Chapter 17 #3
“Come on.” Yanking her alongside him until they came to the bend in the road, he wound his arm through hers and said in a harsh whisper, “Smile, damn you. We don’t want the Grymes’s poor coachman to think anything is amiss.
He’s confused enough already. In fact, I’m sure everyone is bewildered, but I don’t doubt you’ll come up with some clever excuses for our strange behavior today.
I commend you. You’re as quick-witted as they come.
Your upbringing in London’s slums has served you well, my love. ”
Thinking how hollow his endearment sounded, Susanna reluctantly did as he bade her and pasted a false smile on her face.
As the coachman, who appeared relieved to see them again, drove the carriage up to meet them, Adam lifted her inside and ordered, “Take us to the Market Square Tavern in Williamsburg! As quickly as you can get us there!”
“Market Square Tavern?” she asked in confusion as he took the seat opposite hers.
“Yes. You didn’t think we could be married in Bruton’s Parish church, did you?
We have no license, and wedding banns must be posted there for three Sundays before the minister would wed us.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait that long.
I know of an old parson who lives upstairs at the tavern who’ll marry an eager couple for the price of a bottle of wine. It’s legal—and permanent.”
Shivering at the cold finality in his voice, Susanna slumped against the seat in angry resignation as the carriage rounded the corner that took them out onto the main road. She trained her gaze out the window.
Bloody hell! Here she was on her way to be married in a common tavern by a drunken parson to a hateful, lying excuse of a man who would surely make her days a torment for the rest of her life!
The fact that she would still be able to honor at least part of Camille’s last wish brought her little comfort.
What had she done to bring this misery upon herself?
Susanna glanced back at Adam, and was not surprised to find him still glaring at her. “Would you mind telling me how I gave myself away?” she inquired sullenly.
“Purely by accident,” he said with little emotion, belying the animosity in his gaze. “Ertha found the painting you hid in the hatbox when she went to put your purchases away on Monday afternoon. That was what she didn’t want you to see when she came to the library.”
“So it was the portrait,” she said almost to herself, cursing the sentiment that had prevented her from tossing it overboard when she had had the chance.
“No, not the portrait itself, although Ertha suggested there might be some deception afoot. Poor woman. I didn’t believe her. I told her that an incompetent artist must have painted it to have so misrepresented your features.”
Surprised to hear that he had given her the benefit of the doubt, she asked, “What was it, then?”
“Something Ertha wouldn’t have noticed because she never learned to read. Your signature.”
Susanna stared at him blankly.
“Your signature on the note was not the same as the one I found on the back of the painting. Didn’t you know that Camille had written an inscription there to her father?”
“No…no, I never looked at the back.”
“A foolish oversight. That evidence combined with what Polly Blake told me at the Tates’—”
“Polly Blake?”
“Yes, another waiting-maid who was aboard the Charming Nancy.”
“You mean that dark-haired girl you were speaking with near the refreshment table?”
“Then you noticed.”
“I chanced to look over once or twice,” she allowed with feigned nonchalance, recalling how she had jealously wondered what they were discussing. “But I didn’t recognize her from the voyage.”
“She didn’t recognize you, either, at least not who you really were. All she remembered about you and Camille was that you both had the same honey-blonde hair. I knew then that you were an impostor.”
“Yes, I suppose you did.” Susanna abruptly fell silent. It seemed she had no one to blame but herself for this wretched turn of events.
“You were right about Celeste. She was the one who told me about your betrothal plans. I believe we both have her to thank for this day’s unexpected outcome.”
Oh, she knew friggin’ well why Adam was grateful, Susanna thought heatedly. Briarwood would soon belong to him. But how could she possibly be obliged to that loose-lipped gossip for the mess her life had suddenly become?
“Cheer up, Susanna. At least you’ll be able to live in lavish comfort for the rest of your life. Things could be worse.”
Nothing could be worse, she thought resentfully as the fields and woods gradually gave way to the neat white houses of Williamsburg. She refused to waste even a glance on him, watching with dread for the painted sign announcing the Market Square Tavern.
The irony was not lost on her that she would be marrying Adam Thornton after all, the man Camille had dreamed would be a perfect match for her. Except that now the hired man and the waiting-maid were about to play the biggest roles of their lives.
Loving husband and wife.
And nothing could be further from the truth.