The Bride Found Read online

  Emma squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath. Gwen returned a few minutes later with ice wrapped in linen and settled it gently on Emma’s ankle. “There. That should help the swelling. Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Emma cleared her throat. “No, thank you.”

  Clayton caught Gwen’s eye. “Gwen? A moment, please?” He led her into the hallway and closed the door to the parlor. “What are your plans?”

  Gwen frowned. “Plans?”

  “Weren’t you supposed to return to your parents’ tomorrow?”

  “I can’t very well go now, can I?”

  Clayton sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll arrange some appropriate clothing for the lady… imagine walking the streets in what she’s wearing.” Gwen shuddered.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it either.” Clayton’s reaction was somewhat different than Gwen’s, but he kept his opinion to himself.

  “I’m going to retrieve some of Christopher’s whiskey for Miss Wellington.” She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell him.”

  Clayton chuckled. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Gwen shuffled off toward Christopher’s office and Clayton made his way back into the parlor. Emma sat with her face toward the fire, a blank expression on her face.

  “Miss Wellington?”

  “Hm?” She blinked and turned her head toward him.

  “Gwen is retrieving something that might help with the pain.” He sat in the chair opposite hers. “How are you feeling?”

  EMMA WINCED INTERNALLY.

  How am I feeling? Well, if you must know, I’m injured far too badly to escape. I’m stuck in the Twilight Zone and I have to pee. That’s how I’m feeling.

  Instead, she muttered, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Clayton shifted his weight, and she thought he might touch her. Instead, he asked, “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Emma tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you have my bag?”

  Clayton stood and poked his head into the foyer. “Have you seen the lady’s bag?” A muffled reply brought Clayton back into the room with a frown. “I’m sorry. Andrew has it with him. He should be here shortly and I’ll fetch it for you.”

  “Mr. Madden?” she whispered.

  “Clayton, please.”

  “Clayton.” Emma laid her hand on her chest to calm her heart. “I really need that bag. My whole life is in it.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Both you and your bag are safe, Miss Wellington. Upon my word, nothing will happen to either.”

  Emma dragged her lower lip between her teeth and nodded.

  The door to the parlor opened and Emma glanced up to see Gwen pause, a decanter in one hand, a glass in the other. Emma’s pulse increased. She blushed when Gwen smiled sweetly and handed her the glass half-filled with amber liquid. “This is whiskey. It should help with the pain.”

  Emma emptied its contents with one deep swallow. The liquid flowed down her throat and she thought she’d never tasted anything so good. And she should know… her desire for the finer things in life, and the need to quell the pain from the loss of her sister, had led her and Hannah on an exploration to find the best single malt they could.

  Gwen’s eyes widened in surprise. “My word.”

  Goddammit. Now she thinks I’m a boyfriend stealer and a drunk. Just great.

  Clayton sat back on the footstool. “Perhaps one more, Gwen?”

  Emma handed the glass back to Gwen. “No, that’s good.” She cleared her throat. “I feel better already.”

  “I think Miss Wellington should rest now.” Gwen set the glass aside and laid her hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Would you carry her upstairs, please?”

  Clayton smiled and stood. “Yes, ma’am.” Gathering Emma into his arms again, he followed Gwen up the stairs and down the hall.

  Emma gave him a half-smile. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” he whispered.

  “For you having to carry me everywhere. I could probably walk, you know.”

  “It’s nothin’.” Clayton grinned. “You don’t weigh any more than a bag of cotton seed.”

  “Is that some kind of a southern expression?”

  He smiled. “I suppose it is.”

  They reached a doorway at the back of the house, and Gwen paused with her hand on the knob. “That’s far enough, Clayton Madden. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes with a curt nod. “Yes, I’m certain.”

  Clayton gently lowered Emma to the ground and Gwen wrapped her arm around her waist. “Ready, Miss Wellington?”

  Emma nodded and Gwen helped her hobble inside. After settling Emma against the bed, Gwen threw the door closed with a pointed smack. “I hope you’ll find everything you need here. There’s a commode in the corner and fresh water on the dresser. I brought an extra nightgown with me, so I’ll collect it for you. I have a day dress that Sarah should be able to alter for you, there’s plenty of hem to let down, and we’ll work on the rest when you’re feeling better.”

  Emma didn’t know who Sarah was, but didn’t want to ask. She gripped the duvet and leaned against the mattress. “Thank you… uh… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to call you.”

  Gwen smiled. “Call me Gwen. May I call you Emma?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If I leave you here, will you be all right?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes. I could use a few minutes alone.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “Yes, I imagine you would. I’ll be sure to knock.”

  Emma grimaced. “I appreciate that.”

  Gwen opened the door, and Emma was surprised to see Clayton poke his head inside. “How do you feel, Miss Wellington?”

  Gwen placed her hand on his chest and pushed him backward. “Emma is fine. However, she requires privacy, so please go downstairs and wait for Christopher.”

  An argument ensued as Gwen closed the door, but Emma was too distracted to care. She hobbled to the commode and lifted the lid. A porcelain bowl sat nestled in the wood and Emma shuddered.

  I cannot believe I have to pee in a bowl.

  * * *

  Clayton paced the floor of his office and retraced the events of the evening. Andrew and Christopher had arrived at Christopher’s townhouse just before dinner, but Gwen decided Emma was far too hurt to join them, so Clayton didn’t have another opportunity to speak with her. He’d argued, so much so, that Gwen had laughed at his discomfort.

  “I knew you’d react this way.” Gwen crossed her arms. “This is precisely why she’s safer here. You’d compromise her in a second.”

  “Gwendolyn,” Christopher admonished.

  Clayton shook his head. “I simply want to make certain she’s comfortable.”

  Gwen snorted. “You couldn’t keep your hands off her, Clayton Madden. It’s unseemly.”

  Christopher frowned. “Gwendolyn. Do not use that tone when addressing Clayton.”

  Clayton didn’t miss Andrew’s slight movement as he laid a hand gently on Gwen’s back. She shook it off and glared at her brother. “I will use any tone necessary to protect that woman upstairs.”

  “I think you’re spending entirely too much time with Charity,” Christopher accused.

  Charity Short, Gwen’s childhood friend, was closer than a sister. She was considered to be a forward thinker, as she was often outspoken and opinionated.

  Clayton sighed. “I would never harm Miss Wellington.”

  Gwen shrugged. “I’m aware of that, Clayton. However, you are also much like my brother when it comes to the treatment of women—”

  “What exactly do you mean by that?” Christopher interrupted.

  Gwen sighed. “You don’t touch them. Ever. Even when you’re friends with them.”

  Clayton raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have friends who are of the fairer sex.”

  Christoph
er groaned. “This is an entirely inappropriate conversation to be having in mixed company.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “Well, the truth of the matter is that Clayton could not seem to keep his hands to himself, so I’m here to make certain she’s not compromised. I put laudanum in her tea and now she’s sound asleep.”

  Andrew handed Clayton a glass of whiskey. “Have a drink and relax, Clay. We don’t know who that woman is, or who sent her. I’ve sent some inquiries and all we can do is wait.”

  Clayton frowned. “Sent inquiries? To whom, exactly?”

  “No one in particular. I thought I’d ask a few of my contacts if they recognize her name or description. You’ll be able to question her tomorrow.”

  Clayton stopped pacing.

  Why would Andrew care about who she is?

  Andrew had been acting out of character since they’d found her, and Clayton hadn’t liked the way Emma appeared frightened when Andrew would glance her way. But he also knew that Andrew Simmonds would rather be drawn and quartered than to harm a lady, so Clayton chalked it up to the fact that Emma was simply confused.

  Clayton knew he wouldn’t get answers tonight. Emma was safely sleeping and he should do the same, or he wouldn’t be any use to anyone the next day. He blew out the lamp and slowly made his way to his bedroom.

  * * *

  “Emma?”

  Emma forced herself to open her eyes and focus on the voice.

  “Emma?”

  “Lamie?” She used his nickname as a way to confirm it was actually him.

  “It’s me, Squirt. You need to wake up now. I’m going to take you to Sophie.”

  Tears spilled from her closed eyes as sadness washed over her. “Sophie’s dead. This is a dream. A horrid dream.”

  “Andrew, what did they give her?” Jamie hissed.

  Emma whimpered. “Ow.”

  “Emma, open your eyes. Try. For me?”

  Her head pounded in protest. “I’m so tired.”

  “Damn it, Andrew. They better not have given her laudanum.”

  “Don’t yell, it hurts,” Emma whispered.

  Jamie lowered his voice. “Sorry, Em. I really need you to open your eyes for me.”

  Emma took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. Her brother-in-law came into focus—and so did Andrew. Emma gasped and tried to push herself away, twisting her ankle again as she put pressure on it. She cried out.

  Jamie grasped her arms. “Shh, sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You didn’t,” she snapped.

  “Andrew?” Jamie glanced at Andrew. “Why are you frightened of Andrew?”

  Emma shook her head. “What are you doing here?”

  Jamie stood and held his hand out to her. “I’m here to take you to Sophie. You need to get up and get dressed so that we can catch the early train.”

  Emma waved her hands in disbelief. “Um, no, you need to explain to me what the hell is going on. You were dead! Sophie was dead.”

  Jamie ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t have time to explain, but I will. I promise. We need to get out of here before anyone discovers who you are or where you’re from.”

  “Where are my jeans?”

  “Okay, right.” Jamie coughed. “Well, you can’t wear them. I’ve brought something of Sophie’s, and as embarrassing as it might be, I’ll need to help you dress.”

  “Um, why?”

  “Andrew.” Jamie pointed to the door. “Leave us, please.”

  Andrew gave a curt nod and stepped outside. “Christopher’s an early riser, Jamie. Don’t forget that.”

  “Got it.”

  “Jamie, why are you wearing your wedding uniform?”

  Jamie turned back to Emma. He dropped a bag onto the bed and pulled what looked like one of Sophie’s old corsets out.

  “Oh, hell, no!” Emma snapped… now wide-awake.

  “Squirt, it’s 1863. You have to wear a corset. I have one of Sophie’s day dresses for you and I think we can do without the hoops, but you have to wear the corset.” Jamie held it up for her. “You get it hooked and I’ll tighten the laces for you.”

  “This is beyond humiliating.”

  “I know, Emma. I’m sorry. Did they give you laudanum?”

  “They tried. I took a couple of sips, but it tasted funny… I poured the rest into the basin.”

  Jamie chuckled. “Good thinking.”

  Emma smirked. “I did listen to Sophie on occasion, and the fact the tea was cloudy raised a flag.”

  “Good girl. Okay, get dressed.” Jamie turned his back. “Let me know when you’re decent.”

  Emma groaned and backed off the bed, doing her best to baby her ankle. She slid her good foot onto the floor and steadied herself against the mattress in order to get the corset on and hooked. “Okay.”

  Jamie turned and tightened her laces and then stepped outside so that she could finish dressing. Emma had several moments of nausea from the pain in her ankle and the migraine threatening to attack.

  “Jamie,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

  He pushed open the door and stepped back inside. “What do you have in the way of shoes?”

  “Just my brown boots, but there’s no way I’ll get it on my right foot.”

  “Put the left one on and we’ll carry the other.” Jamie guided her to a chair and handed her one of the discarded boots.

  “Thanks. Can you find my bag, please?” She slid her boot on and then sat back with a sigh. Jamie handed her the purse and Emma rummaged through it for Advil and her migraine medicine.

  “Jamie, the sun’s rising,” Andrew whispered as he pushed the door open.

  Jamie swore. “Em, I’m going to carry you downstairs where we have a carriage waiting. Everything has to go really quickly—and quietly.”

  Emma nodded and held her hands up. Jamie lifted her while Andrew gathered her belongings. They sneaked down the stairs and out the back door, then through the alleyway and onto the street. Emma couldn’t understand why all the subterfuge, but kept her questions to herself, knowing Jamie would answer them as soon as he could.

  Jamie settled her into the tiny buggy and Andrew threw her bag in at her feet. Jamie jumped into the driver’s seat, saluted Andrew, who stepped back onto the sidewalk, and released the brake. Emma glanced back as Jamie guided them down the street.

  * * *

  Clayton downed his coffee and dropped the cup with a curse. He’d burnt his mouth in his rush to get out the door. His dreams had been filled with the beautiful Emma Wellington and he’d awoken anxious to see her.

  Foregoing another cup of coffee, he grabbed his outerwear and made his way out to the carriage house. Jack led his horse out and tipped his head in greeting. “Mornin’, boss.”

  Clayton grinned “Good morning, Jack.”

  Jack held the horse’s head as Clayton mounted and gave a slight wave as he took off toward Christopher’s. He was glad Christopher’s townhouse was close to his own. His churning stomach and heart flutter wasn’t something he was used to. Rather than riding to the back, he dismounted and tied the horse to the post out the front. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked.

  The door was opened by one of Christopher’s men, and Clayton spent a few minutes in conversation. He was distracted by an argument coming from the parlor and excused himself.

  “Where did she go, Andrew?” Gwen asked.

  “Gwendolyn, I cannot tell you.”

  “Andrew Simmonds, you tell me right now what you’ve done with that poor girl!”

  Clayton rushed into the room and studied his friend. “Andrew?”

  “Goddammit!” Andrew snapped.

  Clayton raised an eyebrow. “What’s Gwen talking about?”

  Gwen crossed her arms. “I woke up this morning and went to collect Emma, but she was gone, along with her belongings.”

  Clayton frowned. “What do you mean, gone?”

  Gwen waved a hand toward Andrew. “Ask him. He won’t tell me.�
�

  “What have you done with her?” Clayton advanced on him.

  Andrew shook his head. “I haven’t done anything with her.”

  “Andrew,” Clayton hissed.

  He shrugged and gave an apologetic grimace. “She’s safe but that’s all I can tell you.”

  Clayton grabbed the front of Andrew’s jacket and pushed him against the wall, ignoring Gwen’s gasp from behind them. “If you’ve done anything to harm that woman, Andrew, I will kill you. Our friendship be damned.”

  Gwen laid her hand on Clayton’s arm. “Clayton, please.”

  Andrew chuckled. “He won’t hurt me, Gwen.”

  Clayton whipped his head back with a glare. “Don’t count on that.”

  Andrew pushed Clayton’s hands away and smoothed his jacket. “She’s safe. You have my word.”

  “Tell me where she is so that I can determine that myself.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Andrew said. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’m sorry.”

  Clayton swore. When Andrew made a promise, he kept it.

  “I’ll find her myself.” Clayton didn’t wait for a response as he rushed out of the room and mounted his horse. He arrived at the large war office building and pushed his way through the crowd. If he couldn’t use his position to find one beautiful woman, then he was working in the wrong field.

  EMMA FIDDLED WITH a fraying ribbon on her skirt and glanced over at Jamie, who sat across from her on the train. He’d chosen benches close enough for her to elevate her foot and she sat with her back to the front. In pure Jamie form, his leg bounced up and down in agitation, a movement she’d seen a hundred times, particularly after Sophie got sick.

  “Jamie, what’s going on?”

  “We can’t talk here.” Jamie leaned forward and smiled. “We’ve got a couple of hours and then we’ll be home.”

  “Home? Home where, exactly?”

  “Harrisburg.”

  “Pennsylvania?” she squeaked.

  He nodded.

  “How the hell did you end up in Pennsylvania?”