The Ugliest Man in London: Regency Romance Read online

  “Aunt Gretchen has always done what she wanted. She is the scandal of the family. Grandfather cut her off when she went off to Rome without a chaperone and became an artist’s model. It was then that she discovered her own artistic talent, so she came back to England and has made quite a nice living for herself as an artist. I do not know if she returned to England in a state of virtue, but her income has not suffered as a result. She will help us, I know she will. And as we are nearly to Daventry, as we planned, of course we will stop.”

  “We cannot leave this gentleman in the road to die of his wounds,” Nell protested.

  “Certainly not,” Matilda affirmed. “We shall have to lift him and throw him over the horse and lead him.”

  “I do not see how we can lift him,” Abigail said dubiously. “He looks to be quite tall.”

  “There are four of us,” Matilda said impatiently. “Of course we shall be able to lift him.”

  If the effort to raise the gentleman required rather more effort than Matilda had predicted—Abigail was correct in her assessment of his height—they were able, nonetheless, to accomplish their task.

  “I fear that he will have a dreadful headache when he comes to,” Nell said worriedly. “I wonder if it is quite safe to move him.”

  “Safer to move him than to leave him for the night,” Matilda said. “We shall ride at a slow pace so as not to jostle him. Nell and Abigail, can ride on that side of him; Sophia and I shall ride on this side. Nell, if you take the reins, I believe he shall manage well enough. He’s quite balanced on the horse,” she noted with satisfaction. “He’ll not slide off, at any rate. ‘Tis fortunate that he is so tall.”

  “A pity he is so ugly,” Abigail said.

  “Not a bit of it,” Matilda declared. “He’s quite ugly enough to marry.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation—four young maidens who had warded off the attackers that threatened the life of a man who was a stranger to them—the girls began to laugh.

  “Matilda, you never lose sight of your aims,” Sophia said, still laughing. “I can only ponder what your Aunt Gretchen will say.”

  Aunt Gretchen was not in the least nonplussed by the news that her niece had brought a wounded gentleman with them. She directed her servants to bring him inside and see to his wounds.

  “Now then, m’dear,” she said when the unconscious man had been delivered to a bedchamber and the four girls were enjoying a luncheon of cheese and bread and fruit in her drawing room, “I believe that explanations are due.”

  “I am not sure where to begin.”

  “I am done painting for the day,” Gretchen Weldon said in a tone of voice that indicated that she would not be put off. “I have the remainder of the day, and into the night as well, if need be. You are staying the night, I assume? Are your parents aware of this, or should I send a message to them?”

  “Darling Aunt Gretchen, you know how impossible Mama and Papa can be,” Matilda commenced.

  “I do, but that does not answer my question. Do your parents—and yours, ladies—know that you are here?”

  “I told Mrs. Endicott that I was going to visit you and that Sophia, Abigail, and Nell were going as well. Mama and Papa will ask her where I am and she will tell them.”

  “My parents know,” Abigail said anxiously. “But they will expect me to come home if they learn of this.”

  “Oh, Nabby,” Matilda said. “How can you go home when we are about to have an adventure.”

  Gretchen rose. She was still attired in her painting wardrobe, which consisted of a gentleman’s shirt worn outside a long, plain skirt which bore the evidence of her profession with daubs of paint upon it. Around her hair was a turban, to keep the unmanageable brown locks safe from the palette. “I shall send Peter to the village with a note and he shall inform your parents that you are going to spend several days here.”

  Abigail did not conceal her unease. “I am not sure that they will approve,” she said. “They are dreadfully straitlaced.”

  “Then do not tell them,” Matilda suggested. “Let them think that you are still at my home with me.”

  “I could not lie!”

  “I shall take care of it,” Gretchen said. She fixed her niece with a stern glance. “You’re in a pickle, young lady and I insist on hearing every detail.”

  After sending Peter on his way with a message to the girls’ parents, Gretchen returned to the dining room, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat down. “Now then. Who is the gentleman you brought with you, why is he in such a precarious condition, and what do you intend to do with him?”

  Matilda met her aunt’s discerning gaze without faltering. “I do not know who he is,” she replied. “Nor do I know why he was under such fierce attack by a gang of thugs. But I am going to marry him.”

  By the conclusion of her niece’s explanation, Gretchen had reached her decision. ‘You are of age,” she said firmly. “You know absolutely nothing of the world, but neither did I when I went to Italy and I was not much older than you are now. You do, however, know yourself and that will prove to be a most effective armor for whatever life may cast upon you. I cannot say that I approve of what you are doing . . . but I understand why you are doing it. I loathe this primitive habit of parents telling their daughters what man they may and may not marry. I would not allow a daughter of mine to marry Everard Weldon; he is a puffed-up popinjay with no more sense than a peacock feather and the very idea that he would marry you as a favor is insulting. If I were a man, I’d call him out for that remark. I’d call him out anyway, but he would not answer my challenge and there’s no sense in expending energy where it will come to naught. I will help you.”

  Matilda flung herself at her aunt. “I knew you would be sporting about this, Aunt Gretchen, I just knew it!”

  “Yes, well, I’ve done my sporting and I have no regrets. You know what you are about, and you’ll have your grandparents’ inheritance so that you may do as you please. You must go to Gretna Green.”

  Abigail gasped and went pale. “You mean, elope?” she questioned, her voice quavering.

  “Certainly. There, with coin in hand, you shall find someone who will ask no questions.”

  “But her reputation,” Abigail continued and even the other girls looked a trifle uneasy at this solution.

  “Her reputation will be lost in any case, and can only be gained back if she is married,” Gretchen said briskly. “Society will forgive a married woman things which it will not tolerate in a spinster. You may take my word on that. You will stay here the night; your gentleman will benefit from a night’s rest in a bed with his wounds dressed and tended to. Tomorrow, my driver will take you to Gretna Green in my carriage. Your gentleman—you do know that you will need to have a name in order to marry him, I trust—will manage the journey in a carriage but I doubt if he could sit a horse for five minutes without toppling from the saddle. What will you do after the wedding?”

  Matilda’s planning had not gotten that far. “I . . . we will be married.”

  “Yes, and where will you live?”

  “She will come to stay with me,” Sophia said decisively. “We’ve plenty of room in the London house and we were all planning to spend the autumn together anyway.”

  “Excellent,” Gretchen said. “You will, of course, be circumspect regarding your own roles in this escapade. I assume you all wish to marry at some point?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Of course. Then you will say nothing of your participation in the elopement. Else you risk your own chances of successful matrimony.”

  “Oh, we have made a pledge not to marry until we all have found prospective husbands.”

  “I trust you do not intend to obtain your husbands in the same manner as my niece?” Gretchen inquired drily. “I believe you will find that there are easier ways to do so.”

  4

  Gretna Green

  Matilda had concocted a tale of thwarted romance which she was convinced would sway the hard
est of hearts to marry them, even if the groom was unable to respond to his vows or even stand unassisted for very long. She had a flair for storytelling, her aunt acknowledged, commenting that only Drury Lane could have done justice to such drama. However, Gretchen put more trust in money and she handed her niece a plump purse filled with coins.

  “Bribery will get you what fancy will not,” she said. “Do not be so enamored of your tale-telling that you fail to be practical. There are enough of you to give your story a very bare semblance of authenticity, not that I believe the residents of Gretna Green are much troubled by the details of the nuptials they witness. Now, on your way. My driver will see that you are well cared for; leave everything to him. After you are wed, you will take my coach and go straight to London. Thomas will see you safely there. You may send word to your parents once you are there, if you choose to tell them that you are wed, or you may simply tell them that you are in London with Sophia. They will not like it . . . but if they intend to marry you off to The Detestable, then it does not matter whether they like it or not. Send word to me once you are safely in London and I will notify your parents that you have left my home. What will you do for your wardrobe?”

  “Our trunks are already at Sophia’s London house,” Nell explained. “We made our plans to spend October and November with her and we will return home for Christmas.”

  “My parents are expecting us,” Sophia assured Gretchen.

  Gretchen refrained from commenting that they were not expecting a husband for Matilda. The girls had a strong and loyal friendship and who was to say, she thought as she returned to her studio after seeing the carriage depart, whether, in the long run, they might make better marriages because of their firm bonds?

  The gentleman, his wounds dressed and bandaged, sat slumped in the carriage. Aunt Gretchen’s footman had done as good a job as possible of bathing and dressing him, but it was impossible to shave him, due to the severity of the swelling in his face. If possible, he appeared to be even uglier today than he had when they first came upon him. His bruises were turning purple; his eyes were swollen shut; his lips were outsize from the swelling; there were marks around his throat where one of the assailants had attempted to strangle him. However, the servants had found a change of clothing among his possessions and he was at least attired respectably, which was a blessing, Gretchen said, as the clothing he had been wearing was rent beyond repair. The signet ring on his finger would serve as a wedding ring, she had observed, although it would not fit Matilda’s small fingers. Matilda would have to purchase a wedding ring on her own, Gretchen decided. She would have to do a lot on her own; her husband-to-be seemed as if it would be some time before he could even walk without assistance, so dreadful was the beating that had been inflicted upon him.

  The coachman stopped to rest the horses and to procure lunch for the ladies and himself at mid-day. “We’re about two hours or so from the Scottish border,” he told them. “We’ll go into the village and then you’ll be marrying this gentleman.”

  “Very good, Thomas,” Matilda said, “and thank you for bringing us our lunch. I think we should like to walk a bit before we set off again. I’m feeling rather stiff and sore.”

  “What about him?” Thomas inquired of the sleeping gentleman who was about to become a bridegroom within a short expanse of time.

  “It will be hard enough to get him out of the carriage,” Matilda said, “when we are obliged to do so. We shall leave him in here for the nonce, I think.”

  “Best if you don’t go too far from the carriage, miss,” Thomas advised. “Never telling what sort of clientele this place might have. What with all these marriages swooping over the border, there could be any sort of villainy afoot.”

  “I suppose your aunt told him to look after us?” Nell inquired as they began their stroll in the yard of the inn, moving out of the way more than once as horses burst into the enclosure or more carriages arrived.

  “Very likely, but Thomas would do so in any case. He looks after my aunt, whether she wants him to or not. I must admit that I’m rather glad that Aunt Gretchen decided to help us.”

  “So am I,” Abigail agreed fervently. Having an adult’s authorization, even such a one as the radical Gretchen Weldon, would give her something to offer as an explanation to her parents. Or perhaps Matilda would think of something, Abigail considered. Matilda was so very good at thinking of things.

  Thomas’ assistance proved to be valuable once they crossed the Scottish border from Carlisle and were in Gretna Green. He seemed to be a font of knowledge on the matter of how to get married in Scotland.

  “You see,” he explained to Matilda as he supported the rather unwieldy burden of her bridegroom, his arm around the gentleman’s waist to keep him standing, “folks think that it’s only because the Scots will let youth marry at ages fourteen for the lads and twelve for the lasses. But it wasn’t until the toll road was build, back in the ‘70s, making it nothing at all to cross the border, that couples such as yourself began flocking here.”

  “I see . . . er, where do we go to marry?”

  “Oh, anywhere you like. Scottish law says that as long as there are two witnesses to the ceremony, anyone can marry you.”

  “Anyone?” Sophia repeated.

  “Oh, aye. The blacksmiths are famous for it.”

  “Blacksmiths?”

  “Aye. We’ll head off in that direction. Anvil priests, they call them.”

  “And the marriage will be lawful?”

  “Aye,” Thomas said cheerfully. “You’ll be wedded to this gentleman. What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know . . . I mean . . .”

  “Can’t marry a chap who doesn’t have a name. Did you think to check his pockets?”

  “Of course not!” Abigail replied, aghast at the impropriety of such a notion.

  Thomas, his eyes twinkling, said, “You’d best come up with a name.”

  “Oh, if they are so lax as to letting blacksmiths perform the wedding, perhaps they shall not quibble over a trivial matter such as names.”

  And, as odd as it seemed to the girls, Matilda was correct. She spun such a fanciful tale that the blacksmith declared he would be honored to officiate at the wedding of such a star-crossed pair, destined to be together despite the disapproval of her parents. What sort of parents, he intoned, would go to such lengths to keep lovers apart? He didn’t hold with violence, he told Matilda as he pocketed the guineas she handed to him from the purse her aunt had provided.

  It was singularly odd, Matilda thought that night as she and her friends slept in the room that Thomas had procured for them at an inn on the English side of the border. Thomas and the gentleman to whom she was now wed were in another room. She was a married woman. She had no idea to whom she was married. His clothing was well made, indicating that he had an excellent tailor. He had been riding an impressive looking horse who was now recovering from his hard ride in Aunt Gretchen’s stable. He was tall and appeared to be well-formed, from what little she could judge of his appearance. He looked to be somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, but there was no way to be certain, as his appearance was still too marred by his bruises and wounds to reveal his features. He had a fine head of thick black hair in a cut favored by the dandies of the beau monde.

  She had accomplished her aim, just as she had threatened to do. Her parents would be irate, Matilda realized with a satisfied smile as she considered their reaction. The Detestable would be infuriated to see her anticipated fortune disappear before he had a chance to lay his hands on so much as a farthing of it. But the deed was done and it could not be undone. By the time she and her husband were safely ensconced at the home of Sophia’s parents, she would have spent sufficient time in matrimonial intimacy that her mother and father would assume that she was beyond their power to amend.

  Her friends would keep her secret. It remained to be seen what the gentleman would think when he was well enough to discover that in the process of being s
aved from an attack on the road, he had acquired a wife.

  5

  Recovering in London

  By the time they arrived in London, Sophia’s parents had departed for the country, leaving Sophia’s Aunt Griselda in charge of the household. Griselda Langley was a cheerful widow of some fifty years who was sympathetic when she learned of the terrible fate that had befallen Matilda’s husband.

  “I don’t know what your parents will say when they find out that you eloped, dear,” she said, “but if you love him and he loves you, it will all come out all right. I’ll have the footmen take him upstairs and put him straight to bed. Really, there’s no safety at all these days. No wonder that Sir Robert Peel is determined to do something about it. To think of this gentleman being attacked on the road in such a manner. We ought to have the army over here instead of over in France, I say. He’ll need a physician, I shouldn’t wonder, and . . . dear me, he looks quite . . . quite . . . “

  “Now, Aunt Griselda,” Sophia broke in, “you do know that love is in the heart and not in the eyes.”

  “Of course, of course,” Griselda said, collecting herself. “And I’m sure he has a noble heart. How did you meet him? I shall go and fetch the footmen straightaway before he falls over.”

  Matilda had not considered this. Consternation showed in her face. “How did I meet him?” she asked in a hurried whisper, anxious for a response before Griselda returned.

  “The two of you were meeting secretly and when your parents found out, they forbade you to see him and arranged your marriage with your detestable distant cousin, who is only interested in your fortune,” Nell provided. “Your beloved was so incensed at the notion that he wanted to marry right away. Hence, with the blessing of your aunt, you were off to Gretna Green. That’s more or less the story you’ve concocted, minus the flourishes.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t tell how we---“