Montcliffe Abbey
On the morning of Twelfth Night, two momentous things happened. First of all, Rummy declared Sir James would serve as the day’s “Lord of Misrule,” and the second occurred when Hugh surprised everyone. They’d had a huge breakfast feast provided in the large sitting room for all their guests while they exchanged a few personal gifts in private.
This had been Lucy’s favorite part of the holiday forever. And even though she was now an adult, she still woke up excited to see what the day would bring. A stunned silence filled the friendly chatter in the room when Hugh suddenly dropped to one knee at her feet and held out a tiny box that looked suspiciously like the one from the jeweler in Romford. Stunned, Lucy couldn’t speak for a moment, let alone breathe.
“Please,” Hugh whispered low. “Open it. Let me know you love me and you’re mine.”
Fear fluttered up from her chest, making her heart race and speech even more difficult to form. Finally, she took the box from his outstretched hand and opened it. Tears flowed immediately when Hugh took the emerald ring and gently placed in on the middle finger of her outstretched hand.
“You don’t have to promise me anything, Lucy. This ring belongs on your hand no matter what you decide.” Hugh stood and walked back to his table, oblivious to the loud reactions from the rest of the people in the room. Sir James and Rummy looked over-the-moon happy for her, but she was afraid to turn her head to see the reaction from her Aunt Grace. When she finally had the courage to face her aunt, her face was so pale, Lucy rushed to her side to comfort her.
That evening,Lucy let the lady’s maid help her put on her Goldilocks costume as companion to Hugh’s bear disguise. The floppy yellow braids were hot over top her already thick hair but she reasoned she could stand the discomfort for just one night. The minute she walked out of the door to find Hugh and the others, he was standing right there waiting for her.
She smiled broadly and was surprised when he roughly jerked her hand to him and ripped the emerald ring from her finger. When she gave out a cry of pain, the bear leaned close to her and spat out, “I suppose he’s made you his whore already in exchange for this?” With that, the man who no doubt was Silas Miller posing as the bear she’d expected to be Hugh jerked her along the hallway to an outside door to the garden.
Lucy took a deep breath and steeled herself for whatever would come next.
Hugh regrettedhis choice in costumes as soon as he put the giant bear’s head over top of his already heavy, furry costume. He was drenched in sweat just getting from his room to the drawing room below where he was going to meet Lucy and the others to go in to the masque Twelfth Night Ball up on the third level of the Abbey together.
When he met the others, there were: Grace as a witch, complete with a small cauldron; Hugh as a huntsman with his axe; Rummy as a Venetian nobleman; and Sir James costumed as his gondolieri; and Sir James’ mother, Maddie, dressed as Diana, with her bow and arrow. But no Lucy. Hugh was hit with sudden clarity. His sense of being followed, being spied on, all made sense now.
Rummy sent footmen running throughout the family quarters searching for Lucy, but Hugh knew they wouldn’t find her. Apparently, their landlord Miller had decided to claim his bride early. He allowed himself a few seconds of doubt before he knew in his heart Lucy had not gone willingly with the man.
Duncan was faster in coming to a conclusion than the rest of them. “Whoever has her wouldn’t risk these roads back to London in the dark. He must be keeping her at the Romford Inn. That’s the only place they could be.” He exchanged a look with Hugh. “We’ll ride in. To find out if he’s holding her there.”
Lord Rumsford insisted, “We’ll be right behind you in the carriage with as many armed outriders with guns we can muster. The poor girl is probably terrified. She’ll need a comfortable, private way to come back home.”
Lucy’s cutlip bled onto her handkerchief while she glared at the hateful Mr. Miller pacing back and forth in the room at the Romford Inn into which he’d forced her. She knew his agitation stemmed from the fact that he hadn’t planned beyond snatching her from the Abbey. He now obviously realized there was no way he could escape back to Kensington over snowy, rutted roads…in the dark.
He stopped suddenly as if he’d been struck by inspiration. He pointed a grubby finger at her and proclaimed, “You’re ruined now, you know. You’re as good a mine to do with as I wish. Since you’ve already probably crawled all over that high and mighty earl, I don’t want you whelping one of his brats and calling it my own. I think I’ll just put you up in one of my houses down in Seven Dials and use you whenever I’ve a notion to have you.”
She wondered idly if realized how ridiculous he looked playing the part of an evil villain dressed as a bear. But she’d learned early on not to say anything lest he decided to hit her again. She should be horrified at her situation, but somehow she was not worried in the least.
At a sudden sharp rap at the door, he gave her a brutal look as if she’d somehow conjured someone at the other side of the door to the cheapest room at the Romford Inn.
He chose to ignore whoever was demanding entrance. The second set of raps was infinitely harder and set the door to heaving against its hinges. Finally, an apparent human surge at the opposite side of the door finally flattened it off its hinges and a whole crowd of fairytale characters crowded in, surrounding the hapless bear. As each was trying to talk above the other, she advanced toward the newest bear who had led the charge. Sheopened her arms and he tugged off the heavy, furry head. He gathered her close while the other bear was marched out of the inn toward the local magistrate who was a close personal friend of Lord Rumsford’s.
Her bear simply stared in wonder before carefully helping stanch the flow of blood from her lower lip. “I’m going to kill that godforsaken excuse for a human being,” he insisted, and moved as if he was going to follow the angry, costumed crowd.
“No you’re not,” she said.
He drew himself up to his full height and demanded, “Why not?”
“Because we have better things to do, milord,” and she drew him down onto the lumpy bed for a long kiss.
After he came up for air, Hugh insisted, “You know, once you’re the Countess of Westfalia, I’m never going to let you leave Westmont without me.”
“I can’t imagine why I ever would, you great looby of a bear.”
- THE END -
15
DECEMBER, 1839, EPILOGUE
WESTMONT MANOR, ESSEX
Grace MacKenzie dandled the squirming next Earl of Westfalia on her knee and gave Duncan a cross look.
