“None of them sound ordinary. You’re not ordinary. Far from it, Ester.”
She sat on the edge of the mattress then sprang back up. “You’ve been unconscious for almost two days because of this accident. I was so scared. I couldn’t take the chance that they wouldn’t help you because you chose to consort with me, and I’m not going to rot in some jail because you weren’t able to defend me. I chose the easy path, and I acted a part I know others would accept. We are so far from London, I didn’t trust that things would be different. I wasn’t taking a chance—with your life or my own.”
He reached for her, but she was six or more inches beyond his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, but this is wrong. You’re a lovely young woman who saved her fiancé’s life—again.”
Sweeping to the window, she batted the muslin curtains between her palms. She started to weep. “Bex, I was lucky that the phaeton had landed back on its wheels. I was able to get the one good horse to pull it and lead you up to this inn. I would have said anything to make sure you got well.”
When she came near, he grabbed her arm. Sitting further up, he gritted through the pain and drew her near. “I put you through something awful.” He pulled her against his nightshirt, held her sobbing form against him. “You are resourceful, but I never should’ve caused so much distress. Now, help me get dressed. We need to get out of here and go get married. Two days is enough time to be caught.”
“Maybe we should be caught. Maybe we should end this. I was scared out of my wits. I almost lost you, Bex—all because I had to elope right away. We didn’t plan this. We didn’t think through each step. This is my fault.”
“No, woman. The fault is mine alone. I wanted to prove myself to you, and instead, I caused you more grief.”
She pushed to be released, but he wouldn’t let her go, not yet.
“I must be bad luck, Bex. Since we’ve met you’ve been in a fight, a robbery, and now, an accident. What is next? Attacked at a rally? Will I have to stand by and see you wounded at another Peterloo?”
“Shhh. Don’t speak of such.” He cradled her until she stilled.
Her face found that spot between his shoulder and neck. Her heavy breaths sent tingles into his skin. “This is just a rough start, Ester. It can only get better, and maybe we’ll be able to change minds. Then folks like these people will know it is more plausible for you to be my love than my servant. I won’t push tonight, but in the morning, we’ll walk to Gretna Green. We’ll take our vows before the blacksmith.”
“You still want to marry me? You are crazy, Bex.”
Maybe he was. He lifted her chin and captured her beautiful topaz eyes. “Hopefully, you are, too, and you will agree. Ester Croome, let’s marry, if you’ll still have me.”
Her fingers rose to his cheek, and she stroked the scruff that had to be three days of growth. “I’ll ask the boy to come help you shave. Must be clean shaven when we leave here tomorrow.”
“Yes, for our wedding, Ester?”
She stood, but words of agreement did not leave her mouth, though she did use those lips to kiss his forehead. “I’ll send the boy.”
“Ester.”
She picked up her sketchbook. “Hearing you say my name too many times might make me rash.”
“Ester, you are too levelheaded to be rash. Ester, dearest Ester.”
She waggled a finger at him as she moved to the door. “If we leave here tomorrow, Mr. Bex, you can still make it to your play on time.”
He’d forgotten about that. Yes, there was still time, if they rushed, but that was the last thing he wanted. “I’m not rushing anywhere with you. The play will wait. If I lose this role another will come. Why don’t you come back and sit next to me?”
“No. If I stay too long, they’ll think I am a different type of servant.”
He tried again to get up, for he knew in his gut she’d decided against him. “Ester, where are you off to?”
She put her hand to her stomach as she looked at him. “The servant’s quarters. It’s clean there. I can sketch and nap in a bedroll, and it has to be my turn in the bathtub. I want a bath so badly.”
“Don’t stay away too long. Come back so we can walk to the Gretna’s blacksmith tonight.”
Those eyes of hers went big again. “Oh, your coat and shirt are on the chair. I washed them clean of stains, No blood this time. This time.”
Before he could reply, she had ducked through the door.
The girl was scared, perhaps too doubtful of him to marry. Ester was wonderful, supportive, resilient—exactly the kind of woman he wanted. How could he convince her to go through with the marriage?
Knowing his past, knowing he’d still have to take risks to fight for abolition, maybe she was right to be skeptical.
He lay back down and covered his eyes. She’d lost faith in him. After all this trouble, he’d allow her to beg off. That was the sensible thing to do.
