“We’d better go,” Claire said. “I just pray that your sister does not bear a child from this.” She looked at the men standing by the wall and gawking at the whole scene. “We must swear you all to secrecy. No one must hear of what has gone on here tonight.” Her voice told that she didn’t believe there was much chance of the secret being kept. “Come with me, Leatrice. You may ride with me.”
Harry gave a sigh that was probably audible a half a mile away. “All right,” he said, then looked at the vicar. “Marry them.”
Claire felt a little thrill of triumph go through her and she tried to think of what she could do to repay MacTarvit for having arranged this. The vicar told one of the grooms to give Kincaid a coat, then he began the ceremony. Claire was so thrilled at what was taking place that at first she didn’t listen or pay attention to what was being said. She glanced at her sister and saw that Brat was staring at the vicar with a frown of concentration. Claire looked between Leatrice and Kincaid toward the vicar, and as she did so, he looked straight at her.
He could disguise his shape and his voice and his mannerisms; he could change the way he talked, but he couldn’t hide those eyes. Trevelyan looked out at her from under bushy eyebrows and his expression was one of such smugness that she glared back at him.
For the rest of the “wedding” Claire had to clamp her jaws together to keep from speaking out. After the “ceremony” Harry dutifully kissed his sister, then shook hands with James Kincaid and got back on his horse. Claire imagined he was not looking forward to telling his mother what had happened tonight.
Claire dawdled in the summerhouse, even after two of the grooms doubled up and gave a horse to Leatrice and James. Claire watched the “vicar” mount his small horse and ride away. “Go with Harry,” Claire said tightly to her sister.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing that is any of your business. It’s well past your bedtime.”
“Yours too. You’re going to see that man, aren’t you?”
“Why in the world would you think I’m going to visit a man at this time of night? I want to enjoy the night air. Go back with Harry.”
“I’ll hide all your jewelry and I’ll tell Mother about those books you have hidden in the false drawer of your big trunk.”
“You really are the
most infuriating child. I can’t take you where I plan to go. It’s very important that it’s kept secret.”
“Does this have to do with the man you visit in the west wing?”
Claire glared at her.
“All I have to do is tell Mother there’s another man and she’ll—”
“Shut up and get on your horse.”
Brat smiled at her beautifully, as she always did when she got what she wanted.
It didn’t take Claire long to ride back to the west wing of the house. When she’d dismounted, she looked at Brat and started to try once again to get her sister to go back to the main house, but she didn’t waste her breath. Right now she was too angry at Trevelyan to worry about her sister.
She climbed the old stone stairs quickly, taking note that at intervals burning torches had been set in the walls, as though Trevelyan were expecting a guest.
She walked through the room with his writing tables, not wanting to think of the last time she had seen them. Brat was right behind her, her eyes wide as she looked about the place. There were masks and cloths and spears from Trevelyan’s travels hanging about the room. Oman stood to one side and smiled at Brat as she walked past. The child grinned back at him.
Trevelyan was in his bedroom, standing by a washbasin and pitcher, looking in a mirror and trying to remove his false beard. He’d already removed his vicar’s robe and his padding and now wore snug buckskin knee breeches and a big linen shirt; his legs were bare from the knee down. The eighteenth-century-style knee breeches must have come from the trunk of an ancestor, but they suited him.
He turned and smiled at her when she entered. His look told her that he expected praise for what he’d just done.
“How could you do that?” she asked. “You’re no more a man of the cloth than I am. They’re not married.”
He gave a little laugh of dismissal, then looked behind her. “Is this your beautiful little sister?” He walked past Claire and studied Sarah Ann for a moment. “I had been told what an enchanting child you were, but no one told me half of it.” He lifted Brat’s hand and kissed first the back of it, then the palm.
“Trevelyan!” Claire snapped at him. “Just what do you think you’re doing? She’s a child.”
“She is on the verge of womanhood,” he said, still holding Brat’s hand and looking at her. Brat was gazing at him with wide eyes and as though she were going to fling herself on him at any moment.
Claire pulled her little sister’s hand from Trevelyan’s.
Trevelyan winked at Brat, then went back to the basin and mirror and started pulling on his beard again. “Now, you were saying.”
“That you acted as though you had the right to marry them and you didn’t. They’re going to Mr. Kincaid’s house tonight thinking they’re married and they’re not.”