Free Slightly Married by Mary Balogh Page A

Aidan asked unnecessarily after nodding a curt good morning to the ladies. He had not admitted to himself until this moment how much he had hoped she would change her mind. Not that there would have been any changing of mind to do. She had given him no definite answer last evening.
    “Yes.” All she spoke was the single word.
    “Allow me, ma'am.” He held out a hand to help Mrs. Pritchard into the carriage.
    “Don't you do it, my lamb,” the housekeeper called out, fixing Aidan with the evil eye just as if he were about to abduct her mistress to have his wicked way with her. “Just don't do it. Not for us. We'll manage, the whole lot of us. You don't owe us nothing.”
    “Agnes,” Mrs. Pritchard said after she had seated herself with a sigh, “you will only confuse Eve by keeping on saying that. Having said which, Eve, my love, I must say that now is the time to thank the colonel for his kind offer and send him on his way if you aren't quite, quite sure this is what you want for yourself.”
    Aidan tapped his riding crop impatiently against his boot. One thing from which he cringed more than anything else was emotional drama, especially that of the female variety. The governess was looking stricken. The maid was sniffling.
    “But of course it is what I want,” Miss Morris said to them all, so falsely cheerful that she would have been booed off any stage. “Aunt Mari and I will be back the day after tomorrow and all will go on as before. Nothing will be any different except that Cecil will not be able to come here ever again to threaten our peace. Remember—not a word to anyone until we return. Muffin, stay.” Aidan watched with disapproval as she bent to pat the dog's head instead of insisting upon instant obedience.
    She climbed into the carriage then, placing her hand in Aidan's outstretched one but not looking into his face. Her own looked as if it had been carved of marble. Finally the maid scurried in after her, pretending not to notice Aidan's hand. If he said
boo
to her, he suspected, she would collapse in an insensible heap. He shut the door firmly, nodded to the coachman, mounted his horse again, tossed a coin to the lad, and followed the carriage down the driveway, over the bridge, and through the village, Andrews coming along behind.
    London was a full day's journey away for such a monstrosity of a carriage, but fortunately the weather was fine and the road dry, and they made good time despite the fact that Aidan felt obliged to stop more frequently than the turnpikes necessitated. The carriage horses had to be changed at regular intervals, and the ladies had to stretch their legs and eat. Not that Miss Morris did much of the latter, he noticed, but Mrs. Pritchard seemed glad of the refreshments. She made an effort to be amiable toward Aidan, conversing with him cheerfully and rather loudly in her barely intelligible Welsh accent and preventing the awkward silences that would otherwise have descended upon them. He was very glad to be making the journey on horseback, not riding in the carriage.
    Miss Morris looked like marble every time he set eyes on her, but he steeled himself against feeling sorry for her. What choice had he had but to talk her into doing what she was doing? Besides, who was there to feel sorry for him? His heart was not exactly dancing a jig over the prospect of tomorrow's business. Far from it. He was not a sentimental man. It would not have occurred to him to describe himself as a brokenhearted man today, but he felt a definite heavy sense of loss nonetheless. He had had other dreams than this.
    By early evening they were entering the outskirts of town. Aidan and Andrews had been in the saddle all day, but that was nothing new to either of them. Aidan felt no great physical fatigue. He was, however, in the bleakest of moods. His life had been bought two years ago at a high cost indeed. Marriage to a stranger was to be the price of honor and an unpaid debt. A marriage of