by Julia Quinn
“Aunt Charlotte?” Daniel said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “I’m sorry, but I really do need to talk with Frances.”
Lady Pleinsworth turned on him with furious eyes, shielding her daughter with her body. “Not now,” she snarled. “She’s been through a fright. She needs to bathe, and eat, and—”
“She is my only hope—”
“She is a child!”
“And Anne might die!” he nearly roared.
The hall went silent, and from behind his aunt, Daniel heard Frances’s voice. “He has Miss Wynter.”
“Frances,” he said, reaching for her hands and pulling her toward a bench. “Please, you must tell me everything. What happened?”
Frances took a few deep breaths and looked to her mother, who gave her a terse nod of approval. “I was in the park,” she said, “and Nanny had fallen asleep on the bench. She does that almost every day.” She looked back up to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I should have told you, but she’s getting so old, and she’s tired in the afternoon, and I think it’s a long way for her to walk to the park.”
“It’s all right, Frances,” Daniel said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. “Just tell us what happened next.”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I was playing one of my unicorn games,” she explained, and she looked at Daniel as if she knew he would understand. “I had galloped off quite a ways from where Nanny was.” She turned to her mother, her expression earnest. “But she would still have been able to see me. If she were awake.”
“Then what?” Daniel urged.
Frances looked at him with the most bewildered expression. “I don’t know. I looked up, and she was gone. I don’t know what happened to her. I called for her several times, and then I went over to the pond where she likes to feed the ducks, but she wasn’t there, and then—”
She started to shake uncontrollably.
“That is enough,” Lady Pleinsworth said, but Daniel shot her a pleading look. He knew this was upsetting for Frances, but it had to be done. And surely his aunt would realize that Frances would be far more upset if Anne were killed.
“What happened next?” Daniel asked gently.
Frances swallowed convulsively, and she hugged her arms to her small body. “Someone grabbed me. And he put something into my mouth that tasted horrid, and the next thing I knew I was in a carriage.”
Daniel shared a concerned glance with his mother. Next to her, Lady Pleinsworth had begun to silently cry.
“It was probably laudanum,” he said to Frances. “It was very, very wrong for someone to force it upon you, but it will not hurt you.”
She nodded. “I felt funny, but I don’t now.”
“When did you first see Miss Wynter?”
“We went to your house. I wanted to get out, but the man—” She looked up at Daniel as if only just then remembering something very important. “He had a scar. A really big one. Right across his face.”
“I know,” he said softly.
She looked up at him with huge, curious eyes, but she didn’t question him. “I couldn’t get out of the carriage,” she said. “He said he would hurt Miss Wynter if I did. And he made his driver watch me, and he didn’t look very nice.”
Daniel forced down his rage. There had to be a special place in hell for people who hurt children. But he managed to remain calm as he said, “And then Miss Wynter came out?”
Frances nodded. “She was very angry.”
“I’m sure she was.”
“She yelled at him, and he yelled at her, and I didn’t understand most of what they were talking about, except that she was really, really angry with him for having me in the carriage.”
“She was trying to protect you,” Daniel said.
“I know,” Frances said softly. “But . . . I think . . . I think she might have been the one to cause his scar.” She looked over at her mother with a tortured expression. “I don’t think Miss Wynter would do something like that, but he kept talking about it, and he was so angry with her.”
“It was a long time ago,” Daniel said. “Miss Wynter was defending herself.”
“Why?” Frances whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “What matters is what happened today, and what we can do to save her. You have been very brave. How did you get away?”
“Miss Wynter pushed me from the carriage.”
“What?” Lady Pleinsworth shrieked, but Lady Winstead restrained her when she tried to rush forward.
“It wasn’t going very fast,” Frances said to her mother. “It only hurt a little when I hit the ground. Miss Wynter had whispered to me to curl up like a ball before I hit the ground.”
“Oh, dear God,” Lady Pleinsworth sobbed. “Oh, my baby.”
“I’m all right, Mama,” Frances said, and Daniel was amazed at her resilience. She had been kidnapped and then tossed from a carriage, and now she was comforting her mother. “I think Miss Wynter chose the spot she did because I wasn’t very far from home.”
“Where?” Daniel asked urgently. “Where were you, exactly?”
Frances blinked. “Park Crescent. The far end.”
Lady Pleinsworth gasped through her tears. “You came all that distance yourself?”
“It wasn’t that far, Mama.”
“But all the way through Marylebone!” Lady Pleinsworth turned to Lady Winstead. “She walked all the way through Marylebone on her own. She’s just a child!”
“Frances,” Daniel asked urgently. “I must ask you. Do you have any idea where Sir George might be taking Miss Wynter?”
Frances shook her head, and her lips quivered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was so scared, and most of the time they were yelling at each other, and then he hit Miss Wynter—”
Daniel had to force himself to draw breath.
“—and then I was even more upset, but he did say—” Frances looked up sharply, her eyes wide with excitement. “I remember something. He mentioned the heath.”
“Hampstead,” Daniel said.
“Yes, I think so. He didn’t say that specifically, but we were heading in that direction, weren’t we?”
“If you were at Park Crescent, yes.”
“He also said something about having a room.”
“A room?” Daniel echoed.
Frances nodded vigorously.
Marcus, who had been silent throughout the questioning, cleared his throat. “He might be taking her to an inn.”
Daniel looked over at him, gave a nod, then turned back to his young cousin. “Frances, do you think you would recognize the carriage?”
“I do,” she said, her eyes wide. “I really do.”
“Oh, no!” Lady Pleinsworth thundered. “She is not going with you to search for a madman.”
“I have no other choice,” Daniel told her.
“Mama, I want to help,” Frances pleaded. “Please, I love Miss Wynter.”
“So do I,” Daniel said softly.
“I will go with you,” Marcus said, and Daniel shot him a look of deep gratitude.
“No!” Lady Pleinsworth protested. “This is madness. What do you think you’re going to do? Let her ride on your back as you go traipsing into some public house? I’m sorry, I cannot allow—”
“He can bring outriders,” Daniel’s mother interrupted.
Lady Pleinsworth turned to her in shock. “Virginia?”
“I am a mother, too,” Lady Winstead said. “And if anything happens to Miss Wynter . . .” Her voice fell to a whisper. “My son will be broken.”
“You would have me trade my child for yours?”
“No!” Lady Winstead took both of her sister-in-law’s hands fiercely in her own. “I would never. You know that, Charlotte. But if we do this properly, I don’t think Frances will be in any danger.”
“No,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “No, I cannot agree. I will not risk the life of my child—”
“She won’t leave the carriage,” Daniel
said. “You can come, too.”
And then . . . he saw it on her face . . . She was beginning to relent.
He took her hand. “Please, Aunt Charlotte.”
She swallowed, her throat catching on a sob. And then, finally, she nodded.
Daniel nearly sagged with relief. He had not found Anne yet, but Frances was his only hope, and if his aunt had forbidden her to accompany him to Hampstead, all would have been lost.
“There is no time to lose,” Daniel said. He turned to his aunt. “There is room for four in my landau. How fast can you have a carriage readied to follow? We will need seats for five on the return.”
“No,” his aunt said. “We will take our coach. It can seat six, but more importantly, it will support outriders. I am not allowing you to take my daughter anywhere near that madman without armed guards on the carriage.”
“As you wish,” Daniel said. He could not argue. If he had a daughter, he would be just as fiercely protective.
His aunt turned to one of the footmen who had been witness to the entire scene. “Have it brought ’round at once.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, before taking off at a run.
“Now there will be room for me,” Lady Winstead announced.
Daniel looked at his mother. “You’re coming, too?”
“My future daughter-in-law is in danger. Would you have me anywhere else?”
“Fine,” Daniel acceded, because there was little point in arguing. If it was safe enough for Frances, it was certainly safe enough for his mother. Still—
“You are not coming in,” he said sternly.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I have skills, but they do not include fighting madmen with weapons. I am sure I would only get in the way.”
As they rushed outside to wait for the carriage, however, a phaeton rounded the corner of the square at far too fast a speed. It was only due to the skill of the driver—Hugh Prentice, Daniel realized with shock—that it did not tip over.
“What the devil?” Daniel strode forward and took the reins as Hugh awkwardly got himself down.
“Your butler told me you were here,” Hugh said. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”
“He called at Winstead House earlier,” his mother said. “Before Miss Wynter left. She claimed not to know where you went.”
“What is going on?” Daniel asked Hugh. His friend, whose face was normally an emotionless mask, was pinched tight with worry.
Hugh handed him a piece of paper. “I received this.”
Daniel quickly read the missive. The handwriting was neat and tidy, with an angular masculinity to the letters. We have an enemy in common, it read, then gave instructions for how to leave a reply at a public house in Marylebone.
“Chervil,” Daniel said under his breath.
“Then you know who wrote this?” Hugh asked.
Daniel nodded. George Chervil was unlikely to know that he and Hugh were not, and never had been, enemies. But there was ample gossip that might lead one to reach that conclusion.
He quickly related the events of the day to Hugh, who glanced up at the Pleinsworth carriage as it rolled up and said, “You have room for one more.”
“It’s not necessary,” Daniel said.
“I’m coming,” Hugh stated. “I may not be able to run, but I’m a bloody good shot.”
At that, both Daniel and Marcus swiveled their heads toward him in disbelief.
“When I’m sober,” Hugh clarified, having the grace to blush. A little. Daniel doubted his cheeks knew how to do more than that.
“Which I am,” Hugh added, obviously feeling the need to make this clear.
“Get in,” Daniel said, jerking his head toward the carriage. He was surprised that Hugh hadn’t noticed—
“We’ll put Lady Frances on her mother’s lap on the way home to make room for Miss Wynter,” Hugh said.
Never mind, Hugh did notice everything.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said. The ladies were already in the carriage, and Marcus had one foot on the step.
It was a strange band of rescuers, but as the coach sped away, four armed footmen serving as outriders, Daniel could not help but think that his was a most marvelous family. The only thing that could make it better would be Anne, by his side, and with his name.
He could only pray that they reached Hampstead in time.
Chapter Twenty-one
Anne had, in her life, known moments of terror. When she’d stabbed George and realized what she’d done—that had been paralyzing. When Daniel’s curricle had run wild and she’d felt herself sailing through the air after being thrown from the vehicle—that, too, had been terrifying. But nothing—nothing—had ever or would ever compare to the moment when, realizing that the horses pulling George Chervil’s carriage had slowed to a walk, she had leaned down to Frances and whispered, “Run home.” And then, before she had had a chance to second-guess herself, she’d wrenched open the carriage door and pushed Frances out, yelling for her to curl up in a ball when she hit the ground.
She had only a second to make sure that Frances scrambled to her feet before George yanked her back into the carriage and slapped her across her face.
“Do not think you can cross me,” he hissed.
“Your war is with me,” she spat, “not that child.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have hurt her.”
Anne was not so sure she believed him. Right now George was so obsessed with ruining Anne that he could not see past the next few hours. But eventually, once the rage in his blood had cooled, he would realize that Frances could identify him. And while he might think he could get away with injuring—or even killing—Anne, even he had to know that kidnapping the daughter of an earl would not be treated so lightly.
“Where are you taking me?” Anne asked.
His brows rose. “Does it matter?”
Her fingers clenched the seat of his carriage. “You won’t get away with this, you know,” she said. “Lord Winstead will have your head.”
“Your new protector?” he sneered. “He won’t be able to prove anything.”
“Well, there’s—” She stopped herself before she reminded him that Frances could easily recognize his face. The scar took care of that.
But George was instantly suspicious of an unfinished sentence. “There’s what?” he demanded.
“There’s me.”
His lips twisted into a cruel mockery of a smile. “Is there?”
Her eyes widened with horror.
“Well, there is,” he murmured. “But there won’t be.”
So he planned to kill her, then. Anne supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.
“But don’t worry,” George added, almost casually. “It won’t be quick.”
“You are mad,” Anne whispered.
He grabbed her, his fingers grasping the fabric of her bodice and yanking her until they were nearly nose to nose. “If I am,” he hissed, “it is because of you.”
“You brought this on yourself,” she shot back.
“Oh, really?” he spat, tossing her back against the far wall of the carriage. “I did this.” He motioned sarcastically to his face. “I took a knife and sliced myself up, making a monster of—”
“Yes!” she cried out. “You did! You were a monster before I ever touched you. I was only trying to defend myself.”
He snorted with disdain. “You had already spread your legs for me. You don’t get to say no after you’ve done it once.”
She gaped at him. “You really believe that?”
“You liked it the first time.”
“I thought you loved me!”
He shrugged. “That’s your stupidity, not mine.” But then he turned sharply, regarding her with an expression that approached glee. “Oh, my,” he said, grinning with the worst sort of schadenfreude. “You did it again, didn’t you? You let Winstead plow you. Tsk tsk tsk. Oh, Annie, haven’t you learned anything?”
“He asked me to marry him,” she said
, eyes narrowing.
George burst into raucous laughter. “And you believed him?”
“I said yes.”
“I’m sure you thought you did.”
Anne tried to take a deep breath, but her teeth were clenched so hard together that she shook when she tried to draw air. She was so . . . bloody . . . angry. Gone was the fear, the apprehension, the shame. Instead all she felt was blood-boiling fury. This man had stolen eight years of her life. He had made her scared, and he had made her lonely. He had taken the innocence of her body, and he had smashed the innocence of her spirit. But this time, he was not going to win.
She was finally happy. Not just secure, not even just content, but happy. She loved Daniel, and by some miracle he loved her in return. Her future spread before her in lovely sunrise shades of pink and orange, and she could actually see herself—with Daniel, with laughter, with children. She was not giving that up. Whatever her sins, she had long since paid for them.
“George Chervil,” she said, her voice strangely calm, “you are a blight on humanity.”
He looked at her with mild curiosity, then shrugged, turning back to the window.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“It’s not far.”
Anne looked out her own window. They were moving much faster now than when she’d pushed Frances from the carriage. She did not recognize the area, but she thought they were heading north. Or at least mostly north. They’d long since left behind Regent’s Park, and although she’d never taken the girls there, she knew that it was located north of Marylebone.
The carriage kept up its brisk pace, slowing just enough at intersections for Anne to read some of the signs on the shops. Kentish Town, one of them said. She’d heard of that. It was a village on the outskirts of London. George had said they weren’t going far, and maybe that was true. But still, Anne did not think there was any way that anyone would find her before George tried to carry out his plan. She did not think he had said anything in front of Frances that might indicate where they were going, and in any case, the poor girl would surely be a wreck by the time she reached home.
If Anne was going to be saved, she would have to do it herself.
