Beauty for Ashes. Dorothy Clark

Scraggs gripped the sideboard of the wagon as it made its lumbering, lurching progress down the road toward New York. March 28, 1820—her wedding day. At least it would have been if it weren’t for that addlebrained, dim-witted coach driver. The grip of her hand on the edge of the board seat tightened as she glared down at the long, jagged tear in the skirt of the red wool traveling outfit she had stolen from her mistress. A pox on him! A pox on the driver and his whole family! If he hadn’t been going so fast he might have missed that deep hole, the wheel wouldn’t have broken and—

      Oh, what was the use? Why mull it over? The accident had happened. She was beaten. And she had planned so carefully! From the moment she’d overheard her mistress and her friends reading and laughing about that Article of Intent, she’d been figuring her every move. Now, the splendid, genteel entrance she had planned for her arrival at the Haversham Coach House in the hired coach and fancy stolen clothes was ruined. The time of her marriage appointment with “Widower” long past. Now she had to think up a new scheme, find another rich man to diddle. And she would! Her plan to have “Widower’s” money might be denied her by today’s accident, but she was clever. She would think of something. There were a lot of rich gentlemen in New York. And meanwhile…

      Ora cast a speculative glance at the farmer driving the wagon and her lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smirk. It was a bit of luck he had happened by and offered her a ride after the accident. She could cozy up to him until after he sold his grain in New York tonight—until he had all that lovely money she could steal. But she’d best get at it—it was already twilight. She smiled and slid closer to him.

      Chapter Two

      “O h!” Elizabeth stumbled over an exposed root, falling to her hands and knees on the hard-packed earth. The jar of her landing sent pain radiating throughout her bruised, exhausted body. She felt the jolt at every spot where Reginald’s angry blows had landed.

      She struggled to her feet, brushed the dry dirt from her cloak, then reached for the drawstring bag. Sharp pain shot through the tired muscles along her spine as her abused body protested. She eased herself erect and walked on, stinging darts prickling her cold, aching, satin-slipper-clad feet with every step. If only her father hadn’t taken her shoes and boots!

      Elizabeth pressed her lips together and set her mind against her discomfort. Ever since she ran away this morning she had been walking, searching for a way out of town, but soon she would be able to rest at the coach house that kind old man with the oyster barrow had told her of. It was only a little farther.

      Rapid footsteps sounded behind her. Elizabeth started. Was that one of the servants Reginald had out searching for her? She’d managed to elude one of them earlier when she’d overheard him asking about her at The Black Horse Inn—but if she was caught out here in the open…

      Panic seized her. She glanced toward the shadows at the side of the road but it was too late to hide. She swung the cloth bag in front of her, covered it with her cloak, then pulled her hood farther forward, ducking her head so her face would be fully hidden from view. Fear propelled her forward as the footsteps behind her grew louder; drew nearer. It took all of her inner strength not to look over her shoulder—not to drop the bag and run.

      Please, God, don’t let it be one of Reginald’s lackeys! Please, God.

      The footsteps picked up speed, then veered away down a narrow alley on her left. Elizabeth stopped. Dull fists of pain pounded at her temples. She set the bag on the ground at her feet and lifted her trembling hands to rub the pain away. A cat, prowling in the shadows, leaped to the top of a fence and yowled. Her frayed nerves jolted.

      Oh, Lord, help me! I must find this Haversham Coach House, Lord. I must find a way out of town before—

      What if she hadn’t enough money to hire a carriage? Elizabeth drove her hand into her reticule, then stood staring at the few coins on her palm as the throbbing in her temples increased. She’d had no time to plan—to think of anything beyond escape—and now it was too late.

      She frowned, then drew her weary body fully erect. She had no time for such discouraging thoughts. The coins clinked together dully as she dropped them back into her reticule. She was free of Reginald Burton-Smythe, that was what mattered. She would simply go as far as her funds would take her.

      “But first, I must find this Haversham Coach House.”

      The sound of her voice startled her. Elizabeth glanced quickly up and down the street, but there was no one to overhear. She was all alone in the fading twilight. The thought brought a feeling of desolation so unexpected and powerful she gasped. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, picked up the cloth bag, and walked on.

      Justin pushed aside the remains of his half-eaten meal and looked up at “Judge,” the man who had been a surrogate father to Laina and him since their own father’s death in 1812. “Well, Judge, it seems I owe you an apology for wasting your time. Considering the lateness of the hour I can only surmise that ‘Interested’ lost her interest, and has changed her mind about marrying ‘Widower.’ It seems I cannot even buy loyalty from a woman.”

      “Justin!”

      “Don’t sound so shocked, Laina.” He slid his gaze to his sister’s face. “I’m simply stating the truth.” He flung his napkin down on the scarred wood table and surged to his feet. “I’ll have the carriages brought round.”

      “Not so fast, my boy.”

      Justin glanced down at the age-spotted hand gripping his arm, then lifted his gaze to the judge’s face. “What is it?”

      The elderly man dipped his head in the direction of the entrance. “As much as I wish it were not so—I believe that may be your intended bride.”

      Justin turned. A woman in a blue wool, fur-trimmed cloak stood just inside the door looking about.

      “Are you still determined to go through with this ridiculous marriage?”

      The judge sounded less than enthusiastic. Justin nodded. “I am. As long as my conditions are met.”

      The judge sighed. “Very well. I have said all that I can say.” He rose slowly to his feet.

      Justin moved to join him.

      The older man shook his gray head in negation. “You wait here. I want to talk privately with this woman to assure myself she fully understands the conditions of this preposterous union. Unless I do, I will have no part of it.”

      Justin frowned. “You leave me no choice.”

      “As was my intent.” The judge gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder and walked away.

      “How may I serve you, madam?”

      Elizabeth fastened a wary gaze on the proprietor. “You may tell me if a gentleman has been making inquiries about—that is, if anyone has inquired—”

      “I believe I’m the one to answer that question.”

      Elizabeth jumped and spun about. A portly, prosperous-looking older man of medium height gave her a brief nod. “I am here on behalf of the gentleman you were asking about. I am Judge William Braden.”

      Judge? The law! Reginald had set the law on her to force her to honor the betrothal contract her father had signed! Elizabeth darted a panicked glance at the door beyond the judge, gauging the distance to freedom. It was too close to him. She’d never get the door open before he seized her. She looked back at the elderly man, who was still talking.

      “The gentleman you were asking after has engaged my services to handle the legalities of this…er…situation. And, as the matter is of a delicate nature, we have arranged use of a private room. If you will come with me?”

      Elizabeth cringed as the man picked up the bag that had fallen from her suddenly nerveless fingers, then grasped her elbow. Her stomach roiled. He’d found her. Reginald had hired a judge and—Reginald. She gazed frantically about as the judge ushered her into a small room. There was no