Pride in Regency Society: Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife / The Earl's Runaway Bride

‘Just as you like, miss. I wants nothing more than to sit quiet for a bit.’

‘Then you shall do just that. Granby is organising our rooms for us and will see that our bags are taken upstairs. I never realised before how useful it is to have a man to do these things for one. Perhaps I shall keep him on, after all, as my major-domo.’ A glance at the pale figure sitting beside the fire showed her that Martha was not listening, so she busied herself instead with making them both comfortable. She helped her maid to remove her bonnet and cloak and put them with her own over a chair. A rosy-cheeked maid brought in her coffee, apologising for the delay.

‘We’ve been that busy, what with the storm and everything. Every table’s took.’ She looked around, smiled and bobbed a curtsy. ‘You’m lucky to have this parlour, madam. You’ll be comfy enough in here.’

As the maid went out, Martha opened one eye. ‘Will you not sit down, miss? You must be exhausted, all that travelling—’

‘Not a bit of it! I did not like being bounced all over the road, but I am more excited than tired. You know how little I have travelled. My last real journey was to go to Tunbridge with Grandpapa two years ago and the pace was so slow and decorous I think we would have moved quicker had we walked!’ She went over to the window and looked out. ‘If it would only stop raining, we could take a walk now and see the town.’

Her handmaiden groaned again and Eve turned back to her.

‘Poor Martha, here am I, chattering on when you are feeling so poorly. You do look very pale, you poor thing. Perhaps a little Magnesia would settle your stomach. I wonder where Granby can be. He will have taken the dressing case to my bedchamber. Well, perhaps the landlord can show me the way.’

She went to the door and looked out. The corridor was very busy and through the doorway opposite she could see that the taproom was packed with men enjoying a mug of ale and pipe of tobacco while they sheltered from the rain. To her right was a much more ordered scene, for the corridor opened on to the coffee room where travellers were seated at small tables and were served refreshments by a number of harassed-looking waiters. Of the landlord or the cheerful maid there was no sign. Undeterred, Eve stepped out of the room to go in search of her host. The ancient building was large and irregular, and for a moment Eve could not decide on the best way to go. She had seen a number of people using a door on the far side of the coffee room and surmised that it would lead to an inner hall where she might find an obliging chambermaid who would take her upstairs. Eve made her way quickly through the coffee room, trying to ignore the inquisitive stares of its patrons. She kept her eyes fixed upon the door, putting out her hand as she approached. It opened easily, swinging away from her and she spotted Granby in the corridor beyond, talking with a group of ragged-looking men. In her haste she did not see the slight step down and she found herself hurtling through the doorway, off balance. She cannoned off the man nearest the door.

‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she gasped as strong arms shot out to steady her. ‘I—’

Her words died away as she looked up and found herself staring up into the all-too-familiar face of Nick Wylder.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_b3e314b9-ab51-5554-a9c2-85f038a9775c)

Evelina’s breath caught in her throat and for an instant she thought she might faint. The look of surprise on Nick’s face gave way to one of wry humour. The corners of his mouth lifted.

‘Oh, lord,’ he murmured. ‘This was not meant to happen.’

Eve regained her balance and pushed away from him. Something was wrong. It was her husband, but it was not the fashionable beau she had married. The superbly tailored frock-coat and snow-white linen were replaced with a worn frieze jacket and a coloured shirt, while his raven-black hair was no longer neatly confined by a ribbon and one black lock hung rakishly over his eyes. The blood was drumming in her ears as she sought to make sense of the situation.

‘You are alive.’ She could not take her eyes from his face. ‘But how, why—?’

One of the other men shook his head and said warningly, ‘Cap’n…’

Nick put up his hand. ‘I cannot explain now, sweetheart, but you must not been seen with me. Richard shall take you back to your room.’

‘No—I—’

Nick reached out and caught her arms. ‘I will explain it all later.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Go back inside, Eve. You must act as if you have not seen me, do you understand?’

Eve swallowed hard. She understood nothing and wanted to argue.

‘Eve.’ He held her eyes. ‘I need you to do this for me.’

‘Y-you’ll come to me?’ she whispered, her hands still clutching at his coat.

‘You have my word.’ He looked down at her, then in one sudden movement he pulled her to him and kissed her once, hard, on the mouth. ‘I’ll join you in your room, very soon. Now go.’ He turned her away from him and gave her a little push.

Richard Granby took her arm and walked her back to the private parlour. There was so much conjecture in her head that this time she did not notice the diners in the coffee room or the raucous laughter as they passed the taproom.

Granby ushered her into the private parlour. Martha, who had been dozing in her chair, uttered a shriek and jumped to her feet.

‘In Heaven’s name, Richard, what have you done to her?’

Granby guided Eve to a chair and gently pressed her down. ‘She has had a shock. Can you fetch a glass of wine?’

Eve raised one hand. ‘No,’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘I want nothing, only to know what is happening.’

‘It will all be explained later, ma’am. For the moment you must stay here and say nothing.’

‘May I not tell Martha?’

‘Tell me what?’ demanded her maid, looking bewildered.

Granby gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Oh, I think there would be no harm in that, as long as it goes no further. I shall return in a little while and escort you to your room.’

He bowed and retired in his usual unhurried style, leaving Martha almost hopping with impatience.

‘What is it, Miss Eve, what are you to tell me?’

Eve stared at her anxious face. ‘I have just seen Captain Wylder. He is alive.’

Martha’s reaction was as noisy as Eve’s had been controlled. She screamed and fell back on her chair, drumming her heels on the floor. It was unfortunate that the tavern-maid chose that moment to come in with a fresh pot of coffee. Remembering Nick’s words, Eve knew it was imperative that Martha did not blurt out her secret, so she immediately took her by the shoulders and shook her.

‘Stop it, stop it this instant!’ Her sharp treatment had its effect; Martha stopped shrieking and subsided into noisy sobs. Eve dismissed the round-eyed tavern-maid and waited patiently until Martha had stopped crying and mopped her eyes. With no more than the occasional hiccup she apologised for her outburst and quietly requested her mistress to tell her everything. Eve obliged, but she found that relating her meeting with Nick only added to her frustration, for Martha kept asking her questions she could not answer.

Eve wanted nothing more than to sit quietly and consider her own feelings. The first shock of finding herself face to face with her husband had been followed by a surge of elation, but that had been replaced almost immediately with consternation. Why had he wanted her to believe he was dead? Answers crowded in upon her, none of them satisfactory, most too painful to contemplate, so she resolutely pushed them aside, determined to remain calm and to await Nick’s explanation. Martha’s reaction to the news was much more straightforward. The master was alive, and she was glad of it. Eve wished she could be so easily satisfied. She was relieved when at last Granby came in the room and announced that the landlord was waiting to escort her to her room.

‘It is our finest apartment, madam,’ their host told her as he led the way through a winding corridor and up the stairs. ‘It has been said that good Queen Bess herself slept there. I am sure you will find it very comfortable.’ At the end of a dim corridor he threw open the door and stood back for her to enter. ‘There, is it not a handsome apartment?’

Eve had to agree with him. It was a large, square room with an ornate plaster ceiling and richly carved panelling on every wall. Candles glowed from the wall sconces, illuminating the rich scarlet-and-gold hangings that decorated the huge tester-bed and the matching curtains pulled across the window to blot out the gloomy rain-sodden sky. A large chest of drawers and a sofa covered in wine-red damask occupied the far corner of the room and the only other items of furniture were two chairs and a small gatelegged table set before the stone fireplace, where a merry blaze crackled. The table was already laden with dishes and it was set with two places. Eve’s eyes flew to the landlord. He beamed at her and tapped his nose.

‘Mr Granby suggested a collation, so you need have no servants interrupting you. There’s meats, bread, pastries, fruit—everything you could wish.’ He pointed to a little door in the corner of the room. ‘That is a private stair, madam. Leads up to your maid’s room and down to the back hall, so even she can come and go to the kitchen for her dinner without disturbing you.’ He gave her a knowing wink and Eve felt her cheeks grow hot.

‘Thank you.’

With another beaming smile the landlord bowed himself out and shut the door carefully behind him. Martha was already bustling around, inspecting the room.

‘Very comfortable, Miss Eve. Everything just as it should be. And very clean, not a speck of dust. Shall I unpack your trunk, ma’am? Seems such a lot of work for just one night.’

‘Yes. No. That is, no.’ Eve tried to think of practical matters, but her brain did not want to work.

‘Then I’ll lay out your nightgown—’

‘No! No, leave it where it is, Martha. Go now. I shall call you if I need you again. Oh, Martha—’ she pulled a small bottle from her dressing case and handed it to the maid. ‘You never did dose your self with Glass’s Magnesia.’

‘No, ma’am, I’ll take it now, if you don’t mind. Thank you. That is, if you don’t want it yourself?’

Eve looked towards the table, where a decanter and two glasses stood in readiness for the coming meal. She felt in need of something more than medicine. ‘No, but you may pour me a glass of wine before you go.’

Eve watched the maid fill up one glass with blood-red wine before making her way to her own room. The little door closed behind her with a click and Eve was alone. But it was not the peace of the old room that enveloped Eve: it was a brittle, ice-cold fury.