* * *
Marlene was correct; much was forgiven of a gentleboy with George's beauty and fortune. Any deficiencies in deportment were swiftly overcome; George's country charm was admired. Sophisticated gentleboys were disdained as Bluestockings that Season; George set a new Mode in behavior; Innocence was elevated over Experience.
So George went to London. Marlene went to London.
George went to Court. Marlene, cursing as she struggled into formal wear, went to Court.
George flirted with the Earls of Applegate, Cripplegate, and Surrogate.
Marlene, piqued, went to Ascot, where her horses won.
George pouted. George returned to Longjohn House, with the Earls of Applegate, Cripplegate, and Surrogate in pursuit.
Marlene obtained a special marriage license and prepared to make a fool of herself. She presented herself at Longjohn House one sultry afternoon, and asked to speak with Emmeline Longjohn.
Marlene then rode forth and again encountered George in the shrubbery. She spoke little, but swung George up onto her saddlebow as he protested.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" she hissed into his ear. "We ride now for Gretna, and nothing can stop me or prevent your fate as mine own."
George squirmed in her brutally strong arms. "No! no! Let me go! I am affianced to Earl Surrogate!"
Marlene's face was dark and terrible. "You're a liar and I shall horsewhip you for your lies. But now I must make all speed away from your home, before we are pursued."
George struggled and screamed to no purpose. He dared not jump off the big mare, as the horse was galloping so fast that he feared for his safety if he dismounted abruptly. In this situation, the voluminous skirts he wore hampered, not helped.
When night fell, Marlene found an inn by the side of the Great Northern Road. She swung from the saddle, still gripping George's arm; she took no chances with her quarry.
The inn was comfortable, and apparently the landlord knew Marlene, because no remark was made about their late arrival sans luggage. Marlene entered the suite as though she owned it; her familiarity made George vastly uncomfortable. He felt it likely that she had been at the same inn with other male companions, and despaired of asking the innkeeper for assistance.
After a few soft commands from Marlene, supper was served in the parlor of the suite. Marlene ate robustly, keeping up a patter of polite conversation; George sat still in his chair, picked at his food and preserved an icy silence.
After the dishes were cleared, Marlene leaned back into her chair and stretched out her long legs. "That's better. I believe I prefer to be married on a full stomach."
"Married, my lady? Married? That's a hummer. Who do you propose to marry? I am engaged."
"Yes, indeed you are. I have not forgotten the conversation we had in the shrubbery in April."
"In the shrubbery?" George affected amnesia. "The only conversation I have had of that nature in the shrubbery recently was with Earl Surrogate."
"Ah yes, the Earl Surrogate. Your parents do not like Surrogate, and she never had their permission to address you on the subject of marriage. Be assured her proposal was as indecent as the way I abducted you this afternoon."
"So you admit your wrongdoing! Does it please you to have ruined me?" George paced.
"You again fail to give my words the attention and importance they deserve. You will not be ruined. You will be married, properly and formally, as befits the husband of the Earl of Maybegood."
"Milady, I never supposed to be married to you."
"I am shocked. I remember a certain lovely young gentleboy requesting to be taken forthwith to Gretna Green and married out of hand."
George's head reeled as a tap was heard on the door. A stout, matronly woman entered, dressed in the sober garb of a parson. She bowed to milady.
"It is a great pleasure to serve Maybegood," she said in a rich, pleasing contralto. She spoke to George. "Congratulations, my boy, you have succeeded where many have failed. The special license?"
As Marlene produced the marriage license, George protested, "No! No! this was not supposed to happen!"
"My lady," said the parson, "however exalted your title might be, I cannot marry to you an unwilling groom."
"I do not understand," said Marlene, frowning. "George, I believe that a Romantical elopement was precisely what you wanted."
"But my parents--my father--my mother!" wailed George. "You have no idea what they will do! I quake even now to think that my mother is probably hot on our trail!" He wrung his hands together frantically.
"My dear boy," said Marlene, "I have secured your mother's permission to take you in marriage."
"You have?" George stopped his pacing.
"Certainly. But it would have not done to tell you. You said you wanted Romance. It is not at all Romantical to arrange for an elopement through the parents."
George considered. "But what about a proper wedding gown? My trousseau?"
"My dear, you cannot elope with a trousseau. It simply cannot be done. I have gone to a great deal of trouble and indignity to be all Romantical for you," Marlene declared. "The least you can do at this juncture is cooperate."
George looked at her. She tapped her riding crop impatiently, yet suggestively, against her firm thigh. Despite Marlene's arrogance he still remembered the yearning look she had for him when she proposed. His glance shifted to her body and, more to the point, he remembered the mermaid.
* * *
Best-selling, award-winning author Sue Swift has written over a dozen novels, plus several short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica, which she publishes using a pseudonym.
Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publisher's Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and reached the top ten on a bestseller list.
A former trial attorney, her hobbies are yoga and world travel. She resides in northern California. She's working on her next manuscript and planning her tenth trip overseas.
Her website is at https://www.sue-swift.com, and her travel blogs are Susan Overseas and Travel as Metaphor.
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