Page 35 of The Cornish Bride

“Oh, for an adventure with my dear friend Caro. You know. Miss Fairfield. She and I are going to be having such fun.” Poor Caro. If Ellen did blab about where Ysella had got to, Kit’s first port of call would be Caro’s house, several miles off, which would give Ysella and Oliver longer to get away.

“How many days for?” Ellen asked, making a supreme effort to be helpful but not bringing with her the air of experience for elopements that Ysella had hoped for.

“Never mind.” Ysella dropped some more undergarments into the bag, which was now full. “That will have to do. I can always buy more.” She paced to the window and looked out at the night sky. Clear and star strewn. A good night for her escape.

Ellen scuttled out of her way.

“Now,” Ysella said. “You are meant to be here to help me undress and prepare for bed, and if anyone below stairs asks you if that’s what you’ve been doing, then you will tell them yes. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“So, we shall give it another twenty minutes, which is how long it takes for Martha to help me get ready for bed, and then you can go downstairs. And you are to tell no one that I’ve not undressed. Not even if they torture you.”

This last melodramatic instruction left Ellen more goggle-eyed than ever. “Yes, Miss,” she whispered.

Was that a tremble Ysella detected in the girl’s hands? The poor thing must think torture a real threat. Possibly a good thing.

“Good. It’s all settled then. Martha will be back at work tomorrow morning so you have no more to do for me tonight. Other than keep your mouth shut.” Ysella picked up her discarded reticule from the bed. “And as a reward, here is a shilling. No, two shillings.” She placed the coins in Ellen’s hand, at the same time wondering if that was a wise action as her pin money was already much depleted. Might she need money for the journey? Or would Oliver have some? Surely he would. Even if Kit were right and he was a fortune hunter, a fortune hunter who loved her, then he must at least have his officer’s pay for them to manage on until she came into her inheritance. And once they were married, Kit couldn’t object to paying it over.

When Ellen had gone off clutching her two shillings, Ysella was left with nothing to do to while away the time which seemed to be passing very slowly. The hands on the clock on the mantelpiece barely seemed to move, although the loud ticking grated on her nerves. Every second lasted an eon.

She went to the window and looked out again, over the front drive, although that surely wouldn’t be the way Oliver would come. The parkland lay dark and mysterious, the distant woodland just a smudge of shadow, the lake glimmering in the rising moonlight. A shiver ran through her body. She couldn’t be certain if it was from excitement or trepidation. Probably both. She must banish all thoughts of Mama being upset. She had to shut out darling little George and ignore her regrets about leaving Morvoren. Even thoughts of Kit, whom she loved despite his autocratic ways.

Closing the curtains, she returned to her bed and lay down on it. She was going to have a long wait.

Eventually, Mama’s light footsteps sounded in the corridor as she walked past Ysella’s door to her room. Then, a short while after that, Kit came up and she heard his heavier footsteps as he went to bid Morvoren goodnight. A few minutes later the footsteps returned as he went to his old bedroom, where he’d been sleeping while Morvoren convalesced. Ysella waited. Probably he wouldn’t go straight off to sleep, but she still had plenty of time. The clock on the mantel said eleven. She’d arranged to meet Oliver at midnight.

At ten minutes to twelve, she pulled on her spencer and bonnet, tucked her gloves into her reticule and picked up her valise. Goodness, did a few clothes weigh this much? She needed two hands for it.

Pushing open her door a crack, she peered into the corridor. All lay in darkness save for a couple of oil lamps still burning at the top of the stairs, left there in case anyone might miss the top step in the dark and take a possibly fatal tumble.

Unfortunately, boots did not make for silent movement, unlike slippers. On tiptoes, holding her valise in front of her, Ysella made it to the top of the stairs. The house lay silent and still, with not a sign of anyone being awake still. She glanced back. She might never see it again and she wanted it locked in her memory.

Then, taking a deep breath, she started down the stairs.

Why had she never before noticed how they creaked when you put weight on them? Every single one seemed determined to waken the devil, no matter how carefully she stood on them. Perhaps if she walked at the very edge. With one hand on the banister rail, and the other clutching that hefty valise, she found this made less noise.

At the foot of the stairs, she hesitated. She’d told Oliver to be waiting for her on the main drive where the road came out of the woodland, but that now seemed an awful long way to carry a bag this heavy. What to do? If she was late, how long would he wait for her? Or would he assume she’d changed her mind, or been caught escaping by her brother? He might leave without her if she didn’t hurry. Or he might have changed his mind and not come at all, but that didn’t bear thinking about.

Inspiration seized her, but for this she needed the door into the garden.

Struggling with her bag, she headed for the French doors that opened into the corner of the terrace. Unlocked. No one ever locked the doors into the garden. She pushed one side open and let herself out into the chilly darkness. No lights showed in the house, and the high garden walls cast deep shadows across the flowerbeds. She hurried towards the Orangery, which hid a second, far more useful building. The capacious gardener’s shed.

By now, her hands and arms were aching and the idea of abandoning her bag entirely was beginning to seem desirable. But no, she would need at least a nightgown for tomorrow night and her hairbrush and wash things, or how could she remain respectable and clean? She set down her bag, pushed open the white painted door of the garden shed and peered inside, searching for the object she needed.

Aha. There it was. A wooden wheelbarrow. Perfect.

A few minutes later, anyone looking out of one of the Abbey’s front facing windows might have made out a small figure walking down the drive pushing a laden wheelbarrow.

Despite the cold of the late winter’s night, Ysella was sweating like a navvy by the time she and her wheelbarrow reached the edge of the woods. She stopped and set the wheelbarrow down. If Oliver wasn’t here waiting for her as he’d sworn he would be, then she was going to abandon wheelbarrow and bag and go back to bed and give up on the idea of ever marrying anyone. She’d just have to become an old maid. It was all far more trouble than an adventure had a right to be.

A shadow moved.

Ysella caught her breath.

Oliver stepped out of the trees. “Ysella!” He ran towards her and gathered her into his arms. “I’d begun to think you’d changed your mind.”

She put her arms around his neck and held on tight, deciding not to tell him about her own doubts. “Of course I didn’t. It just took me longer than I thought it would to get here.” She nodded to the wheelbarrow. “My bag was so heavy I had to improvise.”

He laughed against her hair, his breath warm on her skin. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, my love.”

His mouth found hers, his tongue between her lips, hot and questing. She let her own tongue meet his, as glorious currents of excitement ran up and down her body. Pressed this close to him she could feel something long and hard within his breeches, jammed against her own stomach. An absolutely fascinating, and not quite believed, conversation with Morvoren before the London season began, had revealed to her how babies were really made. And it was not the way a girl at school had told her. So Ysella knew what she was feeling, and as well as the excitement coursing through her, so did a fear that Oliver possessed what felt like a very large male member. A cock, Morvoren had called it. Fear of where that was meant to go had Ysella drawing back from him in confusion.

He didn’t let her, though. Instead, he kissed her all the harder, one hand moving up to touch her breast, his fingers sliding inside the top of her spencer.

She wriggled against his hold and her mouth came free. “D-don’t.”

He stopped, still holding her but less fiercely now. “Playing the innocent now, are we?” he said with a chuckle. “As you like, but you’ll come to like it soon enough.”

“I just…” Ysella managed, her voice taut. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this.” She gulped. “No one’s ever touched me like th-that before.”

Oliver laughed. “If we’re to be married, you’ll have to get used to it, my dear. Come along. I have a hired carriage waiting. No expense spared—you didn’t think I’d expect you to ride all the way to Scotland, did you?”

As it had never crossed Ysella’s mind that he might, and if it had she’d probably have come in her boys’ breeches to make the ride more comfortable, she remained silent. Mostly she was thinking about his hot hand sliding in over the tender skin of her breast and how it had made her feel. She wasn’t quite sure she’d liked it, but it seemed to be what men did to girls they were in love with. She knew this because she’d seen one of the house maids in the back courtyard of the house with one of the grooms. He’d had his hand firmly inside her bodice and the maid had seemed to be enjoying it very much.

Oliver released his hold on her and instead took her hand in a strong grip. “Come along, and we’ll be off. No time to waste. We have a long way to go before tomorrow night, and we need to get a head start on your brother who is bound to come chasing after you.”

Would he though? Or would he decide to stay with Morvoren? A very small part of Ysella suddenly hoped that Kit would come after her and bring her back before Oliver decided to put his hands where she didn’t want them again. But she was committed now, and anyhow, it was what people who were in love, or even married, did, so she couldn’t object. No going back. She let Oliver lead her to where he had his carriage stationed in the shadows under the trees.