Page 47 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“You danced with him at the ball hosted by the Earl of Brimsey and his wife,” he said, his tone one of accusation.
“And what if I did? I did not think it unusual for a woman to dance with the man she is betrothed to,” Catherine replied, taking up her shawl and gloves and tying the string of her bonnet under her chin.
She was tired of Rickard’s constant interference. As far as she knew, neither he nor her father was yet to discover anything to besmirch Ian’s name. Their opposition to the marriage was pure jealousy, arising from their own personal ambitions, and she had no intention of entertaining their objections.
“You should not marry him, Catherine,” Rickard said, but Catherine only waved her hand dismissively.
“Why not consider your own fortunes, Rickard, and let me consider mine,” she said, and before he could reply, she had hurried out of the door, slamming it loudly behind her.
A carriage was waiting at the front of the house, and she instructed the driver to make circuitous route along the side wall, pausing at the garden gate. “And then to where, my Lady?” he asked, and Catherine smiled.
“The home of the Baron Westwick,” she said, smiling to herself, as she settled back in the carriage, her adventure just beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Ifeared you would not come,” Ian said, throwing his arms around Catherine and kissing her.
There had been a slight delay in Jenny getting to the gate with her bags, Rickard asking questions of the servants, his suspicions evident.
“I am here now. That is all that matters, and we can leave at once, can we not?” Catherine said, as their lips parted.
“The carriage is waiting, all is prepared, we leave for Lancaster, and if we get a good start before our route is discovered then we can be in Gretna Green long before any follower catches us,” he said, hurrying her toward the waiting carriage.
It was exciting to think of such deception, and Catherine eagerly clambered inside as Ian followed. With a sigh of relief, they sat back, their hands clasped together, and Ian banged on the carriage roof for the driver to set off.
“How long will it take?” she asked, for Catherine had barely ever set foot outside of London.
“It will be many days’ travel, and not entirely comfortable, but we shall be together, and that is all that matters,” he replied, leaning over to kiss her, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into an embrace.
As the carriage left London, Catherine felt as though she were leaving all her troubles behind her. Her father would soon discover the truth, but by then, she and Ian would be far enough away for none of it to matter. She had escaped, and now she was in the arms of the man she loved, looking forward to the moment of marriage, a moment that would finally set her free.
“What beautiful country this is,” Catherine exclaimed, peering out of the carriage window.
They had long since left London behind, taking the road north through rolling pastures and farmland. They had passed through pretty villages, and a market town, the road now winding its way up a hill, commanding magnificent views for miles all around.
“You have not strayed far from London, have you?” Ian said, and Catherine shook her head.
“My life has been lived almost entirely in its environs, subjected to the concerns of the ton. I realize now there is so much more to see,” she replied.
“And we shall see it together, though I do not care much for the northern country,” he said, taking her by the hand.
They drove on for much of the afternoon, pausing occasionally for refreshment, until at last they arrived at inn, where other carriages were laid up for the night, and horses billeted in the stables.
“Are we to stay here?” she asked, and he nodded.
“If one leaves the confines of the capital, one must be prepared for a somewhat rougher way of life,” he said, opening the carriage door and helping her down.
The inn was a solidly built timber-framed building, with a sign swinging gently in the breeze. “The Punchbowl,I am sure it will be very pleasant,” she said, reading the sign.
“I am sure it will be adequate, and we shall leave first thing in the morning,” he said, beckoning her to follow him inside.
They made their way through a door and into a taproom, the far wall lined with barrels, and a counter in front behind which stood an elderly man who nodded to them.
“Is it a room you are wanting?” he asked, his broad country accent sounding strange to Catherine, who was used to the exact pronunciation of the ton.
“A room, yes,” Ian replied, and Catherine turned to him in surprise.
“Are we to share?” she whispered, and he smiled.
