Chapter 17

17

Of all base passions, fear is most accursed.

Henry VI, Part 1, Act 5, Scene 2

Maggie sat huddled against the freezing wall of the north transept in the little church. Out in the nave, she heard her captor muttering under his breath about the racket. The bells had been rung, and it had filled the stone belly of the church with vibrations and sound. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe calmly, willing Bridger to find the empty inn room, willing him to listen to the singing bells and follow their call.

Her jaw ached, her entire body clenched with fear. The journey from the Gull and Knave to the church had not been a long one, but even so, she was completely drenched. Her bonnet had fallen off; it sat now on the ground beside her. Damp clumps of blond hair clung to the sides of her face, uncomfortable, but there was nothing she could do about it; Paul Darrow had bound her hands behind her back.

What a ridiculous situation.

Nonsensical to attempt the walk when the rain had already made itself known, and anyone possessing even a meager intelligence would know to turn back and not take the risk. But she had been enjoying Mr. Darrow's company, and after all, they had just kissed, and how could she want to be away from him after that? Still, she berated herself. This was what Aunt Eliza was talking about—she had to use her head more and learn to ignore her unruly heart.

But after a kiss like that, it was hard not to become all heart.

Shadows moved across the worn archway. It was an old, old church, perhaps fourteenth century, weathered by untold footsteps, untold prayers, untold knees pressed into the floor. She could see Paul and his bride-to-be in hushed conversation just beyond the last row of pews, and then an old man appeared, and he was directed by the lady to sit wherever he liked while the vicar finished his preparations. Since Maggie arrived and was unceremoniously dumped in the transept, she had not laid eyes on the clergyman in question. Detaching from the huddled conversation, the bride shuffled toward Maggie with her head hanging like a shunned dog's.

"Ruby," Maggie murmured as the girl came near. "You can't mean to go through with this."

Ruby had dressed in a lovely, soft pink gown, delicate lace along the neck and peeking out from the petticoat. The puffed sleeves made her look painfully young. She still wore the dark cloak that had concealed her as she raced away from the Grecian temple and into the rain. Her fingers were naked, for she had given all of her pretty jewels away.

"And why not?" She stuck out her chin, pulled back her shoulders. The conceit only lasted a breath or two. Soon, she wilted and hurried forward to kneel and undo the ties around Maggie's wrists. "Ann and Emilia always have the men chasing after them. Just once I want to be the one everyone admires, everyone loves. Even during my season, nobody noticed me! They only wanted to see Ann, the great beauty, Emilia, the prettiest girl to ever live! You don't know what it's like to live in the shadow of perfect cousins." She sat back, the bonds undone. Her eyes were big and glossy as she stared at Maggie's face. "They are lovely and clever, but I can be clever, too." She stopped, grinning. "Aren't you curious how we could marry this suddenly?"

Maggie had been too flustered to consider it, but now that Ruby mentioned it…

"I made the license myself," Ruby declared, proud. "And Mr. Corner couldn't tell a goat from a goose at five paces. He was a little shocked by the hour and the circumstances, but it was easy enough to convince him that Ann and Mr. Richmond's nuptial happiness had spurred our own. It seems he's a romantic like me."

"You forged a bishop's license?" Maggie dropped her face into her hands. This wasn't a romantic notion; it was a fanciful delusion. "Good lord, copying out passages from books," she muttered, remembering Ruby bickering with Emilia. "This is terribly wrong, Ruby, the consequences—"

"But you will keep our secret," Ruby interrupted. "For Ann's sake. For the family's sake."

A pit throbbed in Maggie's stomach. So much scandal and chaos, and all for a quick, sham marriage to fill Pimm's purse and soothe Ruby's hurt feelings. Maggie was silent, stunned, amazed at the girl's audacity.

Ruby smacked her lips at Maggie's nonresponse. "Say something, won't you? You simply don't understand, Margaret—they won't share the attention; they won't share anything with me! Not even ribbons. If I want something to read, I have to steal it from Emilia, and then they chide me and call me silly. Just stupid, silly Ruby, that's what they think, below everyone's notice. Why shouldn't I have something all to myself? Something nice."

"Of course, you deserve something nice," Maggie quickly said. " Someone nice. But that someone isn't Paul Darrow. You must see it, Ruby. He's a disastrous drunk and a brute."

"Hmph. He's nice enough to me, and that's what matters."

"Ruby, be serious. He was flirting with half the ladies at Pressmore. You were simply the first to take the bait."

Ruby stood and looked away, but Maggie could see her words were having an effect. "It's too late. I've made a mess of things, maybe, but I've come this far." Her words trailed off as she stuck her knuckle between her teeth and nibbled it. "It's the first time I've done something for myself. And anyway, you're here now, and Foster…"

She heard the doubt creeping into Ruby's tone. Brushing off her ruined gown, Maggie stood, clinging to the wall, not encroaching on the girl, but using a gentler tone. "Oh, Ruby. You should tell Ann and Emilia how you feel, how much their disregard has wounded you. I'm certain Ann will forgive you if you put a stop to this now."

Ruby scoffed. "Indeed! Saint Ann—"

"And what is Paul Darrow? Not a saint, believe me, and not your knight in shining armor. He just wants your dowry so he can drink it all away!"

Ruby switched to a different knuckle, then seemed to realize it was a dirty habit and stuck her hands at her sides. Ruby paced, glancing through the archway as the venerable vicar arrived, perhaps, like the church, from the medieval period, an aged tree knot of a man hobbling up the nave toward the last of the pews. "Tell me, Miss Arden, what is it like to be beautiful? To have men hang on your every word and gesture?"

"Is that a serious question?" She couldn't help but laugh. Hearing her, Paul Darrow swiveled and fixed her with a glare. She lowered her voice to a whisper, wary. "You must have mistaken me for Violet or Ann, for one man actually told my aunt that I made him feel like a caged lion, and that was one of the kinder criticisms."

Ruby shied away. "You're making that up."

"I'm not, I assure you." Maggie pushed off from the cold wall, joining Ruby. Even if she was outraged at being a forced witness to this farcical marriage, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the girl. Carefully, she took Ruby's hands in hers. "You're young, Ruby, so young, and there are people out there who will love you for your sweetness and your determination. They won't care a fig for Emilia or Ann, and when they look at you, the world and all its cares will melt away." Her voice shook. For a beautiful, shining moment she had felt that in the temple with Bridger. His gaze had banished every doubt, even every thought, only filling her with warmth and need. Maggie sighed, patting the top of Ruby's hand.

"Come along, ladies, it's time," Paul was calling to them and gesturing. When they didn't immediately move, he patted his pocket where Maggie knew the knife was hidden.

Ruby stared at him, then yanked her hands away. "I don't care if he wants me for my dowry. He wants me, and that's enough."

"There's more," Maggie promised her in a whisper. "So much more."

But Ruby had already started drifting away. She paused under the worn arch long enough to give a quick, distant glance over her shoulder. "Is there? How would you know? Where is your husband? What gives you the right to judge me?"

They were taking too long for Paul Darrow's liking. He charged into the transept like a bull, shoving Ruby out toward the pews before turning to glower at Maggie. The knife appeared, the bulk of his body hiding it from those behind him.

"Trying to turn her against me?" he sneered, tilting his head to one side. There was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. Maggie tried to step backward, but Paul snatched her wrist and gathered her closer. His mouth lowered to her ear as he bit out his next words. "You'll stand beside Ruby and keep your mouth shut. Say nothing to the vicar, say nothing at all, and we'll part ways with no bloodshed."

"You're despicable," Maggie hissed, watching him slip the knife back into his coat.

"Ha. I've been called worse."

"Ruby is an innocent. You won't get away with this," she added. "Your brother will find us. Bridger will come and put a stop to it."

Paul Darrow flinched and recoiled at the sound of his brother's name. Then he smiled, teeth streaked with brown, his eyes no longer filled with malice but a strange emptiness. He patted the other side of his coat, then opened it, revealing a pistol. "If he does, Miss Arden, I have the perfect wedding surprise in mind."