With one last look at her mother, Bethie allowed him to guide her out the door and back to the wagon. Numb, she said nothing as he lifted her into the seat, nothing as they rolled down the rutted road back toward Harrisburg. But when they rounded the bend and were out of sight of the cabin, Nicholas reined the horses to a stop and took her into his arms.
Then Bethie let the tears come.
***
They arrived in Philadelphia late one afternoon in September when the first hint of autumn was in the air. Bethie gaped in amazement as Nicholas drew the carriage to a stop before an inn under the sign of The Three Crowns.
“You cannae mean to stay here!”
He lifted her and Isabelle to the ground. “Aye, I do.”
He led her up the stone steps and through the door. Inside, stylishly attired gentlemen sat around polished tables eating, drinking, talking, smoking. A few looked over their shoulders toward the door at her and Nicholas. She felt out of place in her gown of plain blue linen—no matter that it was the finest gown she’d ever worn.
A tall, older woman walked toward them, dressed in a gown that shimmered and dripped with lace. “Master Kenleigh! It’s been...”
“At least seven years, madam.” He strode forward, took the woman’s hand, bent to kiss it. “I see those years have in no way withered your beauty.”
“It’s a good thing you look like your father, or I’d not have recognized you.” She look him up and down, a frown on her face.
“Are you criticizing my tailor, madam?” Nicholas gestured toward his linsey-woolsey shirt, leather breeches, and beaded moccasins with a look of feigned insult on his handsome face.
Bethie thought him ruggedly handsome, the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But clearly this woman did not. “I suspect, Master Kenleigh, that you’ve not seen a tailor in seven years either.”
Nicholas smiled, chuckled. “How right you are, Matilda, dear.”
Bethie watched them speak amicably, realized she was seeing yet another side of Nicholas she’d not known existed. Who was this man who spoke so easily with a woman who ought to have been far above his station? Who was he that he could afford to stay here? Surely the innkeeper didn’t take payment in pelts!
“Matilda, I’d like to introduce my wife, Elspeth.”
“Your wife?” Matilda’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she took Bethie’s work-roughened hand between her silky-smooth ones, smiled. “Felicitations are in order, Master Kenleigh. Welcome to The Three Crowns, my dear. We shall do all we can to keep you comfortable.”
“Thank you, madam.” Bethie didn’t know whether she should curtsy or what she should do. And how long was Nicholas going to keep up this lie about her being his wife? They were no longer in the wilderness among strangers. They were in Philadelphia among people who knew him, who knew his family.
Nicholas seemed to realize she felt uncomfortable. “Matilda, we’ve traveled a long way, and I would see my wife and daughter quickly settled. If you would be so kind, I’ll take your best room with a cradle for Isabelle. Please send up some supper and a bottle of good wine when you can. After supper, I think my wife would like a hot bath.”
“I can’t give you my best room, as it’s already taken. But I’ve another that will do nicely.” The woman turned, gave instructions to an eager lad of about fourteen. “I’ll show you upstairs.”
Nicholas offered Bethie his arm, and the two of them followed Matilda up the stairs and down a hallway to a corner room.
Matilda unlocked the door, handed Nicholas a large, brass key. “Supper will be up soon. A cradle is already on its way. Ring the bell if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Matilda. I can see we’re in good hands, as always.”
Bethie stepped through the doorway, felt as if she’d stepped into a dream. The room was much larger than her cabin. The bedstead itself was enormous, with a coverlet so lacy it might have been a lady’s gown. There was a polished table, chairs covered with rich, embroidered cloth, and in the corner a tall mirror.
She felt dizzy, almost sick. All these months she’d known there were things about him that didn’t make sense, but now it all came together. His fine speech. His reading. His bottomless purse. He was no trapper. He was no soldier, nor even an officer.
Feeling she’d been deceived, she turned to face him. “Whoareyou?”
***
Nicholas sat below in the public rooms, his third—or was it his fourth?—brandy almost gone, feeling like an ass. He ought to have realized that bringing Bethie here would make her feel uncomfortable—and lead her to demand an explanation. But he had stupidly assumed that a short answer would be enough and that, in the end, she might be pleased to learn that the man who wanted to marry her—the man who had already claimed her as his wife before the entire world—was wealthy beyond her imagining.
She had listened while he’d listed the properties he would inherit in England and Virginia and told her of Kenleigh Shipyards, where for three generations his family had built ships for the Royal Navy and merchant marine. Then she’d flown into a rage, tears streaming down her face.
“You misled me, Nicholas Kenleigh! You let me believe you were a trapper, then perhaps a soldier who’d been kidnapped by Indians and then fled the war. But none of it was the truth!”
“Every bit of it was the truth!”
