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.
