Chapter Twelve

Quin wrapped his fingers around the silver handle of his cane, coming to grips with the fact that he was a married man, and that he'd have the pleasure of discovering everything there was to know about Augusta for the rest of his days.

One thing had the power to threaten it all. The revelation that Mrs. Pigeon was, in fact, the abbess of the Lyon's Den. Considering that Bess was Lady Grey's mother, it was possible that he overexaggerated the consequences. Nevertheless, he could not smother the nagging feeling that his good fortune could suffer a Threadneedle-type collapse.

The deed was done, however. They were good and truly wed. Their advantageous meeting in Hyde Park and subsequent instant attraction defied the odds. Arguably, they had married for the right reasons. No one had forced them, contrary to what some members of the haute ton believed given that Augusta's sister, Lady Kilverstone, had found herself in a situation with few options after a cocksure lord had hummed rubbish to all who would listen.

He didn't give a tinker's damn about the on-dit set who accused him of attempting to marry up. His goal had been to wed a lady, a woman skilled in gentle pursuits. One who could give him fine sons and daughters, and would not suffer the way his mother did on a squalid farm during a poor harvest.

Augusta.

He stared at her from across the room, content. More than happy to be a tenant for life and indebted to Bess for the pleasure.

"‘It is demonstrable that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for all being created for an end, all is necessarily for the best end.'"

"Voltaire, really?" Bess asked coming to stand beside him. "Try to be more optimistic about your wedding day, won't you?"

Bollocks!Voltaire's wit did not allow for illogical and incomprehensible luck. He met Bess's questioning stare, more grateful than ever before. "What I meant to say is, ‘It is impossible that things should be other than they are; for everything is right.'"

"As it should be," Bess said with a reassuring smile. "‘Crush the infamy!'"

"I have concerns, of course."

"We all do, but go on."

"It will be many years before the ton forgets."

"Nonsense. A new pecking order always emerges to shake things up." She motioned to her widow's weeds. "I am a prime example."

He could not argue with her logic. His cousin had always been determined to tame the wildest hearts and minds, and it appeared she'd done so by being welcomed into the Steere's home.

They reminisced about their childhoods, skinned knees and helping hands, while impatience seized him. Little opportunity had availed itself for him to speak with his new bride, who blushed becomingly like an unfurling rose. Naturally, she gravitated to her mother and Lady Grey. For his part, he could not bring himself to deny her these precious opportunities and pursuits, even though it meant their journey to Sevenoaks would get a later start and they would need to let a room at an inn for their first night of wedded bliss.

Bess had moved on and now conversed with the viscount's brother, reaffirming his suspicions that The Honorable Mr. Bertrand Walcot, professor of antiquities at Cambridge, was Bess's old lover and Lady Grey's father. Of course, this revelation explained a great deal about the dynamics of the family, Bess's presence, and her ownership of the Misses Steere's bachelor list. It explained why the Steeres did not question Bess about her late husband and why they were so protective of Lady Grey. Apparently, the story goes that Walcot never remarried after his wife's supposed death. This explained why Bess had initially balked when he'd asked her to appear as a member of his family at their engagement dinner. Being in the same room with her daughter was haphazard at best, but to add in her former lover—

"The carriage is ready." Greaves's announcement had him pluming to his full height.

A footman delivered his coat, hat, and gloves. He plopped his hat on his head and pushed his fingers into his gloves as the household staff assembled. Servants moved in and out of sight in the corridor, carrying trunks and hatboxes. Mother and daughter clung, tears an ancient language few misunderstood. Lord Steere and Walcot joined them, each taking a turn to congratulate them and pass on happy tidings.

Bess returned. "Take good care of her and of yourself, Quin."

"Of course." They did not embrace to protect her identity in case her veil went askew, though he felt compelled to show Bess how appreciative he was for all that she'd done for him. "Bess, I—"

"There is no need. I matchmake all the time."

"But the risk to you has never been so great," he said.

"Family is worth every risk."

"I will never forget what you've done for me."

She nodded slowly, the black veil giving him no lasting mental picture of her emotions.

Lord Steere delivered his daughter into Quin's possession and said, "You do not know how hard it is to say goodbye to your daughter yet, but I pray you will one day. May you both be blessed with a happy marriage and lots of children, besides."

There was a faint tremor in Augusta's tone. "Surely we will see you again before that occurs, Papa."

Quin ignored the mocking voice inside him that wondered why. "I will do everything in my power to see that you do."

They made their way amidst fanfare to the corridor and down the staircase to the ground floor. Waiting there were several servants, and one particular female, dressed for travel. He assumed she was Augusta's maid. The girl with practiced manners curtsied, then exited the house to board the carriage while he and Augusta threaded their way down the steps, following behind.

As he lifted his wife into the vehicle, Lady Grey said, "I shall keep you informed about your sister's progress to Lyme."

At this, Augusta popped her head back out, apparently overcome with emotion. "Thank you."

He quickly guided her inside and took his place opposite her on the squabs. "And who have we here?"

"This is Louisa," Augusta said. "Mama said that she had lost all her daughters in a year and that I should have a piece of home to help me remember the way things were. Louisa volunteered to accompany us, leaving all she has known behind."

"Commendable. I hope the trip will not be too unbearable for you."

"I am decided. This is what I want." Louisa squeezed Augusta's hand, the sight striking an envious chord in Quin. "After all, it is nothing more than you are doing, Miss... Mrs. Prendergast."

"We are in this together," Augusta assured her. "Venturing to a new home, one we will soon call our own."

A flash of black streaked across his peripheral vision, making him feel a tad remorseful as his cousin stealthily left unbeknownst to the Steeres and Mr. Walcot who, absorbed in their departure, continued to speak happy salutations and stand onlooking with joy.

Before he could try to see where Bess had got off to, the postillion shouted "Gee," and the axles lurched into motion. Augusta shifted her position on the squabs, waving at her family until they were out of sight. When she finally looked at him, tears were brimming in her beautiful blue eyes and streaming down her face.

Bollocks! This is my doing.What he wouldn't give to kiss all her tears away. One sorrowful look from her, one frown, had the power to undo him.

Guilt weighed heavily on his heart because he had caused this upset. It was the nature of the beast, he supposed—remorse. To this day, he could still picture his mother's last moments and struggled to shore up the suffocating loss that gripped his heart. Love was dangerous, devastating, and bound two souls.

Whatever was lost could be found.

Reaching into his coat, he dutifully retrieved a handkerchief and handed it to his wife, cut to ribbons by her sniffling. It astounded him how much he cared for her so soon. Strange days. Strange ways coming from a man who did not offer his affections on a whim.

Augusta gladly accepted his offering, wiping her eyes and—heaven help him—breaking down into more gut-wrenching sobs.

While he battled indecision, Louisa, kind soul, immediately responded, an act that should have been his to perform, and likely would have been if they'd been the only two travelers in the carriage.

In the meantime, he sat perfectly still. If not for that breathtaking kiss they'd shared in the Claremont's library and the ill-timed intrusion by her parents and their hosts, their marriage may not have happened in so hasty a manner. Plenty of preparation would have allowed Augusta to get used to the idea of saying goodbye to those she loved. But such was life. A mixture of happy and sad, good fortune and bad, and time to squander or hoard.

Thirty minutes later, they exited Mayfair, a calm acceptance settling over Augusta as they traveled from Holborn to Cheapside. Her reaction to the hive of activity there—covering her nose in disgust—prompted him to remember that she'd led a pampered life, witnessing few, if any at all, instances of poverty and lack. Although the horror on her face, and the alternating looks of panic and empathy made her appear more human and fascinating.

The carriage made the turn to Bishopsgate and shortly thereafter crossed London Bridge and the London Road for Kent. Soon they would be in the countryside where a man could hear himself think. Where the air filled one's lungs, allowing for work to be done. Relaxing, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, content to have a moment of peace and quiet and looking forward to resuming his duties at his estate.

"How long will it take us to reach Sevenoaks?"

He started, his eyes snapping open. Of course, Augusta knew next to nothing about the journey or her new home. "That depends on the weather and road conditions."

"But how long would the trip normally take, given an abundance of pleasant weather and safe road conditions?" she asked, as if determined to narrow his answer down.

"We are in a chaise and four," he said, "so the ride shouldn't take long. It is only twenty-three miles to Sevenoaks." She grasped Louisa's hand, smiling as if he'd removed the weight of the world from her shoulders. Her excitement was premature, however. "But we did not leave Mayfair until mid-day."

"And?"

"We must now make use of an inn."

She sank back, eyes wide, then stammered out the two words in bewilderment. "A-An inn?"

"Travelers are normally forced to stop for the night. Our journey is no different from your sister and Lord Grey's on their two-day journey to Lyme."

"No different?" She huffed with indignation. "But Lyme is over sixty miles away, and this is... this is—"

"A temporary hindrance, I assure you." He hated being frank. He also loathed being the bearer of bad news, preferring to avoid hysterics. Fear, stark and vivid, flickered in Augusta's eyes, triggering his alarm. "You will approve of the White Hart."

"An Inn?" she repeated. She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Sir,"—her lower lip quivered—"do you not comprehend that this is our wedding night?"

"You will approveof the White Hart."

Augusta could not believe her ears. Was she expected to spend her wedding night in a rundown tavern?

"Believe me, madame," he said none-too-gently. "I am quite aware this is our wedding night."

Her face flushed with humiliation and anger. "Do you have such little regard for me?" This is not to be borne!

Quin reached out to her, but she retreated from his touch. She hadn't forgotten that he had the power to make her forget left from right, and up from down. "The stop is necessary."

She glanced at Louisa for assistance. The young woman's eyes were closed and her head rested against the carriage window. She'd find no help there.

"Roads are dangerous at night, Augusta," he said, drawing her attention back to him. "Nefarious men hunt easy prey in the darkness, and the horses—"

"The horses? What about the horses?"

"Anything may occur in the darkness, stepping in a hold, throwing a shoe."

How on earth had she not considered this? She was an experienced horsewoman. She comprehended more than most. Owning a chaise and four was a tremendous responsibility. The expense and the care and feeding of horses broadcasted one's wealth to the world.

"It is not safe to travel at night. Anything may occur. And I am bound to protect you at all costs."

That was plain. He'd spared no expense to transport her to Sevenoaks. Thankful for his consideration, she yielded. Of course, she had no other choice in the matter. Truthfully, her life was no longer her own. Perhaps it never had been. She'd been a slave to Society and etiquette, and now that focus must shift to her husband. Still, she would not jeopardize horseflesh for a hairbrained scheme to spend her first night as Quin's wife in her new home. Much more was at stake than continuing on their way—her pride, for one.

Quin slipped his hand in hers, offering comfort to her spinning world and quieting her misgivings. Her pulse quickened at his touch and, despite their not being alone, she was all amazement that so simple a thing as handholding could ignite her soul. She was not blind to his attraction. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was everything she'd dreamed of in a man. And the crème de la crème? He was hers and she his.

Still, the thought of being alone with him in a room at an inn made her shiver with anticipation and fear. What was she to do? To say?

"Contrary to what you might think, Augusta, I only have your best interests at heart."

His voice resonated deep within her, the smooth vibration somehow able to calm her nerves and make her feel safe and sound at the same time. "You do?"

"I do."

How fortunate she was that he was so eager to please. His kindness snaked around her like an invisible thread, cobwebbing her heart and insulating it from misfortune. "Thank you. Your generosity offers me a great deal of comfort."

"May it always be so."

Louisa roused—or mischievously pretended to do so. "How long before we arrive at the White Hart, Mr. Prendergast?"

As if on cue, the postillion shouted. The staccato beat on the hard earth slowed, and the wheels rolled to a stop. The axles shifted and shortly thereafter, the door to the carriage swung open, ushering in the twilight.

"The White Hart, sir."

Quin placed his hat on his head, then exited, his lithe form a sight to behold. Promptly situated with his cane, he reached out to draw her forward and guide her down the steps, chivalrously ensuring she did not trip on her new riding habit.

Dusting off her skirts, she smiled up at him, then studied the inn's columned portico. Second-floor windows lined the facade. Her throat closed up, the merest thought of their occupancy making her ache for another indelible kiss like the one they'd previously shared.

"This way," he said, resting her hand on his arm.

They moved across the flagstones into the portico and through the front door, loud conversation and laughter a startling contrast to the muffled cadence of horses' hooves as the carriage rumbled away. Patrons shot looks their way. Their expressions, fixed with judgment and suspicion, making Augusta cringe. She was unaccustomed to such open vulgarity. Stiffening with dignity, she held her head high, determined not to cause any embarrassment to her husband or bring more attention to herself—if that was possible.

"Mr. Prendergast." A matron moved toward them, her hips swaying a practiced parade. "Ye're a swell of the first rate and a pleasure to lay eyes on."

"Mae," he said with a nod. "Allow me to introduce my bride, Mrs. Prendergast."

Several men nearby guffawed, gaping at her as if Quin was lying about their marriage and she was morally corrupt. Egad! This is exactly the circumstance I wanted to avoid. Gretna Green is in the opposite direction.

"Have you arranged everything?" Quin asked, drawing her closer and offering refuge. "My wife is weary from her travels."

"I'll bet she is," a patron spat.

"Thunder an' turf!" Mae exclaimed. "Cut yer wailin'. I run a respectable establishment. Nothin' threw a rub in the way." A surge of jealousy took hold of Augusta as she regarded the saucy tavernkeeper with her glowing skin and bright blonde hair, envying her straightforward manner. What plans might have spoiled their arrival? "Everythin' is just as ye asked."

"Thank you," he said. "Will you show us to our rooms?"

"Tare an' 'ounds! It will be me pleasure. This way."

Quin took the lead, ushering her to the staircase that led to the upper rooms. Together, they trailed Mae, with Louisa following close behind, her face pinching with displeasure. Augusta, of course, did not know what to expect. Mama and Papa had always made their travel arrangements, bartering a stay with friends before electing to let rooms at an inn or two on their way to Bath.

The thought of Bath led her to the seaside and the seaside to Lyme. How was Delphi getting on, traveling with Grey? Was she even now traversing the stairs at an inn in her weakened state? If only she could be there, offering her sister the necessary care. But then—she thought, clinging to Quin's upper arm—she wouldn't be married and forging a new life of her own, would she? This realization brought on another stab of guilt. Her actions at the Claremont's ball had thrust them into this situation, rather than allowing nature to take its course.

She choked back a sob as Mae led them down the corridor to a set of rooms at the end of the hall, the furthest away from meandering customers. The innkeeper unlocked the first door, then opened it wide, allowing them to enter.

Quin led her inside. "My wife will require a bath."

"I'll have hot water hauled in right away, sir." Mae dipped a curtsy, then quietly slipped out of the room.

Louisa peered at the enormous bed, the only one in the room. "Where am I to sleep, sir?"

"I have secured a room next door for your use, Louisa. You will find everything you need there. And if you require anything at all, Mae will see that you get it."

"Thank you, sir." She dipped a curtsy. "That is extremely kind."

A room for Louisa too.What manner of man had she married? To Augusta's amazement, a generous one.

Lavish furnishings and décor styled the room they stood in, teaching her not to judge an inn by its facade. Cheerful colors of yellow and cream with celestial blues accented the draperies cascading the four-poster bed and windows.

Quin strode to the door. "We shall dine in an hour."

"Where are you going?" she asked, half-frightened and half-disappointed.

"I have a few things to take care of."

"What things?" she asked perplexed.

"Enjoy your bath." He glanced at Louisa. "I will be back in time for supper."

And what then? She forced a smile, rubbing her arms to stave her disappointment. She yearned for him to stay, but could not bathe in front of him, nor would she ask him not to leave in front of Louisa. Shouldn't a newly wedded husband stay with his wife?

Perdition!She'd never been so far out of her league before. How did one dine with a husband on her wedding night knowing what was to come after?