THEY HAD been traveling for a little more than four hours. From his previous journeys to Cavendish's home, Cranwell guessed that there were about two hours yet to travel. If Sarah was correct in her guess, this would be about the place Bowen would choose to stop. If he had gambled on the alarm not being raised until at least teatime, he would guess that no one would catch up with them that day. Yet he would not wish to journey much closer to Hannah's home for fear that she would know some people with whom to stay or from whom to procure help to complete the journey. It would have to be soon, if at all.
There was a village ahead. He had seen the church spire a couple of minutes before. He was feeling very tired from the hours of sitting and concentrating on controlling several different sets of horses. Sarah must be exhausted. He understood that she was not accustomed to traveling, and certainly she would not be used to riding on the high seat of a gentleman's curricle.
He glanced at her and noted that she was staring quietly ahead along the road. He did not think they had exchanged a word since the last stop to change horses and partake of some quick refreshments an hour before.
He, felt the nagging of guilt at the edges of his mind again. For the last few hours he had tried to put from his mind everything except the pursuit and the constant inquiries at every inn and farmhouse. How could he have been so brutal to her earlier in the journey? He did not feel brutal. Not to her, anyway. To himself, perhaps, for not having taken more pains four years before to find out the truth from her. To Winston Bowen, the smiling charmer, who had taken away her innocence when she was little more than a child and who had ruined her life. But not to Sarah.
He could not even apologize. He should do so. He wanted to do so. But in three hours he had not been able to form the words in his mind. What to apologize for? For doubting her word? He had not really doubted it at all since that appalling moment in the library earlier that morning when she had told him that it was Bowen who had ravished her before her marriage to him. Apologize for ever having doubted her basic innocence? For having divorced her and made her a pariah in all of England?
An apology was so inadequate that it was ludicrous even to think of making one. How could one apologize for having called a suffering young girl a whore? For having sentenced her to four years of solitary living during the very years when she should have been experiencing the joys of youth and life? For having doomed her to a lifetime away from the people of her own social class if her identity were known? If the truth were to be faced, he was far more guilty than Bowen. Bowen had degraded her body. He had destroyed her whole life.
"If there is a decent inn in this village, we will rest, Sarah," he said. "You must be exhausted." As if a little kindness were going to atone for four years of injustice.
"I can keep going if you can, George," she said. "We must find them. Oh, please, God, let me be right."
From her voice he could tell she was very close to tears. Impulsively he reached out with his gloved hand and squeezed one of her hands tightly.
"If you are not," he said, "it is not your fault, Sarah. None of this is your fault. You have done your best."
It was the wrong thing to have done. Her hands flew to her face, and she sat with her shoulders hunched and her hands tightly covering her eyes.
Cranwell drew the horses to a halt and looked helplessly across at her. He wanted to put his arms around her, to cradle her head on his shoulder, to tell her that everything would be all right, that he would make everything all right. But he could do none of those things. He did not have the right to offer comfort to this woman whom he had destroyed. He could not assure her of anything. He did not know that they would be able to save Hannah's honor. And he could not assure her that everything would be well with her life. How could it be? He could not reverse the harm he had done her in the past.
"Don't cry, Sarah," he said. "We will find them if they are on this road. You are very tired. We will stop at the village. You' must have some tea and warm up before a fire. You will feel better afterward."
"Oh yes," she said shakily, not removing her hands from her face. "I shall be all right. I am sorry, George. I am being a horrid watering pot. And this time I do have a handkerchief." She reached down for her reticule, which she had set behind her feet, and pulled out the large and crumpled piece of linen that he had given her earlier.
She smiled determinedly 'at him after drying her eyes. "You may drive on," she said. "I am not going to have hysterics or the vapors or anything like that."
She kept the smile on her face until he had turned away again and given the horses the signal to start. There was no point in tears, she thought. No point at all. She must teach herself all over again, as she had four years before, not to cry, not to give in to emotion. All emotion in her fife must be put to death, and there was no time like the present for starting. His voice had been kind and the touch of his hand reassuring. That was what had started the tears, in fact. But she must not mistake a natural kindliness of manner for real feeling toward her. He had offered no real comfort, although every muscle in her body was sore, and she had ached and ached to feel his arms around her, just to rest her head on his shoulder for a few minutes.
She was still smiling as they drove into the village and along a narrow street to a small inn on the far side of it.
Winston was standing outside the door into the taproom, in conversation with a portly older man.
He saw them at almost the same moment they saw him. If Sarah had expected him to look horrified, or surprised even, she was to be disappointed. He raised his eyebrows, smiled slightly, turned to say something to the man with whom he was standing, and strode over to the curricle, which Cranwell had pulled into the yard. But of course, Sarah thought in the few seconds granted them before he came up with them, she might have known Win well enough by now to have learned that he was not easily flustered.
"I wondered if you would come in pursuit, Cranwell", he said with an apologetic smile. — "And I cannot say I blame you. I can only say that I have acted in what seemed to be the best interests of everyone concerned. Perhaps we can discuss the matter inside, like civilized beings? Sarah, my love? Have you thought it necessary to make this long journey too? There was no need, you know. I was returning to you tonight. But it is a delightful surprise to see you. May I help you down?"
Winston did not wait for her answer. He caught her around the waist as she rose to her feet and lifted her to the ground. He was smiling warmly down at her when she looked up at him, her feet safely on the ground.
"Where is Lady Hannah, Bowen?" Cranwell asked curtly, nodding to a groom who had emerged from the inn stables and handing him the ribbons of his curricle.
"Quite comfortable in a private parlor inside," Winston said. "You may come and see for yourself, Cranwell, though I would guess that she will be none too pleased to see you."
Cranwell strode into the inn without another word, Sarah close at his heels. A flustered innkeeper indicated the door of the parlor, and Cranwell knocked on it.
"Come in," a timid female voice answered after a slight pause.
Hannah had clearly just risen from the table, on which were spread tea and cakes. Her eyes grew huge with terror when she saw Cranwell in the doorway.
"Your grace!" she said, scrambling farther around the table so that it lay between her and him.
"Hannah," he said, striding into the room, "are you all right? Has Bowen harmed you?"
Sarah came quietly into the room and closed the door after Winston had come inside too.
"Oh, Miss Fifield," Hannah said, a shaking hand going to her mouth, "I am so sorry. Really I am. I knew that Lord Laing should have told you that he was bringing me, but he said that you might try to stop me and… But I am truly sorry if you have been in distress. He meant to return later today, truly he did."
"Has Bowen harmed you?" Cranwell repeated, and the terror returned to Hannah's eyes as she looked back at him.
"N-no, your grace," she said. "He has been most kind."
"He has not tried to delay your journey?" he asked.
"To delay it?" She looked mystified. "He has been JK taking JKme asJ fast as JK possible to… to…"
"Yes," Cranwell said, "I know where you are going. And Bowen has been taking you directly there with no delays?"
Winston laughed. "That is the general idea when one is running away, is it not, Cranwell?" he said. "Why would one delay under the circumstances? Of course, we have obviously not been as fast as you and Sarah, but then you had the advantage of us. We merely had a hired carriage, no match for a curricle."
He sounded as if he were making polite conversation on the most ordinary occasion, Sarah thought incredulously. He smiled his old charming smile even as she looked up at him.
"Why do we not all sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the empty chairs around the table. "I shall order more tea for the ladies. I am sure we could all do with refreshments. What will you have, Cranwell?"
Cranwell ignored him. "Do you realize what a mad scheme this is, Hannah?" he asked. "Does this Ferris know you are coming?"
"N-no, your grace," she said, "but he loves me."
"And that makes everything acceptable?" he asked. "Has he ever offered for you?"
"No," she said. "We were planning to wait until I was eighteen."
"And did he do anything when you became betrothed to me?" he asked. -"Did he speak to your father?"
"He did not wish to stand in the way of my advancement," Hannah said miserably, looking down at her hands.
"And what is he going to say when you arrive this afternoon?" Cranwell asked none too gently. "Have you realized that you will be almost forcing him to elope with you?"
Hannah said nothing for a moment. "He loves me," she said eventually.
"Will you be sure of that when he will have no choice?" Cranwell said. "Will you wonder for the rest of your life if he married you of his own free will?"
Hannah said nothing.
"Lady Hannah is a very young lady, Cranwell," Winston said, moving around the table and laying a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. "I think you and her father have spent long enough bullying her. It is time she was allowed to think for herself and make up her own mind what she wants."
"Precisely!" Cranwell agreed. "And I would suggest that you too give her that opportunity, Bowen. Left to herself, I know that Lady Hannah is far too sensible and well-bred to behave in such a shockingly improper fashion."
"I do not wish to marry you, your grace," Hannah said with a short burst of spirit. But she hung her head again after looking him briefly in the eye.
"And I shall do nothing to force you, Hannah," Cranwell said, his voice more gentle at last. "It was never my intention to coerce you. I did not know your feelings until today, my dear. But that is not the point at issue here. The point is that you have run away without your parents' knowledge and with no proper chaperonage to a young man who does not even know that you are planning such a move. You are placing several people in a very awkward and embarrassing situation."
"I would advise you not to listen to him, Lady Hannah," Winston said in the warm, sincere voice that usually melted female hearts. "If you do not go on now, Cranwell will take you back and you will be forced to marry him. And I imagine he will not let you forget easily what you have done today. Don't allow yourself to be bullied any longer."
"Will Donald feel that I am forcing his hand?" Hannah asked, Then she looked at Sarah, her eyes huge with fright and indecision. "Will he blame me, Miss Fifield, and even come to hate me?"
"You must go back, Hannah," Sarah said. "No one can force you to marry against your will, and I am certain that his grace will not even try. Perhaps your father will not allow you to marry Mr. Ferris even if he offers for you. But maybe it would be better not to marry him at all than to force him into matrimony and wonder all your life if he really wished to marry you."
"Oh," Hannah said, "but Lord Laing said… Oh, Miss Fifield, what shall I do?"
"You must come back with us," Sarah said. "It will be well into the evening by the time we reach Montagu Hall again, but I believe scandal can be averted. Your parents may be angry that you have been gone so long, but Lady Fanny and Mr. Stonewall have agreed to say that the four of us went out together for the day. His grace is prepared to suffer the ill opinion of anyone who will think that he has kept us from home for too long."
"Oh," Hannah said, her eyes straying to Cranwell. She flushed. "You would do that for me, your grace?"
"You are my betrothed," he said. "I owe you all the protection I have to offer. If you wish to end the engagement, I would suggest that you talk with your father tomorrow or the next day. You will find that I shall not make the matter awkward for you at all."
"And if she does not speak with her father, I suppose you will be prepared to do the noble thing and marry her, eh, Cranwell?" Winston said. For once his charm had slipped. His tone was heavy with sarcasm.
Cranwell looked at him levelly. "Lady Hannah is my betrothed, Bowen," he said. "Until I am informed differently, I plan to marry her in December."
Hannah looked around her and sank into the nearest chair. "I am so confused," she said, "and so ashamed.
"Well, Bowen," Cranwell said, "there is no time to be wasted, I think, if we are to return to Montagu Hall before much of the night is wasted. Do you plan to return with the rest of us?"
Winston smiled and made Cranwell a half-bow. There was no trace left of his sarcasm. "But there never was any question of my returning," he said. "I was merely serving the wishes of Lady Hannah. If she has now decided that she wishes to return to the bosom of her family after all, I am, as always, her servant."
Hannah looked up at him. "I am so sorry, sir," she said, "for the inconvenience I have caused you. I shall always be grateful for your concern."
"Sarah," Cranwell said, "I shall have fresh tea sent in for you. Rest yourself as much as you can in the next few minutes. We shall start back as soon as we may. You have a hired carriage, Bowen?" Winston bowed again. "You and Lady Hannah must ride in the carriage, Sarah. Your return journey will be more comfortable, at least."
He turned and left the parlor without another word. Winston stayed with the ladies.
"I think we have one angry man there," he said easily. "I do hope you have not had too unpleasant a journey of it, my love. Lady Hannah? Now that he has gone, you must tell me what your wishes really are. If you wish to continue your journey, I shall see that Cranwell is defied. He cannot order you back, you know. I feel quite competent to stand up to him."
Hannah smiled bleakly up at him. "No," she said, "he and Miss Fifield are right. I should not have come in the first place. I thank you for your support, sir, but I must go back and try to sort out my problem in a more proper manner."
Winston smiled first at her and then at Sarah. He looked long and hard at Sarah, the smile steady on his face the whole while. He nodded at last, turned abruptly, and left the room.
"How mortifying all this is," Hannah said, stealing a glance at Sarah.
"Unfortunately," Sarah said gently, "we all do foolish things in life, Hannah. We just have to learn to live them down. But believe me, you have made the right decision now."
They both stopped talking as a little maid backed into the room carrying an enormous tray laden with meat pasties, cakes, and a large pot of tea.
"Hannah," Sarah said when they were alone again, "was Win taking you directly to Mr. Ferris? Had he made any suggestion that you delay your journey until tomorrow?"
Hannah looked at her with a little frown. "Why would he do that?" she said. "It was important that we reach Donald's before nightfall. Lord Laing was anxious to return to you before you could become too upset."
"Shall I pour?" Sarah asked brightly, picking up the teapot. "Do tackle one of those pasties, Hannah. We have a long journey ahead of us. I am sure we should eat."
It certainly was a long journey. The return distance seemed twice as far as the outward one, despite the fact that Sarah was sitting in much greater warmth and comfort. Not that the carriage was very well-sprung or well-upholstered. It was an ancient, ponderous conveyance, driven by a coachman who grumbled at having so few opportunities to rest and fill his belly with some warm ale. Cranwell, with Winston beside him, drove his curricle behind the carriage, holding it to a much slower pace than before.
It was not a comfortable journey for either group. Hannah became increasingly nervous with each returning mile. Sarah, relieved that a terrible catastrophe had been averted, nevertheless found that relief did not bring happiness. She remembered suddenly that the next morning she would be leaving Montagu Hall and George forever. And she would carry with her the knowledge that he would always despise her, never believe the story of her past. Cranwell was uncomfortable with his companion. The high road during a long journey was certainly not the right setting for the sort of conversation he wanted with Bowen. He refused to make small talk. They sat in near-silence the whole way. Winston, for his part, made no attempt to converse. He sat, apparently relaxed, a half-smile on his face.
As they traveled closer to home, Cranwell began to think of the scene ahead. It was still only early evening, but at this time of year darkness came soon enough to make the hour seem later than it was. It was going to be deuced awkward to explain his ab sence from his home and his guests for a whole day. Such behavior would seem bad manners at the very least. Cavendish would be none too pleased, either, at his taking Hannah away for a whole day without his permission.
Then there was the problem of the conveyances. With luck, no one would see their return. But if luck was not with them, it was going to be difficult to explain why they had needed both a carriage and a curricle to take four of them on an outing. And a hired carriage at that!
And what in heaven's name was Hannah going to do? She was such a confused young girl and apparently so in awe of her father that it was quite possible that she would do nothing. And where would that leave him? He could certainly make no move to end the betrothal. But it was quite unthinkable now to go ahead with the marriage plans. She had told him straight out that she did not wish to marry him. She had been running away to a man whom she did love. And the events of this day had proved to him beyond any doubt that he really did not wish to marry her. He had no particular objection to Hannah. He even felt a sort of paternal affection for her, much as he did for Fanny. But he did not wish to marry her.
Then there was Sarah. There would not be much of the evening left by the time they reached home, and the next day she would doubtless be planning to leave again. Could he let her go? He really did not have any choice. She was a free woman. He was certainly not a free man. But damnation, he fumed inwardly, she was his wife! He could not let her go.
Only Bowen posed no problem. Cranwell knew quite definitely what he planned to do about the man who sat silently relaxed in the seat beside him.
Much later that night CTanwell stood at the door of the drawing room bidding his guests good night. Most of them seemed to be in good spirits after a lively evening of charades.
He was feeling some relief. The main crisis of the evening had passed off surprisingly well. They had, in fact, arrived home in time for dinner, though they had had to rush through the process of dressing. And they had escaped notice as they drove up to the house. The hired carriage had set down its occupants and driven away and the curricle had been returned to the stables without a sign of any guest at windows or doors.
Bowen had been their chief rescuer, surprisingly enough. Or perhaps it was not so surprising when one had come to know that character. He had directed his attention immediately to Hannah's mother and to Lady Murdoch, both of whom had already come down for dinner. He had bowed over their hands with fervent apologies for having convinced his grace to take them far afield, though of course they had meant to be home by midafternoon. But alas, one should always allow for the unexpected. Who could have foreseen that one of the horses would throw a shoe and that when they finally led the poor creature to a smithy the smith should be found to be in a drunken stupor? He and Cranwell had been almost mad with anxiety lest the ladies should fret for the safety of their charges.
Cranwell had watched the performance with fascination. Lady Cavendish had melted immediately under Bowen's charm, and Lady Murdoch had declared very loudly that she had never had any doubt that the four of them would return to the house safe and sound before the evening was over. She had smiled with as much charm as Bowen had ever shown. Cranwell was beginning to admire that lady more than a little.
And now the evening was apparently over. At least the bulk of his guests were off to bed. It was not over for him, though. The Earl of Cavendish had just requested a word with him before he went to bed, and he had his own errand to attend to as well. And one more thing.
Sarah was leaving the drawing room, looking anywhere but at him. She had avoided him all evening, in fact. He moved closer to the door so that she was forced to stop to speak to him.
She raised her eyes unwillingly to his. "We will be leaving in the morning, your grace," she said. "I shall say good-bye now. There will be no need to disturb you again in the morning." She held out her right hand.
He took the hand in both his own and held it. There was no one else close by. "Will you promise me that you will see me in the morning before you go, nevertheless?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"Please, Sarah?"
"All right," she said.
"And I would not count on Bowen's going with you tomorrow," he said. "Will you mind?"
"He is staying?" Sarah asked in surprise.
"Don't worry about him," he said. "I take it that you are still planning to end your betrothal'?"
She nodded but said nothing.
"Good night, Sarah," he said, letting go of her hand at last.
"I am sorry," she said in a rush. "Perhaps you wish that we had not gone in pursuit after all. I was wrong. Win was intending to take her to Mr. Ferris'. Maybe you would have preferred it so."
"Oh no," he said, looking directly into her eyes, "you were exactly right, Sarah. Bowen had just paid the coachman to damage his own carriage so that it would be unusable for the rest of the day. He had ascertained that there was no other carriage for hire in the village."
Sarah gazed back at him, round-eyed. "How do you know?" she asked.
He smiled fleetingly. "I paid the coachman twice as much," he said.
Little more than a half-hour later Cranwell was knocking on the door of Winston's room. He was a free man again, though he had not yet had time to digest the fact fully. Hannah had not been as timid as he had thought, it seemed. She had spoken to both her parents immediately after dinner and had told them the whole truth. Cavendish had not gone into detail. He had merely wished to thank Cranwell for his part in saving his daughter from a great scandal and to beg that Hannah be released from the betrothal.
Cranwell did not know how the girl was to be treated or what punishment, if any, was to be meted out for her attempted elopement. He had no idea if an offer from her Donald Ferris would ever be received favorably. He could only hope that her life would turn out well. He must believe that it would. For all his gruffness, Cavendish appeared to love his daughter. And she was very young. There was plenty of time yet for an agreeable future to be secured for her. In fact, he had been very wrong even to have suggested marrying a child from the schoolroom. He should have allowed her to see something of life first.
The door of Winston's room opened and he stood there in his breeches and a shirt open at the neck.
"Ah, Cranwell," he said, "come inside. I perceive that you are about to challenge me to a duel for trying to spirit away your fiancee." He smiled. His tone was light.
"Not for that reason," Cranwell said.
"Eh?" Winston said with a grin. "You really have come to challenge me? You are mad, Cranwell."
"Perhaps," Cranwell agreed, "but the provocation has been great."
Winston grinned and leaned one elbow on the mantelpiece. "Do you bate being so exposed to the world as a man who cannot inspire love in a female?" he asked insolently.
"I intend to fight you for two reasons," Cranwell said steadily and quietly. "First, for attempting to gain possession of a young girl's fortune by compromising her honor and forcing her unwillingly into marriage."
"Ha!" Winston said, seemingly quite unperturbed. "I see you have been bribing that infernal coachman. The man made a veritable fortune out of the two of us, Cranwell. However, you can hardly blame a man for trying, you know. We are not all as wealthy as you, my friend."
"You should know," Cranwell said. "I believe you are already in possession of a small chunk of my fortune, Bowen?"
Winston regarded him coolly before bowing slightly. "And your second reason for wishing to remove me from this life, Cranwell?" he asked.
"For having ruined the virtue, the happiness, and the very life of my former wife, Bowen," Cranwell said.
Winston was very still. "She has always been mine, Cranwell," he said. "And I knew how to make her happy far better than you did, apparently."
"A woman who is blackmailed and repeatedly raped at the age of seventeen does not know much happiness," Cranwell said very quietly, "or much faith in either herself or the other people around her. For this more than anything, Bowen, I plan to beat you to within an inch of your life."
Winston laughed and pushed himself away from the mantel. "I am in fear and trembling, Cranwell," he said. "Your words are sheer bravado, as you must realize. You have only to consider the contrast in our sizes and physiques to understand why I shall politely decline your request. It would be a massacre, my friend, -and I really have no wish to do you any such harm."
"Of course," Cranwell said, "if you refuse to do this the honorable way, I shall feel quite justified in taking a horsewhip to your hide. In fact, you do not deserve the courtesy of a formal challenge. You are vermin, Bowen." He walked coolly over to the fireplace, picked up a half-full glass of brandy that Winston had set on the mantel when he came into the room, turned, and very deliberately threw its contents into the startled face of his companion.
Cold hatred replaced the sneer on Winston's face.
"Very well, Cranwell," he said, wiping his face with his sleeve, "this gives me the choice of weapons, I believe. I almost hate to do this to you under the circumstances, but it will be fists. I think you will be very sorry for this little display of self-righteousness. I assume you have a second in mind. I shall find someone before I go to bed. You wish to settle this matter in the morning? Early?"
"You might try Penny," Cranwell said curtly. "He may meet Stonewall in the library at six tomorrow morning."
He turned and strode from the room.