Free Slightly Married by Mary Balogh

Miss Morris. The differences between us need never embarrass either of us. We will not be remaining together after our nuptials.”
    Why was she even arguing the point with him? There was still John, despite his failure to return to her. At their last meeting before he went to Russia, they had pledged themselves to each other. . . .
    “I have never known anyone who married by special license,” she said.
    “Have you not?”
    Was it really so easy?
    What if John
was
on his way home? But could she afford at this precise moment to continue deluding herself? He was
not
coming. And even if he were, how could he help now? All was lost. Unless . . .
    “Well?” Colonel Bedwyn sounded impatient.
    She licked dry lips with a dry tongue. “There must be a million arguments,” she said. “I cannot
think
. I need to think. I need time.”
    “Time,” he said, “is something you do not have, Miss Morris. And sometimes it is best not to think but simply to do. Go upstairs and give your maid orders to pack a bag for you. We will leave early in the morning. Your aunt should accompany you for propriety's sake if she is able. Do you have a traveling carriage here? And horses?”
    She nodded. There was the old carriage that had been such a symbol of wealth and status to her father.
    “I will call in at the stables before I return to Heybridge, then,” he said, “and give directions about the morning. I will not keep you any longer. Doubtless there will be much for you to do if you are to be away for three days.”
    He bowed with stiff formality and had stridden from the room before she could raise a hand to stop him. She heard him say something, presumably to Agnes, and then the front door opened and closed.
    He was gone. She had not stopped him when she had the chance.
    She had not said yes to his insane suggestion, had she?
    But she had not said no either.
    She should run after him and do it now—he had said he was going to the stables. She should tell him the full truth. But what was the truth? The stark truth was that Percy had died too soon and John had proved faithless. She had four days in which to take charge of a desperate situation—or not to.
    She could not marry Colonel Bedwyn.
Marry Colonel Bedwyn?
She laughed suddenly, a convulsive, mirthless sound, then clapped both hands over her mouth lest Agnes hear her and conclude that she had run mad. She fought a silent battle with panic and hysteria.
    She needed to think. She needed time. But she could not seem to do the former, and she did not have any of the latter, as he had so bluntly pointed out.
    She got to her feet and began to pace back and forth across the room.
             
    W HEN A IDAN RODE UP THE DRIVEWAY TO Ringwood Manor early the following morning, William Andrews a discreet distance behind him, he could see that an ancient and hideously ornate traveling carriage was drawn up to the front doors. She had not countermanded his orders after he had left, then. She was going to go through with this.
    If there was still any doubt left, it fled after he had ridden onto the terrace and could see around the carriage to the front doors. They stood open. His approach must have been noted. Miss Morris, dressed for travel, in gray as usual, was on her way down the steps, drawing on a pair of black gloves as she came. The scruffy dog bobbed along at her heels. She looked as pale as a ghost. Her aunt, assisted by a thin young maid, came down behind her.
    In the doorway stood the housekeeper, her hands planted on her ample hips as if she were itching to quarrel with someone, and the young governess who had an illegitimate child.
    They all looked as if they were about to attend another funeral today. Well, he thought grimly as he dismounted, he felt a little that way himself. A plump young lad loped up to hold his horse's head. Aidan guessed from his genial, rather vacant expression that he must be the servant whose mind did not move too swiftly.
    “You are ready?”