Page 27 of Too Wylde To Tame
Poachers.It was not uncommon. They abounded everywhere in the countryside, especially in such lean times. And with his brother out in such early hours, it was a perfectly logical assumption for anyone to make that he might have been felled by a stray shot, or even intentionally if he were to be robbed in the process.
Carefully, Jameson dismounted. Moving as silently as possible, he pulled the pistol he carried while traveling from his coat. It was primed and ready as the road was beyond dangerous for a person traveling alone. Now he just counted himself fortunate to be prepared for this unexpected stroke of luck. Indeed, it was as if fate herself was smiling on him by leading his brother directly into his path when he was armed and there were no witnesses about.
Dropping to his knees, steadying his hands on a stump, he took aim. It was just patience now… patience to wait until he was close enough. Close enough for the shot to kill.
* * *
Frederick had set out early.After getting Charity to her room, he’d seen to his own morning toilette rather than let his valet attend him. It hardly mattered how well he was turned out when he intended to ride hard for Rochester. By the time he returned to Randford House, he’d be covered in mud and dirt regardless.After dressing, he’d left the house and by dawn had been at the stables readying his mount for a hard day’s journey. He would change horses in Rochester, of course, leaving his beloved Balthazar behind. Given that the last few days had been so stressful for the animal, he didn’t mind so much giving him a long rest at the stables in town before having him brought back at a more leisurely pace than he could presently afford.
With hard riding, he could be in Tilbury in three hours and take the ferry to Gravesend. From there it was only another hour to Rochester, but he would be at mercy of the archbishop. Such a meeting could be complicated—depending upon the man’s schedule. But if all went well, he’d be on the road back to Randford House and Charity before noon. It was possible that he might even managed to return in time for dinner.
Logically, he understood that his need for haste was irrational. But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that if things didn’t happen quickly, something—likely his brother—would intervene. Another accident, another lying and scheming plot to keep them apart. Whatever it was that Jameson had to do, Frederick was certain that he would do it or at the very least attempt it. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his brother would be utterly ruthless and without any scruples at all when it came to getting his way. Having reconciled himself to the fact that Jameson would literally see him dead in order to have unfettered access to the family fortunes, there was no anger in him. Sadness, perhaps, and a sense of relief, in some ways. His brother had done the unforgivable, leaving Frederick with only one option— to finally cut him out of his life altogether.
Blood being thicker than water was all well and good as a platitude. It took on a different meaning altogether when it was your own kin trying to spill your blood for personal gain. The family he would have going forward was the one he would build with Charity. Eventually, Lady Marguerite would accept him and see him for his own worth rather than the reputation of the remainder of his relations. Randford had already proven an impressive ally, as had Cordelia and even Felicity. Perhaps it took more than blood to make one family.
He was still musing over those ideas as he crossed the field, taking the shortcut to the main road between Chelmsford and Tilbury. It would take more than an hour off the journey and was a fairly well worn path. But as he neared the tree line at the far side, Frederick felt a frisson of awareness.
The hair on the nape of his neck rose and a prickling sense of unease snaked through him. Something was very wrong. Apparently, Balthazar felt it too. The horse shied. He didn’t rear, but he refused to go forward, dancing sideways along the path.
“Easy, boy. Easy.” He leaned down in the saddle to give the horse a reassuring pat on its neck, stroking gently. It was that movement, that slight shifting of his position, which likely saved his life. The burn of the pistol ball grazing his shoulder was unmistakable as was the report from the gun echoing over the sleeping landscape.
He looked up, and through the trees, he caught sight of a familiar yellow waistcoat. There was only one man in all of London who had a garment in that particular hue. His brother, Jameson, had already taken one shot at him and was likely reloading to finish him off.
Frederick didn’t hesitate. He whirled Balthazar around and nudged him sharply with his knees, setting him to a gallop. In the open, with no cover, he would be an easy target, so he stayed as close to the tree line as possible. It gave him some cover and would force Jameson out of hiding if he intended to take aim again. But speed was his best chance. Getting enough distance between himself and his brother so that he would have no chance of getting off another shot was the only option for survival. And he had a great deal to live for.
NINETEEN
“I wish you’d reconsider and have a proper wedding,” Marguerite fussed. “Your parents would have time to travel here and could be in attendance! Surely they should see their last daughter have an actual wedding?”
“Aunt Marguerite, the truth of the matter is that you are far more sentimental about all this than mother or father ever have been. They despaired of ever having us married off. They no longer care how we do it so long as it is done,” Charity said with utter detachment.
“You cannot mean that!”
Charity looked at her aunt and with a bluntness that was uncharacteristic of their normal interactions, she explained, “If mother were here, she would lament that I am at least two stone heavier than I ought to be. That the gown would be far more flattering if there was less of me to put in it. Then she would tell me what was wrong with my hair. That my posture is not what it ought to be, but my behavior has never been, so it stands to reason—well, you know how it would go. And Father would be no better. He’d just walk around muttering to himself about how relieved he is that some poor man was finally foolish enough to take me off his hands.”
Marguerite had the good grace to blush a bit as she looked down at her hands. “They can be quite critical, my dear, but they do love you both very much.”
“Oh, I’m certain they do. I just do not think they like us very well… or possibly at all. At least they do not like me. Felicity was much quieter and therefore less offensive,” Charity observed quietly. “And it’s fine. Really. I am happy to have a small group of people who truly wish us well—who wish us happiness. With you, my sister, my cousins and the spouses who now accompany two of them—that is enough.”
Marguerite nodded. “Of course, it is. And he is lucky… that man is lucky to have you. Do not let anyone ever tell you otherwise. The two of you enter this match on equal footing—not as one person beholden to another. That is no way to start a marriage.”
“Careful. You are beginning to sound like a reformer!”
Marguerite’s lips firmed at that teasing comment. “Choose which of your gowns will be your wedding gown. We haven’t the time to have anything new made but we can certainly dress up something you already have to make it more the thing.”
Charity glanced down at the ring Frederick had presented her. It still felt strange to her, heavy on her hand in a way that made her constantly aware of it. And yet, that was’t unpleasant to her. She liked the reminder of him, of what their future together might be. “The emerald green silk I think. I was wearing it the night we met. We can take the embroidered ribbon with seed pearls from that wretched ivory ballgown that makes me look pale as death and trim the bodice and cuffs with it. Don’t you think? Perhaps we can fashion a fichu to make it modest enough for the church?”
“It’ll be perfect. And you will wear my pearl drop earrings. They will set it off perfectly.”
Charity was left sitting there while Marguerite sent her maid to gather the gowns that Charity had selected. The poor woman would be sewing well into the night, but she didn’t seem to mind. There was something about weddings, after all. They were an exciting and joyful time for everyone. It was for her, as well. But Charity could not quiet the little voice inside her mind that kept whispering something was wrong. Was it just her nerves? It had to be, surely. There was no other logical explanation for it.
When Marguerite exited the room, Cordelia entered. “For a young woman who has just chosen her wedding gown, you appear to be quite glum. And I am quite certain it isn’t doubts or second thoughts,” her cousin stated, her voice tinged with concern.
There were few people that she would admit such things to, but Delia was her greatest confidante. Even more so than her own twin sister. Of course, Felicity was terribly busy. She still had a house full of guests and a house party to hostess. She could hardly be there to listen to Charity’s irrational fears with such a momentous task before her. “Perhaps we should have had the banns read and waited. I do not like that he had to hurry off to Rochester alone. I— it’s silly, I suppose—but I can’t help but feel like something awful will happen and that all my hopes will be dashed.”
Cordelia moved closer, taking her hands. “It’s only natural to be nervous. And to prepare yourself for the worst while hoping for the best. We’ve been doing so at the dawn of every social season for the past several years. And each time, something horrible did happen. At worst we were humiliated publicly and at best we sat—ignored and invisible—on the edge of every ballroom. We were passed over again and again in favor of girls who were prettier, thinner, smarter, less smart, more talkative, or less talkative. They were always more of less of something than any of us were—and that only affirmed our belief that good things would never come to us.”
Charity dropped her chin to her chest and let out a slightly watery chuckle. She would not cry. “Delia, your wisdom and insight are invaluable to me. Whatever will I do when I do not have you by my side every day?”
