Cora

The barouche stopped, and Cora heard the door open. They would have to untie her to take her into a building. Surely she could free herself or get help from someone here.

“Go get us a room,” Wetheridge commanded someone, and then she was lifted to sit. Immediately the quilt became wet around her face and was being pressed to her mouth and nose with a cloying sweet smell. It reminded her of old detective movies where a damp rag of chloroform was held to someone’s face until they were unconscious. She swung her head from side to side but couldn’t escape the smell. She held her breath until she gasped.

Her head swam, and her muscles felt weak. She sagged against the seat. Although she had some awareness of being unwrapped, she couldn’t move her own legs or arms very well. She wanted to panic, but her current state sapped her will to think.

She was lifted to her feet—they felt heavy and numb. Her knees wobbled under the weight of standing.

“Please forgive me,” Wetheridge said as a very large, very hairy man grabbed her other arm as they entered the public house. She thought the sun should soon be rising, but the horizon wasn’t turning gray yet.

A man in an apron approached. Cora could feel her eyes cross and wander left and then right. Her eyelids blinked slowly, and her voice was a muffled moan instead of the words she tried to say.

“I’m sorry to say that my wife is roaring drunk. I’ll take her to our room immediately. Please have a box of food prepared for our man to bring up to us. We haven’t need of anything else from you tonight. We’ll leave in a couple of hours,” Wetheridge said.

As they walked up the stairs with Cora suspended between them, it seemed as if it were in slow motion, each step jerking her from one side to the other. However, she felt tingling in her toes and lower legs. She hoped the effects of the drug were starting to wear off. As soon as they did, Cora had already determined a plan of attack.

The men set her at the edge of the bed, and Wetheridge picked up her feet, setting them on the mattress, then stuffed a pillow under her head. “I’m sorry for this rough bit of courting. I’d really hoped to win you honestly, but well, you had ideas to the contrary.”

Cora pushed her tongue around behind her teeth, feeling the rough edges. She thought her arms were stronger than moments ago, too.  She was thankful Wetheridge didn’t know what he was doing when it came to drugging someone.

“I’m really not a bad sort. Just desperate. I believe you’ll come to accept me. Maybe even like me. I had thought to marry you and solve the problems of my estate, but then when you wouldn’t have me, I thought Lady Atkins could step in.”

Cora could tighten her arm and leg muscles, feeling the rope around her ankles. She could clench her glutes, but her stomach muscles were still very sluggish.

Wetheridge arranged Cora’s dress to cover her legs. “She wants what you apparently had, though, so this is her solution. We all get what we want, I suppose. Well, except you.” Then with harshness in his voice, he added, “And His Grace.”

He smoothed Cora’s hair away from her face. “I’m truly sorry. We aren’t starting off in the best way.”

It took all her willpower not to slap his hand away. He needed to believe she was immobile until she could act with full force. She rolled her eyes aimlessly and made some moaning sounds as if she were trying to speak to keep up the ruse.

The hairy man showed up again much later and set a box of food on a small table. He and Wetheridge sat down to eat. Cora tested her muscles every now and again, contracting and flexing what she could without drawing attention to herself to increase blood flow and hopefully speed her recovery.

The men ate at their leisure, talking about Wetheridge’s estate.

Her head was feeling clearer, and her body, stronger.

“When will you transfer that piece of land in Blackwater?” the gruff man asked.

“As soon as we return to Lifton, and Cora is safely on my estate.”

Not going to happen.

The man’s chair scraped across the floor. “I’ll get a couple of hours of sleep.”

As soon as the door closed behind the man, Cora hissed, “Privy.” She held her eyelids as if she were sleepy. “I need the privy.” She smacked her lips together. “And water.” This wasn’t only a ploy. Her whole body craved a drink, and she needed the restroom.

A sawhorse-like contraption sat in the corner of the room with a bedpan affixed. She thought one of the improvements Simon’s house would get when she became his duchess was a flushing toilet or two. May’s house had them. Though they were primitive, it was much preferred to this.

Cora laughed at herself. Possibly the most stressful event in her life was about to happen, and she was thinking about toilets.

Wetheridge untied the rope that had tied one of her ankles to the bed, and Cora stretched before she sat up. Slowly she placed her feet on the floor and stood, being sure to wobble. Wetheridge backed away and pointed at what passed for a necessary in this century.

“May I have privacy?” she whispered.

“We’ll soon be husband and wife, and your dress will cover you sufficiently.”

Pig. “You have a rope tied to my leg. I can’t run. At least turn your back.” Cora continued to walk toward the bedpan.

Wetheridge bowed and faced away from her.

She grabbed the bedpan from the privy and swung it with all her might, hitting him in the head above his right ear. Her hope was that it was hard enough to drop him, but he only stumbled to the side and turned toward her. She was ready. The rope was slack, and she jumped into a kick to his gut. He bent over, and she hammered downward on his head. He rolled away from her and stood up, but Cora threw a right hook into his temple. Wetheridge crumpled to the floor.

She had to work quickly before Wetheridge’s henchman returned. She dragged Wetheridge to the bed, pulling him up on the mattress. She used the rope from her leg to tie him to the headboard. She pulled his trousers off and tore his shirt from his back, leaving him in his drawers, so he wouldn’t follow her if he escaped.

Men were shouting out on the stairs. She didn’t’ think it possible, but adrenaline kicked up another notch. It sounded like bodies slamming against the walls. She readied herself for a fight and opened the door to see Simon pull the big man past him. The man fell down the stairs and crumpled at the bottom without moving, his leg obviously broken among other injuries.

Simon bled from his nose and a cut near his eye. He stumbled up the final steps to Cora. She used Wetheridge’s shirt to wipe the blood away. Simon’s lips landed on hers, and his fingers tangled in her hair. Cora reciprocated, pushing all the concern and relief she felt into that kiss.

“Excuse me.” Cora heard Aunt Nellie behind Simon. “Pardon me,” she repeated, squeezing past the onlookers who had gathered. “I wanted to drop by for this bit.” Aunt Nellie pressed her toe against the door, and it creaked back open. She peeked around the doorjamb and began to laugh. “Oh, yes. I’m so glad I did.” Nellie looked around. “You really knocked him out. And there’s the bedpan.” She laughed again. “I thought it was just a story, you know.” Mirth still filled her eyes, but she stopped laughing to say, “Officially, I’m here to be your chaperone. The story goes, I got tired at the ball and decided to start home. You, of course, offered to accompany me, Cora.” She patted Cora’s arm. “You’re such a sweet girl. Thank you.” The woman winked at her. “The constable is on his way.” Then Nellie peeked into the room and laughed out loud again.

Simon’s lips rested on Cora’s ear. “Marry me. I was crazy with worry, imagining what harm could come to you.”

“I have to tell you a truth before you ask me.”

“I’ve already asked. I want to marry you as soon as possible, no matter what you have to tell me.”

The constable arrived, and Simon related what he knew. It appeared to surprise the officer that Cora wanted to make a statement as well.

Simon removed his coat and pulled it high around Cora’s shoulders, covering the back of her head. “I’m ready to leave if you are.”

“I am.”

“I’ll settle with the constable. Nellie, would you take Cora to my carriage?”

“Of course,” Aunt Nellie said.

As soon as Simon disappeared back into the room to see if the constable needed something more from them, Aunt Nellie said to Cora, “He’s saving your reputation, dear, but I can do better.” She pulled a small satchel from her pocket. “Allow me.” She pinched some dust and blew it into Cora’s face. “There. No one will even see you leave. It will wear off in a minute. Let’s hurry.”

Nellie pushed through the small crowd, and Cora followed in her wake as they moved to the door. Nellie again blew a little dust into the room. “No one will remember seeing you enter tonight, now.” They moved outside and toward the carriage standing in the lane.

“We’ll wait on the other side.” Nellie grabbed her hand and led her around the back.

A few moments later, Simon arrived, and they all climbed into the carriage to join Simon’s mother.

The group was silent for the duration of the ride back to Leavensfield. When the carriage stopped, Simon pegged his mother with a look. “You have much to say, Mother. I’ll wait just outside until that’s completed.”

Nellie smiled up at Simon, then sweetly turned her attention to the women. The dowager duchess stared at Nellie in silence.

“Oh, I’ll wait inside the house, I suppose. Toodle-oo.” Then she leaned over and whispered to Cora, “You can fill me in later.” Nellie left the carriage, shutting the door behind her, then opened it immediately. “I know—I’ll see to Lady Atkins. That will be fun!” Cora gave the woman a startled expression. “No need to worry. I’m good at this. And you’re welcome.” Then she left.

The two women sat silently, Cora half-wondering if Nellie would pop back in.

When the women decided they were truly alone, their attention returned to each other. The duchess started, “I’m sorry this happened to you, Miss Rey.”

Cora continued to wait. When it looked like the woman was readying to leave, she said, “That’s not good enough. Sit down and try again.” Cora stretched her leg out to block the bottom of the door. “You suggested he take me.”

Simon’s mother shifted back against the squabs, her mouth a tight line. “I didn’t know he was abducting you. I thought he meant to appeal to you and gain your agreement. Then yes, I wanted him to take you to Scotland with haste to remove you from Simon’s life.”

Cora was surprised that the woman actually told her. She thought she’d have to confront her with what she’d overheard.

The duchess continued. “I mean to save my son’s future and that of my grandchildren. Americans know little of the demands of a title and care even less than that. If peers don’t respect a man, he will be cut off from society as will his future generations.”

Cora recognized passion in the woman’s voice and perhaps sincerity as well.

“Not only him, but his sisters, too. What match could they hope to make with a brother who is not trusted? It’s a very high price for one family to pay so that you could marry him.”

“I appreciate your candor.” Cora removed her foot from across the threshold, and Simon’s mother left.

Simon was at the door. Cora’s heart fluttered, and a pit grew in her stomach. She couldn’t ignore his mother’s plea, but she also wanted to follow her heart. Simon had to know the truth before she could make a decision that would change the course of their lives and possibly history.

When he stretched his hand toward her, she said, “I believe we had a meeting planned hours ago. Where shall I meet you?”

“Oh, no. I don’t plan on letting you off my arm until we reach the wishing pond.”