Road to Gretna Green Read online

  Finally, he tore his gaze away when she bobbed a respectful curtsy to his father, then leaned in to kiss the old nobleman’s forehead. Royston had no idea what she said to make his father chuckle because the buzzing was still in his ears. She then spoke to Edith before surprising him by turning and addressing him directly.

  He did not hear her words, so he could not give a reply. He hoped a curt nod would suffice. He was still in a mental fog. And that fog had him hurtling back to the last time he had seen Cousin Helen. It was a little over a year ago, when his greatest wish had finally come true. She had been made a widow and was free again, free to re-marry, and thus free to be his again. But the truth of the matter was she had never really been his, ever. She might now be a widow and able to marry whomever she pleased, but he was very sure that he would never be that whomever.

  On that sudden depressing realization, his ears went pop, and his hearing returned.

  “Oh, do not concern yourself, my lord,” Cousin Helen was saying. “I am reconciled to it. Cousin Royston was just as talkative the last time we were in each other’s company, and just as polite. To be fair to us both, that was a somber occasion, whereas this”—she smiled brightly at Edith and affectionately touched the young woman’s arm—“this is something different entirely. It is a joyous occasion and one I am exceedingly happy to celebrate with . . . with—” She glanced at Royston, who still stood as a plank beside his sister. “With you all!” She then looked about her as if she had lost something or someone. “But where is Grace?”

  Chapter Three

  The somber occasion to which Cousin Helen alluded had occurred thirteen months earlier. It was a commemorative service held to celebrate the long life and distinguished career of the Member of Parliament for Carlisle, Sir William Dysart. Sir William had died peacefully in his sleep at the relatively young age of fifty-two, leaving behind five adult children, fourteen grandchildren, and a much younger second wife, Royston’s cousin, Helen. A kind and generous man and a pillar of society, everyone who knew him mourned his passing. Everyone, that is, except Royston Meredith.

  Royston had been in London for several weeks attending a series of medical lectures given by the celebrated anatomist Dr. John Hunter, when he heard the news of Sir William’s passing, and in the most surprising of ways. He had accepted an invitation to an inaugural meeting of like-minded gentlemen who wished to form a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals. The meeting took place at Old Slaughter’s Coffee House in St. Martins Lane, and he had been keen to discuss with these men, many of whom he had corresponded with over the years, their enlightened views on the rights of animals, in particular beasts of burden. The meeting had opened with a prayer for one of their founders, Sir William Dysart, who had been instrumental in drawing up a bill for the ethical treatment of horses that he was set to put before the House at the next sitting of Parliament, but who had recently passed away.

  There was to be a service for Sir William the very next day at St. George’s, Hanover Square.

  Royston attended with two of these like-minded gentlemen and sat as far back in the church as was possible. He could have taken the pew behind the grieving widow as a representative of her family. After all, Helen was his cousin and a Meredith, and she had no immediate family other than his. So it would have been entirely appropriate for him to join her. But he did not. He slid onto a bench behind the assembled congregation of family members, dignitaries, and people connected to Sir William who had come to pay their respects.

  He felt a charlatan because he had not come to offer his cousin sympathy for her loss. While he did indeed commiserate with Sir William’s family for losing their father and grandfather, with Sir William’s friends and acquaintances, those who had benefited from knowing the parliamentarian, and with his fellow animal rights advocates who had lost a valuable patron, he had little sympathy for the widow. This was because his overriding emotion was a selfish one.

  He hoped by attending this service he could finally eradicate the bitterness he harbored toward Sir William. In marrying Helen, the parliamentarian had robbed him of the only woman he loved. Sir William and his cousin Helen had married two months after her eighteenth birthday. He had learnt about it in a letter from his sister whilst studying in France; it was the most miserable day of his life.

  After the service, the congregation had spilled out into the watery sunshine of an inner courtyard to pay their respects to grieving family members, assembled to receive their condolences and sympathies. Royston had gone forward, features schooled in solemn reflection and with heart beating hard. Six years had elapsed since he had seen her, when she had been living in his family home as his father’s ward. As children they had spent every summer together exploring the Cumbrian countryside. She a thin wisp of a girl with a tangle of bright red braids and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. He an awkwardly loose-limbed boy who dreamed of attending medical school and who confided his hopes and dreams in her and most probably bored her silly. Though the little crease between her dark-red brows was evidence of a studiousness far beyond her years.

  Remembrance of that tiny detail made him smile, but such nostalgia considerably sobered his mood as he waited in line. His attention was caught by a gentleman at the grieving widow’s left shoulder, whispering in her ear as persons approached. He presumed he was offering up the identities of these people so Helen would not make a social gaffe at not knowing them. And when this gentleman dug deep in a pocket for a handkerchief and gave it to the widow to dab at her eyes, Royston scowled. The scowl was still there when he stepped up to Sir William’s young widow and made her his bow.

  How sophisticated she appeared in her black silks, and much older with such dark circles under her eyes, evidence of her sorrow. But then, as now, she had the same effect on him. He swallowed hard. His throat was unaccountably dry, and there was a buzzing in his ears that set him slightly off-balance. And then, as now, he lost the ability to speak, or at least to form a coherent sentence. He mumbled several platitudes and did not give her the chance to respond, instead moving on quickly to speak with Sir William’s heir, who stood on her other side. Whatever happiness he had felt at Sir William’s passing, whatever his selfish reasons for attending this commemorative service, evaporated. One look into Cousin Helen’s pale-blue eyes and he saw the pain and suffering of her loss, and he knew himself for an unfeeling and selfish oaf.

  He had been under the delusion that his cousin had married Sir William for any number of reasons but that love was not one of them. But seeing her as a grieving widow, he realized that she had indeed loved her husband. It was a rude awakening. How naive had he been in thinking the love they had for each other as children would mature into something more than cousinly affection. All confidence in the possibility of Helen, Lady Dysart, accepting a proposal of marriage from him now she was a widow vanished. He was so melancholy it left him with a pain in the chest.

  Thirteen months should have healed the wound of his disappointment and delusion. But it had not. This was starkly evident when Helen only had to glide into his father’s drawing room for the scab to be torn off the wound, a wound that still festered. Nothing had changed for him since his seventeenth birthday when as a thirteen-year-old orphan Cousin Helen had come to live at Salkeld House. Her arrival was the best birthday present he had ever received. It was love at first sight for him, and he was still in love with her.

  Chapter Four

  Helen, Lady Dysart, had entered the drawing room and immediately searched the unfamiliar faces for her cousin Royston. It was not that she was eager to see him, not yet. In fact, she hoped he might still be out and about on his rounds tending to his patients. She needed time to compose herself, to have ready a witty rejoinder to what would surely be a monosyllabic and unemotional response from him to her presence. She’d had endless hours in the carriage ride up from London, even a night at an inn staring at the low ceiling, to practice her insouciance, to hide her true feelings, and to show
him she remained indifferent despite an end to her mourning and having cast off her drab widow’s clothing.

  Yet, seeing Royston standing by Edith, broodingly handsome and austere as ever, she gave a start, and her knees wobbled. She told herself she was being ridiculous. She was no longer a doe-eyed girl who had pinned all her hopes on marrying him. She was a confident widow, calm and in control, a woman of the world who did not need the support or approval of any man. So she squared her shoulders and stepped up to her family members with all the self-assurance of an experienced dancer making her appearance before an appreciative audience.

  And what did she do or say when finally before her cousin? She forgot the rehearsed offhand remark carefully constructed on her journey. Instead she had teased him about the last time they had seen each other, at her husband’s commemorative service. Not the most auspicious of starts to her visit, to throw her marriage in his face yet again. As if marriage to Sir William was a trophy she had won, a triumph of her own making. When in fact she blamed Royston as the catalyst for her accepting Sir William’s marriage proposal. Not that either man had forced her into marriage. But it was Royston who had broken her heart.

  Foolishly, as a girl she had believed him when he said he loved her and that he meant to marry her once he’d completed his medical studies and returned to Carlisle and set up practice. Would she mind being the wife of a country physician? She had given him an emphatic yes to the idea of being his wife, and she did not mind in the least he was to be a physician. In fact she was very proud of his strength of purpose. But she did have one worry, and that was his father’s determination to marry her to his brother Thomas. And then when Thomas had died, to marry her to Royston’s other brother, Matthew.

  Royston had assured her he would not let that happen. If his father tried to force her into marriage with either of his elder brothers, he made her a solemn promise to run away with her across the border into Scotland and to Gretna Green, which was only ten miles away. He assured her that while the law in England forbade her marrying without parental consent before her twenty-first birthday, the law in Scotland was different. They could marry in Scotland, and no one could stop them. She had to trust in him, and she did.

  But he had not asked her to marry him. Not even after the tragic deaths of his elder brothers left him the heir to his father’s title and estate did he seek her out and reassure her they would be married. There was no further talk of running away to Gretna Green. Then one day she discovered he was off to France to further his studies. He had returned to Carlisle from Edinburgh only to collect his trunks and say his farewells to the family. And it seemed he was never going to marry her, here in Carlisle, or across the border in Scotland. This she discovered for herself one afternoon when she was witness to a heated exchange between father and son.

  She remembered that day as if it were yesterday. And she remembered it now as she glanced about the drawing room, determined to avoid looking at Royston again—though she knew his gaze never left her for a moment—wondering at the whereabouts of her youngest cousin Grace.

  Chapter Five

  The incident in Lord Salkeld’s book room occurred a handful of days before Helen’s eighteenth birthday. Her uncle had summoned her. He had important news about her future. When the butler told her that Royston was with his father, her heart skipped a beat, hoping upon hope that the important news was the announcement of their engagement. Finally! The happiest day of her life had arrived.

  To the Meredith household it was a forgone conclusion that she and Royston would marry, now that His Lordship had lost his two eldest sons in quick succession. Thomas had tragically died in a hunting accident. Twelve months later Matthew succumbed to pneumonia. That left Lord Salkeld’s third and now only surviving son, Royston, to marry Helen, daughter of His Lordship’s brother who had made a fortune in trade. Helen’s dowry was a staggering £25,000. So it was unsurprising that her uncle would want to keep such a fortune within the family. And the only way to do that was to marry her to one of his sons.

  She had arrived at the book room all smiles of expectation of the announcement of her engagement to Royston. What she walked in on was a blistering argument between father and son that left her in no doubts as to her cousin’s feelings on the matter of marriage and about his feelings for her . . .

  Lord Salkeld slammed his fist down hard on the polished wooden surface of his desk, rattling the pounce pot.

  “You will marry, sir!”

  Royston stared at his father, hands clenched at his sides. His voice was low and resolute.

  “And I repeat—sir—I will not.”

  “I know what’s best for this family and its future, and it is time you faced up to your responsibilities—”

  “I won’t be lectured to by a man who never faced up to his!”

  “How dare—”

  “All those years spending months away at a time in London, living with your mistress, lavishing trinkets and baubles and God knows what on a pack of whores. Gambling away our future in gaming hells and at the racetrack—”

  “Why you—you sanctimonious whelp!”

  “—while your wife and children practically starved, living in a house without coal or adequate firewood, its roof in need of repair, with servants who were stealing the plate to feed themselves and their brats. And you dare to call me sanctimonious? You cannot bully and badger or frighten me as you did Thomas and Matthew. It is you who has led us to this sorry state of affairs. It is you who is up to your wig in debt, who has caused this estate to fall down around your shoe buckles. Unless you retrench, there will be nothing left. Edith and Grace won’t have a decent cloth to their backs, least of all a modest dowry to attract a suitor worthy of them.”

  “If you wish your sisters to have dowries, for the servants to have a decent meal, and for these rooms to feel warmth again, then you must and will marry Helen. Her dowry will save us all.”

  Royston continued as if his father had not spoken.

  “You broke our mother’s heart, and her spirit. She died from melancholia—”

  Lord Salkeld scoffed. “Spare me the medical diagnosis! Your mother died in childbed.”

  “Yes. After Grace was born, she lost the will to live.”

  “And if you don’t marry Helen, there won’t be enough coin to feed your sisters! Is that what you want?”

  Royston gritted his teeth. “I won’t feel guilty for your sins. And I will not be forced into a marriage with anyone.”

  Lord Salkeld regarded his only son under heavy lids.

  “Don’t make your mother a martyr, boy. She knew what she was getting into when she married me. She was just as hardheaded and as hard-hearted. She wanted a title, and she got it. We had an arrangement. And it suited both of us very well indeed. You can have the same arrangement with your cousin. Helen will be made a viscountess, and in return you will receive £25,000. Get her pregnant as soon as you can, and God willing, she will give you an heir within the year. The estate and the title will then have a secure future. And there will even be funds aplenty for Edith and Grace to have dowries worthy of the daughters of a viscount.”

  “I always wondered if ice ran in your veins. You have confirmed it. You are cold-blooded and calculating, and I want nothing to do with such an arrangement.”

  Lord Salkeld stuck his tongue firmly in his cheek.

  “Is that so? More fool you are because you do not have a choice. You are my heir, and there is nothing you or I can do about it. Your brothers understood this well enough and were reconciled to doing their duty. And part of that duty is marrying, and marrying well, and that means marrying your cousin.”

  Royston stared back at his aging parent with barely concealed loathing.

  “It is true. I cannot change fate. I am your heir whether I like it or not. It was forced upon me by tragic circumstance. But you cannot force me to marry Helen. Just as you cannot force me to give up the practice of medicine. I intend to go on helping the sick, be they human,
furred, or feathered, and most particularly if they are beasts of burden. It is my calling.”

  “Calling? God give me strength! Preaching to a congregation is a calling. Captaining a ship or leading men into battle, they are callings. What you describe—tending to and healing beasts, who were put on this earth by God for man to use as he sees fit, as if these creatures have feelings and need succor, is—is—the stuff of—of—lunacy! You are a lunatic!”

  “I don’t care what you think. And you are powerless to stop me. I have the small annuity left me by my mother, and I will use it as she intended me to.” He made his father a small bow of the head. “If that is all you have to say, I must finish packing. I leave at first light for Lyon and Monsieur Bourgelat’s veterinary college.”

  “To waste your medical training on learning how to heal animals?” His Lordship snorted his contempt. “What rubbish! A better use of your time abroad would be sowing your wild oats so that you know something about women, then come back here and marry and beget an heir—”

  “I don’t need a lecture on women, and certainly not from you!”

  Lord Salkeld glanced past his son and straight at Helen, who stood just inside the door, hesitant to come forward. She gave a little jump of surprise that he was well aware of her presence. He held her gaze but for a moment, as if confirming this, and her fingers tightened in the folds of her floral petticoats. He did not beckon her forward, so she remained where she was. He looked back at Royston.

  “Let us be clear. You refuse to be guided by me and give up this preposterous notion of becoming an animal healer to settle and marry your cousin?”

  “How many ways must I say it to make it clear to you, sir? There is nothing that can induce me to steer away from my course of action. As for marrying my cousin . . . ?” He gave a grunt of disgust. “You hawked her to my brothers as if she were a prostitute and you her bawd. And now you expect me to accept her on those terms, too?”