Page 162 of The Ladies Least Likely
“It broke her to bits when he left her, but she had some moments of happiness in her life. I don’t know if she’d have had a minute of that, had she gone with the young lord. He never returned for her while she lived, did he? She was just a lark to him. He couldn’t have loved her true.”
Amaranthe bit her lip to keep from blurting anything that would not, in the end, prove a solace. Beatrice believed she had done right and had come to terms with it. The proof had disappeared, and Mal wanted to go on that way.
And possibly he didn’t believe the proof, because Amaranthe had produced it.
“Will you marry him, then?” Bea asked after they had stretched another set of linens to dry and the sun wheeled high above the yard behind the inn.
Amaranthe ducked her head and busied herself draping pillowcases over the bushes. It was a good day for drying, the spring sun high and warm, but the flush in her face was not due to sunshine.
“We’ve not settled anything.”
Of course he didn’t want to marry her, now that he’d had time to consider. Now that he’d seen her roots, her humble past, knew how Reuben’s treatment had soiled her. He’d only proposed marriage because that man from the Middle Temple advised him to marry. The moment she’d trapped him into it, creating a ruse to delude Reuben, he’d seen the folly of his ways.
And now his situation had changed. He was likely to win guardianship of the ducal children, and that responsibility would prove his steadiness to the Benchers. He’d be called to the bar with or without a clever wife.
“But you want to.” Bea snapped a sheet and the white linen leapt through the air, shading her for a moment from the sun. “Marry him, that is.”
Amaranthe didn’t answer, but her heart ached with a truth she didn’t dare say aloud. Oh, yes, she wanted to marry Malden Grey. He had won her completely, heart and soul. She was ready to change her entire life, give up her many subterfuges for him, and he might have already moved on. The thought cleaved her like a sword, leaving her gasping. He might decide she was not the wife for him after all, and she would be left desolate, loving him her whole life, hopeless and alone.
Horse hooves clattered in the coaching yard, but without the creak of a wheeled vehicle or the blowing of a horn announcing the arrival of a coach. That meant a traveler on horseback, perhaps a wealthy one. Bea wiped her hands on her apron and straightened her cap, heading toward the covered passage that led from the back gardens to the innyard. Amaranthe dawdled, feeding another sheet into the wringer, when she heard Bea exclaim.
“Mr. Illingworth!”
Joseph, here? Amaranthe dropped the sheet, picked up her skirts, and pelted through the passage. Joseph swung down from a hired horse, his coat dusty from the road, his boots dull with dirt, his expression worn and grim.
“Joseph! What’s happened? Where is Miss Pettigrew?”
“Miss Pettigrew!” He spat onto the cobbles, and the horse shied and snorted as the ostler came forward to take it by the bridle. “Miss Pettigrew,” he said with a sneer, “is on her way to the Scottish border, to Gretna Green I don’t doubt, in the company of Viktor Vierling.”
“Captain Vierling? Mal’s friend? Why?” Amaranthe cried in bewilderment.
“Why do you think?” Joseph shouted. “She’s in love with him! The whole time I was courting her, she was letting him dangle after her. He came after us on the road and walked into the chapel where I was waiting to say our vows.” He strodeangrily toward the common room of the inn, and Amaranthe hurried after him.
“Her family doesn’t approve, of course. A Hessian? A military man, when they are people of peace? So she’s gone with him to Gretna Green, and I’m the fool left at the altar in my best coat with all that money spent on a special license.”
“You were in the chapel?” Amaranthe echoed. “You were to marry, and I wasn’t there?”
Joseph didn’t seem to hear her, nor notice how her steps checked as he strode into the coffee room. “Your Littlejohn will serve spirits at this hour, won’t he? I mean to drink my troubles away.” He looked around. “Where’s Grey?”
Amaranthe pressed her hands to her cheeks. She felt like screaming. First, Mal was a duke but wouldn’t tell anyone, and she’d said she would marry him when she couldn’t, and now her brother had been left at the altar by a woman he thought an angel come to earth.
“Mal—Mr. Grey went back to London to see to the suit about his guardianship. There’s been a new development.”
Joseph marched to the bar and pounded on the counter to draw someone’s attention. “I want to return to London as well,” he said. “As soon as possible. I never want to set foot in Gloucestershire again, or anywhere near it.”
“Of course,” Amaranthe said, sweeping her own concerns aside. She had always done so for Joseph. Her life had always centered around Joseph, from birth, following the example of their parents. They were kind to Amaranthe, but Joseph was their son and the rock they would look to in their old age.
Their father had included Amaranthe in lessons so she might be a companion to Joseph and a help in his work someday. Their mother had planned meals and outings and holidays around what Joseph wanted, and Amaranthe had learned to do the same. He was the elder, but she looked out for him. She had noidea how to heal a broken heart, but whatever he asked of her, she would do.
Her parents hadn’t lived to see their pride and faith in their son proven, or to have him as the prop of their old age. It was her task to help him become the man he was meant to be.
“We can leave on the next stagecoach, if you wish it,” she said dully. Never mind that Joseph hadn’t written to tell her he was to marry, much less invite her to the ceremony. She would let him explain his reasons later, when he had his temper on a leash. At least they were returning to London, and Mal. Though she wasn’t certain if Mal wanted to see her, either, considering she was the bearer of a secret he didn’t want known.
Their lives had been so quiet, mere weeks ago. Steady and soothing, just as Amaranthe liked. Now love had swept through and turned them both upside down, shaking away their serenity, shattering them in pieces. And neither of them would be the same again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bea insisted they stay the night at the Green Man so she could cook them a farewell dinner, and that meant Amaranthe had a day to follow up on her last question. She slipped away in late afternoon with her woolen cloak, her walking boots, and the duchess’s plainest traveling gown. She told Joseph and the Littlejohns she simply wanted to explore, which resulted in Bea pressing a pocket map of Bristol upon her. A quick consultation told her to continue along Old Market to Castle Street and past the old Norman keep. At St. Nicholas she would find the Bridge to cross the River Avon, and from there she need only stay due south on Redcliffe Street to find the church she sought.
