The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“You look ever so beautiful,” Ian said, and Catherine turned to him with a smile.

She had been combing her hair, the landlord having brought warm water for them to wash in that morning, and the promise of a fine breakfast laid out below. It was late in the morning, but neither Catherine nor Ian were in a rush to be ready, the memory of their wedding night still fresh in their memory.

“Will you tell me that every day?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Ten times a day,” he replied, coming over to put his arms around her, leaning round to kiss her.

She smiled at him and finished combing her hair. It had surprised Catherine how easily she had managed without a maid, or the many trappings of her privileged life in London. She pictured the two of them, on a grand tour of Europe, and whilst their places of residence might be grander, that same sense of adventure would surely prevail.

“Are you hungry?” she said, and he nodded.

“I was waiting for you to finish combing your hair. Come along, the smell of the sausages is making my mouth water,” he said, offering her his hand.

They made their way downstairs to the taproom, which at this early hour was laid out for breakfast. There were tables covered over in white cloths, each set with plates and cutlery, and several other guests were already eating, the landlord having just emerged from the kitchen with a pan of sizzling sausages and bacon.

“Will ye sit and eat?” he said, pointing to a table by the window, which Catherine and Ian now sat down at.

There were eggs and fresh bread, too, a sumptuous breakfast, accompanied by hot coffee and tea.

“I had never thought to find such civilization this far north,” Ian said, tucking into his plate of breakfast with hearty gusto.

“We built up quite an appetite last night,” Catherine replied, smiling at him across the table.

The other guests were an assortment of couples and single travelers, one of whom was obscured by a periodical in the corner. He did not lower it for the entire meal, and Catherine kept glancing at him, wondering why he did not eat or drink.

“Are you finished?” Ian asked, wiping a piece of bread around his plate.

“Do we leave for London at once?” she asked, and he nodded.

“There is nothing left for us here to do. It will take us the same time to return as it did to get here. The sooner we leave, the sooner we shall reveal the truth,” Ian said.

Catherine felt loathe to leave Gretna Green. She liked its charm and romance, and the thought of other couples – just like them – arriving for the pure reason of marriage, an expression of love. She would gladly have remained a while, but Ian was right, it was time to return and make the truth known.

“Then if you have finished, we will leave,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Not so fast,” a voice from across the room came.

Catherine let out a cry, the man behind the periodical lowering it to reveal himself as none other than her brother, Rickard. The other guests looked up in bemusement, and Ian sprang to his feet, putting his arm out protectively, as Catherine shrank back.

“You scoundrel, following us here. We saw you at Lancaster. I knew you would come here,” Ian said, as Rickard rose from his place.

There was anger in his eyes, the look of one who has been made a fool of and desires revenge.

“I am the scoundrel? Are you not the rogue who has abducted my sister and forced her into marriage?” he exclaimed, pointing angrily at Ian, who drew himself up to his full height and raised his fists.

“How dare you make such an accusation,” he cried.

“Abducted?” Catherine exclaimed, “what nonsense. It is I who had to escape my captors in London – you and my father. Did you really think I would marry the Earl of Westwood? You are more the fool than I ever thought, Rickard. I had no intention of doing what you or our father intended. I love Ian and you are too late. We are already married,” she said, fixing her brother with a triumphant stare.

For a moment, Rickard looked shocked. He must have arrived that very morning, Catherine assumed, intent on preventing the wedding before it occurred. How fortunate the landlord had warned them to marry in haste the following evening before sunset.

“You have defiled my sister,” Rickard said, advancing across the room, as the other guests looked on in astonishment.

“I will not have fist fights in my taproom at this time of the morning,” the landlord called out, but neither Ian nor Rickard heeded him.

“Defiled?” Catherine cried, “I would have been defiled by your friend the Earl of Westwood, but not by Ian. How could I be defiled by the man I love?”

“You do not know what love is,” Rickard retorted, and then he lunged at Ian, striking out with his fists.

But Ian was too quick for him, and he dodged the first blow, returning one of his own and striking Rickard on the chin.

“Please, Rickard, stop it,” Catherine exclaimed, but her brother’s anger was absolute.

“You do not even know who this man is,” he cried, but Catherine shook her head.

“I know he is the man I love, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. We are married, and that marriage is everything,” she cried.

“Married under false pretenses, married before you know the truth of who this man is,” her brother retorted.

Catherine paused, confused as to his words, and now a smile came over Rickard’s face. “I know who he is…” she said, her words faltering, but Rickard shook his head.

“You do not know it all, Catherine. You do not know that this man is illegitimate, born out of wedlock. His mother had an affair, and he was the product of that sorry union, and once it is known across the ton you and he will be ruined,” he said, smiling triumphantly, even as blood flowed from the wound to his chin.

Catherine stared at him open-mouthed, turning to Ian, whose face was flushed with anger.

“I… it is not what you think,” he gasped, but she shook her head.

“I do not care who your father is, just as at this moment I do not care for my own father or brother, and would happily know myself illegitimate,” she cried.

“But then you would have nothing,” her brother said, pointing his finger at her, “just as you will have nothing when the truth about this man is known by all the ton.”

“I will discover the truth, Catherine, I promise you. It will have no hold over us,” Ian exclaimed.

“Not once it is exposed,” Rickard said.

He was evidently enjoying himself now, toying with Ian like a cat with a mouse. Tears welled up in Catherine’s eyes. The happiness of what had been, replaced with the bitter taste of this astonishing revelation.

“You have no proof at all for what you claim,” Ian said, “you would only ruin your own reputation.”

“And how do you know I have no proof? Would you risk it? My father and I have discovered much about you, Ian Bennet, and we intend to bring you down. I thought I knew you, I thought we were friends, but really, this is all too much,” he said, advancing toward Ian, who raised his fists.

“It makes no difference to me,” Catherine said, and as her brother reached out to grab her, Ian aimed another punch at his jaw, sending him reeling back.

He fell back with a crash over the tables, and the landlord shouted at them again. “Out, I say, out from my taproom,” he cried.

Ian seized Catherine by the hand, tossing a handful of coins at the landlord and calling out thanks for his hospitality. Rickard was still sprawled on the floor, dazed and groaning. Catherine could feel no sorrow for him, and in that moment, she would gladly have never seen her brother ever again.

“But what are we to do?” she asked, as they dashed out of the door.

“The mail coach! We are in luck,” Ian cried, pointing along the street to where Walter Perkins was sitting on the outboard of his mail coach.

“Well now, I did not expect to see the two of you again,” he exclaimed, as they hurried up to him.

“Will you take us to Lancaster immediately?” Ian asked, and Walter appeared confused.

“But I had hoped to rest a little,” he said, but Catherine begged him.

“Please, sir, it is a matter of life and death. We are pursued by terrible forces, those which wish to make me the wife of the most awful man. Please, you must help us,” she said, imploring the good nature she had seen during their journey north, and with a smile, Walter nodded.

“Very well, miss, seeing as it is you. We can stop in Carlisle to rest the horses. Climb in,” he said, and Ian pulled open the door, ushering Catherine inside.

They sat back with a sigh, relieved to find no one else as a traveling companion, and Walter urged on the horses, and set the mail coach on the road south. Catherine glanced out of the window toward the inn, seeing no sign of Rickard in pursuit, but knowing that it would be no time at all before he followed them.

Ian was quiet, and Catherine looked at him, wondering what thoughts were going around in his mind. Had he known of the claims which her brother made against him? He had spoken of his mother in less than flattering tones, but to discover he was illegitimate was surely cause for him to detest her even more. But Catherine could hold no anger against him, quite the opposite, she loved him, and in his troubles, she loved him all the more.

“Did you know?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I had a thought it might be true, but I can think of no evidence which Rickard and your father could possibly possess, unless the man involved has admitted it to them,” he replied, turning to her with a sorrowful look in his eyes.

“It makes no difference to me; I would love you if you were a pauper or a king. Your father – whoever he is – is not you, and you are not your father. But you have your suspicions?” she asked, and he nodded.

“My mother had an affair with the Duke of Sinclair,” he replied, and Catherine could not help the gasp she now emitted.

“The Duke of Sinclair? You mean, Nicholas’ father?” she said, thinking through the astonishing implications if it were true.

She would be a sister-in-law to Rebecca, related through their husbands, Nicholas would be Ian’s half-brother, and would that mean he had a claim to the estate? A hundred further questions now arose, but she knew better than to ask them, sensing that Ian was somewhat uncomfortable at the subject.

“The very same, though Nicholas can have no idea about it, unless your brother and father have revealed it. They would not be so foolish to do so, though, not if they wish to keep the matter of revelation as a weapon against me,” he replied.

“And me,” she said, and he put his arm around her and sighed.

“It is me they want rid of. They do not approve of me, but it runs deeper than that. The Duke of Sinclair is a businessman, just like your father and brother. They would be glad to see my own business interests fall in favor of their own. To create the scandal of illegitimacy would ruin me, if they have the evidence to prove it,” he replied.

Catherine was angry with her brother and her father, angry that they believed they could control her through such wicked claims. But the thought of Ian’s reputation being tarnished – destroyed even – was enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she felt despair as to what they would do.

“We must prove it wrong, for how can such proof exist? Surely it cannot,” she said, but he shook his head.

“Until I know the fullness of their claims, I can make little by way of defense, unless…” he said, and now he shook his head.

“Unless what?” she asked.

“We pay a visit to my mother,” he replied.