Beatrice’s poor sister looked close to death, wearing nothing except her gown and her party shoes which left her exposed to the elements. “Penny!” Beatrice cried, rushing forward to drape her own cloak over her sister, “Dear God, what has happened to you?”
The small group gathered around Beatrice, her sister, and Anthony, who still held Penelope close to him for warmth, so none of them saw Lord Ivanry step out from behind the cabin with a revolver in his hand.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Anthony and his grandfather were the first ones to hear the sound of a revolver cocking. While the Viscount stood from where he had been kneeling by Beatrice’s trembling sister to face Lord Ivanry, Anthony turned to put himself between the Ivanry ladies and the man who had been posing as the heir to their estate.
“Put the gun down, Sir,” Lord Randlay demanded, his voice calm but serious. “You do not want to cause any more trouble for yourself than you already have.”
Anthony glared with contempt as Lord Ivanry snickered before groaning as he clutched his stomach. “I simply collected what belongs to me. Why shouldn’t the oldest daughter be a part of the inheritance?”
From behind him, Anthony heard a scuffling and had to put a hand out to keep his betrothed from attacking her former guardian. She did, however, manage to spit. “You are a coward and a liar! None of our family’s fortune belongs to you, least of all my sister or myself, youbastard.” The inherent vitriol in her tone was well deserved, but it did not sway the gun-wielding gentleman at all.
Instead, he started walking slowly toward the group, crassly saying, “Oh, so now the whore wants to speak! Dear Beatrice, I don’t think you have anything to level against me, considering how quickly you agreed to our deal.” Lord Ivanry sneered at both Anthony and the Viscount as though he was revealing new information.
“We are already aware of your treachery,” Anthony’s grandfather intoned. “Do not try to start a fight you will not win,Eric– if that is even your real name.” When the villain only looked at him quizzically, Lord Randlay elaborated, “I had some of my men look into your background when my grandson proposed marriage the other day. And I am glad I did, for it lead me to learn that you are not the true heir to the Ivanry Estate.”
Anthony could not hold back his smirk when his grandfather looked down his nose at the American. “According to my sources, the man you are claiming to be disappeared under ‘mysterious circumstances’ and his body was just found a few days ago by some sailors on a beach. It would seem that you, you coward, tossed the real Lord Ivanry overboard as soon as England was in your sights. You are a disgrace and know nothing of honor or duty as you have claimed to during your ungracious ravings at the expense of our hosts.”
A bright red flushed the man’s face as he grimaced, turning his gun upon Anthony’s grandfather. The next few seconds were a blur as Anthony prepared himself to protect the Viscount, and Mr. Morrison moved to take his place in front of the ladies. In the flurry of action, Eric doubled over, crying out in pain as he made retching sounds and dropped to the ground.
As he fell, Eric’s gun went off, cracking loudly into the sky, and Anthony’s ears filled with the sound of high-pitched screams and growled curses. Shaking his head to get some bearings, Anthony’s eyes darted around, scanning for signs of injury from any of the company.
There was no blood pooling in the crystallized grass, and Anthony breathed a sigh of relief, rushing over to help his grandfather up from where he had ducked to avoid the bullet. Then, Anthony strode over to where Mr. Morrison had wrapped himself as best as he could around the Ivanry ladies and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are all right; no one got shot,” Anthony assured the gentleman, who had just proved himself worthy of Miss Penelope tenfold.
Noticing that Lady Ivanry was struggling to rise, Anthony assisted her with an outstretched palm and was brushed off once she recovered. They all watched in disbelief as she walked over to where Eric was lying in his own vomitous mess, moaning about eating something spoiled and gingerly reaching for his revolver.
With a strength Anthony had not expected from the older woman, she kicked the weapon away and with a swift motion of her arm, savagely brought her cane down upon the evil gentleman’s back. The impact made a muffled thwacking sound, and then Eric went silent as though he knew it was best for him to remain motionless until the Constables arrived.
Anthony’s beloved broke away from Mr. Morrison and her sister, attempting to kick at the barely breathing body, but Lady Ivanry stopped her. “I do not think he will trifle in anyone’s affairs again, dear – I lightly poisoned the pie I saw him eyeing earlier to make sure of it. I believe we have done him enough harm for one day.”
Beatrice still wore an expression of unmitigated fury but composed herself just as the townspeople, who heard the gunshot, came running into the field. Anthony quietly embraced his wife-to-be and lead her away from the scene, shushing her when the sobs began. “My angel, you are safe. Your sister is safe. I am sorry for every cruel word I said against you in this matter, for now I know what you were dealing with.”
She looked up at him with teary, hazel-colored eyes and whispered, “I did not know there were good men in the world other than my father until I met you, Anthony. Promise me you will not let that horrible thing hurt us again.”
He caressed the back of her head, softly admiring her curls which had grown wild during the altercation. “He will never harm your family again, Beatrice,” Anthony assured, holding the woman he had hoped to win but ended up loving, tightly.
* * *
The next few hours passed somberly for Beatrice. Constables paraded around the Saumon Estate, taking down notes from various guests about Eric’s conduct so that he could stand trial for fraud, identity theft, and kidnapping. Only Penelope was left alone for the time being as she recuperated in her bed with Beatrice and their grandmother at her side while Mr. Morrison stood outside of her door.
Being out in the cold with no protection for at least an hour had nearly chilled Penelope to the bone, so to stave off a cold, Beatrice had piled blankets upon her and even asked for some hot water to be heated for a bath. When she was lucid enough to speak, Penelope whispered, “Where is Adam?” and Beatrice could not deny her sister that request, no matter how unorthodox it was.
And so Mr. Morrison was shown into the room after Penelope was sufficiently covered up to avoid scandal. Lady Ivanry and Beatrice gazed from one corner of the room as he murmured comfortingly to the sick girl, grasping her hand from time to time as he recounted his fear of never seeing her again.
“When he asks for her hand, I shall not hesitate to give it,” their grandmother hummed. “You and Penelope, despite all odds, have found the very sort of men I wished for you to marry. I have no doubts that neither Anthony nor Mr. Morrison will stifle your freedom but will make every effort to protect you both always.”
Beatrice swiped at a tear that had formed at the corner of her eye and looked up to find her future husband lingering in the doorway. He wore an expression that she had seen the first night they met in the library, one full of hope and ardent devotion.
“I think you are right, Grandmother,” Beatrice agreed, returning the smile Anthony sent her way.
EPILOGUE
Three months after the DeLancys’ wedding, Anthony and Beatrice were married. Though he would never admit it, an errant tear slipped down his face at the sight of his beloved girl walking down the aisle to join him at the altar. She looked as she always had, like a painter’s muse brought to life, radiant and everlasting.
All in attendance, including the newly married Lord and Lady Morrison, witnessed the devotion Anthony and Beatrice had for each other. They spoke their vows with conviction and reverence before sharing a kiss that held all the youthful promises of love.
Later that night, as his new wife lay bare in his arms, Anthony hummed softly, “To think we almost lost and then gained this happiness by playing the games of petty men.”