‘I will scribe a note to Hill Street to set minds at ease, and that can be taken aboard the next London-bound mail.’ He held out his hand, not in supplication but command, and she placed her small hand within his large grasp. He turned to see Rothley and Lady Sophronia, their heads still whisper-close. ‘My home at Croxton Priory is but a few miles from St Neots and under an hour from here. The ladies will be tired, and you are not fit to travel all the way back to London tonight. I am not entirely certain of the proprieties in this case, Rothley, but we have Lady Sophy’s maid and you and I can always repair to the local inn once you have seen a surgeon.’
‘True enough.’
Sophy shook her head.
‘If we are to travel further, Sir Esmond, Lord Rothley should not move again once the surgeon has attended him. I am sure the proprieties can be observed, and if not … then in these extenuating circumstances, we lie,’ she declared, firmly. ‘You will travel in the chaise, my lord.’
‘But that means I shall be with Sir Esmond, cousin,’ piped up Susan.
‘Yes, I know. It is unavoidable, though.’
‘Not if I stay in the curricle,’ volunteered Lord Rothley, and received a look from his beloved which indicated that this might be over her dead body.
‘My cousin is in your care, Sir Esmond.’
‘Of course, ma’am. I will give directions to the postboys. You do not object to me driving your curricle, I take it, Rothley?’
Susan sat quietly in the curricle as it bowled along at a rather less uncomfortable pace than it had travelled the miles from London. She had much to consider. Without a further change of horses they reached Croxton within an hour.
‘Oh, do look at the house!’ Susan sat suddenly very erect. ‘It is not what I had expected. I had thought it would be some musty Tudor thing made out of bricks and bits of old stone. It is actually rather splendid. ‘
Sir Esmond smiled at her guileless implication that she had fully expected to be disappointed. The curricle had turned a bend and before them was a neat, ashlar-faced house with a semi-circular portico and large sash windows. It was not, perhaps, as large as Tyneham Court, but it looked friendly, and inviting, and the facade was little more than fifty years old, having been altered by Sir Esmond’s grandfather. The horses slowed and came to a halt. Sir Esmond jumped down and came round to help Susan alight, but did not simply take her hand. Instead, he swung her down into his arms.
‘Welcome to your new home,’ he whispered.
The front door was opened, and, as he set her down, she gave him her hand, most graciously. She then ruined the regal effect by asking, with childish directness, how many rooms there were. He laughed, and said he had not counted, but would help her do so if required.
Sophy had spent the journey worrying about Lord Rothley’s shoulder, but was trying valiantly not to sound as if fussing. When they passed the lodge gates of Croxton Priory and followed the curricle up the avenue of limes that led to the house, she heaved a huge sigh of relief, and squeezed his lordship’s hand.
‘You will soon be comfortable, my lord.’
He nodded, but said nothing.
Within the house, Susan was led into a small saloon, where the Holland covers were being hastily removed.
‘What happens now, sir?’ Susan enquired, suddenly serious.
‘First of all, I arrange for food, since Lady Sophy and I have barely had more than half a cup of scalding-hot coffee and a cake since we left London, and we see to Rothley’s wound.’
‘That was not quite what I meant, Sir Esmond.’
The maid left the room, and he stepped close and took her hands.
‘I know.’ He smiled down at her. ‘You will be delighted to know that Tyneham has washed his hands of you, my dear, but did come with me to obtain a Special Licence. Not for you a grand wedding and a multitude of guests, but we will send in the notice that you were married in a quiet family ceremony, here in Huntingdonshire.’
‘Married. Really married?’ Her eyes questioned, and his heart leapt because, for all her brassy manner, Susan looked a little nervous. He found it heartening that beneath the appearance of brazen womanhood, she was in so many ways just a girl fighting her way in a world she did not comprehend.
‘Yes, really married. Had you not considered what it would mean to be married to Pinkney?’
‘I thought I had explained it was a marriage of convenience and since he had my money he would not be interested in … me.’ She coloured. ‘However, upon the journey I did gather that he did not regard matters in that light.’ She frowned.
‘Was that the sort of marriage you wanted, Susan?’
‘With him, yes. He was a means to an end, as I thought I was to him, but it would not have been nice.’
‘What I offer is not a marriage of convenience, you understand that.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Her frown remained. ‘But I still do not understand how you can want to marry me, when you find so much not to like.’
