Chapter Twenty-One
The marquess and his new bride set off in the early afternoon to much cheering on the pavement.
They were married, and they were on their way.
As far as anybody knew it, they were on their way to Cornwall, having borrowed a friend’s estate there.
Nobody but the servants at Torquay knew they were going there directly.
Their plan was to stop for the night at Stanwell.
There was a charming inn located in that town and, in any case, it would not be wise to carry on beyond sunset.
Hounslow Heath was nearby and teeming with highwaymen.
Manderbey might be confident of his ability to outpace, or if necessary outshoot, a thief on horseback, but he would not risk it in a carriage, especially not one carrying his new bride.
From Stanwell, they would make the trip in easy stages.
Winsome was delighted, as she’d never traveled south of London.
She was also appreciative of the idea that there would be no innkeeper encountered who had suffered at the hands of her father’s jests.
There would be no celebration of Captain Cook Day, or requests for brocabbage pie or Grassington Hambac, only to be informed the duke had made the whole thing up.
Those harassed innkeepers were all safely tucked away in the north.
The carriage made its way out of London and Manderbey closed the curtains and pulled her toward him, sliding her along the leather seat until she was in his arms.
“Marchioness,” he said.
Winsome giggled at the thought. It seemed highly absurd that she was to be a duchess someday. Especially given how she’d carried on, imagining all sorts of things and almost missing her chance.
“I have to admit something to you,” she said.
He wrapped his arms more tightly round her. “Is it not always the way? A man weds and then discovers his bride harbors a terrible secret. Out with it, my love. I am certain I can stand up to it.”
“It is only a little bit terrible. I had thought, for some time actually, that you were an inveterate gambler and deep in debt.”
“Did you really?” Manderbey said, laughing.
Winsome nodded.
“I’m rather surprised you said yes, then.”
“Well, I had at first thought I must turn from you. I did come into the season determined not to be taken in by a rogue and it was looking like you were one.”
“I am a bit shaken to discover what was going on behind the scenes.”
“You ought not be, though,” Winsome said. “I decided I could not give you up, therefore I must save you from your worst instincts. I was very firm about it. You were to be rehabilitated.”
Manderbey roared with laughter. “I had no idea. Now that I think of it, though, you did bring up gambling several times.”
“I am glad I was wrong, I did get swept up in all the ideas I’d read about in my novels. However, I would have been prepared to face it if I was not mistaken.”
“I’m glad you were wrong too. I would never place my marchioness in such a position.”
“I know that now.”
“Come closer, you suspicious little minx.”
And so they spent a lovely few hours rumbling along the roads in each other’s arms.
The Falcon and Fox was a charming coaching inn and Manderbey had made prior arrangements with the innkeeper to have the best suite of rooms. He’d been asked if he wished to secure a private dining room, but he’d declined and indicated they would dine in their rooms. Alone.
The waiter was to bring up what had been ordered and then get out and not come back.
Winsome had smiled at these arrangements and they’d both impatiently waited for the trays to come up. The rooms had a lovely view of the gardens, but they saw none of it.
After the doors were shut behind the waiters, Winsome took her moment to see what precisely had stunned Valor. She undid his neckcloth and stood on a chair to pull his shirt over his head.
She laughed and said, “What in the world was Valor so shocked over?”
“I cannot say, but I pray I do not shock you.”
“Oh I doubt it,” she said, jumping into his arms.
And Manderbey did discover there was not much that would shock his bride.
After all, she had five married sisters—she’d heard every detail of what might go on.
She was lovely, he was intensely handsome, they were wildly in love.
Those ingredients tended to make for a natural and passionate coming together.
Later, they pulled the trays onto the bed and had a picnic of sorts, toasting each other, he with his claret and she with her sack. They fell asleep in each other’s arms and found the day so delightful that they repeated it at each inn they stopped at.
The innkeepers at these inns might have been scandalized that the couple arrived, ordered trays, threw the waiters from their rooms as soon as the trays were delivered, ordered them not to come back, and then were not seen until the following morning.
However, they’d all had their share of newly married couples and their bordering-on-rude habits.
Turning a blind eye and pretending nothing at all had been noticed was the order of the day if one wished to own an inn.
*
As Winsome and Manderbey made their way to Torquay, St. John cooled his heels in Falmouth, waiting for the Romulus to set sail for Rio de Janeiro.
There, he encountered Mr. Wellcurd and his daughter.
Wellcurd was a tradesman from Birmingham with some sort of concern or other.
St. John found both father and daughter impressed with his title and the idea that he was the new ambassador to Portugal.
He also found Wellcurd the master of a very generous table and as he was short of funds this very moment, he allowed the fellow to fill him with food and drink.
As he found out more about Mr. Wellcurd, he was very glad he did.
He could not recall precisely how the man had got all his money to begin, but Mr. Wellcurd was on his way to Rio de Janeiro to oversee his various investments in the mines he owned there.
This was, of course, of great interest to St. John and he began to wonder if it would be too outrageous to wed the daughter of a tradesman.
After all, the fellow did not have any sons.
If he were to wed the daughter, when Wellcurd kicked off, the mines and all the rest of his worldly goods would fall to St. John.
If there was one thing of benefit to a tradesman, it was they did not make a habit of engaging in entails.
And then to think, all the work of finding a likely spot, buying the land, and digging the mine had been done for him. It was rather ideal.
Mr. Wellcurd was a boastful and rather irritating individual but according to him, the riches that were to be had in Brazil were astounding.
Diamonds, emeralds, and topaz as far as the eye could see.
And, though he was exceedingly uncouth, when they returned to England, Wellcurd could be left behind in Birmingham from whence he came.
Nobody in St. John’s sphere need ever set eyes on the man.
As for the daughter, she was pretty in the usual way, though there was not much going on between her ears.
She laughed too loud, which must be a habit dropped.
Her manners were middling and must be improved.
Her mode of dress spoke too loudly, all too-bright colors, rather like her temperament.
And yet, she did have that one irresistible attraction—the precious gem mines that would one day be his.
The thing was settled in a rather unorthodox manner. Once aboard ship and being in close quarters and St. John having his own stateroom, he did meddle a step too far with Miss Wellcurd.
That might not have made his decision for him. However, Mr. Wellcurd had discovered it and insisted they wed, else he’d pitch St. John over the side of the ship on a dark and moonless night. Considering Mr. Wellcurd’s general outlook on life, St. John did not doubt he’d do it.
After sixty days at sea, they reached Rio de Janeiro.
St. John had not had a clear idea of what he expected, but he was soon disabused of his more fanciful notions.
It was deadly hot, the heat exacerbated by the water that seemed to hang in the air.
The court was stuffy and boring, and nobody much cared to be impressed that he was the ambassador from England.
It seemed the Portuguese ambassador did business with the English Crown directly and nobody was inclined to include him in any negotiations.
Things went downhill from there when it was discovered he must wed in a Catholic church.
He’d needed a dispensation from one of their absurd bishops to be allowed, which struck him as the height of stupidity.
It rankled that he was viewed as some sort of heathen for not vowing his allegiance to Rome.
He went through with it, all along keeping his eyes on the goal—mines brimming with precious gems. He’d acquired a rather tedious bride and he was well sick of her loud laughter before they’d even got out of the church, but she was his ticket to untold riches.
Finally the day arrived when he and Wellcurd were to set off on a journey to see the mines.
They began on horseback, and in the beginning he did enjoy the silence away from his bride’s raucous laughter.
He was surprised to discover on that first night, though, that there was no inn to retire to.
In England, there was always an inn somewhere nearby.
Here, it seemed a tent was all that was on offer.