Just a Marriage of Convenience with the Duke by Hazel Linwood
Chapter 24
The delay in returning the farmer’s horses and swapping them for his own had left Patrick at his wits’ end. Every moment that they tarried was one more moment that Lord Haskins had to gain ground on Lady Bridget, one more moment that Patrick’s chances of finding her unharmed grew smaller and smaller.
“This is madness,” Lord Repington told him. “All of this intrigue and chase over a young lady, albeit one as lovely and charming as my daughter? Why is Lord Haskins so determined to bring you misery and hurt my family in the process?”
“It is the most ludicrous reason I can fathom, simply that he is jealous of me,” Patrick replied as they rode, explaining what he knew of their fencing matches over the years.
“It is understandable that a lesser man might feel the sting of jealousy, but in truth, and I mean no offense by this, you are not such a colossal figure that he need go to such lengths to tear you down.” Lord Repington paused to catch his breath, the pace of their ride wearing him down slightly. “Surely there is some other terrible wrong you’ve committed that has brought this on?”
“Nothing at all, you have my word,” Patrick replied. “Haskins is simply an unhappy man, one who has never been accepted because of his low birth and questionable parentage. The only way he can possibly feel any joy is to make everyone else as unhappy as he is.”
“You almost make me feel sorry for him myself,” Lord Repington answered as they hurried, shouting over the horses’ hooves and the wind to be heard.
“Do not trouble yourself with sympathy,” Patrick called back. “He has brought all of this misery on himself. If he had been an amiable, generous person instead of a miserable, haughty lout, no one would have remembered his upbringing after a while. He chose to be unhappy, and now he must pay the price for it.”
Finally, they set out on the correct road, the one leading away from the village where so much commotion about a missing “sister” had occurred. Patrick insisted the Lord Repington take an easier time riding, as he had already endured so much exertion in a short amount of time. Despite his initial protests, the old earl finally agreed.
“You keep your eyes on the road and watch for any signs that Haskins has gotten past me,” Patrick suggested. “You will be of far more help in coming up behind me than in tiring yourself out alongside.”
Patrick spurred his horse on, leaving the earl behind with instructions to catch up to him later and ride only as fast as the man was safely able.
“Do not fear, Bridget, I’m coming for you,” Patrick muttered under his breath repeatedly, an incantation of sorts that urged him on with its severity. “I will find you; I am coming for you.”
Throughout the ordeal of the past day, Patrick could only find any good fortune in one fact—he had ridden so much of these roads as a youth that he could have navigated them in his sleep. His grandmother’s family estate lay directly to the north of London, a modest but profitable piece of land that was near enough to the city for him to escape nearly every weekend for a day of fresh air and bountiful sunshine. He had played with the village children, caught fish for their supper, and learned all manner of outdoors skills, all while having a wonderful time.
That singular upbringing—one of his grandmother’s demands for a well-rounded, studious boy who would become a duke—had prepared him acutely for this very moment. He knew the roads well enough to ride them blindfolded, even down to the precise locations where a carriage might turn around.
As his luck would have it, those carefree days of his youth had prepared him for the most difficult, gut-wrenching day of his life, the day when he rode the countryside in an effort to keep his promise to Bridget… and to save her from the worst sort of villain.
As he rode in the direction that he could only hope would carry him to Bridget, Patrick was struck with an intense realization—Haskins would never return to London without claiming her for his own. The shame of trying something so vile and not succeeding would be more than the man could bear. Therefore, if he had gone towards the city, then he must have had reason to believe Bridget was there. If he had then turned north, then he must have dispatched someone to tell him where Bridget was.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Patrick raced towards the village where Haskins had first lost Bridget. With any luck, he would arrive before the earl.
* * *
“I will never go with you,” Bridget declared, standing up taller and glaring at Lord Haskins. Turning to the gaoler, she said, “This is not my betrothed, it is the man who kidnapped me.”
“Is that so?” the older man said, his burly son coming around from behind the bar to stand beside him, glaring at the newcomer.
“I am her intended, and I have the contract to prove it,” Haskins retorted, reaching into his coat pocket, and retrieving a folded document. “I also have a license to marry Lady Bridget as well.”
The gaoler and the innkeeper both turned to look at Bridget. “Is that so?” the old man asked.
“I’ve told you as much,” Bridget began, “but I’ve also told you that this contract is not valid. I was already promised in marriage to someone else, therefore this man’s paper is useless. He also forced my father to sign it through blackmail, which also renders it useful for nothing more than a wrapping for fish.”
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know that it’s not any business of mine,” the innkeeper declared, crossing his thick arms in front of his chest and glaring. “I’ll not take a stand where I’m not needed, as I won’t put my nose in any man’s business.”
“What?!” a woman screeched from across the room. Everyone looked to see the missus framed in the kitchen doorway, a murderous look on her face.
“Go back to the kitchen, Evie,” the innkeeper said, pointing his finger towards the door.
“I’ll be doin’ no such thing!” the cook replied. “I’ve ne’er once in all these years been ashamed to be yer wife, at least not til today. You heard the girl with your own ears, ears that I shoulda been boxin’ long before now. This man is a scoundrel with false papers, and he took her from her home to force her to marry. Is that the sort of business yer gonna be ignorin’ now? Happenin’ right here under our very noses?”
“It’s none of our concern,” the man shouted back to his wife, but Betsy came down the stairs in a rush and raced to her father’s side.
“Da, how can you be so cruel? Is this what you’ve got planned for me? Sendin’ me off with a terrible man who claims me like I’m a bit o’ property he’s won at cards?” Betsy asked, clutching her father’s arm.
“That’s different, girl,” the innkeeper insisted, though his tone softened at the sight of his daughter’s tear-stained face. “These are noble folks; their problems ain’t the same as our’n.”
“The only problem I see here is a man who refuses to stand up and defend an innocent girl who’s been wronged!” the cook bellowed, coming forward and shaking her rolling pin at all of the men.
“Silence!” Lord Haskins shouted, startling everyone. “Get your baggage under control and out of my sight at once.”
“Baggage?” Evie repeated, her face turning red with anger. “I’ll show you who’s baggage when I knock yer head and stuff ya under the pigsty!”
“Evie, love. Ya can’t be talkin’ to him that way,” the innkeeper pleaded softly, his sudden fear showing in his protective stance. “Go on, do as he says… please, love. And take Betsy with you.”
The cook still fumed, but she looked up at her husband’s face and did as he said, scowling all the while. She glanced back at Lord Haskins from the kitchen doorway as though she might still wish him harm, but then she disappeared from sight.
Bridget trembled as her fate was to be decided by the men who were present. Finally, it was the gaoler who spoke up for her.
“All things considered, I find the best course is to wait for the young lady’s father to arrive. I’ve already sent word to him that she required his assistance, so there’s no harm in waiting for him. Everyone can stay here at the posthouse in the meantime,” he said wisely.
“I will not be delayed,” Lord Haskins argued, glowering. “Bridget, go out to the carriage at once.”
“My father is the law in this village, and he’s toldja, she’s not leavin’,” the innkeeper said, taking a step forward.
The click of a small revolver echoed through the large room. Bridget fought back a scream at the sight of the earl’s outstretched arm, the small gun pointed at the innkeeper’s face.
“I said, we’re leaving. Bridget, get in the carriage NOW,” Lord Haskins bellowed.
With equal parts fear and apology, Bridget glanced at the two villagers then closed her eyes briefly, ducking her head as she moved to obey. She had only just reached the doorway when Lord Haskins shoved her through it forcefully, causing her to fall outside.
“Get up,” he ordered brusquely before stepping over her.
Bridget pushed herself to her feet and brushed the dirt from her clothes as best she could, at least until the earl grasped her arm painfully and dragged her towards the waiting carriage.
“Get in and pray that I don’t become even angrier with you along the way,” he hissed, throwing open the door to the carriage.
Bridget was torn, knowing that she had sworn to herself never to marry this man, but also knowing that he may very well harm anyone who stands in his way… including her.
“Bridget, stop!” a man shouted, his voice faint but still recognizable.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lord Haskins seethed.
He did not wait for Patrick to reach them, nor to dismount. The earl lifted the revolver and aimed it directly at Patrick, firing the weapon as soon as he had him in view.
Bridget screamed at the sight of the gun this time, pulling on Lord Haskins’ arm just before he fired. Her valiant effort earned her a slap from the back of the earl’s hand, causing her to strike her head painfully. Though she was not unconscious, the ringing in her ears—either from the gun’s retort or the blow to her head—prevented her from understanding what transpired next.
She distinctly heard the sound of the earl’s maniacal laughter. Bridget focused her gaze at the inn yard ahead of them, trembling when she saw Patrick lying on the ground.
“I’ve finally done it, Lockhart,” Lord Haskins said, standing over Patrick’s still form. “I’ve finally bested you. But before you breathe your last, die with the knowledge that I will marry your bride and I will see to it that she is as miserable as you have made me.”
Lord Haskins slowly raised his arm, the gun still aimed at Patrick’s chest. He watched the dying duke for a few moments, a deranged smile spreading across his face.
A single gunshot rang out.
Bridget felt herself go faint as she slumped weakly against the side of the carriage. As much as she wished to tear her eyes away from the tragedy that unfolded before her, she couldn’t stop herself from watching Patrick, the one man she had truly come to love, as he looked to the heavens above and closed his eyes.
Beside him, the earl fell to the ground, blood beginning to seep from the bullet hole in his back.
The sight of the fallen earl revived Bridget enough to race forward and kneel beside Patrick’s body. A red bloom spread out from a wound in his shoulder where Haskins’ bullet had entered too high to be lethal.
“Told ‘im I’d be the death of ‘im,” a woman said languidly as she climbed down from the driver’s seat. “Just knew it would only be a matter o’ time afore I could kill him without bringin’ any crime upon meself.”
“Who are you, madam?” Bridget asked, even as she pressed her hand to Patrick’s shoulder to slow the blood.
“Name’s Babette. Yer man’ll be all right, soon as we get him back to the city. ‘Spect he’ll want to see some sort of physician. Come on, up ya go.”
The driver helped Bridget hoist Patrick to his feet, then guided him to Lord Haskins’ carriage. After a word to the gaoler inside about the incident, they departed for the safety of London.
