The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Five

“What time is it?” Catherine asked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up in bed.

The curtains had been drawn back, sunlight flooding into the room, dust dancing in the shafts of light. She had slept soundly, a dreamless sleep in Ian’s arms, and now she looked over to where he was washing at the washstand, a cutthroat razor at his neck.

“Time we were leaving. The landlord is to give us breakfast, but you looked so peaceful lying there, Catherine. I wanted to let you rest,” he said, smiling at her.

He was standing without his shirt on, and the sight of him reminded her of the tender moment they had shared the night before. She allowed her memory to linger, longing for the moment when he would hold her in his arms again. But she knew they must leave quickly, for surely her father and brother had discovered her deception. She was fearful for Jenny, knowing her father would be merciless in his interrogation, but she knew, too, they had made a day’s head start, and would soon be far enough north to be well beyond the grasp of either her father or Rickard, who would surely pursue her to gain their intended desires.

“It will only take me a moment to ready myself,” she said, climbing out of bed and pulling on her dress.

She splashed water on her face, combing her hair, and making herself look respectable as best she could. Downstairs, a simple breakfast was laid out and Catherine and Ian ate porridge and warm rolls with jam and honey. With the landlord’s payment settled and the carriage brought round to the front of the inn, they set off, assuring the landlord of their return on the journey south.

“And if your brother comes asking questions, the landlord will know only that a Mr. Edward Johnson and his wife lodged here for the night. No one will suspect,” Ian said, as he and Catherine sat back in the carriage.

“And where do we go to next?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Wherever the road takes us, but onto Lancaster now, and closer every moment to our marriage,” he said, leaning over and kissing her, each of them smiling at the thought of what was to come.

The journey continued in this fashion for several days. They would ride by carriage during the day and lodge at an inn – always under a different name – each night. Catherine grew used to having Ian at her side as she slept, to feeling his arms around her, though they had agreed he would not know her until the night of the wedding. Catherine was growing ever more eager to reach Gretna Green and make her vows and by the time they reached Lancaster, she hardly contained her excitement.

“One wonders how the Regent keeps order across his realms,” she marveled, for it felt as though they had traveled a vast distance in the time since leaving London.

“And we have not even yet reached the Scottish border,” Ian replied, and she shook her head in amazement.

“And to think there are colonies under the royal standard across the oceans,” she said, and Ian laughed.

“Perhaps you and I will travel to Europe together, a friend of mine has been to Venice, Florence, and Rome. He tells me such stories of their delights, I would wish to see them for myself,” he said, and Catherine smiled.

“Then we must go together. We must see it all when we are married,” she said.

They had just reached the milestone for Lancaster, and soon the city streets came into view, the ancient castle standing at its center. New buildings in the classical style were under construction, and the streets were busy with carriages and merchants plying their wares.

“We shall have time to board a mail coach today and travel north a little longer,” Ian said, as their own carriage came to a halt.

The driver himself had never been this far north, and Ian had paid him to bring them here and then return to London. The journey had been far from comfortable, but Catherine felt relieved to have finally completed this first stage and be all the closer to their destination.

“You will have no trouble in finding someone to bring you south, sir,” the carriage driver said, when Ian paid him off.

“It will be a few days yet, but Gretna is not far, some seventy-five miles or so north,” Ian replied, taking up their bags.

The carriage driver nodded to them, leaving them in a large square – the center of the city – around which lay several inns and taverns. There were mail coaches, too, several of which were accepting passengers, and Ian wasted no time in seeking out one bound for the northern country.

“I go as far as Edinburgh, sir,” one of the drivers said, after they had made their way along the lines of coaches

“We want to go to Gretna Green,” Ian replied, and he looked at them with a smile.

He was a jolly looking man, exceedingly large, the buttons of his great overcoat bulging at the seams. He had a red face and small eyes, his brow damp with sweat, despite the coolness of the day.

“Gretna Green? Is that right? And what name is it?” he asked.

“Mr. Johnson, Edward Johnson, and this is my… this is Catherine,” he said, and the driver nodded.

“Perkins, Walter Perkins, and I can take you as far as Gretna Green, that I can,” he said.

Ian thanked him profusely, and a deal was struck, he and Catherine loading their bags into the cramped coach, which was occupied by several others going north, too.

“How long will it take to get there?” Catherine asked the driver, and he pondered for a moment.

“The country grows wilder in the north, miss, but two days with a fair wind,” he said, smiling at her.

Catherine nodded, turning to glance across the square. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tugged at Ian’s sleeve.

“What is wrong?” he asked, and with a trembling finger, she pointed to a carriage from which a figure had just emerged.

“Get in the coach, quickly,” Ian said, and Catherine wasted no time.

The figure was none other than her brother Rickard, and already he was asking questions of those around him. “Can we leave immediately?” she heard Ian ask the driver.

“I am ready,” he said, and Ian clambered into the coach, putting his arm round Catherine who suddenly felt very scared.

“He will not find us, will he?” she whispered, and Ian shook his head.

“Look, we are leaving now,” he said, the coach pulling off across the square. Catherine glanced out of the window, watching her brother across the square. It was a devious action on his part, and she knew he would now stop at nothing to find them.

“We will get there before he finds us, will we not?” she asked, and Ian nodded.

“I promise you we will, and once we are married, he will have no recourse to us. We will be free of your father, your brother, and everyone else who believes they should dictate whom you may marry and when,” he replied, kissing her on the forehead, his arm still tightly around her.

But Catherine could not help but be afraid, and even as they drove out of Lancaster, the mail coach speeding north, she could not help but fear that Rickard was close behind and would stop their marriage before it could even begin.