Page 68 of Wedding the Widow

“Yes, milord, right away, milord.” The boy rushed down the aisle. “He’s a grand horse, he is.” He disappeared into the tack room and returned to sight a minute later laden with Jemmy’s saddle slung over one arm, bridle in hand. “Just two shakes of a lamb’s tail and I’ll have him ready for ye.” The boy trotted toward Pharaoh’s stall and ducked inside.

Jemmy eyed the door to the stable’s kitchen. If the boy was fast enough, he might just make it out of here. Fidgeting with the blanket, Jemmy tied the ends together, fashioning a cape of sorts around his shoulders. The boy hadn’t seemed to notice the odd article slung around him, thank goodness.

Time ticked away. If the boy didn’t hurry, the grooms and coachman would be out, and then he’d either have to run for it or try to bribe them all. While ten pounds might be a fortune for one man, it became less appealing when shared among ten, especially when it would likely mean getting the sack from the marquess.

The door to the kitchen opened, and Jemmy ducked back into the shadows. A middle-aged man, Mack, one of the grooms who had been here when Jemmy was a boy, ambled toward the outside. Probably to relieve himself. Damn it, where was that boy?

The slow clop-clop of shod horses’ hooves on stone began as the boy emerged from the stall, leading Pharaoh toward him. Thank God.

“Here he is, milord.” The boy looked around, face pinched into puzzlement.

Jemmy darted forward, grabbing the reins and vaulting into the saddle in one swift movement. He transferred the reins to one hand and dug into his pocket. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Tom Redman, milord.” The boy flashed a look up at him, worry in his eyes.

“Here you go, Tom. And many thanks for a brave night’s work.” Jemmy leaned over to hand the boy a one-pound note. “You earned it lad.”

“What the devil’s going on here?” The door to the kitchen opened, spilling grooms and coachmen into the aisle, blocking Jemmy’s path to freedom.

“A cold ride for a pint of ale, Harper,” Jemmy called to one of the grooms he knew. He gathered the reins and tensed his calf muscles, ready to dig into the horse’s flanks.

“Aye, you’ve a frosty one ahead of you if you’re for the Harte tonight, my lord.” Harper didn’t move, his gaze flicking from Jemmy to Tom. “What’ve you got there, Tom?”

“A small token for service rendered, Harper. Now if you don’t mind . . .” He urged the stallion forward. Only a few more yards, and he’d be through the door and out into the night.

“It’s a pound note, Mr. Harper.” Wonderingly, Tom held it up. The bill probably represented half a year’s wages.

“What?” Harper strode toward the boy. “A pound?” He looked suspiciously at Jemmy. “What’d you give him a pound for?”

“All right, lads, back to work now. Tea’s over.” Mack had returned from the yard. He stopped, taking in the scene, and his eyes narrowed. “His lordship gave instructions regarding you, Lord Brack. I’ll thank you to get down off that horse now.”

“Just going to the Whyte Harte for a pint, Mack. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” Jemmy smiled and dug his heels into Pharaoh’s sides.

The horse shot forward, scattering the men as he made for the open door. Mack made a grab for his reins as he sped by, but Jemmy kicked out, connecting with the groom’s stomach and tumbling him to the ground.

Pharaoh cleared the door, and they were out in the cold night air, cantering down the driveway as if a pack of hell-hounds were nipping at their heels.

Jemmy raised his face and shouted victoriously into the dark sky, peppered with stars and the half-moon, now hidden behind a cloud. He’d made his escape, though not as secretively as he’d hoped. That mattered much less now he was free. At the end of the driveway, he slowed the horse to a trot and turned him for the village. Once there, he’d pick up the post road, and if the clouds didn’t continue to hang over the moon, he’d have a clear path on ’til dawn.

There would be pursuit, no doubt. Father would try his best to get him back, but he had a head start and a determination, borne of desperation, to evade his father’s men. Add a trick or two up his sleeve to throw them off the scent, and he just might win home to Elizabeth.

Suddenly, the moon sailed from behind the veil of clouds, shining a dazzling light onto the shadowy road. Perhaps their fortunes had changed. He urged Pharaoh back into a ground-eating canter. So far, so good.

“Hold on, Elizabeth,” he said grimly into the night. “I’m coming.”

Chapter 26

The vestibule of St. George’s Church, London, had absolutely no heat. Elizabeth stood shivering, white puffs of breath showing as she clutched her father’s arm, wishing herself anywhere but where she was. She peered through the tiny window of the vestibule door into the church proper, empty save for Mama and Lord Robert. The rector had gone to retrieve the registry and thaw the inkpot. “I still do not understand why this wedding had to be performed so quickly, Papa.”

“It will be over in a few minutes, Elizabeth. Then you can get on with making a home with Robert. I daresay he’s not the most eligible man in your eyes, but he is a good man.” Papa looked down his long nose at her, as if she were impugning Lord Robert’s sterling reputation.

“I understand that he’s a good man, Papa. I truly do. What I don’t understand is why we have to marry on only one day’s acquaintance. Why can’t we wait to have the banns read? That would take only two weeks. There would be no greater scandal than there will be now.” She needed time to make her peace with the fact that she would be marrying a man she didn’t love and that the man she did love, and who loved her, would be marrying someone else as well. Did no one else understand that her feelings mattered as much as the reputation of the family?

“Do you believe a longer acquaintance will change your opinion of Robert?” Raised eyebrows said her father sensed this was not her true argument.

“Perhaps.” If she went to hell for lying in church, then so be it.

Papa sighed and stamped his feet. Hers had frozen long ago. She could no longer feel her toes in her blue slippers. If only her heart were so conveniently icy.