“At this point it would be silly,” she said.
“Right,” he said. “And certainly, your being here, now, instead of—let’s say, at a wedding breakfast? That couldn’t possibly—I’m only speculating—that doesn’t strike you as imprudent?”
She peered up at him. “Do you think so? And you find nothing out of the way in your being here with me?”
“Perfectly in order,” he said.
“Is it?”
“Didn’t you tell me you were a damsel in distress?” he said. “I’m your knight in shining armor.”
Her eyebrows went up.
“It makes for a change,” he said.
“I should not call it a change,” she said. “In your case I should call it . . .” Her eyebrows settled again and a glint of humor lit her eyes. “An apocalypse.”
“Do you mean to get into the boat or shall I do what another, less knightly, very hungry fellow might do, and drop you off the bridge?” he said.
She looked up at the wooden bridge, which had stood, in defiance of the laws of physics, never mind aesthetics, for sixty years. It had been built at an awkward angle to the river’s current, and boasted some eighteen narrowly spaced piers. Vessels crashed into it all the time. As more than one critic had noted, Battersea Bridge was built for the convenience of those going over the bridge, and the inconvenience of those going under it.
The only bridge on the Thames that could compete for awkwardness and stupidity was the next one upriver, at Putney.
“Or we could simply wait here,” Ripley said. “If we wait long enough, Ashmont might come along to rescue you from me.”
He glanced back at the crowd awaiting the steamboat. No signs of pursuit yet. But time was passing. How long had they traveled in the hackney? On horseback or in his own carriage, Ashmont could make better time—if (a) he was conscious and (b) he could put a clue or two together and (c) come to a fairly obvious conclusion.
Not terribly likely, in other words.
When Ripley brought his attention back to the bride, he found her watching him. Her eyes had turned blue.
“No,” she said. “The die is cast. My fate is sealed. I’m not getting married today and that’s that.”
Very well. No turning back now. Good. No turning back promised to be more interesting, at the very least.
“Are you going to help me into the boat?” she said. “Or were you wishing to watch me fall into it?”
“Watching you fall into it would be more entertaining,” he said. “The trouble is, it would amuse the watermen and bystanders as well, and we’ve already called enough attention to ourselves.”
“I thought that was what you lived for,” she said. “Calling attention to yourself. Or does that happen by accident? Because otherwise that would mean you thought about it and actually . . .” Her brow wrinkled. “Never mind. Best not to imagine what goes on in your head. At any rate, I can’t think too hard because it’s too hard. Is that a conundrum?”
“Don’t imagine. Don’t think. Just—”
“It does explain a great deal about the behavior of certain gentlemen who shall remain nameless. The effects of intoxicating spirits—”
“Get in the boat,” he said.
He grasped her elbow and steered her to the prow. That was the easy part. After that came some stumbling and more French muttering and a prodigious amount of lacy veil fluttering about and skirts tangling with ducal legs and a couple of collisions between bride and groomsman. During these few minutes, he had the devil’s own time not falling out of the boat, laughing, or, much worse, doing something unbridesmaidlike because, after all, he was not only a man but one who wasn’t in the habit of behaving himself.
Eventually, however, he got her stowed on the seat under the ugly shelter.
The awning might have been used to collect fish or dredge the river. It certainly smelled like it. Her skirts swelled about him, and a gust of wind caught the veil and lifted it to tickle his face. He pushed it away at the same moment she pulled it away, and their fingers brushed.
She fidgeted and turned away to stare at the water.
His thoughts clung to the moments of her falling into and out of his arms while getting onto the boat. And to the scent of her hair.
Well, that was a bloody waste of thought.
As soon as this business was done, he’d find a merry widow or a courtesan and cure what ailed him.
He fixed his mind on hats.
He wished he had his, and wondered where he might get something remotely suitable in short order.
The boat pushed off at last, and all the odds and ends fretting his mind flew away on the river breeze.
At that moment, and not very greatly to his surprise, what the Duke of Ripley felt was relief.
Newland House
Lord Ludford found the Duke of Ashmont in the dining room bent over a large bowl. The Duke of Blackwood was pouring water over his head.
“Damn, that’s cold,” said Ashmont.
Blackwood paused.
“Don’t stop,” Ashmont said. “Got to get my head clear.”
“Don’t do it on account of the wedding,” Ludford said. “Because it looks like there isn’t going to be one. Olympia’s made off with your friend.”
Ashmont’s blond head came up abruptly, splashing water on Blackwood, who calmly stepped back with a not-so-calm oath.
“What the devil?” said Ashmont.
“She’s bolted, and Ripley’s gone with her. They got into a hackney coach in the High Street but nobody could say where they were going.”
Hackneys might backtrack or take a roundabout route to avoid roads commonly snarled with traffic. Without knowing the direction Ripley had given the driver, it was impossible to determine which way they were headed.
“I thought you’d know where he’d go,” he said. “Or what he’d do.”
Ashmont and Blackwood stared at him. Then at each other.
At that moment, a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged gentleman sauntered into the room. His fine, handsome features proclaimed him a Beckingham.
“Uncle Fred,” Ashmont said. “Funny thing’s happened.”
Lord Frederick Beckingham raised an eyebrow. “So it would seem. You ought to be married by now.”
Ludford explained what he’d recently witnessed.
Lord Frederick regarded his nephew. “This had better not be one of your jokes.”
“Not mine,” Ashmont said. “Ripley’s.”
“Obviously,” Blackwood said. “As I was about to tell Ludford, it’s nothing to worry about. They won’t go far. They’ll be gone only long enough to cause a fuss.”
“Really?” said Lord Frederick. “I must confess it puzzles me vastly why Lady Olympia would go along with it.”
“Yes, why would she?” Ludford said. “She thinks you three are worthless.”
“She must think I’m worth something,” Ashmont said. “She said yes, didn’t she?”
“So you said,” Lord Frederick said.
“But now she’s bolted,” Ludford said.
“She didn’t bolt,” Ashmont said. “Ripley sneaked away with her. He got her in on the joke, don’t you see?”