Michelle Styles - Prejudice in Regency Society

‘Definitely mistaken.’ Tristan’s voice could cut through granite. ‘You owe the lady an apology. The lady is my fiancée and deserves your respect. It is only the fact that it’s my wedding day that puts me in a good mood.’

‘I am…am sorry, your worship.’ The man stumbled backwards, fell over his prone friend and scrambled to stand up again, touching his cap as he did so. ‘I don’t mean no harm like. I, that is we, had no idea. Many happy returns on your marriage.’

‘Off you go.’ Tristan gestured towards the prone figure of Den. ‘Take your friend, he is cluttering up the pavement.’

‘Right you are, your worship.’ The man hoisted his friend on to his shoulder, and began to walk away, complaining loudly as he went that he did not mean any harm and how he was always hard done by.

Lottie’s body began to shake. She wanted to sink down to the ground and weep. Tristan’s arms came around her and held her against his body until the shaking passed.

‘You are safe now, Lottie,’ he said, his breath ruffling her bonnet. ‘I am here.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘And we are going to be married in a few moments.’

This was not supposed to be what her wedding day was like. She had had it all planned right down to the white silk dress, fashionable bonnet and veil and orange blossoms. Instead she had ended up brawling in an alleyway like a fishwife. She had been taken for a lady of the night.

Lottie moved backwards and Tristan’s hold loosened. She wrapped her arms about her waist and attempted to control the shivers that now racked her body. She did not want to think about what had nearly happened to her. She took a deep breath and regained a small measure of control.

‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said when she trusted her voice would not quaver. ‘Those men had evil intentions. I am sure of it. If you had not—’ Her voice broke and she could only look up at the hard planes of his face, hoping he’d understand what she meant.

‘You are safe with me now. Think no more about them.’

‘I made a mistake. I should never have listened to that old woman’s directions.’ Her voice held a pathetic quiver. She fumbled for her handkerchief, discovered she had lost it. With angry fingers, Lottie brushed away the tears. ‘None of this was supposed to happen.’

He inclined his head, but his dark gaze searched her face. ‘Did those men do anything to you?’

‘They pawed at my dress and my face, but I will live.’ She brushed a speck of dust from her sleeve, a small act, but one that did much to restore her confidence. She would not think about what might have been, but about the future. From now on, it would be the future she faced. And she would refuse to let Tristan leave her again like that. ‘It is most aggravating to be touched in that familiar manner. Most unexpected.’

‘The streets are unsafe for a woman dressed as you are. Gretna Green teems with drunks and ne’er-do-wells today. Far more than I thought possible for such a town.’ His face turned grave. ‘If you had stayed where I told you to, none of this would have happened. Why did you leave the yard? You were safe in the yard. You had no cause to go.’

‘The coach driver went off. I was left alone. I became frightened and tried to find you. I went into the inn, but there was no sign of you. A woman offered to buy my hair.’ A shudder went through Lottie at the memory. ‘I couldn’t stay there. I became worried, certain something had happened to you. I went to find the parish constable.’

‘It took longer than I anticipated to arrange the marriage and our accommodation. I had not thought to be gone so long.’ His fingers curled around hers. He brought them to his lips. Then let go. ‘I regret that.’

Lottie resisted the temptation to put her hand to her face and savour the touch. Was it an apology? She did not want to ask. All she knew was that he had not abandoned her. She hated her earlier thoughts.

‘If you had not come when you did…’ Another shiver convulsed through her.

‘Forget the unpleasantness ever happened. It is over, truly. I swear it and I keep my promises.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and looked at her with an intense expression. ‘Remember that. If I say I will return, I will return. I will protect you.’

‘Do you mean that?’ Lottie asked in shaking voice.

‘As best as I am able.’

‘That is good to know.’

‘And now if you remain willing, the blacksmith awaits.’

‘The blacksmith?’ Lottie tilted her head and tried to quell the sudden butterflies in her stomach. ‘We have no horses that need shoeing.’

‘We have a marriage that needs forging. It is where all the best marriages take place in Gretna Green, or so I am reliably informed.’

‘We are not marrying in a church?’ Lottie regarded her hands. ‘I had always imagined that I would be married in church.’

He shook his head. ‘We are marrying in Gretna Green, under Scottish law. Two witnesses are all the law requires. The blacksmith is waiting for us. All you have to say is that you don’t want to, Lottie, and I will personally put you on a coach back to your mother and Newcastle.’

‘No, I will marry you…even if it is a blacksmith’s shop.’ She drew a deep breath. Her wedding would bear no resemblance to the wedding of her dreams. A blacksmith’s anvil and a torn dress. But it was a better prospect than the future those men had planned for her. ‘Like you, Tristan Dyvelston, I keep my promises.’

He curled his fingers around her gloved hand, raised it to his lips. ‘Thank you for that.’

Lottie allowed her footsteps to match his. She was getting married. It might not be the wedding she dreamt of, but she was determined to be the right sort of wife. She would make him see that she could be helpful. It was the details that counted. She gave one last backward glance to the alleyway and turned her face to the sun. Her footsteps faltered. ‘Tristan, what sort of ring?’

‘The blacksmith will take care of it. He is used to weddings. He informs me that he has already performed two this morning.’

‘You mean it isn’t going to be a gold ring?’

‘Is a gold ring a requirement for a marriage in Scotland?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Is it ever a requirement?’

Lottie wet her lips and said goodbye to the last of her dreams. ‘I had only wanted to know.’

Chapter Six

Lottie twisted the iron band about her left ring finger, rather than look at her new husband where he stood speaking to the blacksmith. The ceremony had gone quickly, squeezed in between a horseshoeing and mending a plough. Nothing fancy. Simple and ordinary.

Her face burnt from the heat of the fire and her ears rang from the clanging of the hammer against the anvil. A quick brush of his lips against hers. Very correct. Very polite, but nothing more. But she wanted more. She wanted him to kiss her like he meant it, like he wasn’t marrying her simply because he had to, because society forced them. Lottie concentrated on the iron band. Slowly she drew on her glove, hiding the ring, but her hand remained heavy with the unaccustomed weight.

‘Shall we depart, Lottie?’ Tristan said, coming over to her; the blacksmith started striking the anvil with his hammer again. ‘Unless you want to stay and see the horses being shod, there is nothing here for us.’

Lottie shook her head and allowed Tristan to lead her from the shop.

‘So we are married. Forged as it were.’ She gave a small laugh once they had returned to the street. It looked as it had when they had entered the shop—people were still hurrying by, intent on their shopping, the mud still lay in pools. Nothing had changed. No one noticed what had happened to her. ‘I had never thought about it. My friends will be all agog when I write. One only ever hears about going to Gretna Green to get married, and the precise details are never spelt out.’