22. Chapter 22 #2
“I am risking a great deal,” I told them. “With my husband most of all.”
I shuddered to think of what this would do to my marriage. Every time Ames and I reconciled, something came between us again—and it was almost always because of Brant and Molly.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Molly echoed. “I know how much this is costing you.”
I lowered my chin and let out a sigh. “I think it’s time you start calling me Lily. We will be sisters very soon, after all.”
Brant grinned, but Molly only lowered her gaze.
The ride to Scarborough was treacherous along the cliffside road.
Parts of the route had been washed out in the last storm, and the roads were thick with mud.
Molly and Brant held hands the whole way, but we hardly said a word.
I wanted to tell them that this was no way to start a marriage, but who was I to give advice?
And the carriage was already too far down the road to turn back now.
I had no doubt that they loved each other deeply, and that if things could have been different, they might have been the two happiest people on earth today.
I was wet and cold and shaking. My cloak was little comfort, and my stomach roiled with each passing second. I refused to call for Roy to stop. The sooner we arrived in Scarborough, the sooner this could be done, and I would be on my way back to Pickering Castle.
The very thought of doing this trip in reverse without Brant and Molly made me want to weep. I was sore and weary from a long day.
“Are you unwell, Lily?” Brant asked as the pair of them studied me.
“I have felt better.”
Molly’s face was filled with empathy, and I suspected that she knew the truth about my condition, though she didn’t ask.
Finally, the carriage pulled into the outskirts of town, and we were rolling on gentler roads. It was still raining heavily, and the incessant pounding of the raindrops on the top of the carriage gave me a headache. But each time I caught their gazes, I tried to smile for their benefit.
The town was much bigger than Ravenscar and it was built on a hillside that descended toward the sea. It was too dark to get a good look at anything of note, but I felt the carriage tilt as we made our way down toward the vicar’s cottage.
A candle flickered in the window of a small stone house with a stone fence encircling it.
“I will speak to the vicar,” Brant said as he exited the carriage. “Wait here.”
He closed the door and it was just Molly and I within.
The rain was not as loud when we sat in one place, but it still echoed off the carriage roof as we looked at one another.
“Is this what you truly want, Molly?”
She was quiet for a moment, but then she said, her Irish accent thick, “I want to be Brant’s wife more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.
I do not want to cause a scandal, or ask him to sacrifice his birthright for me, but he insists he does not care.
I must take him at his word and trust that God has brought us together.
I don’t know what the future holds, but if Brant is by me side, I will face it without fear or regret. ”
“That is all I needed to know.” I was putting my relationship with Ames in jeopardy to help them, but if it meant their happiness, then I would fight for them. True love was a miracle, and if they had found it, they deserved to be together, regardless of what English society dictated.
A moment later, Brant was back and he helped Molly and me from the carriage. The vicarage door was open and a short, gray-haired man in a simple black suit stood there to greet us. He had a kind face with long side whiskers and a red bulbous nose, but he smiled and motioned us to enter his home.
Roy followed, and when I frowned, Brant said, “The vicar said we should have a second witness.”
“I’m happy that you agreed to be at the wedding, Your Grace,” the vicar said to me, offering a bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” I said to him.
He glanced at my disheveled hair and my mud-stained cloak but made no comment.
“Let us go into the parlor and unite this happy couple, shall we?” he asked, leading the way.
I didn’t know how much Brant was paying this man, but he did not seem concerned that he was performing a wedding in the wee hours of the morning, between the heir to an earldom and a lady’s maid, with a duchess and a groom as witnesses. The whole thing seemed preposterous.
Either he was desperate for money, or he believed in true love. I hoped it was the latter.
“Lord Brant,” the vicar said, “take Miss O’Neal’s hand in your own, and let us begin.”
As Roy stood beside Brant and I stood beside Molly, we watched two become one.
Their love for each other was unmistakable, their vows sincere, and when the vicar proclaimed they were man and wife, the kiss Brant gave to Molly put all other first kisses to shame.
It was gentle, reverent, and filled with such devotion, I could feel the magnetism that drew them together.
“All we need is everyone’s signatures in the church register,” the vicar said as he dipped a quill into an inkpot and handed it to first Brant, then Molly, then me, and finally to Roy.
“There.” The vicar smiled. “It is finished.”
Brant pulled a small pouch from his breast pocket and handed it to the vicar. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, Lord Brant.” He smiled and slipped the pouch into his pocket without checking to see if the agreed-upon amount was present.
Perhaps he had done it for true love, after all.
We said our goodbyes and then dashed through the rain to the carriage.
“Roy will drop us at the station,” Brant said, “and then take you back to Pickering Castle.”
“Do you think I should return through the smuggler’s cave? Or through the front door?” I asked him.
“What’s done is done,” Brant told me. “I would feel better if you went through the front door. There might be more questions, but they will happen sooner or later.”
He was right and I had no interest in retracing my steps through the passageway without a candle.
It took several minutes for the carriage to climb up the hill again to the train station, and then several more minutes to remove the luggage that Brant and Molly had brought—which told me that Molly had known full well when she came to the castle that this was the plan—and then it was time to say goodbye.
“Now that we are sisters,” I told Molly with a smile, embracing her, “you must expect hugs from me.”
For a moment, she was stiff, and then she folded into the hug. “I will miss you—Lily.”
“And I will miss you.” I pulled back as I looked at Brant. “Both of you. I pray God’s blessings on your marriage. Please write to me as soon as you are able.”
“We will.” Brant smiled and put his hand on Molly’s lower back. “We must be off so Lily can get back to the castle before anyone wakes up.”
He helped me into the carriage again and closed the door before tapping the side to let Roy know I was ready.
Tears gathered in my eyes as the vehicle started down the road toward home. Everything had happened quickly, and there had not been a lot of time to process it, but now I had nothing but time. And at the end of my journey, Ames would be there, angry, with questions I would need to answer.
Yet I did not regret what I had done. Brant and Molly deserved to have happiness, and I wished them all the good that life had to offer.
As we moved farther out of Scarborough, the roads became bumpier and harder to pass. The continuous rain had made the mud thicken and the tires of the carriage were caked in the clay-like ooze.
We drove along the cliffside, the wind pushing at the carriage. I hated how close the sea felt, or how unsteady the horses. My stomach turned as sweat gathered on my brow. I was about to call for Roy to stop when the carriage began to slow—and then came to a sudden halt.
Curious, I tilted my head toward the window to inspect what was wrong, but it was impossible to see Roy on the seat atop the carriage, especially with the darkness and the rain.
An unfamiliar voice suddenly filled the air—a loud, demanding voice.
My curiosity turned to cold panic as gooseflesh covered my arms and legs. Who had stopped the carriage, and what did they want on a night like this?
The carriage swayed and there was a scuffle on top, near the driver’s seat, as more shouting ensued, though I could not hear what they said.
I shifted seats, so I was on the opposite bench, and pressed myself into the corner, wrapping my dark cloak around my body, hoping that if someone looked inside, they might not see me.
A loud thump hit the ground, and the sound of moans followed. “Your Grace,” I heard Roy cry, “I’m sorry.”
Moments later, the carriage was off again.
And this time the driver was speeding.
But it wasn’t Roy, because he lay in the mud on the side of the road.