The Duchess (Montgomery/Taggert 16)

Claire paused in unbuttoning her gown. “Who?”

“The old hag. The witch. The most hated woman in all of England, Scotland, and, as far as I know, Ireland. But the Scots don’t talk much about Ireland so I can’t be sure about that country.”

“Help me unfasten this,” Claire said, trying to understand what Brat was saying. “And do please stop talking.”

Claire was ready to go in a matter of minutes, and she met Harry downstairs. He was sitting half asleep in the hall porter’s chair. She had to shake his shoulder to get him going. He’d sent a footman to the stables and their horses were waiting for them—as were three men, already mounted, lanterns in their hands and ready to ride.

Claire made a few furtive attempts to talk to Harry about the need for secrecy. She said that Leatrice might be hurt if they came storming into the summerhouse. Harry just looked at her as though she were daft and told his men to go.

Brat, mounted on an unruly gelding, smiled at Claire in a know-it-all way. “Not exactly dime-novel, old West riding to the rescue, is it?” she said smugly.

“Harry’s a Scot,” Claire answered. “They do things differently here.”

“Harry’s English,” Brat said as she kicked her horse forward, easily controlling the big animal. Their father had put Sarah Ann on a horse before she could walk, and the child had taken to the animal as though she were a female centaur. Claire was an excellent rider, but she wasn’t anything compared to Brat.

The six of them went thundering down the lanes. Claire hoped there was no need for secrecy, for secret they were not. They could have been heard twenty miles away. She hoped Leatrice wasn’t in real danger and that it was a hoax.

At one point, when they had to slow down to go single file down a narrow path, Brat turned to Claire and said, “You know, I really love this family.”

Claire grimaced and nudged her horse forward.

When they at last reached the summerhouse, Claire wasn’t prepared for what she saw. The windows were boarded and there was a bolt locking the door from the outside, yet there was smoke coming from the chimney of the little building.

“Open it,” Harry said, not getting down from his horse.

It was at that moment that the vicar appeared. He was a tall man, made to look taller by the fact that he was riding a horse that was too small for him. His clerical clothes billowed out over an enormous stomach and he had whiskers hanging down to his chest. “What’s this?” the man bellowed. “I was dragged from a warm fire and a good dinner to this place. What’s this, young Harry?”

Harry squinted at the man, trying to remember who he was. “I don’t know” was all Harry said, then he nodded at the footman to unbar the door.

Inside the room were two people, both of them stark naked. One, a tall, good-looking man in his early forties, was trying to shield the nude body of Leatrice from the view of the people outside the door. Leatrice cowered behind him.

Claire, once she got her mouth closed from the shock of the spectacle, tried to keep Brat from seeing into the room. She might as well have tried to contain a honeybee with a piece of string. Brat was off her horse in seconds, standing at the doorway and unabashedly staring. Claire was trying not to do the same.

In the next instant the shock was broken by the booming voice of the vicar. He was calling down the wrath of God on the fornicators.

Harry at last got off his horse, went inside the building, and gave his coat to his sister to cover herself. “What do you have to say for yourself, Kincaid?” he demanded of the man who was now trying to cover his private parts.

At the name Kincaid, Claire began to realize what was going on. MacTarvit, she thought, and tried to keep from smiling. He had somehow arranged this.

In the background the vicar was still raging, saying that all hellfire was going to come down on these sinners. Claire was thinking with love of MacTarvit, knowing he was the one who had somehow managed to lock these two into a room and take their clothes from them. And he’d arranged for a vicar to be there when they were found.

“They must be married,” Claire heard herself saying loudly. It wasn’t easy to be heard over the vicar, who was talking about the eternal damnation of these two people.

Claire looked at Harry. “You’re her guardian and you can witness the ceremony. She must be married at once.”

Harry looked startled. “I’m not sure Mother—”

“Their souls are in jeopardy,” the vicar shouted. “They must be made to pay for their sins.”

Claire looked at Leatrice. With her long hair down about her shoulders and her legs bare beneath Harry’s coat, she looked a great deal better than she did in the ruffled clothes she usually wore. Claire raised her eyebrows in question to Leatrice and Lee gave her a little smile and a nod.

“Harry, they must be married at once! Now. This minute. You can’t let all these people see something like this and expect to stop the gossip. Your family name will be ruined.”

“I’m not sure…” Harry said.

Claire could see that even now the hold his mother had over him was formidable. “Harry, I understand,” she said softly, but making sure that the wide-eyed servants around them heard. “If you don’t have the authority to force a man who has defiled your sister to marry her, I quite understand, and I’m sure everyone else here understands too.”

“I think I have—I mean, I do have the authority, but—”