Oh, Cherry Ripe

Marry he would, and his bride would be Cheryl Elton, for her spirit was just what he needed to run his wayward household.

It was logical …

~ Three ~

GETTING OUT OF London was not as easy as Cherry had anticipated. She’d encountered several setbacks, though none had taken place as she stole out of the house. That, at least, had gone smoothly—too smoothly, for she had breathed a sigh of relief after exiting through the rear door and immediately assumed a far too cocky frame of mind.

She had reached the stables where her stepmother kept their horses housed and was met by a sleepy groom who eyed her with a touch of disapproval.

“Lookee … why … it’s Miss Cheryl,” he exclaimed in some surprise. His gray-brown eyebrows moved with great expression as he pulled at his lower lip. “Whot is it, miss … trouble?”

“In a manner of speaking. I need my horse as quickly as you can … no need for any real brushing or grooming, John … please,” she whispered, hoping he would not create any more of a stir than he had already done. She could see another stable-hand moving out of the recesses of the barn and curiously looking their way.

“Now, whot can ye be at, miss?” John shook his head. “Her ladyship wouldn’t loike ye rambling about on yer horse at night, miss … no, she would not. She would ’ave me ’ead, she would, if oi was to saddle yer Bessy and let ye go.”

“Right then. Never mind. I’ll saddle Bessy up myself,” Cheryl said, quite willing to be reasonable. She didn’t want anyone to incur her stepmother’s wrath on her account.

John shook his head, for this did not make any sense to him. Thing was, he could see trouble ahead. “She’ll ’ave me run through, she will, and nobbut could blame ’er. Oi jest can’t let ye go off at this time of night. Miss Cheryl, forgive ol’ John, but oi jest can’t.” He was pleading with her now.

“Can’t you?” Cheryl’s brow was up. “How do you mean to stop me?” She was already moving toward the tack room. He followed her hurriedly, and his voice had changed to a whine.

“Aw now, ’ave pity, do. Whot is it? Do ye want me turned off?”

Cheryl turned around with her saddle in her arms as she faced him. “John, you have been with us such a very long time and must know that my stepmother would never turn you off. And besides, she knows me—she will understand that you are not to blame in this.”

By now she had put the blanket on her mare’s back, hoisted the saddle on, and was cinching it in place. Bessy snorted, and Cheryl released a short laugh. “Yes, girl … I know, but you didn’t have any work today, so you shouldn’t mind a nice easy night’s walk.”

She turned her attention back to John, who was gawking at her and pointing at her saddle. She realized she had not tacked up Bessy with the accepted ladies’ sidesaddle and laughed softly. “No, I know, John, but who is to see at such an hour? And I do love riding astride so much better.”

“Aye, but not in London, miss. Maybe in the country … but—”

“Who is to see me? I will have my hood slung low over my head, no one will know me, and then I shall be much more comfortable when I get out of the city,” she said, smiling brightly. “Don’t fret it, John. I know what I am doing.”

“Do ye indeed!” he snapped. “Oi’ve ’eard ye say that to me countless times and land yerself in the pudding.”

She laughed. “Well, here is hoping that I shan’t land myself in the pudding this night.” She slipped the bridle in place and hooked the last of the leathers. She sighed heavily then as it flashed through her mind just what she was doing. “Never mind, John. You will tell my stepmother in the morning, for she shan’t notice I am gone until then, that I simply took my horse and left before you could do anything about it. You had no choice in the matter, so you can’t be blamed.”

“Oi can’t let it go loike that, Miss Cheryl. Oi’ve got to go to the ’ouse now and tell her ladyship that you’ve taken off alone. ’Tis me duty.” He was shaking his head sadly, obviously hating the position he found himself in.

Cheryl reached out and touched his shoulder. “Of course, John. You do just what you think right.” So saying, she led her horse to the mounting block outdoors and hoisted herself into the saddle, situated her riding skirt in place, yanked down its matching blue jacket, and tugged her black velvet cloak overall. She situated her hood so that it hung low over her face, turned to John, and added, “I’m afraid you won’t find her at home, John. Her friends picked her up an hour ago, and they are all at the theater. Won’t be home for hours.” She smiled to herself, well pleased.

At his expression, she sighed. “Don’t worry, John. I have my pistol with me, plenty of the ready, and I shall do just fine. You may tell my stepmother that I shall write her after I am established and have forgiven her …” Her voice trailed off on this last. Forgiven her? Could she ever forgive her this awful betrayal? She had always believed her stepmother loved her, but if she did, how could she ship her off to a stranger—marry her to a stranger?

To Cherry Elton, this was an act that was beyond forgiveness or understanding.

* * *

Lord Sky Westbrooke gave his present situation a great deal of serious contemplation and concluded that he was a young man greatly to be pitied. Depression weighed him down until there was only one thing he could do—drink himself into oblivion!

He reasoned with his better sense; he was sacrificing his life, wasn’t he? He was being totally unselfish and giving the remainder of his years over to a strange woman for the sake of his family. Egad! He would soon be a husband, perhaps a father. All joy would soon be out of his reach … gone forever …

Damnation. Life, in fact, as he had known and enjoyed it, was certainly quite at an end. There was nothing for it: he would go to his friends, and they would all become royally inebriated together. This decision was taken on with great zeal and enthusiasm as his intimates toasted him and the end of his bachelorhood at White’s Club.

Usually Sky found he was able to drink most men under the table before he began to show signs of being foxed. He was, however, certainly in his cups when he rose suddenly from the table, called for his coach to be sent for, and announced his intentions of departing the club for home.

“What’s that you say?” Sir William attempted to sit up, for he had been resting his head on his bent arm, which was laid on the card table. “You leaving, Sky …?”

“Must, Billy-boy. Have to present myself to my future bride in the morning. Don’t want to scare the chit with bloodshot eyes and a haggard face …”