Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 01] Read online

  Willa let her gaze travel over every beloved face, every pair of callused helping hands. These people were her only family in the world, really. She loved them all.

  The traitors.

  “I can’t believe you would do this to me. What would Mama say?” muttered Willa.

  “She’d say high time. Now smile, miss.”

  With a loving peck to Willa’s cheek and a reproving pinch to her arm, Moira gave her a push toward the archway where four men waited. The twin sons of John and Moira, the vicar from Edgeton, and the man called Nathaniel Stonewell.

  Clutching her fistful of garden flowers, Willa walked toward them, the traditional hesitant pace of the bride suddenly making a great deal of sense.

  Who wouldn’t hesitate to take such a step? For the rest of her life she would be in the hands of this man whom she didn’t even know.

  True, they were large and shapely hands. True, he was a good-looking fellow and well-spoken. Actually, it entered Willa’s mind that she may have made a fortunate shot with that sling after all.

  That is, as long as he didn’t murder her in her sleep or sell her to some Arabian sheikh.

  Worse yet, what if he snored?

  Standing in the center of the green, Nathaniel tried not to chafe at the delay in his mission. This was a momentous day in his life, no matter the randomness of the marriage. The noon sun shone down on the picturesque village square, birds chirped a lively tune from the trees, and chubby village children ran laughing in circles around the archway. A lovely day for a wedding, actually. Nathaniel was simply having trouble believing it was his own.

  Then all eyes turned to the figure in satin coming down the lawn. A pretty picture indeed. The little miss from the lane washed up nicely, in her fresh country way.

  He was marrying.

  Of course, it was an entirely illegal union, especially for someone of his station. No banns had been read, no delicate negotiations of dowry and inheritance enacted, no chance for those who might protest to do so.

  A village cleric and a garden bouquet might be binding enough for the common folk of Derryton village, who needed very little other than their word to unite them, but since the Marriage Act was passed more than fifty years ago, no peer could legally wed in England without weeks of bloody rigmarole. An impromptu country exchange of vows was considered little more than a betrothal, a rural “jumping over the broomstick” tradition.

  Not that he had any intention of refuting the union. He’d inadvertently ruined a respectable young woman—more than she yet realized—and he knew his duty. He would wed her as soon as they arrived in London and all had been arranged.

  He simply didn’t think now was a good time to inform her of that. She was unwilling enough to leave, he could see. Traveling with a sniffling “bride” was preferable, and likely faster, than traveling with a reluctant, possibly rebellious woman who could not possibly wish to tie herself to “Lord Treason” once she learned the truth.

  He’d allowed this to happen. Therefore, it was his place to conclude it with as little harm done to the woman as possible. The best solution would be to return to London, where his money, if not his social standing, would facilitate the necessary legal maneuverings to finalize this strange union.

  He had merely to get there—bride in tow, apparently—to repair this. After all, it wasn’t as if such a scandal as marrying outside his class would shock anyone among the ton. He could likely marry an orangutan ape from the Royal Menagerie and people would merely nod sagely and say they’d always known he was a bad one.

  People other than the inhabitants of Derryton. In fact, there had been a shocking lack of interest in questioning his particulars. And what of the teenage giant who never seemed to leave his presence? Companion? Or keeper?

  He’d been too preoccupied with Foster, Nathaniel realized. Instead, he ought to have been questioning the village about why they couldn’t wait to wed their allegedly beloved daughter to a complete stranger.

  Was there something wrong with the girl? She might be tragically mad or shamelessly promiscuous. So far, Nathaniel had noticed that while she might be considered a bit odd, he’d seen no sign of real madness. Looking at her now as she walked up the makeshift aisle, her hands trembling so that petals were falling from her garden bouquet like pink snow, Nathaniel had trouble believing that the latter was the case. She looked as fair and innocent as any bride ever had. His bride—one he never thought he’d have.

  Nathaniel cleared his throat against an unexpected lump.

  Truly, it was a lovely day for a wedding.

  The vicar made no pretense of drawing out the ceremony. In fact, he raced through it as if someone had paid extra for speed. “If ye discern any impediment to be lawfully joined in matrimony, do ye now confess it?” The words came so fast they were slurred together. How curious.

  A whisper came. “Pardon me, sir, but do you snore?”

  His concentration thrown, Nathaniel peered down at the lace-covered head below his chin. She wasn’t looking at him, but her head was cocked in such a way that she was clearly waiting for an answer.

  Snore? The very idea. “Absolutely not!” he whispered into the lace where he thought her ear might be.

  “Thank you.” She gestured for the clergyman to continue.

  As the man rattled on, Nathaniel decided to withhold judgment on the madness question. After all, one never knew.

  “Sir? Wilt thou?”

  The giant poked Nathaniel. “I will!” the younger man hissed.

  Nathaniel inhaled deeply. There was no help for it. “I will.”

  “Have thee a ring?” the vicar asked.

  A ring. He’d forgotten in his need to search for Foster. He ought to have remembered—but really what did it matter? He shook his head sharply. At his motion, Miss Trent snatched back the hand she’d half-extended to him as part of the ceremony.

  The vicar cleared his throat to cover the awkwardness of the moment. “Then I now pronounce thee man and wife!” The vicar snapped his book shut, and the villagers burst into applause all around them. Loud, prolonged, enthusiastic applause.

  That could mean nothing good.

  Tentatively, Nathaniel reached out to lift the veil from his bride’s face. She peered out at him from the lace, blinking like a plump and rosy angel.

  The vicar tapped a fingertip on the holy book. “Aren’t ye going to kiss the bride?”

  Willa stood back as Dick and Dan carried her packs into the stable with a careless knock of the contents against the door frame and tossed them negligently on the straw.

  Willa put her hands on her hips. “Be gentle, lads. My parents’ books are in those.”

  The two giant young men hung their heads like errant schoolboys before her. She sighed. “Now, I know you don’t like this any more than I do, but we simply have to make the best of it.”

  Dick toed the floor with one giant boot. “Are you happy to be leaving us, Willie?” Dan didn’t say anything, but then he never did if he had Dick to speak for him.

  Willa sighed and took a massive paw in each of her own hands. Such babies they were, for all their size. She’d been their elder sister for more than twelve years now, but it never ceased to amaze her.

  “You know I love you lads. I’d never leave you if I didn’t have to, but a woman must follow her husband. If he leaves, then so must I.”

  “But who’s going to look out for you, Willie, and bash them that’s too forward and such?”

  Willa frowned. “My husband will protect me.” She hoped.

  As one, they all turned to look at the man saddling the mighty gelding. He looked up as if he felt their combined gaze, and his eyes grew a bit wild, as if he would like nothing better than to disappear at that moment. Fortunately, Dick still shadowed him, just in case.

  Dan jiggled impatiently. “Do you know what he is yet, Willie?” The two looked at her expectantly.

  Willa pursed her lips and gazed at her new husband with her head tilted. “What is
he? Hmm.”

  The game was one she’d taught the boys, one that her own naturalist parents had taught her. One matched up a person with the sort of wildlife he or she represented to the world. After all, every kind of creature had characteristics one could count on when predicting its behavior. A hound would chase anything that ran. A magpie would steal anything bright.

  It was nothing but a silly parlor game, but a game that Willa had found useful more than once.

  As for her new husband … well, she was fairly sure Nathaniel Stonewell was more than he seemed.

  A gentleman with sun-browned skin and callused hands. A traveling man, wearing clothes fine enough for any dandy, but that were subdued and road worn, as if what he wore meant nothing to him. A man who rode an expensive horse yet cared for it himself rather than allowing the stable boy to do so.

  An interesting conundrum indeed. Fortunately, Willa loved nothing more than researching particulars.

  Thinking of research brought her parents to mind and the days that the three of them had spent wandering the fields. A wisp of memory, a mere shadow of its former self, swept across Willa’s mind, bringing a longing to go back to a world where there was no problem that could not be solved by a moment in her mother’s lap.

  Willa’s mother was laughing, skirts tucked high, wielding a net and a beaker as she waded in a beck. Willa couldn’t bring up much more than that laughter tinkling over the music of the beck and the way the dappled light had gleamed off her mother’s shining hair.

  Both Willa’s mother and father had been amateur naturalists, more interested in the creatures of the world than the people. They had cared nothing for Society and had fled London to live in the nature they loved so well. Derryton had absorbed them with the good humor and tolerance that a prosperous village could afford.

  Then the fever had swept the village, and it was too late. Too late for talks of womanhood and the mysteries of men. Too late for trousseaus and bridal confidences. Too late to have her mother when she needed her the most.

  A wave of intense loneliness came over Willa. Indulging in one hearty sigh before addressing herself to the problem once more, Willa contemplated the man she would be sleeping beside for the rest of her life.

  What a very odd thought that was. And perhaps not an entirely unpleasant one. After all, she was a healthy girl with an appreciation for a finely crafted male. It was her dearest wish to be married to someone kind and honorable, to have children, to have family of her own again.

  This particular male certainly seemed well put together. It occurred to her that the point could use some investigation. They were married, after all. Willa approached him, applying a bright smile to her face and making sure she blocked the stable door, just in case.

  “Do you not care to have something to eat, Husband?” The entire village was at the wedding breakfast still. If the congratulations were not so heartfelt, Willa might have taken offense at the great degree of celebration going on.

  Mr. Nathaniel Stonewell slid her a wary glance, then shook his head and turned back to his horse. Encouraged, Willa let out a breath. “Well, you should. We set an excellent table. Everyone in Derryton is there, waiting to congratulate you. It is a very nice village, and everyone here looks out for one another.”

  Although having every soul know one’s business, down to the last embarrassing detail, could sometimes be bothersome. But Willa didn’t say that out loud.

  He didn’t respond, only brushed his horse with increasingly long and powerful strokes. How frustrating. Heaven save her from another inarticulate male.

  Still, she did enjoy watching his shoulders move under his shirt as he worked the currycomb. They rippled and bulged with every movement. Delightful. Willa blinked away her reverie and brought herself back to the task at hand. Discovering Nathaniel Stonewell’s intentions.

  “Where are you from, sir? Are you—are we traveling far?”

  Once, just once, Willa would love to travel far, far away from Derryton and the simple life of following the seasons and minding the earth. Perhaps see some new places, since everything more than ten miles away would be new to her.

  Nathaniel Stonewell still hadn’t answered. The brush strokes were becoming rather short and quick now, but still quite forceful. The motion made his body flex even more quickly, and Willa couldn’t help the way her eyes traveled down to his snugly fitted trousers.

  Heavens. What a view.

  “Miss Willa! Good, you’re here already.”

  Willa turned away from the captivating sight of Nathaniel Stonewell’s flexing buttocks to see Moira pushing the stable door wide. John came through, another overstuffed packsack on his shoulder. He tossed it to the ground as if it were a mere feather pillow, but it landed with a solid thump that drew even Nathaniel Stonewell’s attention.

  “Careful, you great lout! Them’s Willie’s wedding gifts. Bad enough that Dan here mucked up her packing. Made a right mess, he did.”

  “No, mum! Her room was already—”

  “Nonsense,” Moira scolded. “Shame on you, blamin’ Willie, and her bein’ as neat as a pin!”

  Dusting her hands with satisfaction, Moira turned to Willa. “You’re all packed up, pet, right down to your mum’s Bible.”

  Willa blinked. With dawning dismay, she realized that within minutes she would be heading out into the world with a strange man.

  “But… a few more hours—” Or days. Months, even!

  “You’re a married woman now, and you go with your man.” Moira dusted her hands on her apron.

  But to simply leave, like this …

  Willa turned to seek help from the boys, but they only reddened and backed away. Nathaniel Stonewell could help her, she thought. All he had to do was say that they would stay in Derryton, just for a little while.

  She shot him an imploring look, only to find that he was already loading the first sack onto his horse. Dick handed him the other one, and just like that, Willa Trent no longer lived in Derryton.

  But she wasn’t Willa Trent anymore, was she? Now she was Willa Stonewell. Fighting down the hurt caused by the village’s obvious hurry to see her gone, Willa blinked back her tears and marched to her bedchamber.

  There she reached under the bed to remove a loose floorboard, for the first time in years caring not at all if anyone saw her secret hiding place. She pulled from it a tiny ivory cameo of her mother as a young woman, a yellowing handkerchief of fine Valencia lace, and a flat silk-wrapped parcel that she tucked swiftly into her bodice.

  The wallet contained a love letter from her father to her mother, her grandfather’s diary, and something that only Moira knew about—the record of Willa’s birth.

  Applying the brush to Blunt with more force than strictly necessary, Nathaniel could honestly admit that things were not going as planned. This was an unusual experience for him. Even his disgrace and subsequent shunning had been carefully orchestrated and considered. Rarely in his existence had he been presented with the sheer capriciousness of fate he now faced.

  He was married.

  There was one bright spot, unworthy thought that it was. Nathaniel smiled slightly as he pictured his mother’s reaction. In truth, he could not wait to see her face.

  His reverie was interrupted by the tapping of an impatient finger upon his shoulder. He turned to find the innkeeper’s wife standing behind him, her fists planted on wide hips, her face a study in maternal protectiveness.

  “You listen to me, Mr. Stonewell,” she said without preamble. “Our Willie has friends and family here. One letter—one whisper—telling us you made her unhappy, well, I’ll be cookin’ up your eggs in my frying pan, if you get my meaning.”

  Her meaning was more than clear. Nathaniel resisted covering his privates protectively, although he did take a casual step back behind the safety of Blunt’s broad rear.

  “I assure you, madam, I have no intention of abusing Miss Trent in any way.” It wasn’t until the woman blinked suspiciously at his reassurance
that Nathaniel realized he’d referred to the girl as “Miss.”

  Dear lord, was he really supposed to think of her as his wife?

  As Willa strode back into the stable, she saw Dan tearfully saddling a sturdy pony and Moira standing with Nathaniel Stonewell, speaking in a low voice and poking him in the chest with one finger for emphasis.

  “Not that one.” Mr. Stonewell strode to where Dan stood with the pony. “I need to travel at speed.” He looked around the stable. “What about that one?” He indicated an expensive mare. It was the horse kept in the inn stable by one of the prosperous shopkeepers of Derryton. Willa waited for John to correct Mr. Stonewell, but to her surprise, the horse was bought and paid for in the blink of an eye, price seemingly no object.

  Apparently Mr. Stonewell got what Mr. Stonewell wanted.

  “I am ready to leave,” announced Willa haughtily. Her chill melted when all four members of the Smith family rushed to her and wrapped her in a warm embrace.

  “You are all so dear. I shall miss you terribly.” Willa patted and murmured, reassured and comforted, until the men peeled themselves off the clutch and left the stable, still sniffling.

  Willa and Moira faced each other in silence for a moment. How did one say good-bye to someone who was mother, sister, and best friend?

  “What did you say to him?” It wasn’t what Willa wanted to say, but it was what came out.

  Moira gave a serene madonna smile. “I told him that if he didn’t treat you like glass, I’d feed him his own balls for breakfast.”

  Shocked, Willa clapped one hand over her mouth, then spoiled her righteous stance with an undeniable snicker. “Oh, Moira, how shall I ever do without you?”

  “You’ll do fine, miss. You’ve got a sharp mind and a good heart.” She leaned closer. “Just you remember one thing….”

  “What?” Willa whispered.