Fair Juno (Regencies 4)

‘Good. If we leave straight away, we should be able to reach the Hermitage by nightfall.’ He guided her down the shallow steps to the roadway and fetched her coat from Hedley’s carriage.

Taking her arm, Martin led her to his curricle. Beside him, Helen allowed her eyes to seek the heavens for one brief instant. If this was how he was going to behave, she would never learn anything to her purpose. With her own determination growing, she put her hands on his arms as he reached for her waist. ‘My lord, I cannot simply go with you like this.’

Martin sighed. ‘You can, you know. It’s quite simple. But if it’s all the same to you, my dear, while I’m perfectly ready to discuss our future together in whatever detail you desire, I’d rather not do so in such a public location.’

He stood back to allow Helen a clear view of the churchyard, now filled with a sea of curious faces. Her eyes grew round. ‘Oh,’ she said. She held her peace while Martin lifted her to the box seat, shifting across to give him room. He paused to give directions to his groom, before mounting beside her. Within two minutes, they had left Kelporth, and her past, behind them.

Helen took a moment to savour the fresh tang of the breeze on her face, to allow the feeling of having escaped a dismal prospect sink in. Ahead, the future beckoned, exciting and beguiling. But largely unknown. Drawing a deep breath, she turned to view the man beside her, noting the strong hands on the reins, the slight frown—was it of concentration?— tugging at the black brows. ‘My lord—’ she began.

‘Martin,’ promptly came back.

Despite her determination, Helen’s lips twitched. ‘Martin, then.’ She raised her eyes to his face. ‘Is it really true that marrying me will not alter your state?’

The smile Martin turned on her was dazzling. ‘I very much hope it will alter my state.’ At her confusion, his smile grew. ‘But if you mean will it affect my financial state—no. Other than making suitable settlements on you, marriage to you will not seriously erode my fortune.’ When she remained silent, he added, ‘I did say so, you know.’

‘You also said I’d agreed to marry you!’ Helen countered, indignation at the way he had said it returning.

His grin was unrepentant. ‘Ah, well. Needs must when the devil drives, I’m afraid.’

Helen swallowed a snort and looked away. He was impossible and, she was quite sure, would remain so, behaving outrageously whenever it suited him, making amends with a wicked smile in the sure expectation of being excused. For the space of a few miles, she let the steady swaying of the carriage soothe her ruffled sensibilities. ‘I didn’t want you to lose your home,’ she eventually said, her voice rather small. Without that information, she was not sure what he might make of her own behaviour.

‘My home—and my dreams of restoring it?’ Martin asked gently.

Wordlessly, Helen nodded.

‘Finally, despite the dust you and fate seemed intent on throwing into my eyes, I figured that much out. You’ll be pleased to know that my dreams are all but reality, as far as the Hermitage goes. However, there’s an even more important dream that I’m very keen to see transmuted to reality— one you can help me with.’

‘Oh?’ Helen glanced up at him, not sure any longer if he was serious or just trying to cheer her up. But the grey eyes were perfectly clear and intent, holding an expression which made her feel quite breathless.

‘Yes,’ said Martin, slowly smiling before giving his attention to the road again. ‘It’ll take some time to achieve, this dearest dream of mine, but I’m more than prepared to devote myself assiduously to its achievement.’

Helen puzzled for a moment before asking, ‘What is this dream of yours?’

Martin considered long and hard before shaking his head. ‘I don’t think I should tell you just yet. Not until we’re wed. In fact, possibly not even then.’

‘How am I supposed to help you attain it if I don’t know what it is?’ Helen threw him an exasperated look, wondering again if he was merely trying to distract her. But his face remained serious.

‘If I tell you what I want,’ said Martin, frowning in earnest as he tried to unravel the tangle of his thoughts, ‘then, with your propensity for giving me what I wish regardless of your own feelings in the matter, how will I ever know if you’re helping me because you really wish to, rather than because you want to give me my heart’s desire?’

Helen stared at him in total confusion. What on earth was this latest dream of his?

Seeing her confusion, Martin laughed. ‘I promise to tell you if I need your—er—active assistance.’ With an effort, he kept his face straight, despite the wild scenes his rampant imagination was fabricating. Thankfully, his horses gave him excuse enough to keep his eyes on the road.

As the miles fell beneath the powerful hooves, Helen brooded over Martin’s disclosures, but could make all too little of them. His assurance about his home had relieved her mind of its most persistent worry, but there still remained one potential cloud hovering over his rainbow. ‘Tell me about your mother,’ she said. ‘She lives at the Hermitage, doesn’t she?’

Martin was only too ready to supply his bride-to-be with information on that subject, eliciting her ready sympathy for his ailing parent. ‘And regardless of anything Damian may have said, she most definitely approves of my offering for you. In fact, it was she who told me of Damian’s interference. Although she didn’t say so, I have reason to suspect she was somewhat disappointed that I didn’t leave to come after you last night.’

Privately, Helen considered that a reasonable reaction. Her thoughts must have shown in her eyes, for, when she glanced up and found Martin’s gaze upon her, he smiled and added, ‘I didn’t because, quite apart from the state of the roads, I was—er…somewhat under the hatches. Your fault, I might add.’

Understanding this to mean he had been drinking rather more than usual because of her, Helen felt an odd inner glow warm her. As the curricle shot past a farmer’s cart, she reflected that it was just as well Martin was not drunk now, for he was driving at a shocking pace.

Martin kept his horses well up to their bits, only easing them when absolutely necessary. They were a strong pair of Welsh thoroughbreds and made short work of the relatively level roads. Lunch was a hasty affair—some bread and cheese washed down with ale, taken in a small inn at Wade-bridge. Even so, by the time they left Barnstaple, and Martin headed the horses on to the road to South Molton, the sun was sinking in the west, the way ahead lit by its slanting rays. Realising that they would not reach the Hermitage, just north of Wiveliscombe, until evening, Martin bethought himself of a pertinent point he would do well to inform fair Juno upon.

‘We’ll be married tomorrow.’

The bald statement jerked Helen’s slumbering wits to life. Tomorrow? She looked up in time to catch Martin’s glance. He was deadly serious. As she watched, one dark brow rose arrogantly. ‘I’ve a special licence, supplied by the Bishop of Winchester.’

Helen straightened in her seat. ‘Don’t you think…?’ she began lamely.