Diane Gaston - The Vanishing Viscountess

Pomroy was another name from Marlena’s past, from that one London Season. She had not thought of Pomroy in her four years of exile in Ireland or really even three years before that, not since her Season. She remembered him as a most ramshackle young man. She and Eliza thought Pomroy was a relentless flirt, devoid of even one serious bone in his body. They’d laughed at his antics behind their fans, but neither she nor Eliza mooned over him the way they mooned over his good friend, Tanner. Even though they had been very green girls then, they knew an attachment to Pomroy would be a foolish one.

It was unfortunate that Marlena’s judgement of character had not been that astute when it came to Corland, but then, her husband had disguised his true nature. Pomroy had been as clear as glass.

As Marlena walked at Tanner’s side, she almost again felt like that carefree girl who’d enjoyed every moment of her Season. Tanner made her laugh again, something she’d not done since Eliza took ill. Marlena feared she was much too glad she would be spending another night with Tanner.

Imagine it, Eliza! she said silently. I will be married to the Marquess of Tannerton. Very briefly, however. In name only, and a false name at that.

She remembered then how warm his skin had felt, how firm his hand on her body. Her skin flushed with the memory.

She spied Mr Davies’s horse drinking water from a trough at the inn, and the truth of her situation hit her once more. She was the Vanishing Viscountess, trying desperately to vanish once more. She was not the wife of the Marquess of Tannerton nor plain Mrs Lear. She was not even Miss Brown. She was a fugitive, and if Tanner was caught aiding her, he would face the same punishment as she faced, the hangman’s noose.

She and Eliza had not known that fact when Marlena had fled to Ireland with her friend and became her children’s governess. Once in Ireland, they had read a newspaper that described the penalty for aiding the Vanishing Viscountess, but Eliza had refused to allow Marlena to leave.

Tanner squeezed her hand as they walked in the door of the inn. “How are you faring, Mrs Lear?”

“A bit nervous, Mr Lear,” she replied. At the moment, more nervous for him than for her. She stood to earn life from this masquerade. He risked death.

“We shall do very nicely,” he said.

She pulled him back, “Tanner,” she whispered.

He gave her a warning look. “It is Adam.”

She bit her lip. She must not make such a mistake again. “Do not act like the marquess.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Do not order people about,” she explained.

He tilted his head, appearing very boyish. “Do I order people about?”

She nodded.

The innkeeper approached them. “Good day to you! Are you the lady and gentleman from the shipwreck?”

Mr Davies had indeed been talking of them.

“We are,” said Tanner, his affability a bit strained. “And we are in need of a room for the night.”

“If we may,” added Marlena.

“If we may,” repeated Tanner.

The innkeeper smiled. “We will make you comfortable, never fear. If you are hungry, we are serving dinner in the taproom. We have some nice pollack frying. You must let it be our gift to you for your ordeal.”

Marlena was touched by this kindness.

“We thank you,” said Tanner. He laughed. “I confess, a tall tankard of ale would be very welcome.”

The innkeeper walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ale it is. For you, m’lady—?”

“Lear.” She cleared her throat. “Mrs Lear. I should like a glass of cider, if you have it.”

“We do indeed,” said the innkeeper.

Soon they were seated, drinks set in front of them. Marlena glimpsed Mr Davies, who gave them a sidelong look before slipping off his chair and walking to the door.

A woman wearing a bright white apron and cap walked over. “I am Mrs Gwynne. Welcome to our inn. My husband said you had arrived. From the shipwreck, are you?”

“We are.” Tanner extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”

“You poor lambs.” She clasped his hand.

“Have you heard of any other survivors?” Marlena asked.

The woman clasped Marlena’s hand next. “Not a one, but if you made it, others may have as well, God willing. Now, what can we do for you? Besides giving you a nice room and some food, that is. What do you need?”

Tanner rubbed his chin, even darker with beard than it had been that morning. Marlena suppressed a sudden urge to touch it.

“All we have is what you see,” he told Mrs Gwynne. “Is there a shop where we might purchase necessities?”

She patted his arm. “There certainly is a shop; if you tell me what you want, I will purchase it for you.”

“That will not be necessary. I will visit the shop.” Tanner glanced at Marlena and back to Mrs Gwynne. “I have thought of something else you might do, however.”

“Say what it is, Mr Lear. I’ll see it done.”

His gaze rested softly on Marlena. “A bath for my wife.”

Marlena’s mouth parted. There was nothing she could more desire.

Mrs Gwynne smiled again. “I will tell the maids to start heating the water.”

She bustled away and soon they were brought a generous and tasty dinner of fish, potatoes and peas. After they ate, Mrs Gwynne showed them to their room, a chamber dominated by a large, comfortable-looking bed. There was also a fire in the fireplace and a nice window looking out at the back of the inn. The best part, however, was the large copper tub half-filled with water.

“There are towels next to the tub, and a cake of soap. The maids are still bringing the water, and one will assist you if you like.” Mrs Gwynne folded her arms over her considerable chest.

“Thank you,” Marlena rasped, her gaze slipping to Tanner.

“I’ll leave you now,” the older woman said. “Mr Lear, when you wish to go to the shop, either my husband or I can direct you.”

“I will be down very soon,” he said.

After the innkeeper’s wife left, Marlena walked over to the tub and dipped her fingers into the warm water.

“Am I sounding like a marquess?” Tanner asked.

She smiled at him. “You are doing very well.”

He blew out a breath and walked towards her. “That is good. I confess, I am uncertain how not to sound like a marquess, but if I am accomplishing it, I am content.” His eyes rested on her. “I should leave, so you can have your bath.”

She lifted her hand and touched him lightly on the arm. “Thank you for this, Lord Tannerton.”

“Adam,” he reminded her, his name sounding like a caress.

“Adam,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened and he seemed to breathe more deeply. He glanced away from her. “What ought I to purchase for you?”

She thought the bath more than enough. “A comb, perhaps? A brush? Hairpins?”

He smiled. “I shall pretend I am an old married man who often is sent to the shop for hairpins. Anything else?”

She ought not to ask him for another thing. “Gloves?”

“Gloves.” He nodded.

There was a knock on the door and he crossed the room to open it. It was the maid bringing more water.

She poured it into the tub. “I’ll bring more.” She curtsied and left.

“I will leave now, as well.” Tanner opened the door and turned back to her. “Save me the water.”

Marlena crossed the room to him. “Forgive me. I did not think. You must have the water first. I will wait.”

He reached up and touched her cheek. “You first, Mrs Lear.”

By the time she could breathe again, he was gone.

Arlan Rapp trudged down the Llanfwrog road to the blacksmith shop. A huge barrel-chested man, twice the Bow Street Runner’s size and weight, hammered an ingot against his anvil. The clang of the hammer only added to the pain throbbing in Rapp’s ears. He’d walked from one side of Llanfwrog to the other, but few villagers were even willing to admit to knowing of the shipwreck. He’d recognised plenty of them from when what was left of his boat washed up to shore. The villagers had grabbed crates and barrels. A few had been good enough to aid the survivors. He’d been whisked off to the inn, he and the others who had washed up with him.