“The roads are so dangerous at night. When I sold flowers in town, I made sure to be off the streets by seven. I tried to be about my business during the daylight. Highwaymen are out there. Thieves and murderers prowl in the dark. You could be hurt.”
“Theodosia, I know your stories, but rest assured, I’ll not be alone. Bex will be with me. He’ll take care of me. But, will you help?”
“Yes, of course. We’ll even leave after you, so people think that you have left with us.”
Unable to stand falsehoods, Ester shook her head. “I don’t want you saying anything that is untrue. I can’t have you lying for me.”
“Ester, I won’t lie, but I can’t stop people from assuming you left with close friends.” Theodosia smoothed her skirt over her stomach, fluffing the delicate pleats in her bodice. “Why five after midnight?”
“Because dreams and fairy tales last until then. If Bex arrives after midnight, then I know this is true. Our marriage is meant to be.”
Theodosia rose slowly then linked arms with Ester. “Well, if the mysterious actor can keep this smile on your face, then he’ll do right by you. I haven’t seen you smiling so much since my wedding breakfast last year.”
Ester put her hands to her cheeks. Yes, she was smiling, big and wide, thinking of Bex coming for her. She had doubts about many of the things Theodosia and Fitzwilliam-Cecil had said, but not about their care for her. If Bex appeared at five after midnight, she’d never doubt that they could be happy.
That was if Bex arrived and proved this wasn’t a dream.
…
Arthur took a long breath as he leaned against the door of the stable, watching Jonesy prepare a second horse to harness to the phaeton he’d rented. The small carriage with four wheels and a roof should provide his bride the comfort they needed to make the long journey to Scotland, much better than his gig.
The mews was close to his Cheapside flat, so he was able to pack a bag and his longhand pages for the script toAntony and Cleopatrafor this unexpected trip.
Away from the noise of the cellar and the harangues of Phineas, he sifted through his decision to take a bride after one meeting. Though given to taking the riskier path, he typically wasn’t a rash person. He prided himself on being methodical and thoughtful. The critics said it added depth to his portrayals, but it was also how Arthur lived. A snap decision to marry Miss Croome and elope tonight—it was uncharacteristic.
A loud whine and a slamming of a gate stirred Arthur from his doubts. He had to make it to Nineteen Fournier on time. He’d made a promise and wasn’t one to go back on his word, even if it cost him everything. The promise to a dying mother that he’d always do what was right, and the same to a father, the vicar of their Liverpool parish, who had perished a month later, were always top of mind. Though their proper names hadn’t left his tongue in years, these promises, like the ones he’d make to Miss Croome, were his bond.
“Not much longer, Mr. Bex,” Jonesy said as he led a beautiful pewter horse from a pen and into place leading his team. Jonesy was a boy of thirteen or fourteen with deep red freckles and an easy manner. When Arthur had learned the young man had been abandoned and lived at the stables, he was determined to help him, tipping him well, seeing about him. No one should be on their own at such a young age, not like Arthur.
“Trying to hurry, Mr. Bex.” The boy’s scarlet hair fell forward, covering his eyes as he mumbled more words through the cleft in his lip. “In a hurry to leave at this time of night. Family problems?”
“No, Jonesy. I don’t have a family, but I might soon.”
The young fellow looked up. “You a good one, Mr. Bex. Jonesy will be happy you not alone no more.”
Alone no more? The boy was concerned for Arthur. That’s why he liked him, and that sentiment, alone no more…maybe that’s why Arthur had agreed to elope. Unlike the countess, Miss Croome was shy. She wouldn’t seek headlines or gossip. She seemed genuine in wanting to marry him. There was no talk of fortunes, or income, or invitations he should seek—none of that. He knew it wasn’t because she wasn’t aware of these things. From the cut of her stylish clothes, she was used to fine things. She simply didn’t seem to care. That was refreshing.
And what a figure she cut in those clothes. Arthur strove to be an honorable man, but he was still a man. Miss Croome possessed a lovely bosom any husband would take pride in, a small waist worthy to take hold of, and a backside to admire and take a second or third look at. Her face was one of beauty—pretty eyes, generous lips. Her knowledge of Shakespeare rivaled his own—that was very intriguing to his soul. He’d never been drawn to someone outside of his race before, but he’d never met someone like Ester Croome.
“What is she like?”
“What, Jonesy?”
“Family begins with a woman. Jonesy knows that.”
How should he describe her aloud? “She’s pretty and has a sense of grace about her.”
“That sounds nice. Almost done, Mr. Bex.”
“Good.” Arthur was excited to see her again. That had to be a good thing, to be in want of her presence so soon after their first meeting. If his past stayed buried, they could be happy. “Jonesy, you think two horses will take me to Scotland in good time?”
The boy stopped and looked up. “You asking me, Mr. Bex?”
“Yes. I want your opinion.”
The biggest smile Jonesy could manage with his malformed mouth blossomed on his ruddy countenance. “No one wants Jonesy’s opinion. Most look at me and think Jonesy’s dumb.” He stood up straight, maybe even puffing up his chest. “Yes, Mr. Bex. Jonesy put the strongest horses on this phaet…carriage. Much better than your gig. It’s wheels and axles are reinforced. You’ll make good time to a first stopping point near Stamford. But take care, it will still tip over if you drive bad.”
It saddened Arthur that folks would discount a hardworking young man because of his looks. But that was the way the world worked. Anything different came under harsher scrutiny. “Stamford. Good, Jonesy. Well, my fiancée and I are off to Gretna Green. That is, if I make it to Nineteen Fournier on time, and if she hasn’t changed her mind.”
