by Rose Pearson
Something began to stir in Oliver’s heart, something that made him look away from Lord Allerton, his eyes turning back towards Lord Poole’s townhouse.
“Perhaps she would have had a better success of things if I’d allowed her to do that,” Lord Allerton continued, almost mournfully. “There were not a great many gentlemen willing to court her, of course, and in fact, she had not had a single one come to seek her out, but I still wonder if…” He trailed off, leaving Oliver to fill the silence.
“I am sure that whatever you chose to do was for Lady Georgiana’s best,” he said, his heart beginning to quicken as he kept his hopes hidden away. What if Lord Allerton told Lady Georgiana she could choose her suitor? If he were to propose to Lady Georgiana then, knowing she had that freedom, would she accept him? He was certain there was something of an affection in Lady Georgiana’s heart for him, but just how deep it went, Oliver could not say.
“Wait.”
Something caught his eye—a flash of something, nothing more. Oliver leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Lord Poole’s townhouse, his hands curling into fists as though he expected someone to leap out and plant him a facer.
“My lord!”
A sudden gasping exclamation had both gentlemen jumping visibly in their seats, turning to see Lord Allerton’s footman standing at one side of the hackney, his face pressed to the window.
“Good gracious, man!” Lord Allerton exclaimed as the footman pulled the door and made to continue speaking, only for Lord Allerton to half pull him, half help him inside, the door closed again behind him. “What is it?”
“I did not want to say until I was sure,” the footman said shivering violently with the cold. “But the very same servant has come back to the house three times.”
“Come back?” Oliver repeated, a little confused. “What do you mean?”
The footman shivered again, and Lord Allerton pulled a blanket from his knees and handed it to his servant, who practically grabbed it from his master and flung it around his shoulders. The man was half frozen with cold.
“A servant of some description has come into the house through the servant’s entrance, and then has left again shortly afterward,” he explained, glancing at Oliver. “He always has something to take with him, although I do not know what it can be.”
Lord Allerton nodded grimly, shooting a look at Oliver, who himself nodded in agreement. This was something they could explore, at least, something they might look into.
“And you say this servant has come and gone three times?”
The footman nodded. “Almost every hour,” he said, his shivering now a little less violent than before. “He has only just come back.”
Lord Allerton’s eyes widened. “You mean to say, this servant has come back to the house for a fourth time?”
“And if I am right,” the servant said quickly, “he will leave again soon. You must watch carefully, my lord. It is easy enough to miss him.”
“You have done very well,” Lord Allerton murmured as the servant inclined his head. “I will not ask you to step outside again.” He gave his servant a half-smile. “Here.” Pulling out a few coins from his pocket, he handed them to the footman, who stared at them, wide-eyed. “Make sure you get a hackney back to the house and the rest, you may keep,” Lord Allerton told him. “And pray tell Lady Allerton what you have told us. She will want to know.”
The servant began to stammer his thanks, promising he would do everything Lord Allerton had asked of him before exiting the hackney, leaving Oliver to stare fixedly out of the window.
“You do know he might keep all of that and merely walk home,” he murmured as Lord Allerton moved to sit next to him, so he too might stare out of the window in the direction of Lord Poole’s townhouse. “At least, that is the sort of thing I would do.”
Lord Allerton chuckled, seemingly now pulled from his doldrums and filled with a new hope. “I do not mind what he does,” he answered as Oliver narrowed his eyes to get a better view. “The boy has done well.”
“Very well,” Oliver replied, his voice lowering as though he were afraid they might be overheard somehow. “Let’s hope that this leads us somewhere.”
Silence filled the hackney for a few minutes. Oliver could feel his tension rising, could feel his frustration begin to fill his heart as they continued to wait. He had to pray that the footman had seen something of importance, something that would lead them to find Lady Georgiana. His heart ached for her, his mind praying silently she was safe.
“There!”
Lord Allerton pointed with one long finger, leaving Oliver to strain his eyes to see who was being pointed out. Finally, he saw him. A short, thin fellow, dressed in a coat of gray that seemed to match the snow and the mud that lined the streets, had begun to scurry along the cobbled pathway, not looking to the right or the left but straight ahead of him.
“What will we do?” Oliver asked, his whole body rigid with the urge to act. “Follow him on foot?”
“No, I—” Lord Allerton was cut short as he saw the man climb into a waiting hackney, letting out a quiet exclamation. Wherever this man was going, it was clearly some distance away, and he had enough funds to pay for the trip.
“We need to follow that hackney,” Oliver muttered as Lord Allerton rapped hard on the roof, shouting the very same thing to the driver.
“But carefully now!” Lord Allerton called out as the driver began to push his horses out onto the street. “Do not make our pursuit apparent! There will be an extra payment in this for you if you succeed.”
This, Oliver was sure, would have the driver do everything that was expected of him, and, as the hackney pulled away, Oliver felt his tiny flickering hope begin to build into something stronger. Perhaps they would find Lady Georgiana after all. Perhaps she would be quite safe, and perhaps, finally, she would be free of Lord Poole. That was all he wanted for her, all he hoped for her. To be free of the gentleman she had thought would be the right suitor, the right husband for her. To be free to make her own choices and her own decisions when it came to matters of the heart. That was all Oliver prayed for, knowing that a creature as lovely, as kind, and as considerate as Lady Georgiana deserved nothing but goodness in this world, nothing but joy and happiness. He only prayed she would soon find it.
Chapter Eleven
It was very dark by the time Georgiana finally managed to open her eyes. For whatever reason, her eyelids felt very heavy indeed, and there was a slight pain to the side of her head.
“What happened?” she said aloud, expecting Lady Allerton or her brother to answer her—but there came no reply. Blinking rapidly, Georgiana felt a clutching hand of fear grasp at her heart, making her breath catch. Looking all about her, she finally saw a small sliver of light coming from one end of whatever room she was in. Had her sister-in-law put her to bed for some reason? Had she become ill? Unable to recall anything that had happened, Georgiana slowly sat up, her feet swinging down onto the cold floor.
She shivered. The room was very cold indeed, with no fire in the grate and no warmth coming from any other part of the room. It was very odd for the maids not to have lit a fire in her room, especially when they knew it had become so very cold of late. Frowning, Georgiana rubbed her arms with her hands, realizing she was still wearing her gown and not her night things. She stopped dead, her feet still encased in her boots—and felt her heart begin to thud in a furious, panicked rhythm.
What had happened to her?
Closing her eyes, Georgiana let out a long, slow breath and tried to keep herself calm. Why could she not recall what had happened? Gingerly, she reached up and pressed the side of her head, wincing as pain shot through her temples. Had she injured herself?
“I will not panic,” she said aloud as though it would help her contain her fears. “I will not give way to it.” Settling her hands by her sides, she made her way to the chink of dull, gray light that was coming in through what she presumed were the windows. With no candle to speak of, Ge
orgiana took each step slowly and carefully, afraid she might trip over something and end up hurting herself again—but the floor appeared to be quite empty. Her fingers reached out and touched a heavy curtain and, in one swift motion, she pulled it back and let her eyes adjust to the dull, gloomy scene before her.
“Where am I?”
Snow had fallen heavily, it seemed, for everything about her was bathed in white. The road had been cleared, although as more flakes of snow continued to fall, Georgiana thought that, very soon, it would be covered over completely. No one was walking through the streets at the present time, which did not surprise her given the lateness of the hour. The sky itself was a very dark gray, lit only by the flickering lanterns that lit the streets.
And then, Georgiana began to panic.
She had no idea where she was. There was nothing around her or in the street she recognized. This very house was not her brother’s; this room was not her own. She had been taken somewhere she did not know, although she could not remember what had happened to make her obedient to such a scheme. It would not be Allerton himself who had done this, she was quite sure, which meant it might only be…
“Lord Poole.”
Georgiana felt herself falling backward with the shock of what she had recalled, feeling herself hit the floor hard but feeling no pain. She was numb with fright, cold all over as she remembered what had happened.
Lord Poole had known she had kissed Mr. Lowell, had known she had been thinking of crying off. And then, something hard had struck her on the side of the head, and she had found herself falling into darkness.
Darkness which now bound her still. There was no easy escape from this particular prison. Without a light, she could not tell where she was nor how she was to get out. The chill caught her bones, and she shivered violently, her eyes staring, unseeingly, out at the window before her. Was she already married? Had Lord Poole found a way for her to give her consent without any words coming from her mouth? Shuddering again, Georgiana closed her eyes tightly, pulled her knees up to her chest, and rested her head on them for a few minutes, curling up as tight as she could manage. She felt very afraid, very fearful that Lord Poole would throw himself into the room and demand she give him what was expected of a wife.
The very thought made her sick with fear.
Closing her eyes tightly, Georgiana tried her best to force her fear down her throat and back into the depths of herself. She could not let it take hold, she told herself emphatically, screwing up her eyes and trying to find courage. Had she not already tried to be strong in front of Lord Poole? Had she not managed to tell him that yes, she had thought of crying off?
“And look where that has brought me,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her cheek as she opened her eyes and looked up into the darkness as though God himself might come down and bring her a little light. Nothing happened. The whole house remained silent, without even a single creak of a floorboard to indicate that anyone else was at home.
Christmas this year might very well turn out to be the most terrible one she had ever experienced. Tears began to fall in earnest as Georgiana sobbed, fear taking hold of her as racking sobs shook her frame. She did not know what to do and that scared her the most.
You have not tried the door.
The thought slammed hard into her mind, bringing her sobs to a sudden, complete stop. She had not even thought to go in search of the door, had only collapsed back onto the floor in shock. Gritting her teeth, Georgiana dashed her tears away in an attempt to grasp any kind of strength. She had to do something other than merely sit here and cry, she told herself. If Lord Poole was waiting below stairs, then did she not have the right to demand to know precisely what he was doing and what his intentions were? Could she not try her best to find a way to escape from this house and return home? Doubtfully, Georgiana bit her lip. She had very little idea as to where she was, and to rush out into the snow would be rather foolish…although perhaps to remain here would be all the more terrible.
A sudden sound caught her ears, making her catch her breath. The sound of muffled horses’ hooves drew ever closer, and Georgiana forced herself to her feet, moving quietly towards the window and looking out at the snow-covered street.
A hackney had only just pulled up outside the house. As she watched, she saw a servant leap down from it, a package under his arm. Paying the driver, he made towards the house—only to look up and stare directly into Georgiana’s face.
Georgiana stared back at him, horror-stricken and yet unable to look away. The man was older than she had expected, and, as she watched, she saw a smirk tug at the man’s lips, his eyes glistening in the dim light before he lowered his head and carried on inside.
Georgiana wanted to break down and cry all over again, afraid of what she had seen in the man’s face, afraid of what he might do or what he might tell Lord Poole, but she forced herself to drag in long breaths, forced herself to stand tall and to push the shaking from her limbs.
A memory of Mr. Lowell looking deeply into her eyes began to burn in her mind, sending a new wave of strength to her cold limbs. He had offered her something wonderful, something entirely new, and she had been too afraid even to allow herself to think about it. Mr. Lowell had stolen her heart, and she had been too scared to admit it to herself.
Lord Poole had made sure of that. He had used nothing more than threats, anger, and demands to force her to obey, to force her to do as he requested rather than permitting her to imagine a life entirely different from what had been set out for her. She had given in to it, had done all he had asked out of nothing more than fear. And he would continue to use that fear against her, Georgiana realized, pressing one hand lightly to the side of her head. Was she going to permit him to do that when she still had a chance to escape? If she told her brother the truth, then yes, there would be a scandal when it came to crying off, but Georgiana knew that her brother would much prefer that than to permit Georgiana to marry someone so cruel.
And what of Lord and Lady Rutledge? said a quiet voice in her head. If you do this, then they could be covered with such a great scandal that they might never emerge. Their good name could be afflicted forever. Their children might never be able to lift their heads.
“And whose doing would that be?” Georgiana said aloud, almost arguing with her thoughts. “That would not be my doing.” She lifted her chin just a little, remembering the warmth in Mr. Lowell’s eyes and comparing it to the cold arrogance she saw in Lord Poole. “I would not bring such scandal. That would be Lord Poole entirely.” There was still abundant doubt in her heart, still a good measure of fear, but Georgiana did not want to let go of the courage she had found thus far. Lifting her chin, she took in another steadying breath, turning around to fumble her way across the room to find the door—only to see something more.
Another hackney.
Frowning, Georgiana looked out towards it and, much to her astonishment, saw first her brother and then Mr. Lowell stepping out of it. They looked at the houses in turn, an expression of confusion on their faces as they looked from one to the next. They were looking for her, she realized, as a surge of hope burned in her heart. Without realizing what she was doing, she began to wave frantically, one hand banging on the glass pane of the window to attract their attention.
It worked almost instantaneously. The two gentlemen looked up at her window at once, but neither of them smiled nor looked delighted to see her. Instead, they continued to frown, their eyes fixed on her window but without showing any sign of recognition.
They cannot see me, she realized, looking behind her into the dark room and realizing that in the gloom, all they might be able to see would be a flickering shadow. Shoving the heavy curtains a little further back, she began to wave again, one fist hammering on the window as the two gentlemen drew closer. If she only had a candle or some such thing, then they might be able to see her a little more clearly.
She watched as her brother said something to Mr. Lowell, who nodded, b
efore turning his eyes back up to her window. Slumping just a little, she saw them both approach the house, disappearing from her view as they walked towards the door.
A new energy filled her as she heard the echoes of their knock at the door. They were looking for her, and yet there was still the chance they might be turned away, might easily be refused entrance into the house by whatever servants worked here. Frantically, Georgiana hurried across the room, wincing as her foot hit the edge of the bed, sending another wave of pain up her spine. Shaking her head to herself, Georgiana moved closer to the other side of the room, her fingers held out in front of her as she tried to find the door handle.
She could hear nothing, could see nothing. There was no light anywhere, nothing but darkness surrounding her. Slowly, she made her way across the room, her fingers pushing along the wall with great care as she tried to find the door.
And then, something cold and smooth brushed her fingers.
The door handle.
Turning it quickly, Georgiana closed her eyes in frustration as the door remained unmoved. Lord Poole had locked it then, as she had expected. Biting her lip, Georgiana opened her eyes again and turned the door handle this way and that, shaking it, jiggling it, and doing all she could to try to have the door open.
Nothing seemed to work.
Her courage began to leave her as she fought the urge to sink to the floor, her head resting on the door itself for a few moments. Her fingers slipped from the door handle, her whole body now limp with a surge of hopelessness that tried to steal every part of her courage from her. She did not know what to do. The door was locked, and she did not think she would be able to remove herself from this place without the key.
“The master said we must not!”
A sudden whisper had Georgiana’s ears pricking up, her body straightening, her head lifting from the door.
