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Chapter seven

I awoke to shouting. The carriage lurched and stopped a few times; I thought I had dreamt.

Colonel Stewart jostled my shoulder. “You must awake.” His voice, tender.

I blinked at the darkness that had descended on the coach and shivered. “Are we at Uncle’s? In Butterton?”

“Nay, we are not.”

I sat up straight. The coals at my feet had cooled, and a shiver slipped around me.

“The road ahead of us is beset with brigands,” He handed me my small satchel. “A passerby and his family have warned us. The poor wife is in shock as much of their belongings were stolen. Thank God they weren’t wounded. The driver has found an inn—we must take shelter.”

Brigands…highwaymen…thieves…I shuddered. Such were characters in novels. “Are we not but just over an hour’s travel to Butterton?”

“Aye, we are. But the risk is too high.” He reached over, unlatched the weapon box, and withdrew the pistol and leather pouch.

“Do not concern yourself, tis only a precaution.” He glanced behind him.

“The driver has found an inn. We must take shelter. Tis not of the same caliber as you previously enjoyed. We’ll be lucky to get a decent meal. ”

He opened the carriage door and helped me down. The inn was a bit ramshackle. But I felt safe with Colonel Stewart.

“Come.” He led me into the place—only to discover one small room available. Men looked up from their cups and stared at us as though we intruded. Reminded me of sailors that sometimes descended upon Bath, of a sort I knew too well to keep away from. “Can’t be helped,” He whispered to my ear.

I cringed at my surroundings. The floors were dirty, the air smelled of beer and something sour I couldn’t place.

We followed a woman who might have been the cook, for her apron was much stained, up a narrow flight of stairs and into the equally narrow room.

Colonel Stewart looked at me apologetically. “Miss Chilton, I cannot leave you here alone, defenseless. I won’t do it.” A spark lit his eyes.

I panicked at what he intimated. “I daresay we cannot continue our journey—not with brigands on the prowl.” My heart thumped, and I swallowed, dearly wishing for a pot of tea and this impossible situation away from us.

“We cannot continue.” His lips drew a line. He gazed at me, slowly blinking once. Willing me to understand.

I turned from him and fumbled with my gloves and hat. “My reputation…” I didn’t know what to think or say. A single woman did not share a room with a gentleman. Ever.

I would never be trusted or looked well upon.

Or befriended. The benefits of my acquaintance would be tainted.

Mothers would draw their daughters away from me as I might influence them to the same reckless and irrecoverable behavior.

There would never be a good enough excuse, though we had quite a legitimate one.

The list grew. I’d chanced enough by riding in the carriage alone with him, despite the presence of the driver.

“Your reputation will not falter if I can help it. I would not do this if… dash it all.” He jerked his coat off and tugged at his cravat and tossed them to a chair. I backed away—what did he do? A sudden dread snaked around my stomach. A gentleman did not disrobe before a lady…

“Your arrival to Butterton was to be one of ease! None of this discomfort and mayhem.”

Mayhap, he did not think and was merely exhausted from these difficult days.

He paused, stepped close to me, and knelt; his collar hung open, revealing a portion of his chest—and another scar. Compassion replaced my dread. He had already endured difficulty. I might too…

He took my hand and squeezed it, gazing upon me with much sincerity. “For the manner in which I offer, I do greatly apologize. Will you, Miss Cassandra Chilton, consent to be my wife?”

My heart all but stopped because we must share a room.

Word would fly among the villagers, from one to the next, of the pair that shared a space for the night.

There would be no hiding such information from Uncle Harris once we arrived.

The village being so close to Butterton…

we both knew the ramifications were steep.

I knew for certain within my heart of hearts. There was no conundrum. I did know my answer. From the moment I realized it was he who had sought my hand, I knew that I would agree to the match. I may as well accept now as would befit our circumstance.

“I will.”

He rose and pressed a kiss to the back of my hand as he’d done the coin. “You do me great honor.”

He gestured with his head towards the small bed. “Get some rest while I send for a vicar. We must marry now, not at Christmas as hoped. I will return momentarily. Indeed, I shall not even leave the top of the stairs.”

“Now?”

He nodded. “Must be. Once again, this is not how I planned to take you as wife. I am more sorry than you can know.”

“Will such vows be legal?”

“Ah.” He pulled documents from his coat. “Special license.”

Special license… Only those of high birth could possibly procure such.

“You…”

“Have friends in high places that owed me a favor.”

Was I marrying a war hero of sorts? My goodness.

One thing was certain. We wedded to save face.

We could not be alone together in a bedchamber without vows forthcoming.

Colonel Stewart dashed into the hall and shouted for a servant and returned to me in a moment.

He re-tied his cravat and put his coat back on.

My heart began to thud erratically. I stood in front of the old, spotted mirror that hung on the wall.

My hair fell in sections from my chignon and lacked the stylish curls by my cheeks that I was rather known to wear.

With nervous fingers, I did what I could to straighten the mess.

I had little experience and no Lila to help me rearrange my hair.

My hand trembled as I tried to pin a section away from my face. I dropped it.

“Here. Let me.” Colonel Stewart. He retrieved the pin and stilled, his hands paused around my face. “I don’t want you to be afraid. Are you afraid?”

I licked my lips. “I’m trying not to be.”

He took a section of my hair and twisted it, angling the pin just so as to capture the wild tresses. He did so again. When he was finished, he backed away. “You are a beautiful bride.”

He meant to put me at ease, make me feel lovely on the cusp of my vows to him. But he continued to gaze with those warm, brown eyes of his. “I am so very sorry. I desired haste, but not quite so sudden…”

“You’ve naught to apologize for.” Had not every event come of a sudden?

Was there no stopping these life-changing waves?

But instead of being assaulted by them, I was invigorated by the newness of my situation, as though I were being dashed awake to the real world and real living.

Made my previous pampered life seem altogether boorish.

Yet, true, I was a mite afraid. And nervous.

Most brides had months to prepare. I had, as of this morning, but ten days—and now? An hour at the most.

A knock came to the door.

“Are you ready?” Colonel Stewart held out his arm.

I couldn't stop trembling. “I am.” I took his arm, and the vicar led us down a muddy lane to the front of the shadowed altar, where his wife and another witness waited in the tiny, dimly lit church.

We joined ungloved hands, his—strong and calloused with the work of the call to arms. We repeated our vows slowly. He, as though he’d waited a long time to say them and wanted to mean them. I then repeated those sacred words in the same way.

Having been overlooked the few Seasons I enjoyed, I found this marriage to be nothing short of miraculous. I hoped, with a mildly sick feeling, that he wouldn’t regret it—and I wouldn’t either. One simply did not abandon a marriage. Colonel Stewart slipped a ring on my finger—a simple band of gold.

The vicar announced a kiss. Did he assume ours a marriage of passion? Before I could think, Colonel Stewart placed a hand on my cheek and settled a feathery soft kiss upon my lips. Mayhap…mayhap it would be.

The vicar made sure our union was properly recorded, officially signing the license. A dip of the quill into ink by a flickering candle dripping wax in a stream down a short lectern, the soft laugh of his wife serenading like a song…our names were forever linked.

The vicar admonished us. “Better than a wedding by an anvil-priest, mind you. Hold to your vows, hold to each other. You have done no frivolous thing. By every means, hold to God, Mr. and Mrs. Stewart.”

Colonel Stewart held my hand fast. “We intend to do so.”

“I shall be writing to Vicar Harris so that he may receive confirmation beyond your word of the validity of your union. He and I are good friends.” He placed a hand on either of our shoulders. “My wife and I will see you back to the inn. Do be careful on the rest of your journey.”

The cold walk through the village to the inn was made warmer by what I’d just done.

I’d just vowed myself to this man for life, as long as I would live it.

While our action had been an appropriate response to our situation, I felt anything but at ease.

My nerves soared. I was married. To one whom I was undeniably attracted to yet had not grown to love. Or had I?

Did not his gentle words about choosing to love whom he had chosen melt the heart of me? His eyes, his care, his thoughtfulness. His plan to make more of his wards than an obligation spoke deeply of this man’s character.

I looked up at him and found he looked down upon me. “You are tired.”

“Ever so much.”

“Mrs. Stewart?”

It took a split second to realize my new title. “Yes?”

“May I call you Cassandra?”

“Please do.” The way he said my name—indeed, I was beginning to love the very sound of his voice. I’d lost my head. Moonstruck, no doubt.

“You may call me Nathan. No more addressing me as “colonel”, if you please. I am not your commander.”

Soon, we’d said a final goodnight to the vicar and his wife and made our way back to the tiny bedroom.

Just as a new fear surged, Colonel Stewart—Nathan—held up his hands.

“You must be well rested for your reunion with your family tomorrow. You’ll take the bed, and I will rest by the door.

” He retrieved the pistol again and inspected it.

He would be uncomfortable…but…we could not…I…nerves fluttered and abounded. I could scarcely remove my cloak for the knot in the ties. He set the pistol down and approached me as he had when I dropped my hairpin.

“I intend,” he removed my hands from fighting the knot and placed his hands on my shoulders, “to love my wife in the best way possible. You must not be afraid, Cassandra. I understand that we hardly know each other, but I shall enjoy discovering who you are with time.”

I blinked away an errant tear. He swiped it away with a stroke of his thumb. “Everything…with time. We need not hurry those things even though our marriage had to be rushed.”

His brown eyes glistened in the dark, single candle-lit room. The flame offered little, yet I burned the brighter within when I took in the scar that peeked up from his cravat, the set of his lips, the wave in his sandy hair.

His purpose was unlike any man I’d ever known or expected. It fit with my recent revelation about my own life. We were meant to be.

He loosened the knot and drew my cloak from my shoulders. Something else loosened within me as well.

“Good night, Cassandra.” He stepped away and turned his back before hunching down upon the hard floor.

I sat upon the narrow bed and blew out the flame, yet it did not die within me. I lay there and watched the back of him until my eyelids drooped.