Chapter 52
“Welcome, good sir. I am Morton, the owner here. How may the Coventry be of service?”
Kelly looked about the common room. It was clean and crowded for an early afternoon. He had seen a single carriage outside. The food must be good. “I need a meal and a room.”
“Of course, of course. Our beds are soft and the rooms clean. Please sign the ledger.”
Kelly held up his right hand, the missing fingers prominent, and took the pen offered to him. That done, Morton gestured to a corner table.
Kelly sat down and within a few minutes, a matronly woman brought him a bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread. “More where that came from, should you desire.”
“My thanks, ma’am.”
He took a spoonful of the delicious-smelling stew.
“Mind if I sit at your table?”
Kelly looked up. The man was lean and had bland, neutral features and was holding his own bowl of stew. Most of the tables were occupied. “Be my guest.”
When his bowl was scraped clean, he looked up and saw his dining companion had also finished. “I’ll be on my way. Good day to you.” Kelly pushed his chair back. It did not move.
Another man, his most prominent feature a black eyepatch, sat down in the other empty chair. “We been waiting on you.”
Kelly tried to rise but a pair of very large hands pushed down on his shoulders, then squeezed them. Hard. Wincing, he glanced to his left shoulder; the hand was horribly scarred.
“We have a few questions for you,” said a fourth man, a milky-white scar slashing down from an eye to his lips.
“Go on, then,” he growled.
His dining companion spun a knife through his fingers. The one-eyed man across from him pulled out a blade. It was obvious it was very sharp and the man wielding it was intimate with its use. “I’m only going to ask you once.”
Kelly nodded. The tables near him had emptied of diners. In fact, the entire place seemed vacant.
“Was that you and the carriage wreck in St Albans in ’07?”
Bloody hell. Kelly’s mouth was suddenly dry. Very dry. He nodded.
“Give a dog an ill name and he’ll soon be hanged,” the fourth man said aloud.
So, this is how my life ends; my ancestor’s admonishment my epitaph.
The wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Somerset was perhaps the year’s most anticipated event. The couple, especially Jane, had summoned up a great deal of interest from the public: a young duke, recently elevated to his title after the deaths of the previous duke and his heir, was marrying the Diamond of the Season. Even the officiant, the Archbishop of Canterbury, appeared expectant when he arrived at Matlock House and knocked on the door the future duchess was certainly behind. A young girl opened it and immediately genuflected.
“Your Excellency,” she whispered, her eyes cast downward.
He walked past her to be confronted by a bevy of ladies. Two were known to him. “Lady Matlock, Lady Catherine, will you not do the honours?”
Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. “Your Grace, we shall entertain none of your foolish trifling. We have a bride to prepare!”
“An archbishop never dilly-dallies,” he replied drolly, prompting light laughter from the ladies. “May I address the bride?” he asked.
The gaggle parted to reveal a swan, glorious in feathery cream. She held a cream-coloured Easter bonnet with a veil. “Your Excellency,” she replied.
The archbishop studied her for a moment. “You resemble the delightful young lady my young cousin Darcy wed.”
“My sister Elizabeth.”
Mrs Darcy stepped from behind a screen and curtseyed to him. Nodding, he looked round the room. “Is your mother with us?”
A handsome woman of some forty years displayed her deference. “I am Mrs Thomas Bennet, Your Excellency.”
“Have you any more daughters, madam?”
“I have three.”
The archbishop watched as a trio of beautiful young ladies curtseyed. “How fortuitous for England.” He turned back to the bride. “Miss Bennet, might I enquire how long you have known Lord Somerset?”
“All of my life. We grew up as neighbours in Hertfordshire.”
“That must be quite the tale.”
“We would enjoy sharing it with you one day at Somerset Place,” she said, blushing.
“An event I shall anticipate.” As he stepped through the opened door, he turned back. “Recall the wisdom of Shakespeare. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’”
He was pleased to see the future duchess put her hand to her heart and sigh.
After the ceremony, Jane stood beside John as they waited to sign the wedding registry. Jane looked up at her husband when he squeezed her hand. “Yes?”
“I am reassuring myself the apparition next to me is of this earth.”
“You silly man. I needed the time to reassure myself that I could make you happy.”
“And my word was not enough?” When Jane shook her head, her eyebrow lifted teasingly, John pressed her. “Who then convinced you to finally accept me?”
Jane crooked her finger, beckoning him to put his ear near her lips. “God whispered your name.” She sighed when he kissed her ringed hand. “For eternity.”
The registry signed, the newly married duke and duchess climbed into their carriage, content in the comfortable silence that only two people deeply in love can share. Eventually John broke the quiet, his voice light and teasing. “I have a gift for you,” he offered as he kissed her hand.
“Do you?” she asked, her gaze full of mischief.
“I do.” He pulled a small box from his pocket.
“John,” she protested, “I do not need more finery. The current requirements of this office already test my patience.”
“All the requirements, my dear?”
Jane kissed him. “As this carriage cannot travel faster, I must then repeat myself.”
John kissed her. “And I shall repeat myself as well.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “If you must, your Grace.”
“I desire I must,” he murmured and kissed her until she was breathless.
The carriage arrived in Mayfair, and stopped a short distance from Somerset House. Outriders stood sentinel, waiting to circle their individual horses to keep them warm. Footmen lined the high street; augmenting them were two columns of mounted soldiers posted between the conveyance and the household servants.
The carriage door opened. Jane looked at her husband. “Are you not handing me out?”
“Another has usurped my wants.”
A massive scarred hand reached into the compartment. Surprised, Jane looked at John. “Usurped, indeed!”
Smiling, she gave her hand to Bill and exited the carriage. The sun touched her cream wedding bonnet and reflected off its smart matching ribbon.
Her husband nimbly hopped to her side as Bill stepped away. A loud baritone resounded. “Attention!”
Servants and soldiers alike fell silent.
“Present... arms!”
The sound of a dozen pairs of sabres sliding out of scabbards tore through the air. Two dozen upraised sword tips met to form a tunnel.
Jane, astonished, looked at her husband. “Is this your doing?”
He shook his head. “This has all the signs of your father’s connexions. I believe the Royal Horse Guards would seek to honour the daughter of one of their own.” He nodded towards the path. “They await your acknowledgement, my dear.”
“I daresay you are correct.”
Jane raised her hand, palm towards her face, and waved. The applause was thunderous. Feet stomped and spectators cheered repeatedly behind the columns of cavalrymen and servants. As the cacophony ebbed, the largest man any would likely see returned to her side and blocked the sunlight.
“Are you well, Duchess?” Bill rasped.
Jane looked up to her right. “Yes, my dear Bill.”
She turned to her left and studied John. She grasped his hand, earning her a smile beyond compare.
“I am now.”