Finally he turned. He looked down into her eyes and said gravely, “We’ll elope to Scotland and get married. I’ll find out all about it and that’s what we’ll do.”
She smiled through her tear stained face. “Good.”
Tired of waiting, Bartholomew whinnied. Simon tore his eyes away from her and said, “I’m coming, you impatient beast. I’m coming.”
He led the horse back up to the road, then took the reins from Claire to drive back toward Welbourne.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Simon asked Claire to tell her parents he wouldn’t be available the following day as he was spending it with Charlie. His actual plan was to drive into Cambridge to do research.
The sky was overcast on the morning Simon left for Cambridge. He wanted to make certain that he had not misunderstood the Scottish marriage laws, so he went first to the university law library. He read the pages dealing with marriage in Scotland four or five times, and was relieved to find he had been correct. He and Claire were old enough to be married in Scotland.
The next item on his agenda was to check the schedule of the Royal Mail, which traveled daily from London to Edinburgh. A groom at the stable where he had left Bartholomew told him the mail always changed horses at the George, a coaching inn just outside Cambridge. Simon then rode out to the George, a large, busy establishment on the Great North Road. After consulting the route maps, he bought two tickets to Carlisle. They were expensive, but the mail was the fastest public transportation available; a private carriage was beyond his means.
It began to rain as he rode back to Welbourne, and by the time he reached the abbey he was soaked through. Before he went into the house, however, he rode into the woods, dismounted, and put his hand into the hollow of the big oak tree that shaded their glen. Inside he found a note.
Mama would like you to come to dinner. I hope you’re home in time so I don’t have to make up an excuse. Also – warning – she wants you to help clean out the attic tomorrow. It’s for one of the vicar’s charities. Better say yes and then we can talk.
Simon went back to the abbey, changed his clothes and rode over to the O’Rourke’s for dinner.
# # #
Elise had determined to see what she could find in the attic to donate to charity. Newmarket and its surrounding area had pockets of extreme poverty, and the new vicar had asked his parishioners to contribute items that might be useful to those who had so little. Consequently, the following morning found Claire, Liam, Simon and Elise climbing into the O’Rourke’s hot stuffy attic to look for donations.
Elise exclaimed with delight when she saw all the furniture that was crammed into the low-ceilinged space. “This will be perfect,” she announced. “According to the vicar, some people are living with boxes instead of furniture.”
Simon and Liam looked at each other. The furniture was massive. Liam said, “This stuff is heavy, Elise. And huge. It will never fit into a poor workman’s cottage.”
“The vicar will apportion it out. No one family will get it all,” she said reasonably, as she studied a large tallboy and shook her head. “How ugly it is.” She turned to Simon. “This is the furniture that was in the cottage when we arrived. I replaced it over the years with furniture in the French style. So much more agreeable. I have never liked your massive English designs.”
“It’s not very attractive,” Simon agreed, as he looked at the heavy chairs, sofas and tables that were crowded together.
Liam said, “When we replaced it, the delivery people moved these ‘massive English’ pieces to the attic. Not Simon and me.”
Elise’s lovely face clouded. “I am asking too much of you.”
Simon said gamely, “I’m sure we can move it, Mrs. O’Rourke.”
Daniel sighed. If his wife wanted him to move it, move it he would.
By the time Liam and Simon had finished wrestling the heavy furniture down the steep, narrow attic stairs, out through the house and onto the drive, they were filthy and sweaty. Nancy was waiting with cool lemonade, and the two of them drank the entire pitcher while standing in the kitchen.
“At least someone is picking the stuff up,” Simon said, as he and Claire went out to the driveway to see if the church wagon had come while they were inside. He pushed his hair back off his forehead and looked at the results of his labor, all spread out on the gravel drive.
They had brought out: a large, heavy table with six chairs; two old carved bedsteads; two sofas, a buffet; four end tables (all of them different); a huge stuffed chair; two wing chairs; an enormously tall oak chest, which had taken them forever to maneuver into position so it would go down the stairs; and a wardrobe. Elise had added to the furniture a collection of pots and pans; some place settings of china; old wool blankets; sheets, and two mattresses.
Claire was asking Simon about his trip into Cambridge when a farm cart came down the road and stopped in front of the drive. Simon recognized Jack Stepney, the driver of the cart, as one of Welbourne’s tenants. Jack didn’t recognize Simon at first, and when he offered to help Jack load the cart, he accepted. “This stuff is heavy,” he said, as he and Simon lifted the sofa into the back of the cart. “Did a slim lad like you get it all out here by yourself?”
Simon laughed, his teeth white in his dirty face. “Mr. O’Rourke and I did the job. It was much harder getting it out of the attic than onto this cart, believe me.”
It was the cut-glass aristocratic accent that gave him away. Jack peered at the face beneath the dirt and the tangled hair. It was not a face you could mistake. “God Almighty,” he said. “You’re Lord Woodbridge!”
Claire, who had been standing by quietly, spoke up. “He is indeed, Mr. Stepney. And a strong lad he is too. Let me carry the pots and blankets while you two toss in the heavy stuff.”
“Aye, Miss O’Rourke,” the farmer said. Then, to Simon, “If you’ll take one end of the table, Lord Woodbridge, I’ll take the other.”
“Right,” Simon said.
The cart was loaded and Jack drove off, treasuring the tale he would have to tell at the local pub come Saturday night.
# # #
Claire and Simon repaired to the wide swing in the garden that Liam had put up years ago for his wife and daughter. When they were sitting side by side under the shade of the spreading elm, Claire said, “Tell me – what did you learn in Cambridge?”
“I found out I was right. We don’t need the permission of our parents to marry in Scotland. All that’s needed for a legal marriage there is that we be at least sixteen, which we are, and that we state our intention to be husband and wife in front of two witnesses.”
“That’s all?” She stared at him in disbelief.
“That’s all,” he assured her. “I read the law very carefully.”
She nodded slowly. “That means we have to get to Scotland. Have you figured out how to do that?”
“I bought us tickets on the London to Edinburgh Royal Mail. We get on the coach in Cambridge and off in Carlisle. In Carlisle we’ll hire a carriage and drive across the border to Gretna Green. And – wait until you hear this, Claire – in Gretna Green they’ve made a business out of marrying young English couples that can’t get their parents’ permission! They have priests and witnesses and places for newly married people to spend the night. Once we get there we won’t have to arrange a thing.”
Her face lit with her beautiful smile. “You’re so smart, Simon. You found all that out in just one visit to Cambridge?”
Simon allowed himself to bask for a moment in her approval. Then he delivered the bad news. “It’s close to three hundred miles from Cambridge to Carlisle - about thirty-eight hours of straight driving. The mail coach makes some stops, but only to change horses and drivers. We’re going to be stuck in the coach for pretty much the entire time.”
“It sounds ghastly,” Claire said cheerfully.
“It will be,” he agreed.
“Something to tell our children.”
They grinned at each other.
“When do we leave?” she asked.
“Day after tomorrow. The mail coach gets to the George at 8:30 in the morning. I can get away without any problem, but it won’t be so easy for you. Can you think up an excuse for your parents?”
“I’ll tell them I’m spending the night with Charlotte. I’ve done it before, so they won’t be suspicious.”
“Are you going to go to Charlotte’s, or do you want to meet me and we can set off for Cambridge. That would be easier.”
She frowned thoughtfully and shook her head. “My father always drives me right to Charlotte’s front door. I’m going to have to spend the evening there and escape sometime during the night. Can you fetch me at the squire’s?
“Yes. I’m going to hire a horse and carriage in Newmarket to take us to Cambridge. I can come by the squire’s. We’ll drive directly to the George. That way we’ll be certain not to miss the coach.”
He paused, then pushed the swing a little with his foot, saying, “Will you have to tell Charlotte what you’re doing? Can you get away without her knowing?”
Claire tilted her head as she thought. “I don’t see how I can do that.” She bit her lip. “I’m going to have to get Charlotte to lie for me, Simon. There’s no other way this will work.”
Simon frowned. “Can you trust her to do that?”
“Charlotte is my friend. She’ll help me.”
“Are you sure? If she tells, they’ll separate us for sure.”
They were silent as they contemplated this horrible thought. Then Claire said, “Charlotte won’t tell. She may refuse to help me – which I don’t think she will – but she would never betray me. I’m sure of that.”
He nodded, taking her word for it. He had no choice, really. No one cared what he did, but Claire’s parents watched over her carefully.
Claire leaned back, hands on the swing’s ropes, and contemplated the cloudless sky. “This is what I’ll do. I’ll pack a bag – I always pack a bag when I spend the night with Charlotte – and my da will drive me to Winsted. We’ll have dinner with the family, and Charlotte and I will pretend to go to bed. When everyone is asleep in their rooms, I’ll sneak out and meet you where the Winsted road meets the path that runs down to the orchard. How does that sound?”
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea of her sneaking around by herself in the dark. Liam would murder him if he ever found out. For some reason, it never occurred to him that Liam would also murder him for eloping with Claire.
“I suppose it will be all right,” he said reluctantly.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“No. I don’t.”
She nodded and looked toward the house. “I feel terrible doing this to my parents, Simon. They’re going to be so worried when they learn I’ve disappeared.”
“I know and this is what I thought I’d do. I’ll write a letter to your father explaining what we’ve done. I’ll even tell him we’re on the mail coach so he’ll know we’ll be safe. Every mail coach carries an armed guard, and highwaymen keep far away from it. I’ll give it to Jem, one of the footmen who is a friend of mine, and tell him to deliver it tomorrow afternoon. I’ll also tell him that I’ve asked my Uncle Richard to come to Carlisle and bring us back to face my father.”
“Will Mr. Jarvis do that? Will he stand by us?”
“I’m sure he will. He despises my father and he feels guilty for neglecting me. He’ll help us.”
Claire looked down at her hands, now clasped in her lap. “What about my father? Do you think he’ll lose his job?”
“Claire, the Welbourne Stud is the apple of my father’s eye, and your father is the heart and soul of the operation. He’ll never let Liam go to another owner. I’m sure of it.”
This sounded like the truth.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll talk to Charlotte and let you know what she says.”
The happy trill of Elise’s laughter floated out to the garden. Simon’s mouth tightened. “I don’t like going behind your parents’ backs like this, you know. They have always been so good to me.”
“They love you,” Claire said. She smiled. “They’ll get over it, Simon. I know they will.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Charlotte first heard Claire’s plan, she was appalled. “You can’t be serious about this, Claire. Please tell me you’re making this up.”
The girls were sitting on a bench in the pretty topiary garden behind the squire’s manor house. When Claire first asked if she could stay overnight, Charlotte had been delighted. When she learned the real reason behind Claire’s request, however, she changed her mind.
Claire said earnestly, “I’m not funning, Charlotte. Simon and I have loved each other for years. All we want in life is to be together. This trust fund is like a gift from God. It means we’ll have enough money to live on. But if we don’t elope, we’ll have to wait until Simon is twenty-one! That’s
years,
Charlotte!” Her voice cracked a little. “Simon will be at school in Oxford, and I’ll still be living home with my parents. You must see we can’t do that! We love each other too much. We want to be together the way married people are. Can you understand that, Charlotte?”
Charlotte wasn’t sure how she felt about Claire’s passionate plea. She had always been jealous of Claire’s friendship with Simon, had always known Simon was more important to Claire than she was. But she had never imagined that they might be in love! It changed the way she saw them, and it was confusing. She said, “I never thought of you and Simon in a romantic way. I thought you were just friends – the way you and I are friends.”
Claire took Charlotte’s hand in hers. “We’re not friends the way you and I are. We want to be married; we want to sleep in the same bed. Can’t you understand how cruel it is to keep us apart?”
Charlotte felt herself turn red at the words ‘sleep in the same bed.’ She looked around to make certain they were alone. “Have you kissed?”
“Of course we have.”