At once, Christopher bent down, interlacing his hands to make a makeshift stirrup.
“Miss!” Henry called out, sitting on Christopher’s shoulders as they had often done as children. “Do not be frightened, we are here to help.”
The young woman turned her face toward them. It was indeed Betsy Carmichael.
She, however, did not appear to recognize them for she attempted to climb back up the rope in a panic.
“No, no, no,” she exclaimed.
“Betsy! Rowena sent us. It is I, the Duke of Westmond,” Christopher called, louder than he had intended.
“You Grace?” the woman said, the shock apparent in her voice.
“It is, climb down toward my brother, he will assist you down. And then we will take you home.”
A cry of relief escaped her mouth. “Bless you, Your Grace,” the strain was evident in her voice as she climbed down. “We must hurry, he–”
She got no further for from up above, a man’s voice hollered.
“Hell and damnation,” he exclaimed at the sight below him. “Betsy, what are you doing? You are not running from me again? You won’t get far.” The man leaned forward and grabbed a hold of the rope, yanking at it in an attempt to pull it and the young lady back up.
“No!” she called out. He could see how tight her grip around the rope was.
“Drop down, just drop. I’ll catch you!” Henry called. He reached his arms up. He could almost reach the young woman, only a few inches and he’d be able to grab her by the waist and help her down.
“It is too far,” she replied.
The man, who Christopher assumed was Lord Portsmouth, continued to wrestle with the rope.
“You’ll have to drop down Betsy, or you’ll fall by accident. It’s not as far as you think. Henry can catch you.” Christopher said.
“Betsy, don’t you dare. You will only hurt yourself. I will pull you up,” Portsmouth called. “Trust me!”
It was these words, an insult as much as a promise, that seemed to convince the young woman that dropping into the arms of Henry was a safer bet.
“I’ll let go,” she called.
“I am ready,” Henry replied. A moment later, Christopher felt himself pushed down as the woman landed in Henry’s arms. He swayed but kept steady, keeping the two people depending on him safe.
After a moment, he saw from the corner of his eye how Betsy Carmichael dropped the short distance to the ground beside him. The next moment, Henry jumped down from his shoulders.
“Your Grace, I thank you ever–”
Christopher raised his hand. “No time for that. Let us hurry. I’m sure the gentleman—Portsmouth I assume, will come for us any moment.”
“He will,” Betsy exclaimed, her eyes large and fearful.
“Our carriage is over yonder,” Henry pointed into the distance.
The three broke into a rush across the grass as the main door to the manor opened.
“Betsy Carmichael, you have not been dismissed!” the man hollered. Christopher looked back and took in the sight of Lord Portsmouth. He was shorter and stouter than he had expected. His reputation as a rake and dandy had led him to believe he would look rather different.
“Must be charming, to have such a reputation” he said as he ran.
“He is,” Betsy confirmed, equally struggling for breath. Meanwhile, Henry had run ahead of them and was at the carriage, opening the door for them.
Mr. Thorpe saw them coming and hurried back on this seat ready to gallop forward.
Henry helped Betsy into the carriage and then followed, reaching his arms toward Christopher as he brought up the rear.
“Go, go,” he called to the coachman who whipped the horses into a frenzied gallop.
Behind them, Lord Portsmouth, now joined by several servants, had almost caught up with them but stopped.
Christopher leaned back, out of breath. As the carriage made its way down the road he turned to Betsy Carmichael, a grin on his face.
“A pleasure to meet you again, Miss Carmichael.” Out of breath, and her face red with exertion, she nodded.
“And you, Your Grace.”
Chapter 28
“My dear,” the old woman said, turning to her. “I must take my leave. It has been a pleasure talking to you this night, but I am ever so tired. My bones are no longer young like yours.”
“Of course, Lady Totham. It has been a pleasure,” Rowena replied.
The old woman smiled at her kindly. As she attempted to rise from her chair, she groaned. At once, her husband, Christopher’s uncle, was by her side, assisting her up.
Her heart swelled at the sight of it.
I can only hope Christopher and I will be like this when we reach their age.
Once the lady was standing, leaning on her husband, she placed one hand on Rowena’s wrist.
“I am ever so grateful my nephew has found a wonderful girl to marry. My brother would be ever so happy.” She sighed deeply. “If only he had lived to see it happen.”
“Now, now, my Dove. No reason to be sad. He is always with us, your brother. You know that,” the Earl patted her hand and then faced Rowena. “I shall retire as well. You are more than welcome to remain here for a while longer. It is a lovely night.”
“It is indeed, my Lord. And I may well remain here for a little while. I have found myself rather vexed today and it is ever so peaceful here.”
He nodded at her. “Very well. I shall see you in the morning, to break the fast. And do not fret, should anyone come back to look for you, we will tell them all the same. That you have not been seen.”
With that, the Earl and Countess departed, leaving Rowena on the porch alone.
Rowena leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She felt a sense of peace at last. She wasn’t sure why. Betsy was not back as yet, and she was still in danger of being forced into a marriage she didn’t want. But, she felt at ease.
She’d spoken her piece to the Duke of Thornmouth. Used words and a force she’d never dared use before. It had felt good to stand up for herself, and for Betsy.
A yawn overtook her, and she rose. She’d planned to stay awake until Christopher returned, but she knew that would not be until the early morning.
Perhaps I ought to rest. The hours will pass much faster if I am asleep.
She blinked and stretched her arms when she spotted movement on the road up ahead of her. She frowned and tilted her head.
“Oh, aren’t you lovely!” She exclaimed at the sight of the small orange and white kitten that was sitting by the bush up ahead. She’d always longed to have cats, but her mother was opposed to them. She’d always been a dog person and Pugsley, her mother’s pug, did not care for other animals. Rowena slowly made her way toward the cat, bending over and sticking her hand out for the cat to smell.
“Good baby, can I pet you?” She was almost close enough to do so. One more step and she was next to the kitten. The kitten cautiously sniffed her hand and cautiously stepped toward her, allowing her stroke its soft fur.
Rowena wondered if it belonged to anyone. If it did not, she would gladly take it to wherever home was going to be next. Now that she had broken out of her role of the perfect lady of the ton, she was determined to do the things she’d always wanted. And having a cat was one of them.
“Shall I take you in? I’m sure the Earl’s cook has a cup of milk for y–”
She got to further for darkness fell upon her. The last thing she saw were the cat’s white feet, rushing away as something was being lowered over her head. She was yanked backward and fell hard onto the ground.
She kicked her legs out as hard as she could and tried to scream. Alas, it was futile for the bag which had been placed over her head muffled her sound, it being so tightly pulled over her mouth.
She felt herself lifted high off the ground, perhaps over somebody’s shoulder, and then dumped into the back of a carriage. As she hit the floor of the carriage, she heard a muffled, male voice ca
ll out “Not so hard!” but it was too late, she bumped her head so hard on it that darkness swallowed her up.
Rowena’s eyes fluttered open. Darkness appeared to surround her. She scanned the room she was in and found there to be no windows, and no light except for a small tallow candle at the other end of the room.
She sat up, letting her legs dangling over the side of the bed as she found her feet. She slid forward and the moment her feet touched the bare wooden floor she realized she did not have shoes on.
Standing up, she made her way across the room toward the candle, taking care not to bump into anything.
Where am I? What has happened to me?
Rowena’s hand traveled to the back of her head where a small bump had risen. She recalled behind tossed into a cart or carriage.
She took the candle holder with the candle into her hand and shone it around the room. It was an attic chamber; she could tell by the size and the way the roof sloped. It was small and dreary looking.
She staggered toward where she believed the windows would be but found there were none. Running a hand along the brick wall, she soon felt the outline of where once a window had been. It was now bricked up.
She took a few careful steps and confirmed that another window, on the other end of the room, had also been bricked up.
No surprise. Due to the notorious window tax, many homes had windows that had been bricked up. A large portion of those bricked-up windows were located in the areas used by servants. Despite the wealth of many of the Peers of the Realm, they did not care to pay higher taxes so their servants could enjoy daylight. Her father had, in fact, bricked up several of the windows in their home as well. Rowena felt her heart flutter with fear.
As her eyes were beginning to get used to the darkness, she glanced around. Yes. These were servant quarters. The bed she had woken up on was narrow, the mattress thin. The blanket and pillow were of low quality, rough to the touch. A narrow armoire stood in the corner and a wash basin next to it. A small, unstable looking table sat in the corner of the room along with a chair.
Where is the door? It must be here somewhere. Why can I not find it?
She made her way along the wall, looking carefully for the door that would lead to her freedom. She could not find it.
She felt herself growing faint with the heat in the room. Without ventilation, be it window or door, the heat of the day lingered in the room long after the sun had set.
Or had it set? She was not sure what time it was at all. How long had she been asleep? Panic rose inside of her.
I must find the door. I must find my way out of this room.
She began to bang on the wall. “Hello? Help me! Please. Anybody? Can anyone hear me?”
She pressed an ear to the wall, listening carefully. There was nothing. No sound at all. Devastation and fear overtook her and she slid to the floor, tears springing into her eyes.
How long have I been here? I remember it was evening when I saw the cat and was then taken. When was that? How much time had passed?
She had no idea. The tallow candle was burning down toward the end. It would go out soon, then she’d be in darkness. She banged against the wall once more, calling out as loudly as she could. The fear of being swallowed by the dark consumed her.
“Please, please, help me!” she shouted out as loud as she could. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to force her breathing to slow.
Who could have taken her? Thornmouth? But to what end? Surely, he knew he could not force her into marriage. No. But who else? Someone who wanted money from her father?
The announcement of her impending union with the Duke of Thornmouth had enticed envy among some of the ton. In fact, she knew it had. She’d seen the way some of the ladies at church had looked at her. Friendly on the outside, but they’d whispered behind her back.
Isaac Travers, Duke of Thornmouth was one of the most eligible bachelors in all of London, and one of the richest men in the country. Together with her father’s wealth, they would have been richer than any other family in England, save for the Prince Regent. That kind of wealth and power attracted envy. But kidnapping? And from the porch of the Earl of Totham? Who would have known she was there? Who could have figured it out?
Then it came to her, the obvious answer.
Father. It must have been Father. He must have sent one of his men to take me in. In an attempt to keep me from running away with Christopher.
She looked up. Anger had replaced the panic and she crumpled her nose.
“I am not going to give up on Christopher, Father! He will come for me. He will. I am never going to marry Thornmouth.” She kicked against the wall with all her might.
“Ow!” she yelped and hopped on one foot. She leaned against the bed, holding one foot in the air when suddenly, light streamed into the room.
“Cut out the racket! How’s anyone supposed to sleep through that noise?”
A woman’s voice called out and a moment later, a figure stepped into the dark room.
Chapter 29
Christopher felt his excitement rise as they approached his uncle’s house early the following morning. The sun had just risen, drenching the city in a glow that seemed to match the positivity he was feeling.
“I cannot believe my dearest Rowena was about to rush off to Gretna Green without me.” The young woman smiled.
Christopher was glad to see her recovering so quickly, for when they had first entered the carriage after making their escape, her condition had been worrisome.
The ordeal had indeed left her shaken and scared. However, the presence of Christopher and Henry had soon soothed her.
“Well, once you have relayed your experience with the Duke of Thornmouth, and Lord Portsmouth to Rowena’s parents, I will be in good hopes that an escape to Gretna Green will not be needed anymore.”
“I should hope not,” the young woman sounded defiant. “Not after the Duke all but denied me shelter and assistance. Not only did he not help me, he sent me back to that terrible man. If you had not come, who knows what would have happened to me. The Viscount…” her voice trailed off. She had only hinted at her experience at the Portsmouth residence.
Going into more detail would have been unacceptable, at least in front of two virtual strangers. However, having heard other stories, Christopher could only imagine.
A thought came to him. “The letter you wrote to Rowena–”
Her face darkened at once. “He all but forced my hand. He told me that I would bring great shame upon Rowena and the entire Burton family if I insisted on leaving. That I had no other option. Then he had me write a reassuring letter.” A smirk appeared on her face. “He was, of course, unaccustomed to the form in which I generally write. So, the letter may have sounded normal to him, but to Rowena, the tone would have been clear.”
“It was. It was indeed,” Christopher said as the carriage stopped in front of his uncle’s residence. “She will be ever too happy to see you. I imagine she will rush out of the drawing room the moment we are announced,” he grinned in anticipation of holding her again. The look on her face when she was reunited with her best friend would be wonderful.
Alas, when they climbed out of the carriage and made their way inside, they were not greeted by Rowena. No. Instead, his Aunt Helene made her way into the parlor, aided by her walking stick.
“Christopher, Henry! Thank goodness you have returned.”
Alarmed, Christopher stepped forward.
“What is wrong Aunt Helene? You are ever so pale.”
The older woman sighed heavily; her face contoured in grief.
“Oh, I do not know how to say it–” She shook, swaying slightly as she stood. Henry was by her side in a moment and together he and Christopher led the old lady back to the drawing room to take a seat.
Once she was in her chair, she appeared to recover her senses somewhat. She took a hold of Christopher’s hand and squeezed it hard.
“My Dear Boy, I am ever so sorry. Lad
y Rowena has disappeared.”
The words were like a stab right into his heart.
“Disappeared? What do you mean?”
His aunt shook her head.
“We discovered she had not slept in her chamber at all, for when I rose, I saw the door open and the bed not slept in. I woke your Uncle and he questioned the servants. Nobody had seen her since last night, when the three of us took the air together.” She blinked tears away. “Your Uncle has gone to Lord Hazelshire’s house to see if she returned there for any reason, but he sent the coachman back with word that she is not there either. He has remained there to help with a search.”
A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke Page 22
