“I thought you were the one who concocted the jokes,” Ludford said.
“Not always,” Blackwood said. “Ripley’s come up with some fine ones. The question is, as Ludford has so intelligently asked, where would Ripley take her? It would have to be nearby. He wouldn’t want to make . . . erm . . . complications.”
“If he ruins my sister’s reputation, I’ll kill him,” Ludford said. “That would be a complication, yes.”
“You’ll have to get in the line behind Ashmont,” Blackwood said.
“Bloody right,” Ashmont said. “I did all the work, wooing and such, and I should get the bride. That scurvy bastard. There he was, playing the innocent—and I asked him to look after things.”
“You didn’t ask,” Blackwood said. “You told him.”
“You told him,” Ashmont said. “You said . . .” He paused, frowning. “I forget. But if he didn’t want to do it, he should have said so, instead of stealing my bride.”
“I can imagine a great many things,” said Lord Frederick. “Ripley’s stealing Lady Olympia isn’t one of them.”
“If he stole her, why was he chasing her through the garden?” Ludford said. “If he stole her, why wasn’t he carrying her over his shoulder, that sort of thing?”
Ashmont’s beautiful brow knit. “I’ll confess, that does stump me.”
“I daresay it does,” said Lord Frederick. “Rather than overwork your brain with this puzzler, I recommend you get her back, as soon as possible.”
“In the meantime, what are we going to tell my parents?” said Ludford. “And the wedding guests?”
“I shall speak to your parents,” said Lord Frederick. “I’ll assure them that Ashmont has everything in hand, and will sort matters out. We’ll tell the guests that Lady Olympia is unwell. Now if everybody would be so good, I should like to speak to my nephew.”
The others filed out.
Lord Frederick said in a low voice, “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything, dammit. I can’t imagine what made her get the wind up. If she did. If it wasn’t Ripley up to one of his tricks.”
“I told you—”
“You didn’t have to tell me, Uncle. I found her and I saw for myself. A splendid girl. Exactly what I wanted, and so I told you. And none of your unflattering remarks and prophecies of doom stopped me, did they?”
“I wish something I said could persuade you to reflect on your behavior.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“I can only hope this is the case, and the matter is as minor as you seem to believe—because, if you lose this girl, Lucius, you may never get another chance,” said Lord Frederick. “You may not think so now, but weeks or months or years hence, you will find yourself regretting—”
“I’m not going to regret anything. I’m going to get her back and I’ll make everything right—whatever it is that’s wrong—and the longer I spend with you, getting lectured at, the farther away she’s getting.”
“With Ripley.”
“She’s safe with him,” Ashmont said.
“I hope so, for your sake.”
“He’s my friend,” Ashmont said. “He’s a scurvy devil, but he’s my friend—and we’ll have this all sorted out soon enough and it’ll be a laugh, I’ll wager anything.”
By the time the boat left Battersea Bridge, the drizzle had thinned to mist. The riverside looked softer and some—not Ripley—might say it appeared more romantic. London seemed to be dissolving and reforming, and buildings that ought to be familiar loomed mysteriously. Or maybe the mystery was, they didn’t look nearly as filthy as usual, thanks to the veil of mist.
Still, he had no trouble discerning the ragged boys wading into the muddy riverbank, scavenging.
Not that London was so different, as to poverty and filth, from any other large city.
The truth was, he’d missed it.
He’d barely had a chance to alight in Town before he was off again, on a boat.
At present, that didn’t seem such a bad idea.
For one thing, Ashmont’s wedding day had turned out to be not as boring as expected. For another, Ripley had the bride, whom it hadn’t occurred to him to steal. But now he had her, and the promise of an adventure, and they were on the river, away from everybody.
All he had to do was get her safely to Twickenham. By water it would take two or three hours. The journey by land was shorter in terms of distance, but clogged roads could make it slower.
“There’s Battersea Church,” she said. “Everything looks so different from this vantage point. I’ve only ever traveled the river in a steamboat or a yacht, never so close to the water as this.”
As though her words had summoned it, a steamboat chugged by, churning up the waters. As he reached to steady her, the wash rocked the boat violently, and he nearly fell over. With a curse, he righted himself and grabbed her arm, which shrank at his touch—but no, that wasn’t her arm. It was the puff inside her sleeve.
She didn’t seem to notice. She was clutching the side of the boat. Her face was as white as the bridal dress.
By the time the wherry settled again, he’d got his breathing more or less even, though his heart pounded. If she’d fallen overboard . . .
But she hadn’t. Nobody had.
“At least this won’t be a boring river journey,” he said.
“It’s very different when one is low in the water,” she said shakily.
“Don’t sit so close to the edge,” he said. “And do not get seasick.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes seemed to have lost their color and turned grey, like the mist. “Now why has no one else ever thought of that? Simply commanding one not to be seasick. I’m sure it always works.”
She spoke calmly, but she kept her hands fastened to the side of the boat.
“I’ve made a decision,” he said. “I did wonder what Ashmont was about. But now it’s clear he had the good fortune to find exactly what he needs.”
The color washed back into her face. “I don’t care whether I’m what he needs. The question is whether he’s what I need.”
“He’s a duke,” he said. “That’s all any woman needs.”
One by one she loosened her fingers from the side of the boat. “I have told myself that at least a hundred times,” she said. “How curious that it failed to quiet my trepidation.”
“A pity you didn’t drink more brandy,” he said. “That might have done it. You got only as far as the reckless phase. A little more, and you might have reached the malleable and contented phase. Which reminds me: As to the casting-up-your-accounts phase—”
“I didn’t know there were rules of intoxication,” she said.
“Then listen to the voice of experience. If you mean to be sick in spite of my firm command, kindly do it over the side, but hold on. If you fall in, you’ll drown in that rig, and I’ll have a lot of boring explaining to do, instead of my simple yet cunning plan for salvaging this situation.”
“You have a plan?”
“I’ve had several. One involved a detour to Portsmouth and a sea voyage.”
“Ah, the clever running-away ruse,” she said.