What a Widow Wants

by Jenna Jaxon

  “A good twenty miles, my lord. Almost twenty-two with the way the roads curve about so. You won’t get there before dark tonight.” The lad went back to his job.

  Something was terribly wrong. If Fanny’s carriage had left the Chequers sometime well after two o’clock, and it was now almost half past four, it was absolutely impossible for the carriage to have taken her and Ella to Copsale and returned in two hours.

  Dread squeezed his heart. Where were Fanny and Ella?

  “I’ll just go look in on John Coachman. Lord Theale is a particular friend of the family. He’s the little man, Irish I’d say by the red hair and bran face.” Matthew waited, praying the man would accommodate him.

  “No, milord, you’ve mistaken him.” The groom straightened and returned to walking his charge. “The coachman that come in today was a tall, thin, older-looking man with a weathered face, like most coachmen get after some time on the job.”

  “So I must have. His lordship has several drivers and outriders. It’s hard to keep up with such a big establishment. I was just speaking with one of their grooms this morning in London, William Carter. I thought certain he said John had taken this trip.” Matthew took out a coin and pressed it on the groom. “Thank you for your good service.”

  “Thank you, milord.” Staring at the gold, the lad shook himself, stuck his newfound wealth into his pocket, and commenced his attentions to the horse again with renewed zeal.

  Rage seeping into his every pore, Matthew strode into the inn’s taproom. The cozy room, filled with men drinking, eating, laughing, playing cards by the fire, exuded a homey charm and warmth. Disregarding the atmosphere that would have beckoned any other cold and tired traveler to join the company, he stalked to the center of the room, drew himself up to his full, imposing height, and bellowed, “I seek the servant of the Marquess of Theale.”

  The joyful hubbub of the pleasant room ceased, as though cut off by a stroke of Death’s scythe. Wide-eyed men glanced at their companions, then about the rest of the room, searching. At last one man with thin shoulders clad in a black coat of quality, raised his head from his tankard and turned slowly revealing beetled brows and a weathered face. “I serve Lord Theale. Who the devil are you?”

  “I am Lord Lathbury. You are Davies?”

  The man nodded.

  Matthew flowed forward, grasped the man’s arm, and jerked him onto his feet. “Let me speak a word in your ear.”

  “Wha—”

  “Bleat so much as one syllable that is not an answer to my questions and you’ll find yourself charged with kidnapping forthwith.” Matthew wrenched the rascal’s arm behind his back. “You’ll swing from the end of a rope before Theale can raise a hand to save you.” Growling this warning in Davies’ ear, Matthew hustled him out of the taproom, through the crowd of slack-jawed faces.

  They reached the courtyard, and Matthew shoved his captive out into the fading afternoon light.

  Windmilling his arms in an attempt to keep standing upright, the coachman staggered forward onto the cobblestone, narrowly missing falling to his knees. He righted himself and whirled on Matthew, a snarl on his lips. “You have no authority over me, my lord.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that, Davies.” Matthew drew himself up until his entire six-foot-three frame towered over the shorter man. “The law severely frowns upon men who abscond with women and children. By the authority vested in me by virtue of my title, I charge you tell me where you have taken Lady Stephen Tarkington and her daughter.” His voice thundered in the cold air. “I suspect it was against their wills. Do you dare deny it?”

  “I do.” The man raised his head, defiance in his eyes. “I took them to Copsale, like Lord Theale ordered me to.”

  “You lie.” Advancing on the coachman, who immediately gave way, Matthew backed him all the way across the courtyard until he ran into the stone wall of the stable. “One of the grooms informed me you came through here after two o’clock this afternoon. He also confirmed that Copsale is twenty-two miles farther on. It is now half-four and you’ve been here some time. Even if your carriage had been drawn by winged Pegasus himself, I doubt you could have gotten there and back again in that amount of time.” He grabbed the man by his poorly tied neck cloth and twisted. “Where are they?”

  “Gawp.” Davies’s mouth opened and closed, but no other sound came out.

  Matthew hefted the scrawny servant until his feet dangled, kicking in the breeze. “Get used to this feeling, my fine lad. It’s the last one you’ll ever have if I have anything to do with it. If one smidgeon of harm has come to Lady Stephen, you’ll be hanged man’s grease before the new year.” He tossed the rogue onto the cobblestones at his feet. “Speak!”

  Coughing and sputtering, Theale’s coachman clutched his throat, fear bright in his eyes. “I . . .” It came out a croak so he cleared his throat and began again, not taking his eyes off Matthew. “I put them out of the carriage ’bout an hour south of here.”

  “You blackguard.” A white hot rage distorted his vision. All about him turned black, save the center in which shone the white, pasty face with two staring eyes filled to the brim with fear. Grabbing the man again, Matthew drew back his arm and planted him a facer that whipped his head back with a snap. “If anything has happened to them, by God, you’ll never live to see a hangman’s noose. I’ll track you down and tear you limb from limb until all that’s left is a bloody stump where your head used to be.” He reared back his fist, itching to let fly again and again, but a trickle of reason found its way into his brain. “Describe the place to me. Exactly where did you leave them?”

  “There’s a clearing like, on the left side of the road.” The man worked his mouth, paused, then spat blood. “You’ll know the one because of the big oak. Folks about here call it the ‘dancing oak’ ’cause the limbs look like a lady kicking her legs up.”

  “And Theale ordered you to do this? Why?” He and the marquess would have some words when Fanny and Ella were safe. Words over pistols if he could arrange it so.

  “I don’t know meself, but he told me to tell her ‘it was with his compliments and a fitting end for a disloyal wife.’ He’s been a queer nob the past weeks. Rantin’ and ragin’ at all hours of the day and night, so the footmen say.” Davies gingerly got to his feet.

  Ever since he’d found out about his and Fanny’s affair, and Ella. So when Fanny returned, he’d thrown her out, but agreed to take her to Copsale? That made little sense. Why not just throw her out on her ear in London. He’d rather get this petty revenge? Of course, it wouldn’t be deemed petty if Fanny and Ella came to grief. Theale might simply hope they caught the ague being out in the cold, though he couldn’t know if they’d be out in the weather very long. A passing coach might very well take them in and give them shelter.

  The marquess seemed to have aimed only for a bit of spite at Fanny, although the petty action didn’t seem to fit with his dire message. Well, it would have even less sting when he arrived shortly to rescue them. Poor Ella must be frightened out of her wits. Thank God for Fanny’s strength. No matter what their quarrel had been, he would see her safe and marry her tomorrow if he could only get her to agree. “I will call for your carriage to be brought here.”

  “What you want my carriage for? You stealin’ it?” Davies had a bit of life in him yet, it seemed.

  “No. I am going to rescue Lady Stephen and her daughter. For that I need the carriage.” He grinned at Davies. “Poetic justice, isn’t it, that the instrument of their punishment will also be that of their salvation. I’ll return with it shortly and you can tell Theale how his plans were thwarted, if you dare.”

  “I’ll do that, milord.” The self-satisfied smirk on the coachman’s cunning face, sent a ripple of warning to Matthew.

  He grabbed the man by his throat and squeezed. “What are you not telling me?”

  CHAPTER 28

  The clop-clop of their shoes on the hard dirt road had grown monotonous in the past hour—or hours, Fanny
had no idea how long she and Ella had trudged along. A pale sun skimmed the horizon over the fields to her right. The chill damp had penetrated her spencer long ago and Ella shivered as they walked, hand in hand, silent.

  Fanny had at first tried to make a game of their situation, to distract her daughter. She’d set her to counting the sheep in the fields they passed, which seemed to occupy the girl quite well. They would joke about the few black sheep dotted here and there and Fanny had questioned Ella’s count a time or two, making her daughter scold her for not trusting her to count properly. It had passed the time until the fields had changed to vacant pasturelands. No fun to count bushes or trees. None of it was any fun now.

  “Mama, I’m cold. When are we going to get there?” Ella’s pinched face with the red cheeks and nose smote Fanny’s heart.

  Her folly and hers alone had brought them to this pass. She should have married Matthew long ago, this past summer, and all of this would have been avoided. “I’m sure we will come to a house or an inn soon, lovey.”

  “That’s what you said hours ago, Mama. I’m tired and cold and my feet hurt.” Tears began to drip down her child’s face.

  “I’m so sorry, Ella.” Fanny stopped in the middle of the road and knelt down in the dirt. She dug in her reticule and withdrew a handkerchief. Brushing away the child’s tears, she peered into the miserable blue eyes. “We shall find somewhere to spend the night soon.” Hugging the child, she rubbed her arms briskly, trying to warm her up. “I promise.”

  A promise easier said than kept. They’d seen no living creature so far along this road, save the sheep. Only the interminable fields ringed by trees. Unfortunately, there weren’t even sheep now or they might have hoped to find a sheepfold. No time to go back either, even if they could. Weariness had settled into Fanny’s bones until it was a struggle to put one foot before the other. Coupled with the gnawing fear that they would not find shelter before it was too late, she’d begun to shake like a leaf in a high wind. She glanced up at the darkening sky and shuddered. Soon they would be unable to see the road. Even worse, with the darkness the cold would intensify. They could freeze to death if they didn’t find shelter before the light went completely.

  Panic settling in around the edges of her mind, Fanny rose and looked about again, as if an inn might have magically appeared. Only blasted fields and trees, however, as far as she could see. “Let’s see what’s over that little hill ahead of us. Perhaps we will finally come to a farmhouse,” she said with a cheerfulness she did not feel.

  “Hooray! A farmhouse!” Ella jumped up and down, then took off, racing up the slight hill ahead of Fanny.

  “Ella,” Fanny called, starting to walk again. Dear Lord, let there be some place nearby.

  “Mama, Mama. Look! Look!” The child had crested the hill and stood jumping and pointing down at the other side.

  Dear Lord, could it be true? Had her prayers been answered? Fanny picked up her pace to a fast walk, then a run. Ella was still jumping up and down and laughing. Could it really be a farmhouse?

  * * *

  Breathing hard, Fanny reached the top of the hill. No wonder Ella had been jumping up and down. Inside, she was dancing a jig. “Thank you, dear Lord.”

  Not a farmhouse, but a structure at the far end of the field almost as welcome: an ancient barn with one end almost totally fallen away. New energy surged through her.

  “Hurry, Mama!” Ella had climbed up on the stone wall and jumped over into the field.

  Exhaustion and relief came in waves by turn. Fanny had to sit on the stone fence, a sharp edge of rock digging into her backside, and lift her legs over. With a sigh she stood and, keeping an eye on the building, started off across the field in pursuit of her daughter. “Wait for me, please.”

  Pausing in her headlong flight, Ella turned back then resumed jumping up and down, as if she could not stand still for the excitement.

  Fanny was jumping up and down inside too. Even though the barn was disused, perhaps it was close to a house and warmth and people. And if not, at least it was shelter for the night. Reaching her child at last, she took Ella’s hand, and they continued quickly, over more dead grass and hillocks, toward the looming structure.

  By the time they neared the barn, daylight had waned to a deep twilight gray.

  Several yards from the building, caution raised doubts in Fanny’s mind. What dangers might the barn conceal? They might not be the only souls wishing to use it for a refuge tonight.

  “Shhh.” Putting her finger to her lips, she pushed Ella behind her. Slowly, they approached the byre. A combination of wood and brick, one end of it had been reduced to a rubble of broken sticks and sharp stones. The opposite end, however, still stood, the wooden door hanging ajar. She crept up and poked her head into the dim doorway.

  After a moment her eyes adjusted to the gloom that was even darker than the failing light outside. Possibly a barn for cattle, one end held a huge pile of moldering hay, the sweetish smell still lingering in the damp air. They slipped inside, the complete silence convincing Fanny that the place had truly been abandoned.

  “Can we stay here tonight, Mama? There’s no one here.” With complete trust, Ella peered up at her.

  Fanny smiled at her daughter. She must keep Ella safe this night. “Let us see what we can find, lovey. There may be houses and people on the other side of this barn.”

  Taking Ella in hand, she crossed to the other side, encountering nothing untoward, and opened a small door giving onto the outside. Gazing avidly into the darkness, she searched for the merest pinprick of light across the vast expanse of grass.

  The falling darkness revealed no cheerful spark, no flame of candle or lantern, merely a vast sea of grass and trees fading into blackness. Disappointment ate sharply at Fanny. She had hoped so hard that they would find someone to succor them. Still, she would give thanks for this drafty old structure. It might be the difference between their waking in the morning cold and hungry but alive, and freezing to death in the night alongside the road.

  Pulling the small door shut, Fanny retraced her steps to the large pile of hay strewn haphazardly about. Their best chance to stay warm in the chilling temperatures would be to cover themselves with the discarded fodder. It should provide protection against the damp and cold, though as she drew closer the faint sweet scent gave way to a less pleasant, moldy smell. Still, beggars could not be choosers.

  “Come sit down by me in the hay, Ella.” Fanny lowered herself onto the musty straw and patted the place beside her. “It will keep us warm until the morning.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Ella stepped back. “It smells bad, Mama.”

  “I know, lovey. But it’s ever so much warmer than the cold air. Come, sit beside me.”

  “I’m hungry.” The child’s bottom lip poked out as she took a begrudging step toward Fanny.

  “I know. I am as well.” Fanny held her hand out and Ella finally took it. She drew the child down to her, putting her arm around the thin shoulders and pulling her close. “We will go to sleep and in the morning we will walk across the fields. If there is a barn here, there must be a house somewhere near.” Cuddling her daughter close, Fanny rocked her gently. “They will be country people, who are always friendly.” God forgive her that lie, but she hoped whoever they eventually found would come to their rescue. “They will have a good country breakfast to share with us, homemade bread thick with butter and honey, and eggs and sausages, and lots of hot tea. Won’t that be lovely?”

  “Can I have some now, please?” Yawning, Ella settled back on Fanny’s chest. “I would like bread and honey ever so much.”

  “I will make certain you have as much as you like in the morning, my love.”

  True darkness had descended while Fanny described the delightful breakfast. Ella sagged against her, her breathing soft and even. Poor babe. Fanny shifted her onto the hay and pulled handfuls of it over the child. The straw was stiff and scratched sometimes, but it did keep the warmth of their bodies
close. She heaped it over Ella until all that showed was her head. That should keep her comfortable until morning.

  The place on her chest where Ella had lain, deprived of the child’s warmth, now made Fanny shudder with a newfound chill. She must cover herself before she fell asleep on top of the hay and froze. Ignoring the musty smell that intensified each time she grasped a handful of the ancient fodder, Fanny scattered several layers of straw over her legs and lower body. Pulling it over her chest and arms was more difficult, but slowly the chill receded. She glanced toward Ella, who had not moved an inch. Good, let her sleep. They would both need their strength tomorrow.

  As warmth stole into her at last, Fanny relaxed for the first time since Davies had pulled them from the carriage. When she told Matthew of Theale’s perfidy, he would be absolutely livid. Matthew in a rage was a rare sight to see. She would particularly enjoy seeing this one. Yawning, she burrowed deeper into the straw. Once Matthew rescued them, she would tell him she was sorry for all her dithering and accept all his past proposals to become his wife. Then she’d sit back and watch with great satisfaction as he took revenge on Theale on her behalf.

  Drifting off, Fanny smiled at the image of Matthew planting her brother-in-law a facer. Ah yes, revenge against the old monster would be sweet indeed.

  * * *

  Fanny jerked awake, completely confused about where she was or what was going on. Prickles on her hands and neck and the musty smell of the hay brought her back to where she was with startling clarity. Stealthily, she moved her hand beneath the hay until it brushed against Ella’s body, alive and warm under her blanket of straw. She eased her head back down, straining to hear any sound. Something must have awoken her, but what? No rustling of mice in the straw, no snorting of some nocturnal animal looking for shelter or a meal. It seemed the dead of night. Who else would be about? The owner of the property, perhaps, but would he come out this late to check on something? There was nothing here of value.

  She settled back into the straw. This whole miserable experience had been enough to make her jumpy. Taking a deep breath she tried to relax. She’d need her strength for the ordeal yet to come tomorrow. Best get back to sleep.