Chapter Fifteen #2
Bear woke with the cock crow and was glad he’d had the foresight to bring up the blanket from downstairs before they both fell asleep.
It was cold in the barn, with a cool breeze filtering through a gap in the window.
Marianne stirred, straw entwined in her russet curls.
She was illuminated by shafts of sunlight, like some mighty Roman goddess.
“Good morning.” Unable to keep his distance, he brushed a kiss against her cheek.
“Good morning.” She smiled sweetly and he felt his heart turn over. “We slept all through the night. I didn’t think I would.”
Bear had slept deeply and felt more refreshed than he had in a long time. “Maybe the secret of a good night’s sleep is to come to a haybarn,” he quipped.
“Or to get drenched in the rain?”
Bear shook his head. “The secret is you, Marianne.”
She dipped her head, but not before he had seen her cheeks flush endearingly.
Regretfully, he swung his legs away from the warmth of both Marianne and the blanket. “I shall fetch up your gown. Hopefully it will have dried, at least a little.”
He had spread it on the stool by the brazier when he went down for the blanket.
Aware of his nakedness, he stretched his arms over his head and rotated his shoulders, before scooping his shirt from the floor and pulling it on. “At least the rain has stopped.”
Marianne sat up, her eyes wide with purpose. “How long will it take, do you think, to ride to London?”
“Not long. Although the pace will be slower with the two of us.” He forced himself to look away from where the blanket was slipping over her breasts. “We should ride to a coaching inn and secure a second horse.”
She nodded quickly. “But let us not waste any time. I must get home to Toby.”
He winked. “Your wish is my command, as you must now know.”
She blushed again, but a smile danced around her lips. “Then go and fetch my gown.”
“Right away.” He bowed.
Sometime later, they were both passing decent. Bear had plucked the hay from Marianne’s long hair, and she had fastened his cravat. His legs ached as he walked his horse from the stall, but his heart positively sang with happiness.
On the morrow, they would marry!
They had already defeated their demons. Nothing could now stand in their way.
The piping notes of a blackbird’s morning song filled the air as they emerged from the barn, heightening Bear’s sense that all was well with the world.
He helped Marianne into the saddle, then swung into position and urged the horse on.
He had passed a coaching inn on the way here yesterday and had a fair idea how to find it again.
He hummed as they cantered through the vicarage gates; enjoying the feel of Marianne pressed against his back and her arms about his waist. What did it matter that she was the niece of Clementine Sedgewick?
In a matter of hours, she would be the wife of Benedict Fairfield!
Indeed, the only thing marring his contentment this morning was a gnawing hunger, but he felt somehow that it would be selfish to mention such a base concern, given Marianne’s obvious and understandable desire to return to Toby.
Though he had no concerns for Toby’s well-being—certain, as he was, that the boy was safe at Fencham House—Bear knew in his bones that a mother needed to see this with her own eyes.
He would not temper Marianne’s maternal warmth for the grandest breakfast in the land.
But Marianne’s own stomach was audibly rumbling by the time they trotted up to the low-slung, ivy-covered inn.
He helped her down from the saddle and then tucked her arm inside his as a servant came to take the horse.
“Let us eat.”
Concern clouded her eyes. “Do we have time?”
“You are no use to Toby nor anyone else if you are weak with hunger.”
She lightly tapped his shoulder. “I am not weak.”
“But I am growing ever weaker.” He made a show of his knees buckling. “Allow me some bread, milady, before I faint.”
“I don’t believe you.” Marianne tossed her head, but he could see her eyes glint with amusement.
“A great big man like you, felled by a day without cake? Surely you endured longer on the battlefield?” She spoke on before he could react.
“Though I admit, the chance of me riding safely to London will be much increased if I have some food in my belly.”
“Spoken like a true lady of the ton,” he grinned.
“But I do not look anything like a true lady of the ton.” Marianne’s voice rose with dismay as she regarded her crumpled gown. “I cannot go inside, Benedict. What will people say?”
“We are still some distance from Society’s prying eyes.” He patted her hand reassuringly. “I daresay people in these parts care little for appearances, so long as their patrons have blunt in their pocket.”
Still Marianne hung back, her skirts trailing on the cobbles. “What if Edgar is inside? Or someone who knows him?” She pressed her lips together, her face pale. “It is unlikely, I know.”
“It is an understandable concern.” He hastened to say. “But we cannot spend our lives running from Edgar Chawton. You are free of him now. And you have me to protect you. Always.” His chest swelled with emotion when he saw how his words affected her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Despite his reassurances, Bear could not help scanning the public dining room for any sign of Edgar Chawton as he asked the innkeeper for a private parlor.
Duly secured, he and Marianne followed the sallow-skinned woman to a small room at the back of the inn.
The white-washed walls were bare and the horse-hair furniture sagged in the middle, but the food, when it came, was good.
Freshly baked rolls and creamy butter, tangy marmalade, a vanilla-flavored sponge, and rich hot chocolate poured from a chipped jug.
They both ate their fill, talking little as both hunger and thirst were satisfied.
“Stay here,” he said, dabbing his lips with a faded napkin. “I shall see about a horse.”
Bear looked right and left all over again as he returned to the public room, but the only inhabitants were a couple of older gentlemen arguing over a plate of pungent kippers, and a dog stretched out in a patch of sunlight near the window.
He inquired about a second horse and insisted on checking over the dappled mare for suitability.
She was a small animal, but had kind eyes and strode out gamely when he trotted her over the cobbles.
“She will do nicely,” he told the woman, handing over more of his scarce blunt, and not allowing himself to wince.
On the morrow, he and Marianne would be wed. Once she came into her inheritance, his father’s measly allowance would cease to dominate Bear’s decision-making. But right now, inheritance or no, Marianne needed a horse.
He left the mare with a surly stable hand to be saddled up, and he returned to the parlor to find Marianne. But when he entered the unremarkable room where they had dined just minutes earlier, Marianne was nowhere to be seen.
Panic clawed at Bear’s chest as he foolishly looked behind the door and under the table. He didn’t for one moment expect his betrothed to be playing a game of hide and seek.
But where is she?
Bear dragged a hand through his already-disheveled hair, cursing himself for leaving her unattended. Had he not learned his lesson? He clutched at comfort in the fact the inn was located on a small lane—and not one rider had appeared on the lane while he was at the stables.
A commotion at the door had him spinning around expectantly, but it was only a serving maid carrying a washbowl and a pitcher of water.
“Will there be anything else, milady?”
Bear was weak with relief to see Marianne in the doorway.
“No, that will be everything, thank you,” she said, avoiding Bear’s eye.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, as soon as the servant had departed.
She met his gaze briefly, before focusing on the rough pottery bowl in which she washed her hands.
“To the outhouse.”
“Oh.” Bear felt heat rising to his cheeks, but Marianne did a poor job of hiding her smile and he let out a short bark of laughter.
“I suppose that is permitted.”
She dried her hands on a small towel. “Thank you, indeed.”
“I’ve found you a horse,” he said to change the subject. “She may be smaller than you are accustomed to, but I believe she will do nicely.”
“I would ride on a mule so long as it was sound,” Marianne declared. “Can we leave now, please? I long to be on our way.”
Bear bowed his acquiescence and soon they were both mounted and pointing their horses down the rutted country lane.
“I would give every penny I have for a warm bath and a change of clothing,” he announced, flicking a stray strand of hay from his breaches.
“I pity you, sir. ’Tis comfort indeed to ride in a ballgown,” Marianne quipped in return.
“I imagine it is. Warm as well, I might guess?”
Marianne’s laugh rang down the lane like a peal of bells. “When we return, I may throw out all my riding habits. They are entirely unnecessary.”
“When we return, we must make the final arrangements for our wedding,” he reminded her. “Perhaps you would like to invite your aunt, given what we now know?”
“That she is in support of our union.” Marianne smiled shyly up at him. “I can still hardly believe it.”
He grinned back. “Nothing speaks the truth with more conviction than a necklace of sapphires.”
The little mare’s ears flicked back and forth as if listening to her mistress laughing.
Bear had imagined he might have to rein his horse in to ensure they kept pace with one another, but despite their difference in height, the two horses matched one another stride for stride. Bear lengthened his reins and relaxed.
A rabbit bounded out of the hedgerow and made the mare startle, but Marianne easily kept her seat. Bear watched admiringly as she spoke soothingly to the horse, stroking her neck with the reins held loosely in one hand. He had never seen such a natural horsewoman.
Not since Granny Attley last sat on a horse.
More proof that Marianne would suit life at The Towers. Not that he needed more proof. He knew in his bones that providence—and Bessie Dove-Lyon—had arranged a perfect match for him.
They followed a path into a large grassy field and Marianne turned to him with a smile.
“What say you to a gallop, Lord Bendict?” she asked, echoing his words to her on their first meeting in Hyde Park.
Benedict smiled widely back at her. “I say, take care that you can keep up, Lady Brewood,” he parroted her words back at her.
Marianne laughed happily then spurred the little mare onward and soon the two of them were whooping with exhilaration as they pounded over the field.
Bear didn’t care who was fastest. He was racing toward a future he wanted with all his heart.