What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “The other one, however, may have some value to you.” The marquess held it up.

  Heart hammering, Matthew read his own name and direction. “I’ll have that, my lord, as it’s addressed to me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you would like to get your hands on it.” Smiling, the older man caressed the paper, running his fingers around the precise edges. “I’ve no doubt she wrote telling you where to meet her. Once a harlot, always a harlot.”

  Matthew lunged for the letter.

  The marquess whipped a diamond-tipped cane up from his side, striking Matthew squarely in the stomach. The blow was weak, but unexpected and he went staggering backward. “Pity you won’t be able to find her.” With a cackle, Theale turned and tossed the letter into the flames. “My justice is swift. I wager she’s sorry she dishonored my family now.”

  “What have you done with her?” Straining over the desk, Matthew seized the marquess’s shoulders and shook him like a terrier with a rat. “Where is she and my daughter?” It took all of Matthew’s strength of will to refrain from seizing the man by the throat and snapping his neck like a stick of kindling. He threw the evil lord back into the chair.

  Theale straightened his coat, eyed him, and continued his raucous laughter.

  A measure of dread filled Matthew’s heart. What had this fiend done with Fanny? “If any harm has come to her or her child, old man, I vow by all that is holy I will see you crackling in the flames of hell.”

  Spinning on his heel, Matthew strode out, the sinister laughter unnerving him further. What had this lunatic done? If neither Fanny nor Ella were in the town house, then Fanny must have arrived yesterday and been sent away this morning. How could he find out for certain they were not still here? He could barge upstairs, but he had no idea where their rooms might be. Constables could be called to restrain him and he couldn’t afford to lose either time or his freedom. If Theale’s menacing demeanor was an indication of his abhorrence of her, Fanny might have need of him even now. The butler was obviously of no use to him, nor the servants in general. They lived with the marquess and likely understood his rages all too well.

  The grooms, however, might be a different story. He’d fetch Spartan and discover what he could in the stables.

  Matthew walked around to the mews at the back of the house and entered the stable where he’d left his horse scarcely a quarter of an hour ago. A lifetime ago it seemed. Smiling and again affecting a nonchalant demeanor, he entered the stable.

  A stable lad of about fifteen bounded up to him. “Can I help you, milord?”

  “Yes, I believe you can. I left my horse a short time ago but my business is conducted so I need him now.” Matthew cast his gaze around as the rich familiar smells of leather, straw, and manure proclaimed a well-run establishment. “Where is Spartan?”

  “The tall bay, milord? Harry’s walking him up and down the mews, cooling him down a bit.” The lad sounded eager to please.

  Matthew hoped that was the case. He drew out a bright gold sovereign and began to flip it in the air. “You seem like a lad clever with horses. What’s your name?”

  “William Carter, milord. They call me Will.” The boy tried to look him in the eyes when he spoke, but his gaze kept straying to the flashing gold coin.

  “Will. A good, honest name. And you could tell me, Will, about the horses and carriages Lord Theale has, is that right?” A soft, interested tone worked wonders for gathering information. Of course, so did the sight of money.

  “Oh, yes, milord. I’ve been with his lordship almost three years. You can ask me anything about his equipage.”

  “I see these two large carriages here, so he must have at least six horses, I’d say?”

  “Ten horses all told, milord.” Pride in his master’s wealth made Will’s eyes bright.

  “Ten horses, indeed.” Matthew started down the row of stalls. “There’s a pair of grays, a pair of bays . . . these three blacks and a dappled mare.” Rubbing the mare’s nose, Matthew turned back to the lad. “But that’s only eight.”

  “There’s two lighter grays out with the small carriage.”

  “Ah. That explains it. I daresay Lady Theale is tooling about the park. It’s a brilliant day for it, if a bit chilly.”

  “Oh, no, milord. Davies took Lady Stephen and her daughter out early this morning.”

  “Did he?” The sovereign landed in Matthew’s hand and it was all he could do not to squeeze it in his fist. Damn Theale. Had he sent them away or had Fanny gone of her own accord? He held the coin out to Will. “Did Davies say where they were going?”

  “Here we go, Will. I’d say he’s cooled down enough.” Harry had returned, leading Spartan. An older lad of perhaps twenty, he looked Matthew up and down, his gaze coming to rest on the coin in his hand. “What’s this, Will?”

  Slowly, Matthew closed his hand over the gold and stared idly at the lad.

  “Nothing, Harry.” Will grabbed the reins from the other groom and ran a sure hand over the horse’s flanks. “His lordship was waiting for his horse. Right as rain, milord. He’s fit for anything you set him at.”

  “Very good, Will.” Damn, he’d been so close. Without the direction, however, he might just as well sit at home and wait for Fanny to call on him. She’d wanted to tell him something; the letter Theale had burned proved it. Why write if only to say “I’m going away, don’t follow me”? Now he might never know what had happened to her. Burning with frustration, he took the reins from Will and put his foot up in the stirrup.

  “Beg pardon, milord, but you should see this place on your saddle girth.” Will’s eyes looked innocently up at him. Too innocent.

  “Of course.” Hope dawning, Mathew hopped back down, following Will around to the far side of Spartan.

  “I saw this worn place when you left him with us. Right here.” Will pointed to a perfectly smooth section of the leather girth. “I’m not sure what could have happened to it.” The boy lowered his voice. “They were heading for Copsale, Davies said. By the post road.”

  Relief swept through Matthew and he drew a deep breath in thanksgiving. “Thank you so much, Will. I’ll postpone my trip and have that replaced today. Good lad.” Matthew flipped him the coin, and swung into the saddle. “Good day to you, lads.”

  “I didn’t see no worn place.” Harry poked Will with his elbow.

  “Then you need sharper eyes, Harry.”

  Smiling, Matthew trotted Spartan out into the cobbled lane of the mews. Copsale was almost a day’s ride to the south and a bit east from London. The sun stood directly overhead now. If she’d left at first light she had perhaps a four-hour head start on him; if he was lucky only three, accounting for the stops to change horses. He could push the big bay a bit so at a canter he might overtake her before nightfall. If he did not, he had no idea with whom she planned to stay in Copsale. Little matter. Turning the horse toward the south, he set out at a brisk trot. If he had to knock on every single door in Copsale, he would find his lady and their child.

  CHAPTER 27

  Forcing herself to rise, Fanny peered down the road at the vanishing carriage. So help her if she ever saw Theale again she would haul off and slap him for doing this. A nice, meaty slap that would leave her handprint on his withered cheek for a good long while. The fanciful thought buoyed her for a moment, but grim reality lay all around her. She was stranded in the middle of a field, miles from either Southwater or Copsale, late in the afternoon of a cold day with a young child. Time for her hero to appear, like they did in those bad Drury Lane plays, just in the nick of time.

  Where might her hero be? If Matthew had received her letter, might he not be pelting down the post road even now toward her? Despite the foolishness of the whim, she walked to the road and stared down it, looking for him. If wishes could come true she’d hear his hoof beats and he’d appear to sweep her and Ella up onto his white charger, just like in the children’s stories. Unfortunately, she had no idea that even if he’d received the letter he
’d come to Copsale.

  And then, of course, villains also might ride into sight. That practical thought sobered Fanny quickly and she headed back to her daughter. She must find some place for them to hide until Matthew, or some other kind soul, could come to their rescue. Kneeling down before the trunk, she opened it and began rummaging around.

  Ah, there it was. Her jewelry box. Not that she owned many costly pieces. None of the family jewels came to the wife of a third son, but Stephen had bought her a few good pieces. She gathered them in her reticule, a jeweled hair comb, a pearl and emerald broach with matching earrings, and a sapphire ring. All the rest was paste and she closed the box on it. This should be enough that if they found an inn she could barter for food and a night’s lodgings as they waited for Matthew to come.

  “What are we doing, Mama?” Ella had been quiet so long, Fanny jumped at the sound of her voice.

  “You startled me, lovey. We are going to have to take a very long walk in just a little bit.” What else in the trunk might she use? Poking through the jumbled things she’d thrown together last night, she wished first for something warm. The cold had begun to seep through her heavy traveling gown and she was certain Ella must be chilly. The wind had not risen, but the cold was damp and would feel even more so after the sun set.

  Fanny glanced toward the sun, riding low on the horizon. Not much time at all. She dug frantically through the clothing, pulling out a fan, a petticoat, a pair of lace gloves. Finally in the very bottom she found a thick woolen shawl and pulled it out with a crow of pleasure. “Come here, Ella.”

  Dutifully the girl stepped forward, her cheeks red with the cold.

  “Here, let’s put this around you, lovey.” She draped and tied the brown shawl around Ella’s shoulders. It hung all the way down the back of her coat, which would help keep her warm. “Now, grasp the corners of the shawl and hold them tight over your chest.”

  “Like this?” Ella pulled them together, the ends almost touching the ground.

  “Let me fix them.” A tight knot secured the garment, covering her daughter front and back. “There. Now, let’s hide this trunk, so no one comes along and takes it.” Kneeling down again, Fanny secured the lock, then looked around for a place to conceal it. The stand of trees behind them seemed the closest place. One old oak had a broken branch, making it look like a woman kicking her legs. She’d remember that tree. “Can you help me with the trunk, lovey?”

  Ella nodded and grasped the handle, but could scarcely lift it off the ground. “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s so heavy.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” She’d loaded it down with things she thought she’d need but now obviously didn’t. “Let’s see if we can drag it.”

  Together they managed to pull the trunk, bit by bit, behind the tree where it fit perfectly into a depression in the ground. Winded by the exertion, Fanny rested on the lid again, although as soon as she ceased moving, the cold began its insidious penetration of her spencer. They had best start walking, both to find an inn and to keep warm. “Come along, lovey. I think we must walk.” Fanny took her daughter’s hand and headed toward the road on her left.

  “But the carriage went that way, Mama,” she replied, pointing the way they had come.

  “I know, dear. But the place we are trying to go to, where I hope Lord Lathbury will find us, is that way.”

  “Lord Laffbury is coming to meet us?” Ella jumped up and down until the shawl slipped askew.

  “I truly hope so, my dear.” Why she had not married the man when he first asked her in June she now could not fathom. Would she ever fall into folly where Matthew was concerned? What she wouldn’t give right now to be safe and warm in his arms. She gazed around the chilly clearing as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Those who dance must pay the piper. Her father’s words echoed in her ears as she took Ella’s hand and started down the cold, empty road.

  * * *

  Racing hell-bent down the London post road, his horse lathered and himself freezing in the damp cold, Matthew reined Spartan down to a trot so they could enter the courtyard of the Duke of Gloucester Inn in Mickleham, the third such inn he’d turned into since he set out. The other two had not garnered any results. Neither the Red Lyon just past Ashtead, nor the Dog and Duck in Leatherhead had seen any woman fitting Fanny’s description with a child. They must have stopped somewhere along this stretch to change horses. Maybe the Duke would bring him good luck. It had better bring him a new horse, because Spartan, though valiant, could not keep up the pace they’d kept since the late morning. “We’ll get you a rubdown and a good feed, old chap, then I’ll pick you back up on the way home. Do not worry, I will not even entertain the notion of hitching you to a carriage to get them home. I’ll rent one and you can lord over all the other horses as being your master’s favorite.”

  Walking the horse to an ostler, he handed over the reins, gave the instructions for Spartan’s care, and queried about another horse on whom he might continue to Copsale. The groom nodded and informed him the change would take about five minutes. Matthew nodded and turned toward the Inn’s doorway.

  The aroma of chicken in a country gravy assailed him as he strode through the doorway, making his feet falter and his stomach growl.

  “Will you have some of my wife’s chicken à la king, my lord? It’s fit for the king, I’ll swear upon it.” The jovial innkeeper, Mr. Larch, kept up a chatter as Matthew took a seat and nodded for them to bring the dinner. “And if you please,” he finally broke in on the man’s tale of how a friendly game of cards ended in a man hanged, “can you tell me if a carriage passed through this morning carrying a lady with a child?”

  “There’ve been several such, my lord. Can you describe the lady?”

  “She’s tall for a woman, dark hair, like mine and the child as well. Both with blue eyes.”

  Looking frankly at Matthew, the man finally nodded. “Aye, my lord. I believe I did see them earlier, around eleven o’clock. They came in briefly and shared one of my wife’s plum tarts.”

  Thank God, a trace of them at last. “Thank you so much. I’m trying to catch them up before they reach Copsale.”

  A silent cock of the head and Larch stepped back. “Indeed, my lord.”

  “A lover’s quarrel only and my wife was off to visit her mother before I could make amends. Eleven o’clock you say?” It was now two. Had they stopped also farther on to make easy stages for Fanny? No way to know. He’d best not tarry here. “I believe I shall have to take bread and cheese and a bottle of ale instead of your good wife’s chicken, Mr. Larch. I dare not linger here long if I am to catch them up.”

  The man’s countenance fell until Matthew flipped him a coin worth double the price of the meal. “Very good, my lord.”

  Bread, cheese, and ale met him as he mounted his new horse, a black stallion that seemed eager for the road. Stowing the bag holding his meal behind the saddle, he called his thanks to the groom and swung up onto the horse. “What’s his name?” he called, touching the animal’s flank with his heel.

  “Lucifer, my lord,” the lad called as the horse shot away from the courtyard.

  They turned onto the road, headed south toward Copsale, the horse straining to increase its speed. “All right, Lucifer.” He eased up on the reins and the horse broke into a gallop. “Let’s ride like the devil.”

  * * *

  Less than two hours later, Matthew was trotting into the courtyard of the Chequers in Southwater, cold and windblown, but extremely impressed with the stamina of this horse. Lucifer had taken him at his word and galloped for the better part of an hour before Matthew had pulled him down to a trot. That hadn’t lasted for long. The horse had eased back into a brisk canter and it had been all Matthew could do to keep him from running full tilt again. He’d make the beast rest a quarter hour at least, while he stretched and grabbed a mouthful of ale by the fire. He could also inquire about Fanny, although he assumed they wouldn’t turn off this road until they saw the sign for Copsale to the eas
t.

  “Walk him, then give him water and a feed. He’s earned it.” Matthew patted the horse’s withers fondly. He might have to buy Lucifer off the innkeeper at Mickleham. This one was a gem. He was just turning away when he thought to ask, “Has the Marquess of Theale’s carriage come in today?”

  “Yes, milord.” The young ostler had begun walking Lucifer in circles. “Twice in fact.”

  Matthew spun back around. “Twice? When was the first time?”

  “Some time after two o’clock, I think.” Widening his circle, the groom soothed the horse when he tossed his head. “Easy, now, my fine fellow. You’ll get your feed in a bit here. Beg pardon, milord.”

  Waving the apology away, Matthew fell into step beside him. “Continue.”

  “We’d just got two or three carriages and a mail coach in, so we were busy, but I took note of the crest.”

  “Did you see if a woman and child were in the carriage?” Matthew held his breath.

  “Yes, milord. Tall dark-haired lady and a little girl just like her. They went inside.”

  “And you said the carriage has returned?”

  “Yes, about half an hour ago. One of the horses had cast a shoe.” The lad stopped Lucifer, as if his own words reminded him he’d best check that too.

  Gazing up at the inn, Matthew’s hands grew clammy. Fanny might be inside this very minute. He summoned moisture to his parched mouth. “Is the lady here now?”

  Looking up from the hoof he’d grasped between his legs, the ostler gave a quick shake of his head. “No, my lord. Only the coachman. He’s staying the night. No one else on the return trip.”

  A horrible sense of foreboding crept into Matthew’s soul. “And you said they came through here the first time about two?” Mind racing, Matthew tried to tally the miles between the Chequers and Copsale, but gave up in frustration. “How far from here to Copsale?”