Page 15 of The Cornish Bride (The Cornish Ladies #2)
F aced with the problem of how to escape Martha’s scrutiny yet again, Ysella racked her brain to find some way of getting rid of her that night. She needed the gullible and easily bribed Ellen, who would probably think everything Ysella wanted to do just an exciting adventure. Which it was, or so she kept telling herself. She pushed away the nagging whisper that it might be a hotheaded and irresponsible thing to do that would upset Mama far more than she wanted. No. She determined to see it only as an adventure.
As she changed for dinner that evening, Ysella peeked up at Martha who was arranging her hair with her usual precision into an artless and natural tumble of curls. The new lacy mob cap sat proudly on Martha’s sandy hair. “You’re looking a little tired, Martha, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Ysella patted her own hair and gazed into the mirror.
“Well, I suppose I am a bit, Miss,” Martha, who’d had her customary half day off that day, agreed. “I walked over to my sister’s again, and that’s quite a long way. I found her house was all topsy turvy. Again . I spent most of my time over there cleaning for her while she was laid in bed like a princess telling me her ankles were all swollen so she couldn’t get up. Those boys of hers were running wild.”
Ysella groped for her limited knowledge of pregnancy, as gleaned from Morvoren. “Is she very large and uncomfortable?”
Martha nodded, dusting powder over Ysella’s pale cheeks. “She thinks as it might be another set of twins. And her husband’s no help. If he’s not out in the fields, then he’s in The White Hart till all hours. So she told me, anyway. She’s not best pleased with him, and I don’t blame her. He could keep those boys in line a bit better than he does.”
Perfect.
“You poor thing, having to spend your day off working.” Ysella, who’d never done a day’s work in her life, put up a hand to pat Martha’s. “I tell you what. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off. You can send that silly girl Ellen up to do my evening toilette. She won’t be as good as you, but I can tolerate her for just the one night, I suppose. And it’s important to me that you get some rest.”
Martha put down the hare’s foot she’d been using for the face powder. “Well, if you’re sure it won’t inconvenience you. Thank you very much for that, Miss Ysella. I have to admit, it’ll be a blessing to get off my feet after all that walking. You’re sure Ellen won’t be a nuisance?”
Ysella wrinkled her nose. Martha mustn’t get the idea that she could be dispensed with and not missed, or she’d never get rid of her. No. What was she thinking? After tonight she wasn’t going to need Martha ever again. Unless, of course, she took her with her to her new home with Oliver. She would be needing a lady’s maid, after all, and better the one she already knew.
“Not at all. Ellen’s not like a proper lady’s maid, like you, of course, but I won’t need much this evening. I’m sure I can take her in hand. You go off and get some rest. Soak your feet in a bowl of hot water.” Papa had been wont to do that after a day’s shooting, in front of the fire in the library, much to Mama’s annoyance.
Martha made her a little, appreciative bob and stepped back. “All done, Miss. You look beautiful, if I might venture to say so.”
Ysella stood up and smiled, nurturing her secret in her heart like the nub of a fire. “Thank you, Martha. Off you go now, and don’t forget to remind Ellen she’ll have to come up later.”
*
After dinner, Ysella had to accompany Mama and Kit into the drawing room for at least a modicum of time to keep them thinking everything was normal. Dashing off upstairs to her room would look most odd. She took a seat on one of the stiffly upholstered settees and picked up her sewing, just to have something in her hands. If she didn’t, she’d be fidgeting so much one of them would be bound to notice. Kit poured some port and passed a glass to Mama, who was very fond of that particular drink.
The evening crawled. Mama asked her if she’d play the piano, but after a few tentative tunes which she muffed on almost every line, suggested, with a hard stare, that she should desist and come and sit quietly instead.
“I must ask you again, Ysella,” she said, her anxious gaze resting on Ysella’s face in a most disconcerting manner. “Are you ill?”
Ysella’s heart thundered in a manner that might have made Mama think she was indeed sickening for something had she but tried to take Ysella’s pulse. “I’m quite well, thank you, Mama.” Was she giving herself away? She needed to surreptitiously take some steadying breaths and try to act normally or all would be lost. They’d be sending her up to bed and calling Doctor Busick, and then she’d never get away. “I’m really rather tired though,” she ventured. “Perhaps I’ll retire to bed now.”
Mama gave her a hard look, but Kit, his head in a book, didn’t appear to have noticed. That was good, as he was inclined to be more astute than Mama where Ysella was concerned. Although not as astute as Morvoren. Thank goodness she was still confined to bed.
Ysella kissed Mama on the cheek and went and did the same to Kit. He glanced up, his face distracted and returned to his book—some treatise on new farming methods that Sam had given him that must be terribly boring. Whatever did men want to read that sort of thing for when they could have a good novel instead? Preferably a romantic one. “Goodnight, Ysella.”
Goodness, was she glad to be out of that room. She ran up the stairs to the first-floor corridor and sprinted to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her chest rising and falling. This was really happening. She was fleeing with her lover. Put like that it sounded like an excerpt from one of her novels and fired her flagging confidence.
She rang the bell and scurried to the wardrobe where earlier she’d hidden a small valise. She’d already packed a clean nightdress, some underwear, and several gowns that afternoon, and now she added some of her toiletries. What else did you need if you were a girl eloping? She’d never had to do her own packing before. She could wear her spencer and a bonnet and gloves. If she wore her boots, she could put in the slippers she was now wearing. She took them off and added them to the bag.
A slight tap on the door indicated the arrival of Ellen. “Come in,” Ysella called.
Ellen approached the open valise on Ysella’s bed with wide eyes. “You sent for me, Miss?”
Ysella nodded. “I did. I need your help. I’m planning a…” She hesitated. “A nighttime jape. And I need your help.” She moved closer to Ellen and put a hand on the girl’s thin arm. “And just like when we went to Marlborough, you are not to tell anyone about it or it’ll all be spoiled. Do you understand?”
Ellen nodded, wordlessly.
“Good. Then first of all, I need you to finish packing my bag. What else do you think I’m going to need?”
Ellen’s mouth hung open. Whether at the surprise of having her opinion asked, or because her mistress was planning something clandestine at night was not obvious.
“Do close your mouth or you’ll catch a fly,” Ysella said. “Do I have enough drawers do you think? And slips?”
“F-for what, Miss?” Ellen stammered.
“Oh, for an adventure with my dear friend Caro. You know. Miss Fairfield. She and I are going to be having such fun.” Poor Caro. If Ellen did blab about where Ysella had got to, Kit’s first port of call would be Caro’s house, several miles off, which would give Ysella and Oliver longer to get away.
“How many days for?” Ellen asked, making a supreme effort to be helpful but not bringing with her the air of experience for elopements that Ysella had hoped for.
“Never mind.” Ysella dropped some more undergarments into the bag, which was now full. “That will have to do. I can always buy more.” She paced to the window and looked out at the night sky. Clear and star strewn. A good night for her escape.
Ellen scuttled out of her way.
“Now,” Ysella said. “You are meant to be here to help me undress and prepare for bed, and if anyone below stairs asks you if that’s what you’ve been doing, then you will tell them yes. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“So, we shall give it another twenty minutes, which is how long it takes for Martha to help me get ready for bed, and then you can go downstairs. And you are to tell no one that I’ve not undressed. Not even if they torture you.”
This last melodramatic instruction left Ellen more goggle-eyed than ever. “Yes, Miss,” she whispered.
Was that a tremble Ysella detected in the girl’s hands? The poor thing must think torture a real threat. Possibly a good thing.
“Good. It’s all settled then. Martha will be back at work tomorrow morning so you have no more to do for me tonight. Other than keep your mouth shut.” Ysella picked up her discarded reticule from the bed. “And as a reward, here is a shilling. No, two shillings.” She placed the coins in Ellen’s hand, at the same time wondering if that was a wise action as her pin money was already much depleted. Might she need money for the journey? Or would Oliver have some? Surely he would. Even if Kit were right and he was a fortune hunter, a fortune hunter who loved her, then he must at least have his officer’s pay for them to manage on until she came into her inheritance. And once they were married, Kit couldn’t object to paying it over.
When Ellen had gone off clutching her two shillings, Ysella was left with nothing to do to while away the time which seemed to be passing very slowly. The hands on the clock on the mantelpiece barely seemed to move, although the loud ticking grated on her nerves. Every second lasted an eon.
She went to the window and looked out again, over the front drive, although that surely wouldn’t be the way Oliver would come. The parkland lay dark and mysterious, the distant woodland just a smudge of shadow, the lake glimmering in the rising moonlight. A shiver ran through her body. She couldn’t be certain if it was from excitement or trepidation. Probably both. She must banish all thoughts of Mama being upset. She had to shut out darling little George and ignore her regrets about leaving Morvoren. Even thoughts of Kit, whom she loved despite his autocratic ways.
Closing the curtains, she returned to her bed and lay down on it. She was going to have a long wait.
Eventually, Mama’s light footsteps sounded in the corridor as she walked past Ysella’s door to her room. Then, a short while after that, Kit came up and she heard his heavier footsteps as he went to bid Morvoren goodnight. A few minutes later the footsteps returned as he went to his old bedroom, where he’d been sleeping while Morvoren convalesced. Ysella waited. Probably he wouldn’t go straight off to sleep, but she still had plenty of time. The clock on the mantel said eleven. She’d arranged to meet Oliver at midnight.
At ten minutes to twelve, she pulled on her spencer and bonnet, tucked her gloves into her reticule and picked up her valise. Goodness, did a few clothes weigh this much? She needed two hands for it.
Pushing open her door a crack, she peered into the corridor. All lay in darkness save for a couple of oil lamps still burning at the top of the stairs, left there in case anyone might miss the top step in the dark and take a possibly fatal tumble.
Unfortunately, boots did not make for silent movement, unlike slippers. On tiptoes, holding her valise in front of her, Ysella made it to the top of the stairs. The house lay silent and still, with not a sign of anyone being awake still. She glanced back. She might never see it again and she wanted it locked in her memory.
Then, taking a deep breath, she started down the stairs.
Why had she never before noticed how they creaked when you put weight on them? Every single one seemed determined to waken the devil, no matter how carefully she stood on them. Perhaps if she walked at the very edge. With one hand on the banister rail, and the other clutching that hefty valise, she found this made less noise.
At the foot of the stairs, she hesitated. She’d told Oliver to be waiting for her on the main drive where the road came out of the woodland, but that now seemed an awful long way to carry a bag this heavy. What to do? If she was late, how long would he wait for her? Or would he assume she’d changed her mind, or been caught escaping by her brother? He might leave without her if she didn’t hurry. Or he might have changed his mind and not come at all, but that didn’t bear thinking about.
Inspiration seized her, but for this she needed the door into the garden.
Struggling with her bag, she headed for the French doors that opened into the corner of the terrace. Unlocked. No one ever locked the doors into the garden. She pushed one side open and let herself out into the chilly darkness. No lights showed in the house, and the high garden walls cast deep shadows across the flowerbeds. She hurried towards the Orangery, which hid a second, far more useful building. The capacious gardener’s shed.
By now, her hands and arms were aching and the idea of abandoning her bag entirely was beginning to seem desirable. But no, she would need at least a nightgown for tomorrow night and her hairbrush and wash things, or how could she remain respectable and clean? She set down her bag, pushed open the white painted door of the garden shed and peered inside, searching for the object she needed.
Aha. There it was. A wooden wheelbarrow. Perfect.
A few minutes later, anyone looking out of one of the Abbey’s front facing windows might have made out a small figure walking down the drive pushing a laden wheelbarrow.
Despite the cold of the late winter’s night, Ysella was sweating like a navvy by the time she and her wheelbarrow reached the edge of the woods. She stopped and set the wheelbarrow down. If Oliver wasn’t here waiting for her as he’d sworn he would be, then she was going to abandon wheelbarrow and bag and go back to bed and give up on the idea of ever marrying anyone. She’d just have to become an old maid. It was all far more trouble than an adventure had a right to be.
A shadow moved.
Ysella caught her breath.
Oliver stepped out of the trees. “Ysella!” He ran towards her and gathered her into his arms. “I’d begun to think you’d changed your mind.”
She put her arms around his neck and held on tight, deciding not to tell him about her own doubts. “Of course I didn’t. It just took me longer than I thought it would to get here.” She nodded to the wheelbarrow. “My bag was so heavy I had to improvise.”
He laughed against her hair, his breath warm on her skin. “I shouldn’t have doubted you, my love.”
His mouth found hers, his tongue between her lips, hot and questing. She let her own tongue meet his, as glorious currents of excitement ran up and down her body. Pressed this close to him she could feel something long and hard within his breeches, jammed against her own stomach. An absolutely fascinating, and not quite believed, conversation with Morvoren before the London season began, had revealed to her how babies were really made. And it was not the way a girl at school had told her. So Ysella knew what she was feeling, and as well as the excitement coursing through her, so did a fear that Oliver possessed what felt like a very large male member. A cock, Morvoren had called it. Fear of where that was meant to go had Ysella drawing back from him in confusion.
He didn’t let her, though. Instead, he kissed her all the harder, one hand moving up to touch her breast, his fingers sliding inside the top of her spencer.
She wriggled against his hold and her mouth came free. “D-don’t.”
He stopped, still holding her but less fiercely now. “Playing the innocent now, are we?” he said with a chuckle. “As you like, but you’ll come to like it soon enough.”
“I just…” Ysella managed, her voice taut. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this.” She gulped. “No one’s ever touched me like th-that before.”
Oliver laughed. “If we’re to be married, you’ll have to get used to it, my dear. Come along. I have a hired carriage waiting. No expense spared—you didn’t think I’d expect you to ride all the way to Scotland, did you?”
As it had never crossed Ysella’s mind that he might, and if it had she’d probably have come in her boys’ breeches to make the ride more comfortable, she remained silent. Mostly she was thinking about his hot hand sliding in over the tender skin of her breast and how it had made her feel. She wasn’t quite sure she’d liked it, but it seemed to be what men did to girls they were in love with. She knew this because she’d seen one of the house maids in the back courtyard of the house with one of the grooms. He’d had his hand firmly inside her bodice and the maid had seemed to be enjoying it very much.
Oliver released his hold on her and instead took her hand in a strong grip. “Come along, and we’ll be off. No time to waste. We have a long way to go before tomorrow night, and we need to get a head start on your brother who is bound to come chasing after you.”
Would he though? Or would he decide to stay with Morvoren? A very small part of Ysella suddenly hoped that Kit would come after her and bring her back before Oliver decided to put his hands where she didn’t want them again. But she was committed now, and anyhow, it was what people who were in love, or even married, did, so she couldn’t object. No going back. She let Oliver lead her to where he had his carriage stationed in the shadows under the trees.