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THE TRIP HAD BEEN EXCITING at parts, when the coach had climbed through scenic countryside, but mostly it had been tiring.
It was tiring to be cramped in a small space, wedged beside Juliet and the carriage door, and it was tiring as the coach swerved from bend to bend. The unpredictable rhythm made sleep difficult, even though each morning she was exhausted, after a night of sleeping above a busy posting inn. Most of all it was tiring to sit opposite Mr. Owens.
Finally, they arrived in Gretna Green. Margaret exited the carriage.
Happy couples wandered around the village, either blissfully celebrating their first days of marriage or anticipating them. Some of the brides already had rounded bellies, making it clear why they’d needed to elope instead of waiting for the banns to be read.
Margaret stepped forward. Her feet sagged into the muddy ground, and she stared at all the people. She smoothed her dress, and a wave of nervousness came through her.
She was here.
It was truly happening.
She was going to marry Mr. Owens.
She glanced at him. He patted his forehead. No doubt he was still queasy from the journey. Reading wasn’t an activity that was well suited to travel, and he’d attempted to read the entire time.
“We’re here,” he said.
“Splendid!” she said faintly, even though this didn’t seem splendid. It seemed the end of her previous life.
Still, she had to marry him.
Mr. Owens produced a faint smile. She hoped he was thinking of possibly happy decades ahead with her, and not simply of the money that her father would give him.
Perhaps it didn’t matter.
She raised her chin. “Shall we find a posting inn?”
“We can marry directly.” Mr. Owens glanced in the direction of one of the blacksmiths shops.
Of course.
This was what they’d planned to do. A strange quiver moved through Margaret’s spine. This was not simply another day. This would be the first day of their marriage, the first day of the rest of her life. This evening would be her wedding night.
A sour taste invaded her throat.
She wasn’t ready for this.
“I will need to prepare for the wedding,” Margaret said. “I cannot appear like this.”
“Hmph.” Mr. Owens gazed at her. “You require miracle workers.” He shrugged. “I suppose we could wait one more night.”
“G-Good,” she said.
Mr. Owens offered her his arm, and they proceeded to the nearest inn.
*
JASPER PACED GRETNA Green. He’d become incredibly familiar with the town in the past few days. The only thing worse than spending the week in a town devoted to weddings was to spend it without the woman he wanted to marry. Every new exclamation of jubilation after a short arrival was not only a sign of the blacksmiths’ remarkable efficiency, but at the absolute necessity of spotting Margaret arrive in time.
At least, he hoped he hadn’t missed her.
Perhaps her absence signified that she’d changed her mind about the wedding, but maybe it had simply meant something dreadful had happened to delay them.
Jasper, after all, knew all about carriage accidents.
He peered at the incessant stream of carriages. Even regular tourists, with no plans to marry, seemed to pass through here, gawking at the various blacksmith shops.
A woman appeared on the other side of the street accompanied by two maids. Her nose swooped up in the same manner as Margaret’s. Was it her? He rushed toward her but was stopped by the traffic.
When he crossed the street, she had gone, presumably into the nearby posting inn.
Well, he was going to speak with her.
He gritted his teeth and stepped into the inn. He marched inside, wishing that not quite so many patrons had decided to crowd into the public house portion. Someone was playing the piano, and other patrons were singing. The innkeepers gave him a wary glance. He’d already inquired whether Margaret and Mr. Owens were here multiple times before.
He ignored the innkeepers and scoured the rooms. Unfortunately, he didn’t see them. He ordered a drink and sat at the table. When they came down, he would be here.
The bar maid brought him some ale, though neither the bubbles nor the familiar sour taste distracted him from his view of the door.
Finally, Mr. Owens appeared.
Jasper grinned and rose.
Mr. Owens headed toward the bar, no doubt to order a drink, but when he saw Jasper, his eyes rounded, and he halted abruptly.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Owens,” Jasper said.
Mr. Owens gave him a sullen glance.
“Is Miss Carberry traveling with you by any chance?”
“I think you know the answer.”
At least this was good. She was here.
His heart soared.
“May I speak with her?”
“No,” Mr. Owens said.
“No?” Jasper widened his eyes. “But you don’t love her.”
Mr. Owens shrugged. “What is love?”
“What is love? Love is the most wonderful thing imaginable. And the most thrilling. And the most dangerous.”
“She wanted to marry me.”
“But she wants to marry me more,” Jasper said. “She loves me.”
“Did she tell you that?” Mr. Owens asked.
Jasper blinked. “Not in those precise words.”
“It’s three words,” Mr. Owens said pedantically. “It doesn’t take long to say.”
“Did she tell you she loved you?” Jasper asked.
Mr. Owens hesitated, but then he moved his chin outward, as if it were a cannon he was directing at an enemy ship. “Yes.”
Oh.
This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.
Jasper was supposed to arrive in Gretna Green, tell Margaret he loved her, then marry her at the blacksmith’s shop himself.
He’d worried about not getting to Gretna Green in time, but after the first shock of her disappearance, he’d not worried that Margaret might not accept him. He certainly hadn’t thought he might not even see Margaret.
And yet, Margaret was plainly missing.
“Tell her that I’m here,” Jasper said.
Mr. Owens gritted his teeth. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Of course it’s bloody wise.” Giving a woman a choice before she married the wrong man was a good thing. Anyone could see that. This didn’t require any particular skills of perception, derived from ancestors who were witches or anything similarly ridiculous.
Jasper put his hands on his waist, but Mr. Owens only quirked an eyebrow. Most people found Jasper somewhat intimidating. No doubt Mr. Owens had heard too many stories to give him the requisite appreciation.
Mr. Owens glowered and rested his hands on his hips. “I want you far away from here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Mr. Owens glowered. “You should.”
“Not before I speak with Margaret.”
Mr. Owens hurried quickly to the door, and Jasper followed him. Mr. Owens would show him where Margaret was. This was working. He would see her soon.
Mr. Owens nodded to the proprietor and jerked his thumb in Jasper’s direction. “This man is following me.”
“Oh?” The proprietor’s bushy brows rose, and he pushed up his sleeves when he spotted Jasper.
“What are you doing?” the proprietor’s wife asked.
“That’s that ruffian who has been here all week. Claiming he was a duke. Most suspicious.”
Blast.
The other patrons were listening to the conversation, and some narrowed their eyes and rose.
Jasper’s heart beat at a quicker pace, and he leaped up and bolted up the stairs. Margaret was here. He just needed to find her.
“Margaret! Margaret!” he called, banging on doors of the guest rooms, conscious of people chasing him.