He raked his hands though his hair, and rubbed a dark smudge from his cheek. He practiced his false smile in the mirror, and went into the room and looked around, scanning the sea of faces to see who was missing from the reception.
Adam and his brother, both not there. Also Samuel and Martin missing. Not as likely but still…
Geoffrey and Philip had left before, but could they have—
No, this was madness. He couldn't suspect everyone, especially not Philip, who had proven more than a good friend.
He thought about confiding in Michael Avenel, but the poor chap was in a wheelchair and had enough problems of his own.
No, he and Arabella would go to an inn. He could always tell Michael later if he needed help.
He stood in the doorway of the ballroom and said, "My wife and I just wanted to thank you all for coming, and to tell you we're heading off on our honeymoon now. We'll see you all soon. Thank you for making our day so special."
Mr. Jerome looked at Blake in confusion. "Leaving, now? But I thought--"
"My wife decided she wanted to get under way. We're off on a little tour. We shall come see you soon, I promise." He patted the old man on the shoulder and gave his most winning smile.
Mr. Jerome nodded. "Young love, eh? Have a good time, my boy. Write to us when the two of you feel like a bit of company."
"We will. And thank you again for everything, sir." Impetuously he hugged him.
Mr. Jerome was startled, but pleased. He patted him on the back a bit awkwardly. "Go on son, go off and be happy."
Blake ran for the carriage, got in and put his arm around his unconscious wife. He raised her arm from behind her back as if Arabella were waving.
The few people who did come out to say goodbye to the happy couple and try to throw wheat kernels waved back as the carriage pulled down the drive.
Only when they were on the main road to Bath did Blake breathe a sigh of relief. He hated having to lie to everyone. Take Arabella away from their friends. But it was for her own good. He never wanted anyone to say that she could possibly have invited what happened upon herself, that she had behaved in an inappropriate way. He would never speak to her of it, judge or reproach her.
But any relations they had as husband and wife would be coloured by her terrors after her dreadful ordeal. They had been so happy….
He might have known it could never last.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
At eight that night, Blake and the still-unconscious Arabella reached Bath. He knew Thomas had told him to use the townhouse any time he liked, but he didn't want to run the risk of any of their friends being there, or the servants asking too many questions.
Her injuries could be explained away by a fall, of course. He gritted his teeth at that thought. It was far too common an excuse used by women whose men beat them, but it would have to do. Until she was looking a bit less bruised and was more calm, a public inn where they were anonymous was best.
He instructed the driver to take them to The King's Arms. There he ordered the best room in the establishment to be made ready.
The landlord and his wife stared at the prone form of the woman in his arms, and the grim-faced man. They were suspicious, but there was little they could do. They were meant to mind their own business and do as the patron asked.
So even though they could see the woman had been badly injured, they did not send for the authorities, but prepared the room as he requested.
"I'm a doctor. My wife had a bad fall," he told the wide-eyed maid, when he could see that they had all been looking at them both with unalloyed horror. "Can you fetch me a warm bath and some broth and some fresh linens?"
The girl nodded, and relaxed slightly. "Yes, sir. This way."
Blake got Arabella into the bed and went over to build up the fire while the girl scurried about between the room and the linen closet on the upstairs landing getting the things he had asked for.
"I'll go see about the food and hot water, sir," she said, dropping a curtsey before she left.
Soon there was a warm fire blazing in the hearth and broth on the table. Still Arabella had not regained consciousness. Blake examined her head again. He feared concussion, but at least there was no swelling. No need for surgery.
He had no idea how hard her assailant had hit her, but the second gash was the one she had inflected upon herself when she had fallen backwards, he was sure. She would need watching, but he prayed she would be all right. At least physically, eventually, when she had had time to heal.
But as for her frame of mind, well…
She was unnaturally still until late the next morning, when she stirred and groaned. Blake sat upright in the bed, instantly alert. He had only just dozed off at last, but at this first sign of life, he heaved a sigh of relief.