Elopement of convenience chapter 1

 in which an heiress, avoiding an unwanted marriage, and an impoverished viscount make an agreement to elope together for good, practical, economic, and unromantic reasons. Of course a lot can happen on a journey to Gretna Green.

This arose from being asked by my editor how long it would take to get to Gretna from London as she wanted to ask 'whose Regency airoplane did you use' of a client whose heroine left a ball in London and was in Gretna by the morning. 

This also prompted me to collate and publish The [wannabe] Regency Miss's Guide to Real Life which is under proof at the moment, between Simon wrestling with the Dwarven king's beard. Describing it, that is.

Chapter 1

 

Laura made the trip to the lending library almost in a daze.  Choosing a book for a few last days’ escape before the nightmare became true; before she married Algernon, Lord Morecombe.

She hardly knew what books she was looking at. She attracted a number of more than interested looks; her long pale golden hair, held in plaits was of uncommon brightness without being at all the brassy shade which suggested the use of artifice. Her dark blue eyes were big in a face pale from worry and grief, and classical in profile.

“Excuse me,” the male voice behind her spoke, and Laura moved politely to one side, out of the way.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said.

“No, I beg yours ... wasn’t ... wasn’t looking for a book.  Was looking for you.”

His voice was slightly slurred and the sharp smell of fresh brandy was on him. Laura’s nose twitched and she looked up at the tall, well-knit figure of Simon, Lord Hesterley.  His eyes were as green as new leaves under impossibly long dark lashes and you could not really call his hair red, though his detractors did so.  Laura thought it was more a bright chestnut, the colour of a conker newly out of its case.

“Lord Hesterley, I think you are inebriated,” said Laura.

“Miss Charlesworth, I know I am inebriated,” said Simon. “Drunk as a wheelbarrow, in fact.  My situation demanded it. And I know your situation too, and as both are untenable I’ve a suggestion to make.”

“Oh?” said Laura, guardedly.

“You don’t want to marry Morecombe.  Fellow’s an oaf.  Unpleasant type, and fat. Not jolly-fat, mean-fat.”

“I have very little choice in the matter,” said Laura, bitterly. “All you say is true, and he makes me feel soiled when he looks at me.”

“Yes you do. You’re an heiress.  It ain’t dependent on your parents, either.  I just found out that my father left me without a penny and with the encumbrance of a mortgaged estate.  It’s why I’m drunk. Marry me instead.”

“I was going to say that I hardly know you, though I suppose almost anyone would be an improvement on Morecombe. But I’m a minor; and my parents would not give permission.  My father, my stepfather as he is, has an arrangement with Morecombe.”

“How much pin money do you carry with you?” he asked, bluntly.

She paled. Could he have guessed that she was wondering if she could somehow give the encroaching footman the slip, and take a stage coach somewhere – anywhere – and seek a post as a governess rather than marry that pig of a man?”

“I ... I do have a considerable sum on me,” she said, cautiously.

“How much is a considerable sum?” he asked, bluntly.

“Around four hundred pounds,” she said.

“Oho!  Running away, buying a whole new wardrobe and living quietly somewhere on eighty pounds a year or so, until you come of age?” he said.

“Goodness! I could do that, could I not?” said Laura, much struck.  “With one maid and a small cottage somewhere.  I also have much of my jewellery which I managed to secrete away, which could be sold at need because I have to have it available to wear.  I was actually considering applying as a governess with the money as a cushion until I got a job.  I would like to live a little better than eighty pounds a year affords, but I suppose I could not be seen to live above my means as a governess.”

“No, and you wouldn’t like above half the way some governesses are treated, either,” said Simon.  “But as you’ve the ready to run away, we can go to Gretna.  By Scottish marriage law, you only need to be over sixteen and willing to declare in public that you are married. I have a phaeton and four waiting for me, and we can get clothing at the first town we find.  We can claim to have lost our luggage in an accident ... muddy up the equipage and ourselves, as though we turned over.  It’d occasion less talk that way, there are enough accidents on the highway, after all.”

Laura blinked, assimilating this. As he said, accidents on the coaching roads, and on lesser roads too, were common enough. A carriage rounding a village pond on a green, with intent of showing off to yokels might meet with a recalcitrant sow who refused to leave a sunny wallow in the ruts on the road and then, luggage in the pond became almost inevitable.  And that was just one idea.

“I ... actually, I think that’s a brilliant idea,” said Laura. “So long as we have an agreement that you won’t take my inheritance as soon as we are married and abandon me somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Simon was shocked. “I am not a cur like Morecombe!”

“No, of course not; I apologise. I haven’t seen much of any decent men lately,” said Laura.  “We should not head out on the Great North Road, however, or at least, not right away.  We should go east or west and go by less well-known routes. We can buy a copy of Carey’s Itinerary, showing all the coaching roads, when we get clothes and plan a route. I found a copy in our library, but dared not take it. It is a bulky book.”

“That’s a yes, then? You splendid girl, and sharp as a fox too,” said Simon.

“What’s more we should also discuss anywhere where you might be known, and any lands you own to avoid them,” said Laura.  “And we need a good story to tell. I am not going to pass as your sister, you know; we don’t look in the least bit alike.”

“No, indeed, and if you did look like you could be my sister it would be a bit ... well, I’d feel uncomfortable about it,” said Simon. “I thought we should be married already.  I’m afraid it would be too risky, though, to go back for your maid.”

“My maid spies on me; she is in the employ of my parents. She owes her allegiance to the one able to vail her well enough for every snippet of information. Like my footman, Cocksedge.”

“Friday-faced fellow in maroon livery? I thought I might, er, reason with him before we left and deposit him on a constable as beastly drunk.”

She gave a gurgle of mirth, occasioning a stern look from the librarian.

“He’s a dissenter and doesn’t drink,” she said.

“Then all the more shame on him for aiding and abetting cruelty to you, my dear Miss Charlesworth,” said Simon.  “Don’t think I didn’t see the bruise on your arm that you pulled down your sleeve to cover. And you move stiffly too.  If I hit him hard enough and souse him well with brandy, however, what constable is going to believe he is sober?”

“You, sir, are a rogue,” said Laura, severely. She scorned to answer his surmises about her bruises.  “Perhaps we could go to the foundling hospital for a maid for me?”

“It’s an idea.  Hmm are you going to turn out to be the sort of female who will foist stray cats, dogs and climbing boys on me?”

“If you are the kind of man I want to marry, then you will accept them.  My real Papa would have wanted me to do what I can for those less fortunate than myself; the man who makes me call him ‘Papa’ is only my step-father, and he married Mama for a combination of my grandfather’s money and my father’s prize money.  And it irks him that Grandpapa and Papa between them tied it up in a trust for me and I cannot touch the capital until I marry or attain the age of five-and-twenty, so it would have been a more frugal living without being a governess as well, you see.”

“I stand corrected; but on the other hand you could then have legally married at twenty-one, had you met someone.”

“True.  I think your plan is better, though, and it is more fun to have an adventure with someone to share it with, which is how I plan to look on this.  Anything to escape Lord Morecombe, who has agreed to split my fortune with my stepfather.”

“I see,” said Simon. “How much are you worth, as a matter of interest?”

“Something around six thousand a year,” said Laura. “I do not see most of the interest, I assure you!”

He whistled a low whistle.

“Sir! There are people trying to read!” expostulated the librarian.

“No, really? I thought they were learning the cotillion,” said Simon. “Yes, very well, I apologise for making less noise than you did by shouting at me.”

Laura giggled.

“You will get us thrown out, and then we cannot plot,” she said.

“You could bribe him,” said Simon.  “Anyway, we have mostly finished plotting; we are to be a young married couple, with a foundling, and my groom, and we will get enough luggage to be respectable.”

“Though I am concerned that your phaeton is somewhat distinctive,” said Laura.  “I would recognise it, and I have no very great knowledge of sporting vehicles.  Moreover, it is not inconceivable that the journey to Scotland might occasion inclement weather, and a phaeton is very exposed. We should sell it and buy something unremarkable with a roof, or at least a hood.”

“We should, but it was a gift from my father, and though he probably could not really afford it, I ...” Simon looked at her appealingly.

“I would feel the same about a gift from my father, I think.  Where do you have lands?”

“I have some land near Aylesbury; so we should go east.”

“Do you trust your valet?”

“With my life, but he’s not with me. I trust my groom, too, and he is.”

“Then this is not a problem.  I assumed you had a groom with you, to walk your high-bred team; you might drive with him to a livery stable and purchase an unremarkable carriage for us and an unremarkable team for him, which he will hitch to the phaeton and find a lady friend to drive out on the Great North Road.  Before going, he might give a message to your valet to take the mail and meet you with luggage in ... oh, Chelmsford.  A man needs more tailoring so if you have your clothes, we can get on our way quicker. I can sit and sew in the coach to make what I buy fit better and look more fashionable. When we get to Chelmsford we will say our luggage and other servants are following, and you will have written to your valet that he is to apologise when he arrives, saying that the second coach overturned so he came on with most of our luggage.  If mine host hears that, he will lose all interest in us.”

“You are clever,” said Simon.  “Grimshaw will be up for the dash for Gretna, with a showy team of blacks, and Tovey will be up for the deception.  Only ... I’ve no ready cash to make the purchases.”

Laura sighed.

It almost went against the gain to give away her hard-saved cash, but all she knew of Hesterley was that he was a punctilious gentleman in any dealings, so he was not about to run off with her money. She slipped him some large bills.

“I would hope you will have change, but it is better to have more than you need,” she said.

“I know, and Grimshaw can sell the team once he returns to Aylesbury,” said Simon.  “Being the canny man he is, he might even make a profit on them.”

Laura chuckled.

“Well, I am not concerned about that, but as I’ve given you half my savings, I can hope that you get a good deal.  I will come out of the library in half an hour; I hope you will be ready by then?”

“Make it three-quarters,” said Simon.

Laura nodded, and went back to perusing books with more interest now that there was a chance of escape.  She waited the prescribed time, made herself comfortable in the closet set aside for clients for that purpose, undertook some modifications to her garments and tripped out of the library without having taken any books.   She did not, after all, know when she might return them.

 

When she came out, she recognised Hesterley’s horses.  She had had them pointed out to her before, and had much admired the four black horses, short steppers and proud ears, two of them sporting feathers on their fetlocks suggestive of a Frisian heritage.  They were the wheelers, who could act as brakes if need be, and their heavy haunches from the Frisian stock an advantage in this.  Laura suspected that they might not have the top speed of some teams, but they probably had more stamina, and hence an ability to go further in a day than a team which was theoretically faster. They were hitched to a landaulet, smaller and lighter than a landau, but only able to seat four passengers and the coachman, though the boot might be used as an uncomfortable perch if need be.

“Did you deal with Cocksedge?” she asked Simon. “My footman,” she added in explanation.

“Yes, I got Grimshaw to drive him to a constable claiming that the fellow reeled out in front of him and collapsed in liquor,” said Simon cheerfully.  “I hope you like this little demi-landau; it was on sale for thirty guineas, so I was quick to purchase is.  The same seller had horses to shift, so Grimshaw is now playing the game of gypsies to darken four unremarkable bays to make them more memorable blacks.  He was cackling in glee, so I suspect he is going to enjoy himself.  I ... er, I gave him some of your money to be able to cut a dash with his lady friend, as a better decoy.  I hope I did right?  I got the four for eighty pounds.”

“You did well,” said Laura, climbing up beside him. “You should hold on to the change, for paying bills at inns.”

“Thank you.  Not that I mind sharing a seat with you, but shouldn’t you be inside?”

“Possibly, but I would rather sit and talk to you, if you don’t mind. The seat is well sprung, I assume for the former owner to drive himself or herself.  And I should not be easily recognised.  I have taken the trimming off my bonnet so it is quite plain, and with a deep poke my face is shadowed. I had also prepared this pelisse ahead of time and tacked a trim down the front and around the hem which I have removed, so it is a plain and unremarkable hair-brown garment innocent of the cerulean blue frogging and piping which made it distinctive and so typically a coat for a blonde.  The shawl I wore over it is folded and stowed in my reticule, being also chosen to be easily recognisable for when a description is given.”

“You are a most accomplished plotter,” said Simon. “I appear to have been abducted by an expert.”

She laughed.

“You are a most complete hand, my lord!  I think we are abducting each other.”

“Something like that,” said Hesterley.  “We should reach Chelmsford in a couple of hours; well, three, anyway, so we have time to shop before seeking out an inn so you might arrive with some luggage at least.”

“A good idea,” Laura nodded approval. “Oh!  Do stop!”

Hesterley stopped the team as Laura jumped down and ran over to a bare-footed flower seller.  The girl was pale, her hair almost white; Simon thought whimsically that she looked like a reflection of Laura which had had all the colour leeched out.  Laura spoke seriously to the child, who went running off. Laura she ran back to the landaulet.

“If you will take the horses round the block, my lord, Nellie and I will be ready to get in when you return and I will put the hood up; I sent her to get another better dress and shoes and stockings, I gave her the money.”

“You may not see it again,” said Simon cynically.

“Nellie is a good honest girl,” said Laura. “I’ve been wanting to help her for a while; she has a drunkard of a father, and she’s fighting having him put her to work as a prostitute.  She jumped at being my maid, and it saves going to the foundling hospital.”

“Very well; I will be back shortly,” said Hesterley, grateful that she did not want him to keep his horses standing. 

As he came back round, he confessed that he was surprised to see Nellie there, and a small boy of about ten. He looked enough like Nellie to be related, and Simon thought he looked delicate.

“Nicky is Nellie’s little brother and he’s going to be our tiger,” said Laura. “You hop up beside Lord Hesterley, Nicky, and tell him all about how good you are with horses.”

“Yes’m,” said Nicky, leaping up beside Simon as Laura got into the body of the coach and drew up the concertina of leather to enclose her and her maid in privacy, with the blinds drawn, to allow Nellie to put on a new gown and shoes and stockings.

Simon reflected that even if the boy could do no more than walk the nags, it would help. He had no intention of letting a sickly child die on him if he could help it; Miss Laura Charlesworth had been serious about foisting foundlings on him. He shrugged. The boy had intelligent eyes, which might take him further than physical stamina.