The Changeling Bride (12 page)

Elle kept her face turned to the window, studiously observing the scenery as they rolled and jolted by. Her initial purpose was to avoid looking at Henry, but the trees and rolling countryside reminded her of Oregon, and soon she was lost in her own thoughts. Tears stung her eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned the slightest bit down despite her efforts to remain stone-faced.

She felt Henry’s eyes upon her and stiffened, praying that everything about her posture suggested she wished to be alone. He seemed to take the hint and remained silent. After a time she risked a glance at him, and saw that he had slouched down in his seat, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes shut. He was napping. Insensitive clod.

Gradually, as the carriage rocked and jolted over mile after mile of uneven road, her stomach began to roil in protest, replacing emotional misery with physical. She was getting carsick. She took off her hat and tossed it on the seat beside Henry, then pulled the kerchief from her bodice to dab the sweat from her face. Sweating was a bad sign, as was the saliva flooding her mouth. Tatiana seemed in a similar predicament. The Samoyed was lying on the seat now, her ears flattened to her head, her white-rimmed eyes gazing up at Elle beseechingly, big and brown and unspeakably woeful.

A deep pothole gave the carriage a lurch that bounced Henry’s head off the wall, waking him from his nap. His eyes went to her, taking in her dishevelment, and then Tatiana gave a little huffing cough. It was all the warning he needed.

“Stop at once!” he called out the window, rapping at the same time on the roof of the compartment. Before the wheels had completely stopped turning, he had the
door open, the step lowered, and was quickly assisting her to the ground, Tatiana pushing her way past Elle’s skirts. Elle tried to push him away, but he held tight to her, leading her to the ditch and holding her as she leaned over and retched. She heard Tatiana hacking in her own misery a short distance away.

Elle straightened up, her ribs aching. The convulsions of her muscles within the confines of the stays had been excrutiating. She couldn’t remain in this century and live like this. She had to find a way home. She brought the back of her shaking hand up to wipe her mouth, her kerchief having fallen between the coach and the ditch.

“Let me,” Henry said, pulling out his own kerchief and wiping at her chin, then cleaning off the back of her hand. She felt like a baby being cleaned of spit-up, and only wished she were as free of embarrassment. She stood staring with unseeing eyes at the trees and fields in front of her, trying to pretend this was not happening.

“Better?” Henry asked.

Elle blinked and tried to focus on him. She looked over at the carriage, a shudder passing through her. “How much farther?”

Henry called to one of the footmen for an answer. “We have just passed through Amesbury, which means we have another three or four hours to go. The inns around here are not particularly pleasant, but we could stop at one. Otherwise, there is a place a few miles ahead that would make a pleasant stop for a picnic. There is a hamper of food.”

“I think I would prefer to be outside.” The last thing she wanted was to eat, but sitting outside on the grass sounded about the speed she could handle. She could nibble some bread and drink some water, and breathe fresh air.

They returned to the carriage, Henry directing her to sit facing forward this time and to keep her eyes to the window. Tatiana’s tail was low and motionless when the
dog was called to return, but she came. Elle gave her a sympathetic smile, she looked so depressed.

They rumbled off, Elle keeping her eyes glued to the horizon. The fresh breeze felt wonderful on her face, and if it weren’t for the taste of vomit still in her mouth, she could almost enjoy herself. Riding facing forward was a vast improvement, even if Henry now sat beside her. She almost felt sorry for him. She imagined she made an unappealing enough wife, without retching into a ditch. After that little performance, she probably didn’t need to worry about him trying to exercise his marital rights.

They traveled for some twenty minutes more, then pulled to a halt. She saw nothing but a wide plain of grass from her side, with trees in the distance, and wondered what was so special about this location. Henry opened the door for her, once again helping her down, and led her around to the other side of the carriage.

Elle’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in surprise and joyful recognition. “Stonehenge! Oh, my God, it’s Stonehenge!”

She left Henry standing there, and picking up her skirts, ran towards the tall stones, scattering a small herd of sheep. She was laughing to no one, Tatiana running and barking beside her. She knew where she was, had seen these rocks a hundred times in pictures and on TV. They looked exactly the same. Gloriously, wondrously, exactly the same. She reached the first stone and pressed herself against it, hugging it. It was rough beneath her cheek and cool. She closed her eyes. This piece of rock was still standing, just as it was at this moment, in her own world two hundred years from now.

The footmen came past her, carrying the hamper, and set up the picnic on a stone that was lying on the ground at the center of the circle. She felt Henry come up beside her and turned to smile at him.

“Thank you for bringing me here. You have no idea what it means to me.”

“Other husbands buy their wives jewels when seeking forgiveness for their transgressions. I shall remember that I have simply to drag you to a pile of rocks, and all will be forgotten.”

“You think it will be that easy, do you? Well, they have to be very special rocks. I have to have seen them in pictures, you see, and I have not seen many.”

He took her arm and led her over to the picnic that was waiting for them. She sat on the edge of the stone and allowed him to serve her from the meats and other foods spread out on the cloth.

“Have you traveled much?” he asked.

“I haven’t even seen London. But I’ve seen pictures . . . drawings, that is, of many places I’d like to see, both here and in France.”

“And what places have captured your imagination?”

“Well, there’s the Tower of London, for one.” She thought for a moment. “London Bridge.” Buckingham Palace? But maybe it had a different name now. “Loch Ness, in Scotland. Cornwall, I’d like to see Cornwall. The cliffs of Dover . . . Stratford-upon-Avon, and Bath. Winchester Cathedral.” She’d heard of the cathedral in a song. Better to move on to France. Surely she could think of better landmarks there, having been a French Studies major in college. “I’d like to see Notre Dame, and L’Arc de Triomphe.”

“L’Arc de Triomphe. I’ve never heard of it.”

Elle bit her lip. It was an enormous arch at the end of the Champs Elysees, but when had it been built? Oh, God, Napoléon built it, and surely not for twenty years yet. “Oh, I just saw a picture of it once and thought it was interesting. It’s a stone archway, but I don’t really know where it is. Then I’d like to see Versailles.”

“I saw Versailles once, many years ago. It is a magnificent palace, but the poverty that the peasants suffer in the surrounding countryside is almost enough to make one understand why they have revolted.”

“The revolution.” Here was semifamiliar ground. “The guillotine. Poor Marie Antoinette. Certainly she’s been painted as selfish and stupid, but that hardly seems reason to have chopped off her head. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to die that way. I’ve heard that there is some awareness still, for several seconds after the head is removed. Do you think that is true?”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “No one has chopped off the queen’s head. Where did you hear that? She is in prison, along with her children and the king.”

“Oh. Well, if they haven’t chopped it off yet, they will soon. The king’s, too.”

“You sound terribly sure of yourself.”

“Would you want to die that way? I mean, if you had to choose an unnatural end, would you prefer the guillotine?”

“As opposed to being shot, hung, or beaten to death?”

“Well, there’s drowning or freezing. If you get too cold, supposedly you get numb and then sleepy. That wouldn’t be too bad, I don’t think. Not as fast as the guillotine, but considerably less bloody. I wouldn’t like to have to anticipate walking up those steps, like the queen must be anticipating.”

“I hardly think the French people, as angry as they are, will take that final step. Royalty in France has a certain mystique about it that the British version lacks.”

“I disagree,” she said with all the certainty of history. “The nobles of France will be hunted down and murdered by the common people. The place will be chaos for years. The days of French royalty are over.”

“You do not know that. Who would take the place of the king? Do you envision a government like that in the colonies? I hardly think such would work with the French. They are too used to a monarchy.”

Elle raised her eyebrows at him, feeling rather superior. She was no history buff, but she remembered the
basics from her courses, and although the dates were fuzzy, she did know a few things. “A young, charismatic leader could take over and bring the country together. When he has France under control, he could then turn his attentions to his neighbors, seeking to conquer them, eventually involving most of Europe. France could cause England trouble for decades.”

“And do you do crystal ball readings, as well?”

“It’s always reasonable to predict war, isn’t it? I mean, how many years go by in any given century without one? About twenty?”

“If that. Still, I find it hard to see a continent-wide conflict erupting from France, a country that is falling apart as we speak.”

“But that’s just it. It will be so chaotic for so long, that when a dictator emerges who promises order and prosperity, the people will jump at the chance to follow him. They will be united by finding an enemy outside of their own country, and will be more than happy to trounce foreigners rather than each other.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering her words. “You may have a point, at that,” he said reluctantly, and regarded her with something akin to respect in his eyes.

She looked away, feeling suddenly ashamed. She wasn’t brilliantly deducing the fate of France: She was repeating information she had learned long ago in school. If Henry thought her intelligent, it was only because she cheated. She picked at the food on her plate, then fed a slice of roast beef to Tatiana.

Henry loaded his plate with meat and set it on the ground for the dog. Tatiana took a large piece in her mouth and carried it off.

“She’s burying it,” Elle explained. “She did this at home, but never ate the things she dug up later. At least she knows better than to bring a rancid pork chop into the house, much as she’d like to.”

They watched in silence as Tatiana returned and ate
the remainder of the meat on the plate. Meat tended to give Tatiana gas. Given the cool manner in which Henry had dealt with their motion sickness, she doubted he would so much as raise an eyebrow if that occurred in the carriage.

Henry had unshakable composure, but everyone had their limits. Sooner or later, with her as his wife, he would reach his.

Chapter Ten

Henry’s mood darkened as they approached his home. Seeing the effect of years of neglect never failed to anger him or make him silently curse his father. He hoped the man was suffering the fires of Hell. How his father had been so content to let his ancestral home crumble and fall into decay—the fields lie fallow, the livestock sold off, furniture and paintings going to pay his debts—Henry would never understand. Even worse than the physical destruction was what his father’s irresponsibility had cost the people for miles around.

The late earl had ensured that Brookhaven was anything but a thriving community. The majority of the aristocracy understood that their own fortunes depended at least in part upon those beneath them, and took care to maintain their end of the bargain. The late earl had been one of those foolish enough to ignore the bond, and as he spent the wealth of his estates, the estates had become less and less able to support his habits.

As the coach turned down the lane that led to the house, he saw it as a stranger would. The front gardens had not seen the touch of a gardener’s hand for several years, and some of the windows facing the drive had been boarded over, since there had been no money to replace the broken glass. Grass and dandelions sprouted in cracks in the stone steps, and the drive itself was mostly rutted, potholed dirt, only scattered shards of crumbled oyster shell remaining. The facade was of dark red stone, with white stone accents on the corners that had not been washed in decades. There were domed turrets on the roof in whose window frames birds had built their nests.

He turned his attention to Elle, certain of what her reaction would be to her new home. She had grown up in wealth and opulence, the spoiled daughter of a rich man. She was undoubtedly appalled at the squalor to which he was bringing her to live, and regretting more than ever being forced into this marriage.

She was fairly gaping out the window at his home. “My God, this is where you live?”

“Yes,” Henry answered flatly.

“And I’ll be living here?” She turned to him, her eyes wide. “You
said
you were poor.”

“Yes.” How much of this would he have to endure?

“But this house, it’s . . . it’s . . .” she turned back to gaze at the house. “It’s astonishing,” she finished. She looked at him, her eyes bright. “You don’t expect me to clean for you, do you? I certainly hope I brought you enough money to afford servants.”

“I do not expect you to do any cleaning whatsoever,” he said, jaw tight. He did not find her the least bit funny.

“Can we go inside? Yes, of course we can. What am I thinking? I’m mistress of the great pile of stones now,” she laughed. The carriage stopped, and she fumbled with the latch, then scrambled out before he could quell his annoyance enough to give a civil response. Great pile of stones, indeed.

The front door opened before she had climbed halfway up the wide stone steps, and he saw her stop to look at the elderly man and woman standing there.