Chapter 6

CHAPTER6

Two hours later, and not a minute more, Edwin rode through the gates of the Tillington Estate to claim his bride. He did not know why he had allowed Joanna to return to her home, when arrangements had already been made to have her belongings sent after her, and they were already days behind his planned schedule, but when she had mentioned her white stallion, he had not been able to resist.

Pegasus… How curious it is, that her horse should be so named, while mine is Bellerophon. However, he did not consider it any kind of divine signal, for he did not believe in fate or destiny; they were the philosophies of bored and desperate individuals who would not accept the role of coincidence.

Looking ahead at the rain-slicked manor, preferring the drab gray of the sandstone in the inclement weather, he noted with some satisfaction that the carriage was already loaded with the luggage. The family had gathered upon the porticoed porch, and a couple of footmen were stowing away the last few trunks and boxes but, otherwise, everything seemed ready for their departure.

The only thing missing was Joanna herself.

“I trust my bride has not absconded,” he said, pulling his horse to a halt at the base of the front steps.

Nicholas clasped his hands together, visibly anxious. “She will not be a moment, Your Grace. I believe she is tending to her horse.”

“Hitch it to the carriage,” Edwin commanded as if that was not the obvious solution.

Nicholas cringed. “I… well… um… you may have to persuade your wife to do so, for she is quite adamant that she will—”

The crunch of hooves on gravel turned Edwin’s attention toward the western side of the manor, where Joanna appeared, sitting side-saddle upon the most magnificent horse he had ever seen. It shone like pearl and stood almost as high as a Shire horse, with hooves the size of dinner plates and a broad body that would not have looked amiss at the front of an ancient cavalry charge. And Joanna looked equally magnificent, as if she had ridden out of myth and legend to strike a gentleman down for accidentally spying on her in the woodlands as she bathed beneath the moonlight. A warrior, clad in her pale blue wedding gown, with a long, dark cloak pinned at her throat that draped across the entire, muscular back of her steed.

Goodness… Edwin swallowed, uncertain if he could trust his eyes. She looked like a dream, not a simple pawn in his plan to re-enter society. Though, in truth, nothing was going according to his plan.

“Joanna, get down off that beast this instant!” Nicholas barked, turning an alarming shade of purple.

“He will be anxious if he must walk behind the carriage, and I would not have him hurt himself or pull the carriage off course if he should bolt,” Joanna replied defiantly, tilting up her chin. The power in her demeanor had a peculiar effect upon Edwin, and though he managed to fight it, he had a sudden urge to smile.

“I agree,” he said. “That is a powerful animal you have there. I shall ride it, and my horse shall be hitched to the carriage instead.”

Joanna shot him a dark look. “Certainly not. No one rides him but me, and if you were to attempt it and be thrown, I would not wish to be responsible for any injury you suffered.”

“It is a long journey to my residence,” Edwin pointed out, in a stiff voice that could not be mistaken for concern.

She shrugged. “I am aware.”

“As you prefer.” Edwin would not argue with her if it was her desire to ache all over and be drenched by the rain before they had made it a mile down the road. Although, he worried a little about what people might say when their entourage passed, for that pale gown of Joanna’s was at risk of turning transparent in the downpour.

Nicholas looked as if he might explode, his furious gaze flitting between Edwin and Joanna, but if he wanted to protest further, he appeared to think better of it. After all, he could not disagree with the decision of a duke, when he was a mere marquess.

“I shall lead. Keep pace, or I will insist on you traveling in the carriage,” Edwin added, turning his horse around.

He was halfway to the gates before he realized that Joanna was not following.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he watched her slip down from the saddle and run into the open arms of her mother and sister. The latter two were sobbing so loudly that Edwin could hear them despite the distance. But as Joanna had her back to him, he could not see if she had joined them in weeping. He hoped not; he could not abide the weakness of tears under any circumstance.

Sitting at the gates, unaccustomed to waiting for anyone, Edwin was surprised to find that he lacked any sense of anger. There was, perhaps, a certain grating impatience, but as he watched the scene unfold, observing the unashamed affection that the women of the family had for one another, hugging and kissing and caressing tearful faces, he felt a twinge of something else: envy.

Would my mother run into my arms if she had lived? His heart weighed heavy, imagining the impossible event. Would she have shed tears for him? Would he have tolerated her tears, if she wept on his behalf? Would he have welcomed her embrace, looking for her in the windows of his manor upon his return from somewhere far away?

“Lady Joanna!” he shouted, squirming with the unnatural current of emotion that swirled through his veins. So, like his own father, he turned it into the most reliable emotion: anger.

“I am coming!” Joanna shouted back, irritating him further.

It is too late to change this now, his mind reminded him, for they were bound together in the eyes of God, and even if it was only a marriage in name, he could not simply find another wife to take her place. Not if he wished to avoid a far greater scandal than those that had plagued him for years.

Joanna climbed back into the saddle and, elegantly poised, she urged her stallion into a gallop, charging straight for Edwin. His own stallion nickered in disapproval, but held his ground, waiting for his opponent to catch up.

“You should have said your farewells sooner,” Edwin grumbled, as Joanna fluidly brought her mount to a slow walk in a remarkable display of horsemanship.

She smiled, but it did not reach her astonishing eyes. “I did, but I needed one more farewell to give me courage on this lengthy journey. I do not know when I might see my family again, so I thought it best to give them one final squeeze.”

“A… squeeze?” The word made him uneasy.

“Perhaps, you have not received enough squeezes in your life. If you had, you might not be so frosty all the time,” she remarked, trotting past him and out through the gates, taking the lead despite his earlier insistence.

He stared at her retreating figure, angled so gracefully upon the side saddle, blinking at the rebuke she had just given him. Yet, there was a small, quiet part of him that could not argue with her assessment. If he had been held more, if he had been loved more, if he had known affection, if he had been cherished, maybe he would have led a different life. But just as he could not undo his marriage, he could not reverse time and undo all the things that had made him who he was: a hermit, branded a murderer, forever haunted by the ghosts of his past.

And you have bound yourself to that, Joanna… May God have mercy on your soul. As he pursued her, he prayed that she would do as she was told from now on, for if that defiant streak led her to pry, he feared what secrets she might uncover. Secrets he had kept buried for all these years. Secrets far worse than anything the scandal sheets could write.