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Eliza had been trapped in Mr. Barrington’s carriage the entire day. She’d spent the first several hours screaming, but Mr. Barrington kept clapping his hand over her mouth. The disgust of his balmy palm on her lips was the only reason she was now sitting still.
The afternoon was getting on, and still he pushed on. When they’d stopped to change horses, Mr. Barrington let her out only to relieve herself, then forced her straight back into the coach. Her head rattled from traveling the unkempt roads of the north country.
Now she was resigned. Mr. Arden had done his best to save her from this fate worse than death. But in the end, she still wound up in the clutches of Mr. Barrington.
She considered again throwing herself from the moving carriage. With her luck, she would just end up crippled and married to the pumpkin head. Though perhaps if she was crippled, he would no longer want her, so maybe the idea wasn’t so bad. She leaned her head against the glass and watched the dirt track roll by beneath the carriage wheels. She could easily open the door and tumble out.
In the end, she lacked the courage. She’d spent most of the early morning staring out the rear window, waiting to see Mr. Arden riding after her. But when she saw the direction Mr. Barrington was taking her, her hope died. Mr. Arden would have ridden south, toward Slough. Toward Mr. Barrington’s home. But Mr. Barrington was taking her north, across the border. Mr. Barrington wanted a quick wedding. And there was nowhere quicker than across the border into Scotland, where anyone could marry anyone, no license needed.
Blast her and her weak heart. Weak because she dared not throw herself from the carriage, and weak because she’d let herself form an attachment to Mr. Arden.
The carriage rattled as it crossed the River Sark, marking the border. Only a few minutes left until she would become Mrs. Barrington. Worms crawled through her skin at the thought of it.
She closed her eyes and tried to fill her mind with something better. Mr. Arden, and the stunned look on his face when she’d kissed him way back on the first day of their adventure. The way his hand pressed against her waist, as if he’d wanted it to last longer. His chestnut eyes hungry as she turned to him once he’d helped her with her buttons.
She shook her head. These thoughts did not make it any easier.
The carriage came to a stop, and Eliza’s heart dropped from her chest. She was out of time.
“Remember, not a word, or Mr. Arden dies,” Mr. Barrington reminded her for the nine hundredth time since he’d shown up at Windley Mills. He had told her that he had two expert marksmen standing by if she put up a fuss. Whether it was true or not, she wouldn’t gamble with Mr. Arden’s life. He had given her a glimpse of a dueling pistol he had tucked away as if to verify the threat.
Mr. Barrington opened the door to the carriage and dragged her out.
They were in front of a smithy. She’d heard about people getting married in such a place. Here in Scotland, all you needed were witnesses and a willing couple. Eliza was most certainly not willing. But again, if there was any chance Mr. Barrington did have Mr. Arden in his sights, she would not risk it.
Even if she put up a bigger fuss than Napoleon, Mr. Barrington would offer enough money that the smith would look the other way. Why else was this such a booming business for the folks of Gretna Green?
Mr. Barrington smiled at the man who came out of the forge. “We wish to be wed.”
The blacksmith looked long and hard at Mr. Barrington, then over at Eliza. He had a keen eye, it seemed, for he grinned and said, “One hundred pounds.”
Mr. Barrington scoffed. “I’ll give you fifty.” Even fifty was an exorbitant price.
The blacksmith turned and walked back toward his shop.
“Seventy-five,” called Mr. Barrington.
The blacksmith paused but did not turn around.
Mr. Barrington glanced over his back as if he expected Mr. Arden to come galloping across the Sark any moment. Eliza knew better; if he bothered at all to come after her, he would have ridden south, toward Slough. Toward where it all began.
“Very well. A hundred,” Mr. Barrington conceded.
The blacksmith turned with a genial smile. “Right this way.” He opened the door to his shop and let them in.
A young girl was carrying a bucket of water and looked up as they entered.
“Go fetch Thomas and Jack,” the blacksmith said.
The girl set the bucket down and ran off. “Uncle Thomas,” she called as she disappeared out a back door.
The blacksmith wiped his filthy hands on an even filthier cloth, then reached out. “Martin Halcrow.”
Mr. Barrington looked at the man’s dirty hand for a moment before shaking it. “Adolphous Barrington.” He motioned toward Eliza. “And this is Miss Barnes.”
Eliza did not give Martin Halcrow any acknowledgment. She couldn’t even look up or she would fall apart, utterly and completely.
“You all right, miss?” Mr. Halcrow asked.
She nodded, knowing full well she would never be all right ever again. Her fate was sealed, it seemed. And all the fussing in the world would only put Mr. Arden in danger. Maybe even Lucy.
“It’ll cost ye an extra ten guineas if’n the miss don’t want to,” Mr. Halcrow informed Mr. Barrington.
La! What kind of business was this? Shouldn’t the blacksmith be a gentleman and rescue the damsel in distress? He certainly had arms thick enough to wrestle a dragon to the ground.
Two men walked into the shop with a paper. A marriage certificate, to make it all official. And it would be. No matter that she was standing on straw while a horseshoe cooled on the anvil. No matter that the man officiating wore a tanned leather apron. In the eyes of the law, they would be married.
Mr. Halcrow asked them their names, and one of the other men—Thomas or Jack, she knew not which—wrote it on the certificate. Then he asked if they were each there of their own free will.
Mr. Barrington spoke up quickly. “Yes, yes. We are both here of our own free will.”
“Why don’t you let the lady speak for herself?” called a voice from the door of the smithy.
Eliza spun around. Mr. Arden stood on the threshold, breathing heavily as if he’d run here from Windley Mills on foot. He wore no hat, and his hair was a wild mess, but he’d never looked better.
He frowned at her. “Mrs. O’Connell, what are you doing here?”
“Mrs.?” asked the blacksmith.
Never had the sight of another human being brought her such joy. “Mr. O’Connell,” she said. “You came for me.”
Mr. Barrington grabbed for her, but she leaped away and ran straight to Mr. Arden. He opened his arms and caught her, holding her tight. She was saved. Once again, Mr. Arden had given her back her life. Good thing she had not thrown herself from the carriage—she would have regretted very much being crippled right now.
“Now see here,” Mr. Halcrow said, pointing a finger at Mr. Barrington. “Ye can’t marry a married woman. Not even here.”
“She’s not married,” Mr. Barrington growled.
“And she will never be married to the likes of you.” Mr. Arden led her a few paces away. He let out a long breath, then smiled at her. That beautiful smile that melted her to her bones. He leaned close and whispered, “I know this will sound untoward, but I propose a proposal.”
She laughed softly. It was those words that had saved her the first time around.
“Miss Eliza,” he continued, “I believe we can be the solution to each other’s predicament.”
“And what predicament is that?” Though she already knew it was his sister.
But he did not mention Lucy. He pressed his fist over his heart. “There is a piece of me missing, and I think you might have it. When I found you gone, it hurt.”
Her eyes flew to his. Was he in earnest? So much of their time together had been an act, by now the lines were mixed and blurred. Was this part of the charade to keep her from Mr. Barrington, or did he mean what he had said? All traces of humor were gone from his face, so perhaps this was real.
One way to find out. “Do we have to marry?” she asked.
He held his hand out, holding the beautiful ring between his forefinger and thumb. “I’m afraid this time we do.”
She looked down at his ring, then up at him. It was no longer a game. It was real. “Wang Mei always says things are better in pairs. I accept your proposal.” She put the ring on her finger; she had felt bare without it.
“But she is mine,” Mr. Barrington bellowed. “I have the prior claim.”
Mr. Arden did not even look at Mr. Barrington. He grabbed her hand and went straight to the blacksmith. “Sir, how much for a wedding?”
The blacksmith sized up Mr. Arden, then Eliza again. “Fifty pounds.”
“What?” Mr. Barrington’s face was scarlet now. Even the bald patch on the top of his head had turned from pumpkin orange to bright red. “This is preposterous.”
The witnesses and Mr. Halcrow had been standing by, waiting for things to resolve. They must be used to this, conducting marriages with couples of dubious connection. Some must be truly in love, as she was with Mr. Arden. Considering they didn’t blink an eye at her and Mr. Barrington’s situation, they must have also seen other couples with less of a romantic attachment.
“You should go now, Barrington.” Mr. Arden let go of Eliza and walked over to him. “You’d better be off.”
Mr. Barrington’s rheumy eyes hardened. “And what if I don’t.” From under his coat, he pulled out the pistol.
Quick as a blink, Mr. Arden swung his fist so hard the smack echoed in the little workshop. Mr. Barrington flew back and landed in the straw with a thud. He did not move, but a little groan escaped his mouth. His firearm lay in the straw. Mr. Arden picked it up and tossed it to the blacksmith.
“Perhaps you should hold on to this,” Mr. Arden said.
Mr. Halcrow set it on a shelf behind him, among his tools. The blacksmith stared at the body on the ground for a moment, then said, “All right then, let’s start all over. Thomas, fetch a new certificate.”
Thomas did, and their names were added accordingly. Mr. Halcrow asked again if they were there of their own accord.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. For things were working out now better than she had ever imagined. When they’d left Tetsworth, she’d been assured they wouldn’t have to marry. Much had happened since that day, and how quickly her heart had bound to Mr. Arden.
The blacksmith finished the ceremony and handed them the certificate. He tossed the old one with Mr. Barrington’s name into the fire. Thomas and Jack lifted Mr. Barrington from the straw and escorted him out.
“Felicitations on your happy day,” Mr. Halcrow said. He picked up a large piece of metal that appeared to be some sort of carriage spring and went back to work.
And that was that. In less than ten minutes she was a married woman. Married to a man she barely knew, yet after their long journey together, in many ways she felt she knew him better than anyone.
“Come,” Mr. Arden said, holding her hand and guiding her out of the blacksmith shop.
Mr. Barrington was climbing into his coach, still flanked by Thomas and Jack. He did not look back at Richard and herself. The carriage door closed, and Mr. Barrington’s driver snapped the reins. He was gone. Hopefully forever.
Her stepmother would be furious. There was nothing she could do about that now. The deed was done, and Eliza had no regrets.