend us some coin to pay you if he is sufficiently bullied.”
Edward lifted a brow. “May I?”
“You may,” Isla said.
He exhaled through his nose. “Very well. Strathmore may borrow my captain. With the understanding that if he ruins your sheep, you keep him.”
“I accept,” Isla said.
Henry took Elizabeth’s hand again, squeezed it, then turned to Edward with uncharacteristic seriousness.
“Thank you,” he said. “Both of you. You are making a joke of it, but I know what I am asking. I know what I am turning my back on. I know it better than anyone except perhaps you, Edward.”