Page 37 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

T he journey became tougher as they climbed the Cumbrian hills.

Summer seemed left behind, and leaden clouds descended on them.

Both had packed cloaks that had been waxed against the rain, but such was the bombardment that neither garment seemed to provide much protection.

The road appeared to wind upwards, perpetually, with colossal hills on either side.

Whenever a distant farmhouse or a lonely shepherd’s hut appeared, Seth would call out to Charlotte, suggesting they wait out the end of the harsh weather.

“What if the end is a week away?” Charlotte’s response would in turn be, “I will not be the cause of you losing everything if there is any way I can prevent it. We must push on!”

She rode with her head down and the hood of her cloak pulled forward so that she could see nothing except the bedraggled head of her horse and her gloved hands on the reins. A cold had settled into her very bones, one that she could not imagine ever being free of.

Amelia, why could you not have spared a thought for this man before you left? Why could you not have spared a thought for me? I only now know that you are alive and betrothed and happy, but I did not have to be languishing in the dark.

She knew that her resentment came from the challenging conditions of their journey and her worry for Seth.

The Nightingale family had plunged him into this situation.

Another woman could have rejected him as the previous two had done, and Seth would have been free.

But he was unlucky enough that the third potential bride was Amelia, who intended to switch places with her twin sister and disappear.

Please, God, let us not fail. And if we do, let him not resent me, though I cannot see how it can be any other way. He protests that he does not care, but I think the worry is weighing on him. It puts tension on his face, which should not be there. His face is one made for joy and laughter.

As they crawled closer to the Scottish border, she realized that she could not imagine her life without Seth.

She had long given up any thought of marriage, resigning herself to the fate of a spinster and telling herself that she was content with such a life.

Amelia was the one who would find love. Amelia was the one who would have adventure and excitement.

And I was content with that. I was! So many years we wrote to one another, and watching my sister flourish into a lady from afar was the greatest gift I could have ever asked from God. If one of us could have their heart’s content, then I would only ever wish it to be her. I was glad. I am glad.

But now, Charlotte knew that Amelia’s life had been very different from the one that Charlotte had imagined and read in her letters. Full of politics and scheming. Gossip and the threat of scandal. The unbearable pressure of the London ton.

But she has found love, I hope. With Luke Hadley, of all people. How did I not see that?

She had fallen into a sleepy reverie as she rode, eyes open but mind drowsing. The lifting of the clouds had passed her notice as the road gradually descended. She did not fully awake until Seth gently shook her shoulder.

Charlotte jerked in the saddle, startling her mount. The hood dripped water from its edges and fell back from her face. It was then she noticed Seth had been holding her while she slept to ensure her comfort and that she didn’t fall or hurt herself.

“I think we have crossed our paths’ first range of hills. And we have found somewhere to rest. Our horses need it, even if you insist that you do not,” he murmured.

Charlotte looked down towards a village nestled at the foot of the hillside where they were descending. It was no more than a handful of cottages around a stone church.

“Do we have the time to spare?” she asked, “I am sure the horses can be walked for a few miles yet.”

“Yes, we do, and no, they can’t,” Seth retorted firmly. “This is as far as we go today. Wherever this is.”

They proceeded to the village, stopping at the first building, a smithy. The smith sat on a tree stump outside, filling a clay pipe and swiping its remnants off his apron. They dismounted. Charlotte thought she might snap in two as she tried to bend, so stiff was her body.

“Good day, sir,” Seth greeted the smith, “can you tell us where we are? We’re headed for the border.”

“Aye, you’ve found it, lad, right enough,” the gruff man chortled. “This is Gretna. That stone yonder marks the border with your country and mine.”

The smith pointed with his pipe to a standing stone in the distance, atop a hill. It stood in the middle of a field. Charlotte felt an enervating thrill at the thought that they were already in Scotland.

Surely, this must be the back of the journey broken. How much further can it be?

Seth’s keen visage mirrored her thoughts too. “Is there anywhere in the village that we can spend the night? We’ve had a hard road up from Carlisle,” he asked further.

“Aye, I’ve lodgin’s at my own house,” the smith said with a nod. “There’s the inn as well, but most folk stay with me—seein’ as what brings them here in the first place.”

Seth looked confused, but Charlotte understood, having grown up close to the border. This was the first village after crossing the border, so it was the first stop where young elopers could marry. The smith looked at Charlotte and frowned, puffing on his pipe.

“You have a familiar look about you. I will never forget a face; I’m sure I’ve seen yours before. But not his.”

Charlotte felt Seth tense beside her, drawing breath for a sharp reply. She caught his arm, feeling the tension in the muscle.

“If you have seen my face, then you have very likely seen my sister—my twin. The gentleman she was with was the Viscount of Beswick.” Charlotte briefly described Luke, and the smith grinned widely, displaying a host of missing teeth.

“Aye, that sounds like the laddie, right enough! I’m glad ye’ve a twin, Miss—had me thinkin’ ye were tryin’ to wed two men at once. I cannae do that. Against the law o’ the Kirk, it is.”

Seth looked at her, suddenly smiling. Charlotte felt shocked when she realized the smith had assumed she and Seth were here to elope—to marry.

Oh, Lord, but we could. This is what people do when they come here.

She looked into Seth’s eyes and saw the fierce desire there.

“We can’t,” she whispered.

“Why not?” he whispered back, grinning.

“Because if it were discovered that we married before Amelia rejected you, it might look like adultery. That you rejected her, which is against the clause.”

Seth arched a brow. “It is providential that we are here. Our journey has brought us to Scotland and to the very place where young English couples come to marry quickly. I want to complete this journey as man and wife.”

The smith was watching them with keen eyes, puffing on his pipe.

“I’m free this moment if ye wish to be wed o’er the anvil. I’m the minister here in Gretna, and I’ve the right o’ God to see it done. Mind, if ye’ve been ridin’ the road together—just the two o’ ye—your souls may well be in peril already.”

“Did my sister marry here?” Charlotte asked suddenly.

“Aye, that she did. A bonnie bride, though a touch sickly and paler than ye’self. Her man near doted on her. They didnae linger—headed north for Strathclyde, they were.”

“Do you keep a record of the marriages you perform?” she asked then.

“Aye, as the law requires,” said the smith.

“May we see it?”

Charlotte’s heart was pounding in her chest with hope. Proof that Amelia had married would surely exonerate Seth from the marriage clause. The smith nodded, rising and indicating they should follow. He led them to a cottage beside the forge.

Inside, they passed through a kitchen, greeted by a plump woman toiling over a black iron stove, and into another room.

There was a great, black sideboard against one wall.

The smith took a cord from around his neck, attached to a long, cast-iron key.

He unlocked the sideboard and rummaged through a pile of paper.

Finally, he produced one sheet in particular and offered it to Charlotte.

A certificate of marriage, signed by Amelia Nightingale and Viscount Beswick, was in plain, unadorned lettering. Charlotte’s hands shook as she held the paper. The date was clearly stated.

Seth… is free now. He can send this to Monkton; the marriage clause would surely be null and void.

She held it out to Seth, and her trembling worsened. The page shook so that the names on it couldn’t be read.

Now he is free and no longer needs me. Now, he could ride back to England with this paper. He has no reason to follow me north to find my sister, to ensure her good health. None.

Seth stepped closer, smiling. He took the page from Charlotte and, without looking, handed it back to the smith. He took Charlotte’s hands in his own.

“Your hands are frozen. First, we will marry. Then I will ensure the fire warms my wife in this fine smith’s house. And when you are warmed, we will complete our journey.”

Charlotte thought she must still be dreaming. They must still be riding through the dreary heights of Cumbria. But Seth’s hands felt warm and solid.

“No,” she said suddenly, “not yet...”

Seth looked stunned. “When? Is there not a more perfect moment?”

“There is not. You’re right; this is providence. But I will not marry you, cannot marry you without doing something first.”

“Name it,” he said urgently.

Charlotte turned to the smith. “Master Smith, can someone in the village copy my sister’s marriage certificate? I shall need two copies.”

“Aye, my son Donald kens his letters—as do I. He’ll make the copies for ye, and I’ll witness them meself, bein’ the minister. But what d’ye want with them, if ye don’t mind me askin’?”

“Once made, can they be posted to London urgently?” Charlotte asked.

“To Mr. Monkton?” Seth interrupted, “What is the point? He will deny receiving it if it means Tewkesbury has a chance to inherit my wealth and title.”

“So, we will post the second copy to someone else,” Charlotte told him.

“Aye, I can see to all that for ye, Miss. Just give me the address where they’re to be sent,” the smith declared, already wiping his hands on his apron and reaching for the inkpot.

“The first will go to one Master Monkton, a solicitor in London. Seth, you know his address?”

“I do. And the second?” Seth asked.

“Why, the only person who can help if Mr. Monkton denies receiving the copy of Amelia’s marriage certificate... the Prince Regent.”

Charlotte felt proud of her reasoning. Seth stared at her for a long moment, uncomprehending.

“Think about it,” Charlotte said calmly.

“He is a man with a string of mistresses and a wife he openly resents—a match forced on him by his father. If we were to present the clause to the Regent and show how your rightful inheritance is at risk of being stolen because of it, who do you imagine he would side with?”

Seth suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. “I think you have something there. It might just work.”

“I dinnae like this talk o’ mistresses and forced weddin’s.

And I like the Prince Regent even less—an Englishman with German blood, sittin’ on Scotland’s neck,” the smith rumbled, rubbing at his chin.

“But I’ll send yer missives, and I’ll wed the pair o’ ye.

Aye, I insist on it. Best keep ye from gettin’ too tangled in that foreign devil’s nonsense. ”

Charlotte clapped her hands, convinced she had hit upon the solution to their problem.

There is enough time for letters posted here to reach London before the marriage clause. Seth’s title is safe.

“It seems this godly man has left us no choice. Will you now consent to be my wife?” Seth asked, a smile on his face.

The enormity of the questions struck Charlotte then. She felt dizzy and clutched Seth’s hands to steady herself. She smiled, head feeling lighter than air.

“Once… once the copies are made and the letters written,” she tried to delay.

Seth shook his head firmly. “No. Now . Letters can wait until tomorrow.”

Charlotte began to shake her head, but Seth took her face in his hands. His eyes looked into her heart. She fell still, stolen by those pupils.

Those eyes have captivated me since the first moment I saw them. The windows of the soul. And what a soul! This man is no rake, wastrel, or libertine. He is a noble and great man.

“Yes,” Charlotte whispered, “Yes… I will.”