The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Elope? To Scotland?” Rebecca exclaimed, and Catherine nodded.
She did not think it particularly remarkable. As Ian had told her, many others of their rank and class did it, and she would return a respectable woman, married and on the arm of the man she loved, rather than the man to be forced on her.
“It is no longer a ruse, Rebecca. We are to be married. Ian has told me he loves me, and as you know, my feelings for him are the same. We want to marry, but my father will not permit it, and so our only choice is to elope,” she said.
It sounded entirely reasonable, and she was somewhat surprised at her friend’s reaction. She had come to take tea with Rebecca the day after the ball and wanted her and Samantha to know the truth before she and Ian departed for Scotland. They were to leave the following day, a carriage taking them north, where they would join a mail coach north to Gretna Green.
“But do you not think it is a rash decision?” Rebecca asked.
“I do not think it a rash decision at all,” Catherine replied.
As far as she was concerned, Catherine was getting married. It may not be in a pretty church, surrounded by her friends and family, but it would be to the man she loved. And surely that was all that mattered?
“But why has he changed his mind so readily? He was entirely against the idea before, and when Nicholas went to see him, he was far from enthusiastic,” she replied.
“Nicholas went to see him?” Catherine said, and Rebecca blushed.
“Oh, yes, did he not say so? I asked Nicholas to speak with Ian, to persuade him to go to the ball. I knew he was reluctant to do so, and I did not want you to miss out on seeing him,” Rebecca said.
Catherine smiled. She could not be cross with Rebecca for playing matchmaker. If anything, those words had evidently persuaded Ian of the rightness of attending the ball. But as for his sudden change of heart, Catherine was somewhat uncertain. She did not know why Ian had decided to break his own rules and declare his love. All she knew was that his words were entirely sincere, and that her love for him was true, too. They would be married, and despite all the obstacles, it would surely be the happiest day of her life.
“Then I am glad you did, Rebecca, for I have never felt so happy,” Catherine replied, taking a sip of tea.
“I am only sorry that Samantha and I will not see you on the day you are married. We will not help you ready yourself or see your dress. It is such a shame,” Rebecca said, but Catherine shook her head.
“We shall have a blessing, perhaps, when we return. Then you may see the dress, though I have no plans for something fancy. All I want is to be married, and that is that,” she replied.
It was all she wanted – to marry Ian and escape the Earl of Westwood. The trapping and peripheries – the dress, the carriage, the throwing of the rice, none of it mattered, only love, and it was love which drove her, love which enticed her, love for which she was prepared to give up everything for the man she had fallen for, even in deception.
* * *
“And tell them we have gone south, not north,” Ian said, stuffing clothes into a bag, as his faithful butler Redbrand looked on in somewhat amusement.
“Very good, sir. May I ask, how long will you be away?” the butler replied.
“As long as it takes to get there and come back. We will not delay. I am no lover of the northern country. It is a wild and lawless place, but it does have the one thing we need – different marriage laws,” he said, smiling at the butler, whom he had allowed into his confidence.
Redbrand had been a faithful servant these many years past, and Ian knew he could be counted on to keep the secret of their elopement long enough for the deed to be done. They would need only a few days to get far enough north not to be overtaken, and Ian had hired a carriage to take them as far as Lancaster, where he was certain a mail coach could take them north to Gretna Green.
It was a risk, but one which Ian was willing to take for the woman he had fallen in love with. There was a recklessness in his actions, but was love not the most unreasonable of emotions? It had overtaken him, overwhelmed him, even, and in the days leading up to the ball, Ian had been unable to think of anything but Catherine. She was different from other women, the very opposite of Cassandra, and despite his earlier reservations, he had come to realize that the only person he was hurting by denying his true feelings was himself.
Why, he had reasoned, should self-imposed rules prevent him from happiness? There had been many other women, women for whom those rules were right and proper, women who would have hurt him in just the same manner as Cassandra. But Ian had always hoped that one woman might prove the exception to those rules, and in Catherine, he believed he had found her.
“I will spin a yarn worthy of Shakespeare, sir,” Redbrand said, and Ian smiled.
“I am sure you have hidden theatrical depths, Redbrand. So long as it convinces anyone who comes knocking on my intentions,” he said, and the butler nodded.
“Do you expect to be followed, sir?” he asked, and Ian nodded.
“I expect Catherine’s father and brother to be displeased when they discover she has gone,” he said, and Redbrand raised his eyebrows.
“You mean, Mr. Ferguson, sir?” he asked, and Ian nodded again.
“Rickard will stop at nothing to prevent this marriage. He believes he will lose a considerable advantage if his sister is married to a man such as I, rather than a man such as the Earl of Westwood,” he said, and the butler tutted.
“Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I find the ways and mannerisms of the aristocracy quite perplexing. Present company accepted, of course,” he said, and Ian laughed.
“And that is why you have remained so long in my employ, Redbrand. You and I share a disliking for the aristocracy, even if we are forced to endure them,” he replied.
Redbrand smiled, bowed, and left Ian to his preparations. There was little left to ready, and Ian was taking only the barest of essentials. Now, all he had to do was wait for Catherine, her arrival imminent, the carriage waiting.
* * *
“And petticoats, my Lady, you will need three changes, at least. Oh, and two shawls, the northern country can be cold, even in the springtime,” Jenny said, helping Catherine to get ready.
She, too, had been sworn to secrecy, Catherine having confided her plan knowing she could not possibly escape the house without the assistance of her maid. “I cannot take too much, I will need only a few things. Oh, Jenny it is so exciting,” she said.
Catherine had barely slept the night before, tossing and turning, imaging what the journey north with Ian would be like. She wanted only to be by his side, to leave everything else behind and set out on their adventure together. She knew her father would never permit her to leave, and so the arrangements were made in complete secrecy. Only Jenny, Rebecca, and Samantha knew the truth, and she knew she could trust them each completely.
“I will take the bag, my Lady, and meet you at the bottom of the garden. Have the carriage driver stop at the lower gate, you will be away before anyone realizes it. If your father or brother asks, tell them you are visiting with Lady Somerset as usual,” Jenny said, passing Catherine her hairbrush.
“But you must not endanger yourself by pretense. If my father demands you tell him, then simply say you know nothing, that you are merely a maid and without my confidence. When I return, you shall come into my service again, and leave this awful house behind,” Catherine said, and Jenny smiled.
“To see you happy, my Lady, that is all I wish for,” she said, and Catherine smiled and patted her arm.
“You have proved your loyalty countless times, Jenny, and for that, I thank you,” she said.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, the time being just after the tenth hour of the morning. She was to meet Ian at eleven o’clock, and now she took up her bag, passing it to Jenny, who was to take the back stairs, and opened the door to her chambers cautiously.
“Is it safe, my Lady?” Jenny whispered, and Catherine nodded.
“Go, I shall meet you in a few moments at the bottom of the garden,” Catherine said, and the two of them slipped out, each going their different ways.
Catherine had hoped not to meet either her father or brother, but as she came down into the hallway, she heard footsteps behind her, and turned to find Rickard standing at the top of the stairs, his arms folded, a suspicious look on his face.
“Are you going to the Somerset residence?” he asked, and Catherine nodded, hoping her trembling hands would not betray her.
“Yes… to see Rebecca. We are to take a walk in the park and have a picnic,” she replied.
“And will Ian be joining you?” he asked.
“Ian? Why would he be joining us? A woman does not always want her betrothed at her side,” Catherine replied, but her brother only sneered.
“You danced with him at the ball hosted by the Earl of Brimsey and his wife,” he said, his tone one of accusation.
“And what if I did? I did not think it unusual for a woman to dance with the man she is betrothed to,” Catherine replied, taking up her shawl and gloves and tying the string of her bonnet under her chin.
She was tired of Rickard’s constant interference. As far as she knew, neither he nor her father was yet to discover anything to besmirch Ian’s name. Their opposition to the marriage was pure jealousy, arising from their own personal ambitions, and she had no intention of entertaining their objections.
“You should not marry him, Catherine,” Rickard said, but Catherine only waved her hand dismissively.
“Why not consider your own fortunes, Rickard, and let me consider mine,” she said, and before he could reply, she had hurried out of the door, slamming it loudly behind her.
A carriage was waiting at the front of the house, and she instructed the driver to make circuitous route along the side wall, pausing at the garden gate. “And then to where, my Lady?” he asked, and Catherine smiled.
“The home of the Baron Westwick,” she said, smiling to herself, as she settled back in the carriage, her adventure just beginning.
