“And given that, you can see why we thought it best to introduce her as a distant cousin. Though certainly we do not want to use the wrong name in the vows.”
Reverend Gruber waved that off. “First names will suffice in the ceremony, and I will enter it in the register correctly, but as no one will really look at it, you needn’t worry. But, my dear, you haven’t reached your majority, have you?”
“Nay, sir. I am nineteen.”
He pressed his lips together, turning kind blue eyes from her to Winter. “Who, then, is her legal guardian?”
Winter merely shrugged as Thad hummed. Gwyneth shook her head. “I do not actually know. Both of my parents have passed now, and I was not present for the reading of the will…someone in England, I suppose. I have a whole host of uncles. But the Lanes have taken on the role here. They are the ones to whom my father entrusted me when he realized he was in some danger.”
His gray brows pulled down, Gruber thought about that for a few moments and then nodded. “That is good enough for me. No one in this country will much care, and I daresay by the time your uncles may object, it will be too much ancient history for them to make an inquiry.”
Not to mention that Papa’s brother the earl, the one most likely to be her guardian, would by no means want to invite the scandal such an objection would bring. Gwyneth loosed her pent-up breath and looked up at her beloved.
Within a few more hours, they would be man and wife.
A rumble of thunder roared through, so loud it shook the glass in its panes. The reverend started and then looked toward the window and the angry black clouds clustering over the bay. “I do hope neither of you is superstitious about rain on wedding days.”
Thad, bless him, grinned. “A rain that will help extinguish the fires smoldering in Washington can be only a blessing on our union, my friend.”
Gwyneth held tight to his side and watched the roiling cloud bank move in. Dear Lord, let it be so.
Twenty-Nine
Smoke drifted thick through the air, black and roiling, burning Arthur’s nose as he looked around at the collection of buildings that had once been whole but were now little more than rubble. Though from the looks of it, Washington City had not been much to begin with. This was the capital, the heart of a nation? He shook his head and nudged his mount to the right. “You are certain Baltimore is safe?”
His friend and former superior smiled and pulled his horse to a halt. “As safe as any town could be to you when burgeoning with panicked Americans. You really think Fairchild’s daughter may be there?”
Arthur shot a glance to Gates. Though he trusted General Ross with his very life and had fought directly under him in the past, it had not been his decision to share their reason for seeking information on Baltimore, and he was still unsure as to why Gates had done so. But the man looked as unflappable as ever, so Arthur shrugged. “If she is in this country, it is the most likely place to find her.”
Ross nodded and scanned a row of smoldering buildings. “Cochrane and Cockburn and I have yet to discuss our next point of attack, but Baltimore is the likely target. We have received word that the Potomac is grossly unprotected, and their own newspapers are reporting the sad state of their defenses. But you will have several days to get in and out before we would march in that direction. We—”
An enormous boom cut him off, and Ross muttered a curse as he spurred his horse in its direction. Arthur signaled Gates and Scrubs to keep up as he followed the general outside city limits, heading toward the fort at what they had recently learned was Greenleaf Point. All along the way they heard exhausted soldiers asking in a panic if the fighting had resumed, but Ross made them no reply.
“General!” A colonel galloped their way, his face smudged with soot and one cuff singed.
Ross pulled up. “What is it, Calcott?”
“The gunpowder you instructed us to destroy…the well must not have had enough water to cover the barrels we tossed down it…someone threw in a cigar stub…” He paused to take a breath. “A score are dead or wounded, sir.”
As if howling in protest of the tragedy, the wind screamed over them. Thunder roared and a crack of light split the air, momentarily blinding Arthur. The lightning hit a tree nearby that creaked and groaned and crashed its way to the ground across the road.
Their horses reared, whinnied, and tried to turn and flee. Arthur glanced at Scrubs, who surveyed the coming fury with what looked like a satisfied smile, and Gates, who eyed the churning clouds with far more sobriety.
“I think,” Gates said, loudly to be heard over the wind, “that we are not going anywhere today. We had better find shelter.”
With huge drops of rain pelting his shoulders, Arthur had no recourse but to agree.