Chapter 2 #2
Meg almost laughed, and any delusions that Betty might have fostered about her being beautiful were cast to the four winds, where they belonged.
“Of course not,” she said wearily. All at once, her principles seemed foolish, for how high-minded would she feel when she was deathly cold and starving too?
She no longer had the luxury of respectability, but she might just get that back if this ludicrous plan was a success.
If she must dress the part in order to make that happen, so be it.
“Well, I suppose if I am going to the devil, I might as well do it style.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said, apparently with no trace of sarcasm. “Look, once this is over and you have a respectable position where you are safe, you can throw every item back in my face and tell me I’m a rotten scoundrel. Will that make you feel better?”
Meg considered this. “Much,” she admitted, brightening at the prospect.
Mr Ashford looked less impressed by her sudden lift in spirits. “Well, then. If you’re ready, we’ll collect Betty and be on our way.”
“There is one thing, Mr Ashford.”
“Yes?” he said, turning back to her, his hand on the doorknob.
Her grey eyes were steady and grave as she spoke.
“Supposing we get away with it and convince everyone of our betrothal. What’s stopping me from suing you for breach of promise the moment this farce is over? Your family, the servants, everyone in the local area will know I am your fiancée. You won’t have a leg to stand on.”
“Well, then I suppose I shall have a very ruthless and pretty wife,” he said with a shrug, turning away before she could see he was struggling not to laugh.
Nat settled the ladies in the diligence before taking his own place, keeping Miss Bancroft between him and Betty.
As a rule he hated public transport, but there was no point in keeping a carriage and cattle enough in town when he hardly ever used it.
He kept his own horse, but stabled it at the duke’s townhouse, taking care to avoid his grace whenever possible.
In fact, though they were often in town at the same time, it was remarkable how seldom they ran into one another.
Hawkney had offered his own carriage to Nat, to be fair to him, but Nat could not abide feeling as if he hung upon the duke’s coattails and would rather endure hours in a public carriage than feel beholden to his cousin.
“I ain’t never been out of London,” Betty whispered to her mistress, her eyes wide with excitement.
Well, at least someone was getting some enjoyment out of this, Nat thought wryly, noting Miss Bancroft’s pallor with disquiet. The poor thing had undergone so many shocks to her nerves in the past four and twenty hours it was a wonder she wasn’t a gibbering wreck.
He had known she would kick up merry hell over the wardrobe he had provided her and had decided the best approach was to appear entirely baffled by her objection.
The way she had looked when he had pretended to assume she was offering to be his mistress still made him want to smile like an idiot.
Then, when she had suggested she hold him to account and force the marriage or sue him, no doubt expecting him to rear back in alarm and beg that he be allowed to leave her at the inn with a small amount of cash and no questions asked, well he’d had to escape before he gave into laughter.
Nat was not such a fool that he had not considered the possibility himself.
That she had posed the question to him only reinforced his estimation of her character.
Miss Margaret Bancroft would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than do anything so dishonourable.
The dear little fool. Lord, but she was proud.
Fiery, too. He admired her more with every passing moment.
Steady on, Nat, old fellow, he told himself resolutely. Remember, the object of this exercise is not to get leg shackled.
Still, he could not quite smother the anticipation he felt at the prospect of seeing her in any of the new gowns he had provided for her.
Madame Moreau truly was a wonder, for he had given her a description of the lady, and estimated her figure very nicely he suspected, and she had known exactly what was required.
Well, once she had understood that the lady was respectable, despite the rather peculiar circumstances, and not an opera dancer as in his usual line.
Having inspected the trunks on their arrival, he knew they contained everything the young woman could need, and a good deal besides.
He had taken the precaution of unpacking a lovely warm cloak for her before they set off too, upon realising the dull black shawl she wore over a worn spencer was the warmest item of clothing she possessed.
Nat had watched her face as he had fastened the cloak around her, but she had revealed nothing.
It had not been until later, when she had believed herself unobserved, that he had noticed her remove one glove and smooth her hand over the thick wool and then its blue silk lining, with such reverence his heart hurt.
In Nat’s opinion, one could tell a good deal about one’s companions on a long journey.
Not that the first leg of their journey to Tunbridge Wells ought to be so very arduous, but the day was bitterly cold and the roads muddy, making the going somewhat tortuous.
Yet no matter how cold it grew or how badly they were jolted about, Miss Bancroft uttered not a word of reproach or discomfort.
Indeed, now that they were underway, she seemed to have had resigned herself to going to the devil, as she had so eloquently put it, and looked about the countryside with interest.
Their travelling companions were a mixed bag, as always.
An elderly lady who travelled with her pet pug was deemed quite charming by Betty, though Nat was not fooled.
The pug would be a nightmare, he felt certain, his worst fears confirmed a short time later when the wretched animal filled the already stuffy carriage with a most disagreeable smell.
This was too much for the young curate beside her, who made a great show of opening the window.
So much for love thy neighbour, Nat thought with a smirk.
A rather large fellow who looked like a country squire took up much of the rest of the seat and spent rather too long surveying Miss Bancroft for Nat’s liking, an occupation the fellow quickly gave up, upon meeting Nat’s stony gaze.
“Those poor people sitting up top,” Miss Bancroft lamented as Nat remarked it was snowing.
It was only a flurry and did not look ready to settle, thank heavens, but it must be miserable indeed outside.
“I saw a fellow passing a silver flask around so that will keep their spirits up,” Nat said, hoping this would put her mind at rest, though he pitied the poor blighters too.
Nat did his best to see to her comfort, and Betty’s too, for if Meg had a hot brick, she insisted Betty share it with her, but there was no denying it was cold and uncomfortable.
“Have you travelled much, Miss Bancroft?” he asked, pitching his voice low enough that the other passengers could not listen in with too much ease, but loud enough to be heard over the rumble and clatter of the carriage and horses.
“Not at all,” she replied, glancing up at him. “My father only travelled in books, you see. I had never left Hereford until he died, and I went to London.”
“A country girl,” he said, earning himself a smile.
“Yes, I suppose so. I grew up in a remote cottage in Llanveynoe, near the Welsh border and the Brecon Beacons. We rented the house from quite a grand family, but they were hardly ever there, and we had nothing to do with them, so from our point of view we lived miles from any society, which was just how Papa liked it. He used to say I was all the society he needed,” she said with a nostalgic smile.
Nat did not smile, rather incensed by the selfish old devil who had never given his daughter’s needs a thought from the sound of it. “Llanveynoe,” he mused, wondering why the name sounded familiar. “What were the family called who owned the estate?”
“Haines.”
“Edgar Haines?” he asked, realising why he knew it.
“Their son was called Edgar,” she said in surprise. “Do you know him?”
“From school, though not since,” he replied thoughtfully, filing the information away.
He would tell her to add that to the story of how they met the next time they could speak in private, for it made it more believable.
“Well, I’m afraid you are hardly seeing the best of Kent at this time of year, or of Sussex when we reach it, but I hope it pleases you? ”
For all her qualms and objections, now that she had committed herself, she was remarkably self-possessed.
“I think it’s lovely,” she said, giving him the benefit of the first proper smile he had seen from her. “Even on such a dismal day, I can appreciate its beauty, so I can only imagine how pretty it is at other times.”
Rather to his surprise, her smile quite knocked the wind from his sails.
Miss Bancroft, distressed and careworn, had been lovely, but Miss Bancroft smiling up at him with undisguised pleasure, oh, she was a different creature entirely.
What was more… dimples. There they were, clear as day, enhancing the already delightful picture by adding a whimsical quality to her beauty that was quite irresistible.
His gaze drifted inevitably to her mouth.
Such a lush, full, kissable mouth… Nat shook himself, giving himself a stern reminder that she was a respectable young woman in distress, and he was playing knight errant.
If he didn’t want to go ruining everything by frightening her off, or by getting himself well and truly leg shackled, he’d best have a care.