The Alternative Bride 4

 

Chapter 4

 

“Jane, I...” said Gerard.

“Hush; I need to learn, without globes, or instruction manual, and it is a good opportunity when neither of us is in any mood but anger,” said Jane.

“Perhaps you are right,” said Gerard. “Ah, Jelves has the overnight valise. Thank you, Jelves.”

“That little slubberdegullion will be trouble if he can,” growled Jelves.

“He is of no account,” said Gerard.

They followed Danvers to his room, where that worthy left them. Jane opened the valise.

“You will want clean linen all the way down,” she said.

“Yes, but help me get undressed and to wash first,” said Gerard. “I am ashamed; I have soiled myself in front of you.”

“Yes, but you told me that this is what happens with a blow to the kidneys, so it is not your fault, not as if you had come home so drunk that you voided yourself from every part possible with vomit and other... bodily fluids.  My stepfather did so once, not long after Mama died, and I am afraid I sent his man to him, to deal with it. I did not recognise it then, but he was... amorous... towards me.”

“Scum,” said Gerard.

“It was only once and he was most punctilious in his behaviour ever after,” said Jane. “But it did not add to my feelings towards him. At least, not in a positive way. I... oh, my goodness! That’s... very different.”

“The pintle goes in the socket, as you might say,” said Gerard. “And I am not about to react to you being female, I still feel too sick to be amorous. So perhaps it was a good time to introduce you to my little friend.”

“I expect it will be fine, because you know what you are doing,” said Jane, doubtfully. “Let me use a cloth to wash all around....”

“Let me; I think it would be better,” said Gerard. “It might overcome my feeling nauseous, and then... oh, when the thing is happy it swells and points upwards.”

“Goodness!” said Jane, dubiously. “Is that why gentlemen rise for a lady, in imitation?”

“I really have no idea,” said Gerard. “Can you find me some clean drawers?  I have some Petershams in there for ease of travel, not really suitable for dining, but....”

“I will take no offence, Gerard,” said Jane. “And I will not change into an evening gown either.”

“Thank you,” said Gerard. “There, help me into my vest and coat, and I shall be ready to face the world.”

“You look as magnificent as always,” said Jane.

“I do appreciate you, you know,” said Gerard. “Many women would never let me forget that I lost a fight in a humiliating manner, never mind that it was by foul means.”

“Then they’d be fools,” said Jane. “Anyone could see you were the better boxer; you were faster, more considered in your blows, and able to dodge.”

“You noticed all that? I’m impressed,” said Gerard.

“I have been watching you since you first took an interest in Madelaine,” said Jane, blushing. “I have always admired you very much indeed.”

“Even though I can be bested by a trick?”

“Gerard, what I do not like is that you harp on about it. He was dishonourable. He is the one who is the laughing-stock for that, not you. I admire you for your kindness to a mouse, for your perfect manners in any situation, for your skill, when I have been Madelaine’s chaperone when you have driven out with her, or ridden with her in the park. I admire your skill at pugilism too, though that may be presumptuous as I know very little about it. I admire your looks, and your taste in dressing, I admire your decisiveness, and I admire your gentleness in the way that you are prepared to introduce me to the lurking monster you refer to as your little friend, and which looms a trifle scarily in my imagination.”

“Now I know you are entirely honest, for you admit to a secret disquiet,” said Gerard.  “I will teach you to find him a friendly monster, I assure you.”

“I shall rely on you to do so,” said Jane. “I expect you will expect me to pet him from time to time. Can he purr?”

“No, but I can,” said Gerard. “There now! You have woken him up when he thought he was concussed.”

“I hope he will not mind that I would really like to eat, and to lie down,” said Jane, timidly.

“It is my wish and his to please our lady,” said Gerard.

 

Gerard, Viscount Wintergreen, was a very different proposition to a man who has come off badly in a bout of pugilism, and the landlord of the Sugarloaf was swiftly intimidated into finding accommodation for his lordship and his lady, and their servants.

“There bain’t be a suite for two to be had, though, milord, with a local mill going on,” said mine host. “You and your wife will have to share a room.”

“Ah?  Well, I suppose it matters little; we are eloping,” said Gerard. “I found the woman I was supposed to marry in flagrante delicto with the best man, so I’ve run away with one of the bridesmaids.”

“My lord!” the innkeeper was shocked.

“A matter of dates, merely,” said Gerard, waving his quizzing glass.

“My lord is of age, so I cannot be accused of having abducted him,” ventured Jane.

“You see? Perfectly acceptable,” said Gerard. “But for pity’s sake, either exclude me and my gold from your establishment for ever more, or find me a private parlour, and have our trunks taken up to our rooms. Room.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the innkeeper, dubiously. The young lady did not seem to mind being eloped with, but nor was she any kind of Demi-Mondaine.

“It helps with spelling, in any case,” said Jane to Gerard, as the innkeeper shouted for someone called Mercy to arrange to have their luggage taken up to a room.

“You lost me there,” said Gerard.

Jane blushed.

“‘Accommodation,’” she said. “Double ‘c’, double ‘m’, double bed.”

“You know, that’s a very good mnemonic,” said Gerard, much struck. “I am sorry, though, I thought that if we pretended not to be married, you would get a room of your own, until you are ready for subduing my monster. However, we can put a bolster down the middle.”

“I doubt I’d notice if you and a dozen monsters danced in front of me; I’m so tired that if I wasn’t hungry again, I’d be asleep on my feet,” said Jane, after they had been shown into a private parlour, where the dancing fire was welcome in the chill evening. Jane had wrapped herself in a Norfolk shawl, in black and gold, and Gerard thought it became her very well.

“Will you mind if we stay here a few days?” asked Gerard. “I want to send out for someone to make you more suitable clothing than I wager Madelaine has bought. Winter is coming on, and it is more profound in the north than it is in London, which is a good three of Fahrenheit’s degrees warmer than the hinterlands, and often more than that to be found in the north.”

“I would like that, if you have enough blunt with you,” said Jane.

“There’s a bank here, I can write a draft on my bank in London,” said Gerard. “I won’t be sorry to rest my kidneys as well. I am very sore.”

“Of course, you must take as long as you need,” said Jane.

“It takes three or four days to be free of pain,” said Gerard. “Yes, I’ve succumbed to a blow of Jackson’s before now, in training. He shows us what we may expect if any of us set ourselves up against a professional.”

“It is as well to be realistic; he has done well by you to show you that,” said Jane. “I would like to learn more so I may appreciate your skill, but I have no desire to learn how to do it. I do not like pain.”

“Wise not to consider it, then,” said Gerard. “It is supposed to be manly to endure it. Personally, I wanted to be able to defend myself from footpads.”

“That makes perfect sense,” said Jane. “You may teach me how to use a swordstick, if you like; then I will not be helpless in such a situation.”

“What a good girl you are,” said Gerard. “I’ll show you some tricks to use bare handed as well, not to partake of the sport, but to help keep you safe. Though I am intending to be the one keeping you safe, you know.”

“But times will come when you are not there,” said Jane. “And Alice is a child, and I must protect her.”

“Quite so.”

 

 

The girl, Mercy, was plainly the innkeeper’s daughter, and she bobbed a curtsey and blushed, whispering, “We’ve a secret room if there’s likely to be pursuit, milord.”

“How kind of you, Mercy!” said Gerard, passing a gratuity. “I should not think that pursuit is likely, but I appreciate the thought.”

“We’re all pleased to see Mr. Whittington well bruised, milord,” said Mercy. “Ooh, he does have nasty ways, and his nips are painful.  And what a nasty trick to play you! He’s vindictive, though, milord, so look out for him.”

“I will, thank you,” said Gerard.

“Will you mind a dish of rabbit and onions? Only we weren’t expecting quality of your sort yet,” said Mercy.

“I like rabbit,” said Gerard.

 

The clear soup and cod in parsley sauce were removed with a hashed calf’s head, and the rabbit with onion duly made its appearance served with macaroni pudding, veal cutlets, lamb fried under fried parsley, beef-steak pie, and stewed pigeons with cabbage. The second course was a roast chicken, lobster, duckling, asparagus, peas, and more macaroni, with cheesecakes, mulberry cream and trifle, apricot open tart, and lemon cream.

“That was very satisfying,” said Jane. “They have done very well, I have heard that the harvests are poor and late.”

“The year has been poor,” said Gerard. “Many say that the sun has been obscured due to years of fighting Napoleon. However, that seems a little spurious to me.”

“As the war ended with Waterloo, it does seem unlikely,” agreed Jane.

“And one good outcome of that is that the inn is not full of soldiers,” said Gerard. “They have been billeted here for many years, and not a penny does the government pay.”

“That is wrong,” said Jane. “But I am glad not to be likely to run into soldiers at all.”

“My mouse roared very nicely at mine host about abducting me,” teased Gerard.

“Oh, I think your mouse roars better when she feels protective,” said Jane. “I should like to go to bed, now, if that does not inconvenience you.”

“I believe I may sit up for half an hour; I will try not to awaken you when I come up,” said Gerard.

“Oh, and you are giving me time to undress; thank you,” said Jane in some relief.

Gerard kissed her hand as he assisted her to rise from the table, and Jane flushed gently.

Alice helped her into her nightrail in the shared bedroom; and she was indeed asleep in hardly any time at all.

 

Gerard smoked a pipe by the fire. It was not a pleasure he took often, but it was calming, and the day had been rather eventful. He chuckled to recall Jane flooring young Whittington, and strolled into the tap-room, where that irritating youth was boasting of how he bested Winterheart Wintergreen.  Danvers, sat in a corner in the shadows, laughed sardonically.

“Yes, you beat Winterheart once you brought your horses into the ring as seconds and weapons. We all know Winterheart hates those who hurt horses so he was heavily handicapped. Another time, and I shouldn’t think he’ll assume that you’d behave like a gentleman. Be afraid, Whittington; they say Winterheart is a bad enemy to make.”

“I’m not afraid of him!” said Whittington.

“Then you’re as much a fool as you are a knave,” said Danvers. “I suspect that if you made a public apology to him here, you would get given a second chance for having the courage to do so.”

“He can whistle for that!” said Whittington.

This was when Gerard had stalked in.

“Whittington,” he said. “We must have another bout when you can be persuaded to fight like a man, not like a knave.  I am looking forward to it. Unless you do wish to apologise?”

The youth went a sickly colour and bolted from the bar.

“That’ll be a ‘no,’ then,” said Gerard.

There was general laughter.

“Reckon that’s the first time you’ve gone down, my lord, since you were a pup,” volunteered one worthy. “Aye, I know a man as knows what he’s doing, when only cheating will win.”

“Oh, I’ve gone down to Gentleman Jackson, he might be in his forties, but he’s still the best,” smiled Gerard. He took a pint with the men in the tap, as much to show that he felt no shame in his irregular defeat as anything else. Showing shy would have destroyed his reputation.

He told a tale or two of Jackson’s boxing club, and retired, well-pleased, that his reputation was intact. He went up to the room allotted, where Jane was making gentle sleeping noises which could not, by the strictest critic, be described as a snore.  He removed the stray lock of hair which was tickling her nose to make her blow it away with each breath, and regarded her by candle-light.

“You look ridiculously young,” he muttered. “Seventeen! Only five years between us, so not much, really. And you are very practical.”