Page 46 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

Anne’s hand fell away and her mouth dropped open.

The words stung. But it was the truth, wasn’t it?

Her worries in her children had been backward.

All this time, she’d assumed, because Freddy was a man like Bernard that he would turn into Bernard.

But Freddy was nothing like his father. Mary, however, had resemblance to him.

She wasn’t bashful about anything, and very little could shock her.

For the last few years, she had been very interested in young men, to the point that Anne should have taken this as the warning sign it had been.

Not that she would have been able to change her daughter’s delight in the opposite sex, but Anne should have been more open with Mary about the risks of men.

All this time, she had tried protecting her daughter through ignorance, too afraid to expose the young woman to reality.

Yes, she had told Mary how men could be risky to women.

But she should have given real examples.

She should have been more open about what she had experienced, the way men could manipulate and play on a woman’s weakness. The way Bernard had done so to her.

But having too tight of a hold around the young lady had led to risk, not safety.

Anne sunk back into her seat. “You’re right.”

“Really?” Victor couldn’t mask the surprise in his voice if he had tried.

“Yes. As much as I hate to admit it, but denying it helps no one.” Anne sighed and watched the fields and trees and stone fences fly by.

Despite the fact almost an entire day had passed, it was still full daylight this time of year, and this far north.

“If only I knew what to do once we arrived. Where will we look? Goodness, there must be dozens of places they could be.”

Victor surprised Anne by putting his hand over hers, resting upon the seat.

Her heart raced at his touch, and it lifted the heaviness upon her ever so slightly.

She was glad he was there with her. She couldn’t have done this alone.

She also couldn’t have done this with anyone else, including Dutton.

Not even this moment right now, but the past several years.

Victor had always been there for her, always there for the children, no matter what.

And he’d never complained about it. He was so important in her life, and she’d taken his presence for granted.

She wouldn’t take it for granted any longer.

What that meant, exactly, she wasn’t sure, but now was not the time to unravel it. Instead, she turned her hand and fit her fingers between his.

*

Hours later, they arrived at Gretna Junction.

The black steam engine whistled out loud as they disembarked.

Anne shielded her eyes from the sun with a flat palm and looked around the small platform and the crowd amongst it.

There were a few benches along the small, white building that was the train station.

Perhaps Mary sat upon one waiting for Anne. That would make their trip much easier.

Alas, Mary was not there.

Anne needed to have some sort of plan to at least settle her nerves.

But neither she nor Victor had ever been to Gretna Green before.

They had no idea how many inns, how many churches, how many blacksmiths there were.

While blacksmiths were popular officiants for Gretna Green elopements, technically, Scottish law allowed couples to marry anywhere they wished.

All they needed was to be at least sixteen years old and have two witnesses.

Mary and Mr. Ashby could be getting married right now out in the middle of some field, for all Anne knew.

“I need a plan. Any plan,” she said.

“We will knock on every single door if necessary,” Victor replied.

Carrying both of their small travel bags, Victor hovered at Anne’s side like a black cloud and she immediately reached out to grab his free arm.

“You’re all that’s holding me up right now.

” Anne let out a nervous laugh. But it was true.

She was shaking with fear and was feeling unsteady on her feet.

“I’m glad to be the one to do it,” Victor replied with his dark voice, looking down at her, his green eyes sharp.

It sent a bright surge through Anne’s heart.

His eyes tore away to search the platform.

He jutted his chin in a specific direction.

“Look, there’s the stationmaster. Let’s start with him.

” Victor then led her over to a man in a stationmaster’s uniform, who stood off to the side to watch the disembarkation.

As they approached the gentleman, it occurred to Anne how young everyone on the platform was.

Lots of very young couples , most of whom appeared to be around twenty years old.

She couldn’t help but wonder what their lives would be like in a few years.

The motherly urge to scold them and tell them to head back home was strong.

But she bit her tongue, instead, knowing that they would not care what she said and would have to live with the choices they made of their own volition.

“Excuse me,” Victor said to the stationmaster and they came to a halt before the man. Anne tightened her grip on Victor. What if he wouldn’t help them? What if he didn’t know anything? Furthermore, why would he? The man probably saw hundreds of people every day.

“Good day, sir.” The stationmaster bowed his head at Victor. He seemed a friendly sort, with lines at his eyes and rosy, round cheeks. The gray mustache added a grandfatherly joviality to the man. “You look like you’re in need of assistance. Are you here to elope?”

“No.” Victor shifted.

“Um, we are looking for—for my daughter,” Anne squeaked out.

The stationmaster stared, as if waiting for her to say more. But Anne felt tongue tied.

“Her name is Mary,” Victor jumped in, relieving more of the heavy weight upon Anne’s shoulders. He looked down at Anne in a study. “Lady Mary. She has black hair and is taller than her mother here.” Victor put his hand about four inches over Anne’s head. “About this tall, I’d say.”

“So, she takes after you?” the stationmaster asked, confusion in his voice.

Victor spun his head around to the stationmaster.

“No, I’m not her father.” When the stationmaster opened his mouth to respond, Victor continued quickly.

“Mary arrived with a man named Felton Ashby. He has blond hair and a blond beard, and he wears round spectacles. He’s also…

” Victor paused and glanced at Anne. He swallowed before he continued.

“He’s also about the same size as myself. She is seventeen and he is, erm…”

“Thirty-two,” Anne added, the disgust in her voice apparent.

The stationmaster nodded in understanding and pinched his chin.

“Unfortunately, I do not recall anyone who fits either description. But as you can see…” He indicated the crowd with an open palm.

“I see plenty of people daily who could easily fit those descriptions. It doesn’t mean they aren’t here, just that nothing about them stood out to me. ”

Anne was feeling hopeless. The stationmaster was the one person they knew would have most likely crossed paths with Mary. Once Mary had left the platform, there was no telling where she’d headed next.

“We are eager to locate Mary before she does something she will one day regret. Where would an eloping couple most likely go?”

The stationmaster scratched the side of face. “Well, there’s the town blacksmith—he’s the one most people like to go to. You know, the whole wedding-over-an-anvil tradition. Old Smithy , the anvil is called. But they could really go anywhere.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Anne said with a sigh. “Victor, where did Ollie and Evelyn go when they came here?”

“I think the blacksmith.”

“Why don’t we start there, then?”

After getting directions to the blacksmith, they thanked the stationmaster for his help and hurriedly made their way.

They found a small, white cottage that made up the blacksmith’s shop.

With haste, they entered and soon found the wedding room.

Old Smithy—the name painted on the side of the large, metal anvil—sat in the middle of the room on a pedestal, with two identical, plump elderly women sat in chairs against the wall, crocheting.

A young couple—not Mary or Mr. Ashby—stood on either side of the anvil.

The blacksmith, a portly fellow with a black jacket over his linen work shirt, stood in the middle.

“Are you old enough to get married?” the blacksmith asked. The elderly women continued their craft without looking up.

“Yes,” the couple replied in unison.

“Are you related to each other?”

“No.”

“Have either of you been a resident of Scotland for at least twenty-one days? That’s a requirement since the 1850s and not enough people know about it.”

The couple looked at each other with wide eyes and the young lady’s lip quivered.

“Just say yes or no ,” the blacksmith said helpfully.

“Y-Yes?” the groom sputtered out. The twin elderly women stopped their task and exchanged a look. One snorted, the other rolled her eyes. But the women—Anne surmised they were the witnesses required by law—didn’t intervene.

“Then you are married.” The blacksmith slammed a hammer down onto the anvil, the loud ding causing Anne to yelp and jump. The blacksmith then took coin from the groom. “Congratulations. Next!”

There was another couple about to head in. “Just one moment,” Anne said to them and she hurried past, ignoring their protests. The elderly women exchanged excited whispers, but the only word Anne could understand was eager .

Victor followed her inside, keeping silent.

“You stand here, lass.” The blacksmith directed Anne to the left side of the anvil.

“Sir, please—”

“You over here, laddie.” The blacksmith put Victor to the right of the anvil then looked up at him, blinked, and glanced at Anne. “Why, you’re the oldest couple I’ve had elope here in a long time!”