“I’ll let him know.” The man left, closing the door behind him.
“I’m leaving here, with or without Bex. I won’t be given away to this marriage, not for a business deal, never to Jordan’s son.”
“Well, I think you will be leaving with Bex.” Frederica’s voice had recaptured its normal lilt. “A fellow in a gig—no, a phaeton—has arrived. A surprisingly tall man just parked across the street.”
Ester’s heart pounded as she flew to the window. Even in the moonlight, she knew Arthur Bex’s athletic six-foot form. “Seems I am off to get married.” She scooped up her bag, moved to the window, tossed open the sash, and climbed onto the sill. “Help with a delay?”
“Of course. Yes.” Her friends’ voices blended.
“Miss Croome?” Bex’s rich baritone floated inside. “I’ll catch you.”
She let her bag go, and he seized it in his big hands. From the shine of the candlelight in the near sconce, Ester saw his kind eyes and the smile that made her heart flip-flop. She was ready to jump, ready to leap into a future with Bex. She put her feet out first.
The breeze whipped about her, lifting the light netting of her gown. “Not the ideal dress to elope in.”
“Nonsense,” Theodosia said. “You’ll make the prettiest bride in robin’s-egg blue. Take care.”
Frederica gave Ester the shawl from about her shoulders. “Make haste. One of my friends… She was caught by her guardian halfway. There was no marriage, and she lives with endless shame.”
“I’m here, Miss Croome. Jump.”
Taking a quick breath, Ester pushed from the sill. The air squeezed out of her lungs as Bex caught her. She now balanced in his strong arms.
She opened her eyes and saw Bex’s smile. He scooped her bag up in one hand while he carried her in the other. “Glad you could drop in. My small chariot awaits.”
In the dark, they slipped across the street to his phaeton. He put her feet on the platform. “I’m not a wealthy man, but this carriage should take us to Gretna Green and back.”
Ester stared at Nineteen Fournier. The window had closed. The sconce had gone out. This elopement was starting.
Bex climbed next to her, crowding her on the seat. And she liked that.
Could picture a lifetime of that.
She trembled, half wanting to snuggle closer. “When my father figures out what has occurred, he will give chase.”
“Then let’s hope he doesn’t figure out things for a good while. Our destination and marriage are days away. This phaeton will only go so fast, but we’ll make it. We will.”
She closed her eyes and hoped he’d speak a little more. His voice outweighed the growing fear of her father’s wrath. One thing was worse than not eloping, that was being caught in the middle, with no marriage and no hope of stopping one’s name from being forever linked to scandal.
Chapter Seven
Regrets and Chances
The phaeton moved steadily along White Chapel Road heading to Gracechurch Street, the easiest route of escape from Nineteen Fournier, but close enough to turn back around. His bride-to-be looked like she was ready to leap off or grow sick. He reached a hand out to her, and she startled. “Are you all right, Miss Croome?”
“Yes. I just don’t believe…I did it.”
He took his eyes from the road for a moment to look at her again. Fashionable bonnet, expensive gown, revealing a figure that was pleasing…verypleasing.
Pity she was hiding under a billowing shawl.
More of a pity was the sad expression gracing her face. Her gaze was that of a lost rabbit, and he felt unsure of his plans again. “I can turn the phaeton around, Miss Croome. I don’t want you doing something you’re not ready for.”
She fiddled with her gloves. “Of course, I’m ready. Would I have leaped into your arms if I wasn’t?”
“Maybe. I don’t know you well, Miss Croome, but I want to know you better. I’d love to know you better.”
By the time they hit Gracechurch Street, street lighting had become more prevalent. The scattering of lamps brightened the farther they went from her neighborhood, probably highlighting the transition from coal-fired posts to gas. Yet, nothing matched the glow of the torches the link boys had lit around Nineteen Fournier. It could have easily rivaled what they had outside Covent Garden or The Theatre Royal the night of a play.
