Stephanie Laurens - The Elusive Bride

We are hoping to hear from Wolverstone soon.

Pray that it is so.

E.

A messenger from Wolverstone rode in late that evening.

The greatcoated rider handed his packet to Tristan in the front hall. “Would have been here earlier, m’lords, but the drifts are still thick through Suffolk. Howsoever, I was to tell you that as per those orders”-he nodded at the packet-“you shouldn’t have any trouble getting through, seeing as you’ll be in carriages and there’s no more snow coming down.”

“Thank you.” Tristan handed the man over to Clitheroe, then followed the others back into the drawing room, where they’d been sitting and chatting by the roaring fire.

They resumed their seats and waited expectantly as Tristan opened the packet. Frowning, he pulled out two folded sheets, then handed one to Leonora. “From Minerva.” He glanced at Gareth and Emily. “Royce’s duchess.”

Opening the second missive, Tristan scanned the lines within, then glanced up with an anticipatory smile. “Tomorrow we’re to travel via Gravesend to Chelmsford, seeing what cultists we can draw along the way, especially north of the Thames. After spending the night at the Castle Arms in Chelmsford, we’re to head to Sudbury, stop for lunch at an inn, then continue through Bury St. Edmunds to Elveden.” He offered the letter to Gareth. “Delborough is expected to be at Elveden to greet us.”

Gareth took the letter. “That’s excellent news.” He glanced over the instructions, then looked at Jack and Tristan. “So-how will we handle the travel?”

They discussed various options, the ladies contributing as much as the gentlemen, the missive to Leonora having contained an invitation from Minerva for Leonora and Clarice to visit Elveden with their families. Jack and Tristan exchanged a glance, but didn’t argue, clearly deeming Elveden to be safe enough, especially as they would soon be there.

In the end, it was decided that Leonora and Clarice would travel with their children in their own carriages, with their customary retinue of coachmen, grooms, and guards, taking Dorcas, Arnia, Watson and Jimmy with them. They would go via London directly up the Great North Road, then across via Cambridge and Newmarket to Elveden.

Gareth and Emily would go in another carriage, with Mullins driving and Bister and Mooktu as guards. They would follow Wolverstone’s stipulated route, shadowed by Jack and Tristan on horseback.

“The better to eliminate any cultists we find,” as Jack put it.

The two family carriages would leave three hours after Gareth and Emily’s, but as their route lay along major highways, it was likely the families would reach Elveden first.

With a glance at the clock, then at Clarice and Emily, Leonora rose. “It’s late, and we’ll need to leave as early as possible.” She looked at the men. “We’ll leave you to organize the carriages, coachmen and horses while we organize the people.”

The men nodded, and returned to their planning.

Rising with Clarice, Emily followed Leonora into the hall. Leonora rang for Clitheroe.

Emily had the simplest task. She explained to Watson what had been arranged, knowing she could rely on him to alert the others and have everyone ready in good time in the morning. Leaving Leonora deep in discussion with her housekeeper, and Clarice issuing instructions to her senior nursemaid, Emily climbed the stairs and headed for her room.

By the time she reached it, excitement had taken hold. Entering, she found herself smiling.

One last push from Mallingham Manor to Elveden, and their journey would be over. Two more days, and she and Gareth could turn their attention to their future-their marriage-to planning both.

She was in her nightgown, but, too excited to sit let alone lie still, she was pacing before the fire with a shawl about her shoulders, imagining, when the door opened and Gareth came in. She halted, eagerness lighting her face.

Closing the door, he met her eyes, read her expression, and smiled. But as he closed the distance between them, he sobered. Halting before her, he looked into her eyes. “Two more days.” He hesitated, then, to her surprise, he reached for her hands, enclosing them in his.

As his eyes searched her face, she remained silent. Wondering.

Eventually he drew a curiously tight breath. “I wasn’t going to say anything, not until this was all over. But…I can’t let us go on, into the next two days, without saying at least this much. Downstairs just now, we made plans, all straightforward and direct-we do this, go by this road, and we reach Elveden and it’s over.” His eyes held hers. “But it won’t be that easy. We know the Black Cobra will be marshaling his forces between us and Elveden, that he’ll have his best troops-his elite-waiting to intercept us. He will be, should be, desperate to seize the scroll holder. That’s what we’re counting on-that he’ll be desperate enough to commit his forces so we can reduce them, and that at some point he’ll make a mistake that will paint him even more definitively as the Black Cobra than the letter one of us is carrying does of itself.

“And all of that,” he went on, “assumes action and real danger. A real threat of death looming along our apparently simple road.”

Gareth paused. His gaze locked with hers, he searched for the right words, the words he had to say. “I haven’t yet asked you to marry me.” His grip on her hands tightened; he felt the delicate bones beneath his much stronger fingers and gentled his touch. “Not properly. I want to-I intend to-but I might yet be killed, or badly injured, and if I was, I wouldn’t want you tied to me.” She frowned, opened her mouth, but he spoke over her. “I wouldn’t want you to stay by me if I didn’t have a life to offer you. But …”

This was the difficult part, and at least she’d remained silent and was listening as intently as he could wish. Keeping his gaze locked with hers, he drew strength and steadiness from her moss-green eyes. “I want to marry you, and I want a marriage like Jack and Clarice’s, like Tristan and Leonora’s. I don’t know if that’s possible-if I can do what’s needed to have that sort of marriage-but I think I can, and I want to try. With you. Because I want us to have that, even though I can’t describe what ‘that’ is.”

Understanding shone in her eyes, her expression transformed to one of glowing happiness. The hard knot of trepidation in his chest eased.

She stepped closer. Freeing one hand from his, she laid her palm along his jaw. “I can describe it. I’ve spent the last days thinking of nothing else-looking and studying to learn what made marriages like Jack and Clarice’s, Tristan and Leonora’s, what they are-what makes them work. I know what we need to do-that we need to trust each other, value each other, and share everything in our lives-and yes, I want that, too.”

She smiled, and in that shimmering moment he could see her heart in her eyes. “There is nothing I want more in life than to have a marriage like that, with you.”

His heart cartwheeled, but he raised his hand and placed a finger across her lips. “Don’t say anything more.”

Eyes widening, she tilted her head, looked her question.

“It’s an old…I suppose you’d call it a superstition. A soldier’s superstition, yet there’s logic behind it. In going into battle, any battle, you try to ensure that you, personally, have the least possible to lose. It’s tempting fate to go into an engagement knowing you have something worth more than life itself at stake. More, it’s dangerous, because going on the offensive inevitably clashes with defensive instincts-and you’ll be caught, torn, at the worst possible moment. Facing an enemy knowing you have something of immense and staggering worth to lose gives you a weakness that the enemy doesn’t have. It’s a distraction, a handicap.