Because of You (14 page)

Somehow, in some way, Samantha vowed she would learn to live with the disgrace. But she would not marry him.

The Porters had arrived and pushed their way into the room. The duke of Ayleborough motioned for Fenley to make arrangements for drinks for everyone.

“If you are related to the duke, then you must be very rich,” Miss Hattie said to Yale.

“Yes, very,” he answered, and she turned in wonder at her sister.

“How lucky you are,” Miss Mabel said to Samantha. “You are going to be part of the Carderock family. This is most romantic.”

“This man has deceived me,” Samantha practically growled. “He’s deceived all of us. There is nothing romantic about it.”

“But he wants to make it right,” Mrs. Sadler said, and the other women around her nodded. Even a few men agreed.

Then the duke spoke, “I have one condition before giving this remarriage my blessing, brother.” Everyone went silent.

“And that is?” Yale asked.

“That you come to London with your wife, at least until she is properly settled.”

“I will,” Yale said firmly. “I’ll do it for Sam.”

The women in the room oohed their approval.
Samantha harrumphed her thoughts. She turned her back on him.

Emma and Fenley appeared with tankards of ale. More villagers crowded into the room. Glancing over her shoulder, Samantha realized that Yale was on one side, she on the other. Vicar Newell stood lost in the crowd somewhere in between.

“Let us get this ceremony done with,” Ayleborough announced, taking a tankard for himself. “I am eager to be on the road to London to see my family.”

“Well, then,” Squire Biggers said. “Let’s start the ceremony, else my nephew will find himself without a house again.”

That was all the impetus the mousy Vicar Newell needed. He started reading the words of the marriage ceremony out of the
Book of Common Prayer.

Samantha kept her back turned to all of them, amazed that they should so completely ignore her wishes. Well, she wasn’t going through with this. She wouldn’t!

She listened to Yale repeat his vows. He sounded more sure of them than he had the day before.

Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth to keep herself from crying. As he earnestly promised to keep her to him until death, she wanted to rage at him like some Greek harpy.

Then it was time for her vows.

“Samantha Northrup,” the vicar said. “Wilt
thou have this man to be thy wedded husband?”

Samantha stared at a crack in the plaster wall in front of her. She would not say one word.

Miss Mabel nudged her. “You say ‘I will’ here.”

Samantha ignored her.

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Then Mrs. Biggers’s overbearing voice came from the doorway, “Oh, pother! I’ll answer for her. She will!”

Samantha turned on one foot. “I do not!”

“You already have,” Mrs. Biggers said. She looked at her nephew. “She took these vows yesterday. There’s no reason to say them again. After all, she married him using her real name.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Vicar Newell said, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

“Aye, what difference is it whether she said it yesterday or today?” Squire Biggers said impatiently. “Let’s get on with it.”

And to Samantha’s horror, the vicar did exactly that. “Will thou love him, comfort him, obey him?”

When she didn’t answer, Mrs. Biggers and the other women did for her, their voices speaking in unison, “She does.”

“No, I won’t!” Samantha protested.

“Wilt thou honor and keep him, in sickness and in health?”

“She will!” The men joined in this time and the sound was much louder.

“No!” Samantha stamped her foot, so angry she could burst into flames.

“And wilt thou forsake all others, and keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“She will!” everyone answered, absolutely jovial by now.

Before Samantha could protest again, the vicar said, “ThenIpronounceyoumanandwife.” He closed the prayer book and smiled beatifically. “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

The crowd responded, “Amen,” and hoisted their tankards to drink to her health.

Stunned, Samantha stared at them, people she had known and trusted all her life. They didn’t care about her—finally she understood what Marvin, no, what
Yale
had been trying to tell her.

And then the hairs on the back of her neck tickled, as if someone watched her. She shifted her gaze and met Yale’s. The expression on his face was one of sympathy touched with regret. He knew what she was thinking.

She gave him her back.

Y
ale watched cynically as the villagers rushed forth to congratulate Samantha. Mrs. Biggers droned on and on about how wonderful it was “our dear Miss Northrup is now related to the duke of Ayleborough.”

Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie cried noisily, while Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Sadler both bragged that they’d known there was something “special” about Mr. Browne.

“I knew the moment I clapped eyes on him that he wasn’t just a nobody,” Mrs. Sadler declared.

“Aye, I felt the same,” her husband agreed.

Yale remembered their first meeting differently. When he’d paid for his room in advance, the innkeeper and his wife had practically bit his coin in front of him to see if the metal was good.

He was glad he was taking Sam away from them; they were all such hypocrites. They didn’t deserve a person as fine and giving as she was.

Wayland’s voice was heard over the crowd. “I
hate to spoil this splendid party in honor of my brother and his new bride, but we must be on our way. I plan to make London by Tuesday night.”

“By Tuesday night, Your Grace?” Squire Biggers said. “That’s a spanking pace in this weather.”

“It is, but I will do it,” Wayland answered, pulling on his gloves, while Fenley placed a heavy greatcoat sporting no fewer than five capes around his shoulders. “I have my own teams waiting between here and London. I promised Her Grace I will be there, and so I shall. I don’t like to be away from my family any longer than I must.” He gave his brother an indulgent smile before adding, “But then, it was a good thing I made this trip, no?”

Yale wanted to answer, “No, it was not.” If Wayland hadn’t appeared, he and Samantha would be on their way and she would be as content and happy as a cat. As it was now, he’d be lucky if Sam thawed toward him by spring.

But his answer wasn’t necessary. Mrs. Biggers was busy fawning all over his brother. “Oh, yes,” she trilled. “And you have a new baby, too. It has been years since we’ve seen the other boys. When you return to Braehall, do bring them to Sproule!”

“Yes, I should,” Wayland agreed. “But Her Grace doesn’t enjoy traveling. Not with the children so young.”

“It is hard,” Mrs. Biggers said, and Yale
wanted to snort in derision. He doubted the woman had ever been more than five miles from Sproule in any direction.

Then Wayland started for the door and Mrs. Biggers and her husband and all the others hurried after him.

Yale looked across the room. Samantha had already been forgotten.

Fenley had her cape. Yale had out his hand and nodded for the servant to leave them.

They were alone.

He crossed the room toward his wife, uncertain of his reception. The cape in his hands was practically threadbare. He would buy her a new one, but not black. He would buy her a bright red one made of the finest wool. Perhaps that would sweeten her temper.

He placed the black cape over her shoulders. She accepted it without looking at him.

“We must go,” he said. “I had Fenley pack for us.”

“Including my mother’s things?”

“Yes.” He offered his arm to escort her to the waiting coach, but she didn’t take it.

He waited.

“I don’t consider us married.” Her eyes flashed with defiance. “Regardless of what happened between us last night and this morning.”

He had expected such an ultimatum. His wife adhered to strong moral principles and rules. In the short time they’d been together, he’d managed to offend or break every one of them.

Yale drew in a deep breath and released it slowly before saying, “Sometimes, Samantha, it is not what we think that matters but how other people perceive us. Whether you like it or not, we
are
married.”

“I wonder if you even know what the word means, sir.”

“That question could be asked of any man.”

She rejected his claim immediately. “My father valued his marriage, and his family.” With a thin smile she added, “Of course, he was completely honest about his intentions from the moment he met my mother.”

“Yes,” Yale said. “And he died leaving his daughter penniless and alone.”

He regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

If he had struck her with his hand, he could not have landed a more fatal blow. Her face paled. Then her anger rose with such force, her voice shook as she said, “I will never forgive you for saying that.”

“Ah, Sam—”

“My name is Samantha,” she said, refusing to let him speak. “And you are a stranger to me. What happened between us last night was…was not love or caring or any form of commitment. I shall not make the same mistake twice. Do not expect it!” She turned on her heel and almost ran from the room.

Yale watched her go, and then sat on a chair.

“How did you make such bloody mess of
things?” he asked himself aloud. The question echoed in the empty room.

It’s England,
he concluded. He was a success anywhere else in the world; he should never have returned, or involved himself in the affairs of the vicar’s daughter. He had been better off alone.

From the front of the inn, he could hear Squire Biggers’s laugh. It was a hearty and good-natured but false sound.

Yale wondered if Wayland ever tired of bootlickers like Biggers following him so closely they almost had their noses up his arse. Of course, that was one of the advantages to being a duke—everyone toadied up to you.

Perhaps Sam would have toppled into his arms if she’d found herself married to a duke, instead of to the ne’er-do-well younger brother.

He pulled a wry face. No, she wouldn’t.

And that was one of the things he liked about her. That and the fact that she was an enjoyable little piece in bed. Too enjoyable. Even thinking of her made him hungry for her.

Fenley’s voice from the open doorway interrupted his musings. “Excuse me, Lord Yale, but His Grace wishes you to join him. He is ready to leave for London.”

Yale rose to his feet, feeling weary before the journey had begun. “
Mr. Carderock,
Fenley. I have no use for all that nonsense.”

“Yes, my lord,” Fenley answered dutifully. He
held the wide-brimmed hat Yale had worn from London.

Yale sighed. He missed the freedom of the sea and being his own man. At the doorway, he paused in front of Fenley. The servant had been with the family since Yale’s grandfather’s days.

He took the hat. “Fenley, you’ve seen a great deal in your life, haven’t you?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

“Tell me, do you understand women?”

A twinkle sparkled in Fenley’s rheumy eye. “No, my lord.”

“That’s what I feared,” Yale answered. “There isn’t a one of us that stands a bloody chance.” With those words he sauntered down the hallway to go to London, the stage of his youthful humiliation, with a brother who didn’t know him and a wife who despised him.

Life promised not to be dull.

The duke of Ayleborough did not travel light. Besides the ducal coach with his coat of arms painted on the door, there was a second coach just for luggage and servants. Each coach came with a driver and footman, to keep the passengers safe.

A footman held the coach door open for Samantha, but she hesitated. Once she climbed into this coach, she would be leaving everyone safe and familiar.

The duke took her hand. “You take one step at a time,” he counseled her in a low voice. “And
don’t ever forget, you are one of us now. My name and my family protect you. Hold your head high.”

The man was kindness itself. How could he be so different from his brother?

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I am in need of a friend.”

“You’ll do fine,” he assured her, and helped her up into the coach.

She’d never seen anything like the interior of this vehicle. The emerald green seats with their gold tassels were more springy and soft than a feather mattress. She’d never sat in anything more designed for comfort.

The duke took the seat opposite her as Yale climbed in behind him. Samantha wished she’d had the foresight to insist the duke sit next to her, but now it was too late.

Her husband was a big man and his long legs didn’t quite fit inside the confines of the coach, especially once Fenley joined them. Still, she wondered if it was necessary for him to scoot quite so close to her.

His arm brushed her breast and her nipple tightened instinctively to his touch.

She pushed back into the corner of the coach, crossed her arms, and wondered how long it would be before she could erase the memory of his lovemaking from her mind.

Focus on his faults,
she told herself. Certainly that would keep her mind busy all the way to London!

Ayleborough leaned his head out the window to say a few last words to Squire Biggers. He pulled it back in. “Is everyone ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer but knocked on the roof, signaling the coachmen.

With a shout at the horses, they were off. Because everyone in the village still crowded around the coach, they could not go fast. Samantha waved farewell to Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie. Mrs. Biggers practically chased the coach waving her good-bye.

Mr. Porter stepped out behind his fire at the smithy to watch the two coaches go through the village. His wife had joined him and she used a corner of her apron to wipe away a tear.

The coach rolled by the church and the vicarage. The vicar’s wife stood in the open kitchen door. Many a time Samantha had stood in that very place to watch the goings-on in Sproule.

They passed the cemetery, the Ayleborough vault, and the graves of her parents. Samantha said a silent prayer to the souls of her parents, asking their blessing on this new turn her life had taken.

Someone nudged her elbow and she was surprised to see the duke holding out his handkerchief. She accepted it and thanked him profusely, aware that the more she went on about his small kindness, the deeper Yale frowned.

Ayleborough glanced at his brother’s scowl and smiled at her. She returned the smile. She liked him. She might even trust him.

Yale cleared his throat as if to remind them of his presence. Beneath her lashes, she slid a look at her husband. He was staring out of the opposite window, but she knew he was aware of everything. He shifted, his leg rubbing against hers. Ignoring the erratic beat of her heart, she very deliberately moved her leg away.

“Yale, tell us what you’ve been doing these eleven years.” Ayleborough asked.

“A little of this, a bit of that,” came the infuriating answer.

Samantha’s gaze met the duke’s and she rolled her eyes heavenward. He openly grinned back at her.

Yale caught the grin. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing, brother,” Ayleborough said.

“Perhaps since he doesn’t feel like expanding on your
very reasonable
question, Your Grace,” Samantha said in her sweetest voice, “would you tell us about your new son?”

She’d hit the topic closest to Ayleborough’s heart. He launched into a description of each of his three sons. He was a proud father. Nor did he hide his affection for his wife, Marion. He quite adored her and said as much. They’d named the new baby after her father, Charles.

From the moment Ayleborough had started speaking, Yale had closed his eyes, but Samantha was certain he feigned sleep.

“What are the other boys’ names?” she asked.

“John and Matthew,” Ayleborough answered. “I had no desire to give them outlandish names
like Wayland and Yale. Our father was a renowned Anglo-Saxon scholar. Silly names, if you ask me. Our sister’s name is Twyla. You will meet her in London, too.”

“Does she have children?” Samantha asked.

“Two girls, Louise and Christine, and two boys, Arthur and Douglas.”

Samantha couldn’t resist saying in Yale’s direction, “I had no idea you were an uncle, Yale.” The name still sounded foreign to her.

He pretended to snore.

Ayleborough winked at Samantha and the two of them laughed. Even Fenley smiled.

Yale pretended to wake. “What is so funny?”

Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing in particular. Is that not right, Your Grace?”

“A small jest. It wouldn’t interest you, Yale, and, Samantha, please call me Wayland when we are in private. May I also say, I’m well pleased with my new sister-in-law.”

“Why?” Yale said baldly. “Because she asked about your children?”

“Actually, I find her intelligent as well as lovely. I can’t wait to introduce her to Marion.”

Samantha didn’t know who was more surprised, Yale or herself.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she managed to whisper.

“Wayland.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Wayland. I appreciate the compliment. I am also pleased with my brother-in-law.”

“You’re pleased. He’s pleased,” Yale interjected crossly. “What about you, Fenley? Are you pleased, too?”

“With all due respect, my lord, Lady Yale appears to be a superb catch,” Fenley answered dutifully, but with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.