What a cad! What a scoundrel!
If he was occupied with wedding preparations, what chance had Jo of convincing him to aid her? He had so many other irons in the fire. Why would he expend an ounce of effort on Emeline?
Still, she had to try.
“Listen,” she said to the maid, “I need you to talk to Lt. Price for me. I need you to be sure he reads my letter.”
“I wouldn’t have the authority to make him, ma’am.”
“Better yet, if you see the earl, tell him to read it.”
“I don’t know how I would.”
“My friend, Emeline, is in terrible trouble. Repeat her name for me: Emeline Wilson.”
“Emeline Wilson, yes, ma’am.”
“Can you remember it?”
“Yes.”
“She is one of the earl’s tenants, and he’s very fond of her. His land agent has had her arrested on false charges. Her and her sisters.”
“Arrested! My goodness!”
“Her sisters are only ten years old. The earl must hurry to Stafford immediately.”
“But he’s marrying in three days! He might not be able.”
Jo opened her purse and retrieved a coin. She slipped it into the maid’s hand. “Speak to him for me. Swear that you will.”
The girl studied the money, then Jo, then the money again.
“I will, ma’am—if I see him—but you hadn’t ought to count on it.”
“Thank you so much.”
The maid went inside and shut the door, and Jo dawdled on the stoop, wondering what to do. She plopped down and waited for Stephen, but to no avail. The earl didn’t arrive either. Neither did anyone else. For a household that was having a society wedding, the place seemed deserted.
She tarried until the sun dropped in the western sky, until the temperature grew so cool that she was shivering.
She didn’t dare be caught out on the streets after dark, so she walked to a busy thoroughfare and hired a hackney cab to take her to the coaching inn where she was staying.
As she bumped along, her temper ignited, and by the time she was in her room, it was a full-on boil.
Stephen was letting his wounded pride rule him. The stupid oaf! His departure from Stafford had generated a moment of exceptional clarity, and she wouldn’t ignore it. She loved him and wanted to marry him so she could be with him forever.
Evening waned and night fell, and as she pondered, the wildest idea began to form.
Stephen was bringing his daughter to Stafford, and he would eventually bring a wife there too. He was seeking a no-nonsense female who wasn’t afraid to stare down the village gossips.
He thought Jo was a scared rabbit, but she’d changed. He’d never believe her though, so she’d have to prove it. She’d have to show him that she could cherish his daughter as no other woman ever would.
By dawn, she was feverish with the urge to be on the road.
She sat at the desk in the corner, and she penned three identical letters to the earl. Then, as the first coach rolled into the yard, she grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs.
She handed the letters to the proprietor. “I need these delivered to the same address, at different hours, over the next two days.”
“To the same address?”
“Yes. I’m desperate to have them read, so I’m sending extra copies.”
The man noticed the name on the front. “The Earl of Stafford? My!”
“There’s been a death in the family,” she lied. “His favorite nephew drowned. We’re trying to notify him so he won’t miss the funeral, but we haven’t had any luck.”
She passed on a note with directions to the earl’s London mansion, and she gave him some money for his trouble.
“You’ll see to it?” she asked. “You’ll have them delivered?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get them there. How about one this morning? Another this afternoon? And the third tomorrow?”
“That’s perfect.”
She sighed with relief. She didn’t know how else to contact the earl. It hardly seemed productive to camp out on his stoop, and she couldn’t guess his habits or routines. How would she ever locate him among the London hoards? Hopefully, the word ‘URGENT’ scrawled in large bold print would capture someone’s attention. Surely a servant would track him down.
“Now then,” she said, “I’m interested in booking passage to Antwerp, Belgium. I have to visit a convent there, and I need advice as to ships and schedules.”
“Belgium? Why that’s any easy trip. Let me explain how you go about it.”
“If we aid wounded veterans, we’ll simply be encouraging them in their poverty.”
Several men muttered, “Here, here!”
Nicholas grabbed his whiskey and took a slow drink, drowning all the derogatory replies that were dying to spill out.
He was at his pre-nuptial supper, being hosted by Veronica’s godparents. Very soon, the butler would announce the meal—if Veronica would ever deign to arrive—and they’d all traipse in to eat.
He gazed around the ornate salon. There were probably eighty guests present, dukes and earls and barons, leaders of government and industry. They’d come to toast Nicholas for his having snagged Veronica as his bride.
It should have been the greatest night of his life, but he was so miserable!
Stephen had refused to attend, so he was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t know and didn’t like.
When Veronica was present at a fete—he’d discovered that she was habitually late—he was able to distract himself by counting how many of her character traits annoyed him. It was a game he’d learned to play: List the reasons that prove you’re insane.
Pride was driving him; he realized that it was. He was extremely vain, and he’d never been good at admitting his mistakes. Forging ahead was idiotic, but he’d been on the same path for too long, and it seemed impossible to shuck off his engagement and walk away.
He was loitering like a dunce, fuming as those around him expounded on the issues of the day. He’d been too busy serving his country, so he hadn’t yet attended to his duties in Parliament, and he wasn’t cognizant of
