The Stolen Bride Read Online Free

he said to Beth, “and she must be half a head taller. I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’s ill. Why on earth would she be going to Stenby?”
    Between them, he and Grigson settled the woman on a seat on the coach and Beth sat beside the invalid to support her.
    “Perhaps she’s a servant,” said Beth. “It’s quite likely Jane is hiring more with the wedding coming up.”
    “A superior kind of servant,” he said thoughtfully as the coach set off again, holding a steady pace. “Her gown is of silk, even though it’s not new. Her wedding band is very solid and this was lying in the coach. It must have fallen from around her neck.”
    He held out a locket on a broken golden chain. Its cover was beautifully engraved with the initials E.H. After a moment Beth discovered how to work the catch. Inside there was a lock of curly brown hair and a miniature of a young man, apparently the owner of the curls for they hung fetchingly on his brow. A vague swirling whiteness where his collar should have been was presumably meant to suggest classical draperies.
    Sir Marius looked at the picture. “It reminds me of someone, but damned if I can think who.”

2
    T HE DISTANT VIEW of Stenby on that warm August afternoon had not shown Beth and Sir Marius an impromptu cricket match on the lawns which ran up to the east wall. The rolling green set with ancient, spreading trees was dusted with daisies and ornamented in a more substantial way by ladies and gentlemen in white and pastels. The thunk of the ball on the long bat was mixed with laughter and cries of triumph or disappointment.
    The Kyles were playing the Ashbys. David Kyle, Lord Wraybourne, captained a team composed of his two brothers, Mortimer and Frederick; his sister, Sophie; his wife, Jane, and an assortment of footmen and estate workers. The Ashbys were captained by Lord Randal Ashby. His team consisted of Tyne Towers’ servants and his friends Piers Verderan and Justin, Lord Stanforth.
    A beech tree had a seat built around it and it was in this shady spot that the spectators had established themselves. There was the Duke of Tyne, portly and short of breath; his mother, the dowager duchess, tiny and bent but sharp as a needle; and his niece, Chloe, Lady Stanforth.
    The Kyles had won the toss and elected to bat, David and his brother, Captain Frederick Kyle, going up first. Mortimer, Jane, and Sophie had taken seats in the shade with the others.
    “Well,” said the Duke of Tyne heartily. “Here I am with all the beauties. Come and give me a kiss, Sophie.” When she obliged he pinched her cheek and she tried not to wince. “Can’t tell you how pleased I am one of my rascals finally found a woman willing to have him. Now we’ll see some sons. That’s what every house needs.”
    Sophie had suffered this often enough in recent weeks to have become accustomed. She no longer even blushed at all this talk of procreation. It was the dowager duchess who said tartly, “Without daughters in the world you’d be hard pressed to make sons, Arthur. And I would point out you only favored the Ashbys with two sons yourself.”
    “Two’s enough,” said the duke with a frown. “If they live and breed, two’s one too many.”
    Sophie hastily moved off and left these combatants to their long-established battle. She rolled her eyes at Jane and saw the countess hard put not to giggle. “Why does he demand a quiverful of sons in one breath and only one in the next?” Jane asked quietly.
    It was Chloe who answered. “The duke has an obsession with the continuance of the line. He wants to be sure that sons of his sons will rule here.”
    “But surely, then,” said Jane, “a dozen sons for Randal and Chelmly is what he wants.” The Marquess of Chelmly was Randal’s brother and the heir to the dukedom.
    “Ah, but the duke and my father never rubbed well together,” said Chloe. “My father wasn’t happy being the second son and has been thoroughly unpleasant to Uncle