ROSALIND: A Regency Romance (Bachelor Brides, Book 1)

by Jenny Hambly

  “No,” agreed Lady Atherton, “you are going to have to come up with a very clever plan, George. Lady Rosalind and I will go and pack whilst you are about it, for Donnington is very near to Uffington Hall. Miles and Dorothea will be delighted to have us.”

  Her son looked startled. “You cannot mean to acquaint Lord and Lady Gifford with all the details?”

  Lady Atherton’s glance strayed to her son-in-law. “How very right you were, Nathaniel, when you commented on his lack of openness. George, Miles and your father were very close friends and Dorothea and I have always shared a close understanding, not only that but Miles is also a magistrate not to mention knowing that area like the back of his hand; you may have need of him. Besides, I doubt very much Belle will be in any fit state to be driven far when you find her.”

  Despite feeling his consequence to have been somewhat diminished by this masterful speech, a glimmer of admiration shone in his eyes as he watched his parent transform from panicked mother to purposeful avenger. As Rosalind held the door open for her, she looked back over her shoulder. “Oh, and no one will stir from this house until I have heard all the details of Belle’s rescue and approved of them.”

  Within half an hour the plan was set. Lord Atherton was to go first, alone, in case Rutley had set any spies along the main roads. Lady Atherton and Rosalind were to go a little later in the family carriage, which thankfully did not bear the family coat of arms.

  Sir Philip insisted that they take his groom Vaughen with them as an out-rider. “He was with me in France and Spain,” he explained, “and if you have any trouble he will know how to deal with it.”

  Sir Philip, Lord Hayward and Sir Thomas were to make their own way cross country to the vicinity keeping well away from the main roads. Once there, they would scout the roads that Lord Rutley was likely to take in his escape, splitting up to keep them covered. Each would take a groom (Sir Philip borrowing Lord Atherton’s) so that whomever found him, they could send word to the others.

  Rosalind could not help but feel anxious at the thought of Lord Atherton facing Rutley on his own, she felt certain he did not take as seriously as he should the danger he represented. Feeling she could not reconcile it to her conscience to let him go without mentioning her concerns, she overcame her diffidence and made her way out to the stables just as he had climbed into his phaeton.

  “Please take care, my lord,” she said seriously. “I feel sure he will cross you still if he can.”

  Lord Atherton stared down at her for a moment, an unreadable look in his quicksilver eyes. “I am honoured by your concern, Lady Rosalind. I assure you I shall take every care for I am well aware that my sister’s fate depends upon it. I wish you a good journey and know you will take good care of my mother,” he said, glancing over her head.

  With that she had to be content as he swept out of the yard at a spanking pace. Turning, she found Lady Atherton had come up close behind her. She felt a blush stain her cheeks as she realised she must have heard her warning and only hoped she would not suspect her of having feelings towards her son that would be inappropriate to her present situation.

  Lady Atherton merely took her arm and led her back towards the house. “Wise words, my child, it was what I had come out to say myself. Now, we must make haste for I do not intend to be far behind him, it may be that he will need Lord Gifford’s assistance and I must acquaint him with the situation before that need arises.”

  It was early evening when they arrived at Uffington Hall, a fine example of a Tudor manor house, all mellow brick and towering chimneys. Lady Atherton had sent a stable boy ahead with a letter informing Lord and Lady Gifford of their imminent arrival. She had been in such haste that she had merely mentioned her need for her good friends’ help in a matter most urgent and of the utmost delicacy, so it was hardly surprising that before the coach had come to a stop outside the front door, Lord Gifford himself rushed out to greet them.

  “My dear Sophia,” he exclaimed, helping her down from the carriage, “you know without my mentioning it that you are always a most welcome guest but what can have occurred to occasion such a hasty arrival?”

  Lady Gifford, a small, smart lady with a rather brown complexion and quick, restless movements which had earned her the nickname sparrow from her fond lord, was not far behind him.

  “Welcome, my dear,” she greeted Lady Atherton.

  “Come in out of this cold wind and then when you are quite comfortable you can tell us all about it.”

  After the introductions had been made, Rosalind retired to her room ostensibly to freshen up, but mostly because she could not help feeling that her absence would allow Lady Atherton a greater freedom to share her worries and Rosalind’s own part in the story. The others retired to the panelled drawing room, where over a glass of wine Lady Atherton related the family’s recent history with Lord Rutley. To say her audience was amazed would not do their reaction justice; for a full two minutes they were silenced until finally Lady Gifford found her voice.

  “But this is incredible!” she exclaimed, shocked. “I would not expect to find such a story even between the leaves of one of Mrs Radcliffe’s novels!”

  “You are very right, Dorothea, but unfortunately, it is just such a nightmare that we are cast into,” replied Lady Atherton.

  “I have heard the rumours that he was so badly dipped he had fled the country, of course,” acknowledged Lord Gifford, “but that he was such a villain, I had no idea! He must be brought to justice, Sophia!” he insisted.

  “I am not unsympathetic to your argument,” Lady Atherton replied. “It does seem the outside of enough that he should get away with behaviour so unbefitting to a gentleman and so potentially dangerous to all involved. But consider, Miles, would you want your name bandied about in connection with such incredible events? If you had a daughter, would you want it known that she had been taken in such a manner and held alone, with such a one, overnight? Although we can only pray that nothing untoward has occurred, would you place any money on the chance that those who live for scandal will not whisper about the possibilities?”

  This gave Lord Gifford pause for thought and he found himself in reluctant agreement.

  Lord Atherton had made good time, which was just as well for the Blue Bell was not a well-known establishment. Every respectable inn he enquired at disclaimed all knowledge of it, whether that was because they hoped to gain his custom he could not be sure but eventually he found a farmer driving a cart of turnips who had some pertinent information.

  “Aye, I know of it milord,” he confirmed, “but it’s not the place for a fine gentleman like you. It’s a flash house, full of those on the prigging lay, yer more likely to leave with yer pockets empty than yer stomach full.”

  “I have no intention of dining there and I believe I am an ill pigeon for plucking,” Lord Atherton assured him. “Besides, it is just such a one as you describe that I am looking for.”

  “And you looking so respectable and all,” the bucolic gentleman said mournfully, shaking his head. He nevertheless gave him a convoluted set of instructions which took him down a series of ever narrowing lanes until he came upon a rough-looking building on whose creaking sign he could just make out the outline of a bell through the peeling paint. It might have been a pretty inn in its day but now had several panes of glass missing from the small windows which had been boarded up rather than replaced, the roof looked more moss than straw and driving his phaeton around the back he found a small neglected yard where weeds had been given free rein for some time. There was, however, a serviceable barn at present housing two horses; one a glossy chestnut, presumably belonging to Rutley, and the other a sturdy cart horse.

  Within a few moments, a thickset, rather vacuous- looking young man appeared.

  “Cor blimey guv’ner, that’s a bang up set-up!” he said, very much impressed.

  “Exactly so,” agreed Lord Atherton, dropping a coin into a rather grimy hand. “See to the horses and make sure it is re
ady in half an hour, I don’t expect to be much longer.”

  “Yes sir,” he breathed, gazing down at the shiny silver coin in his hand.

  “There will be another of those for you when I return, if all is in order,” he called over his shoulder, feeling sure that would provide enough of an incentive for him to guard his means of escape well.

  Entering the door at the back of the inn, he found himself in a narrow corridor; before he had gone many steps, a small man with a sharp face appeared and nodded to the staircase.

  “The other flash cove is up there, first room on the right,” he said shortly before disappearing back into the tap room.

  Lord Rutley sat in a rickety chair opposite the doorway, a pistol in his hand. He was not looking at his best. His normally pristine appearance was marred by a wilted cravat and slightly grubby shirt. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot, as if he had been dipping too deeply into whatever limited spirits the hostelry had to offer.

  “Blue ruin?” Lord Atherton said laconically, stripping off his gloves.

  “As you say,” replied Lord Rutley, “it’s the only palatable drink this godforsaken tavern has.”

  “Was it really necessary to meet in such a place?”

  “Beneath your touch, Atherton?” Lord Rutley sneered.

  “Indeed, but I’d say you have found your level.”

  “Be careful, my buck,” said Lord Rutley softly. “What is there to stop me shooting you and taking what I am sure you have in your pockets? And what would happen to dear Lady Hayward then?”

  Clenching his fists, he fought down the almost overpowering desire to take Rutley by the throat and throttle the life out of him. “Are you really so lost to all sense of honour that you would harm a blameless young lady of quality in such a way? Where is she?” he demanded.

  Rutley touched a livid red scratch that ran down one cheek and Lord Atherton’s emotions veered from pride that Belle had not taken her situation without showing fight, to fear that his subsequent treatment of her might have been less than gentle.

  “A blameless young lady with claws! Besides, honour is overrated,” he snapped back. “First let me see the ransom.”

  Disgusted, Lord Atherton reached into the voluminous pockets of his greatcoat and withdrew a jewellery case containing a set of very fine sapphires. He threw it on the floor at Rutley’s feet along with two bulging bags of coins.

  “There, you have it, now for God’s sake man, where is Belle?”

  “All in good time,” Rutley murmured. “Sit on the bed over there, I cannot promise the blanket is entirely free from fleas but I am sure you will endure it.”

  He waited until his instructions had been followed before retrieving the items before him. After a brief inspection he nodded, satisfied.

  “My own jewels were returned, you know. The irony of it was they were only paste copies! Something tells me these are not, however.”

  “They are genuine,” snapped Lord Atherton. “Now it is time for you to keep your side of the bargain.”

  “Indeed. I am afraid I am going to borrow your phaeton, my dear chap, as your finely matched bays will get me out of this damned country all the quicker. You may have my horse in return, you see, I am not entirely unreasonable.”

  “And Belle?” demanded Lord Atherton impatiently.

  “Ah yes. If you ride to the village of Donnington you will find a much more respectable hostelry named The Swan. You will find a letter awaiting you which holds the information you so ardently desire.”

  A red mist descended upon Lord Atherton and he launched himself off the bed.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Lord Rutley said icily. “Although I am sure you display to fine advantage you really do not have time for fisticuffs, a barbaric sport if you ask me; if you do not collect the letter within the half hour you will find it has been destroyed.”

  That halted him in his tracks. “How did you know when I would arrive?”

  Lord Rutley smiled thinly. “You young are all so impetuous, it really was not very hard to conclude that you would leave Atherton immediately and driving like the devil I imagine. Now time is ticking, shall we?” he said politely, nodding towards the door. “After you, dear chap.”

  Rapidly calculating in his head, Lord Atherton estimated that he would just make it. He only hoped that the others had been able to locate the place and cut off Rutley’s means of escape.

  “Were you so sure I would come alone?” he asked as he mounted his horse.

  “Your affection for your sister and dislike of scandal, combined with your undoubted arrogance, assured me that you would not fail to heed my warning. Your sister, was, after all gone for a night, albeit untouched. I cannot think you would like it known. You may perhaps have had to pacify Lord Hayward. He must, after all have been very concerned, however as he is not known for acts of derring-do, I felt tolerably safe from his interference.”

  A wry smile twisted Lord Atherton’s firm lips as he remembered the crushing of the figurine beneath his boot.

  “Be careful not to underestimate your opponents, Rutley, if he ever catches up with you I would be very concerned.”

  Wasting no more time on him, he galloped off. Like its owner, his steed presented a fine appearance but there was little substance beneath. He had decided to go cross country to save time but he found he had to force the sluggish steed below him over hedges and ditches and felt quite exasperated by the time he reached the outskirts of Donnington. No wonder Rutley had wished to exchange their modes of transportation! He was not known for his sporting proclivities and had probably been taken for a flat by a quick-talking horse dealer.

  The Swan was a respectable coaching inn, situated just off the village green which boasted a pond where some of the creatures it had most likely been named after, glided peacefully. He handed the reins of the horse over to an ostler and strode into the inn. The letter was waiting for him and he impatiently scanned its contents.

  Dear Atherton,

  You mentioned investing in the canals, I believe, at our last unproductive meeting. I have taken your advice to heart and so that is where you will find what you seek. I am afraid Lady Hayward might not share your enthusiasm however; rather dark, damp and cold for her taste and who can blame her? If you search in the vicinity of Wormbridge Woods I am sure you shall find her, eventually. Good hunting!

  Yours Rutley.

  Cursing long and fluently under his breath so that even the ostler looked impressed, he retrieved his mount and was gone in moments. He made hell for leather for Uffington Hall, or at least as close to it as his horse would allow. His mother was right, he would need Lord Gifford’s knowledge of the locality and the canals if he were to find Belle.

  His arrival was eagerly awaited and barely had the butler shut the door of the drawing room before his mother flew across the room and took his hands.

  “You are safe,” she cried thankfully. “But where is Belle?”

  “He has played the scoundrel until the last, I am afraid,” Lord Atherton said bitterly, withdrawing the crumpled note from his pocket and reading it to his audience.

  “He is a detestable man,” Lady Rosalind said in a low voice.

  “Indeed,” Lord Atherton concurred. “Whether this last throw of the dice was to enrage me or to give him time to escape unheeded I am unsure,” he said scathingly. “Either way I don’t much care if only you might be able to throw some light on it, sir?”

  Lord Gifford nodded quickly. “If it is dark I must assume that he is talking about one of the underground passages, and if that is so the only one that is not being worked on at the moment is the subsidiary passage at Wormbridge Wood that has partially collapsed. He would not be able to hide her without being seen or her being discovered, anywhere else, I am sure.”

  “Let us go at once,” Lady Atherton said impatiently, her voice trembling with emotion, “there is no time to lose! If part of the passage has collapsed already what is to stop the rest of it coming down? W
hat my poor girl must be suffering in the dark all alone!”

  “I agree with your sentiments exactly, Mother, but we will make much faster work of it if it is just Lord Gifford and I.”

  Lord Gifford had already had enough forethought to change into his riding gear and so they were away in the time it took two fresh horses to be readied. Lord Gifford led them along a winding path through the wood and down to the canal. A long, narrow boat with a prow at each end was tied up there and Lord Atherton could see a tunnel cut into a rock face ahead of them. Quickly tying their horses to a nearby tree, they stepped into the boat and paddled towards the tunnel. There were two doors at the entrance which swung inwards as the prow of the boat came into contact with them. As they closed behind them, it was as if they had stepped into another world; gone were the bright sunlight and cheerful birdsong and they were cast into an intense, inky darkness. In a few moments, Lord Gifford had retrieved the tinderbox he had brought and lit the candle lantern that had been in the bottom of the boat. This served only to make the darkness ahead more profound and cast eerie shadows on the damp, dripping walls near them.

  “Belle!” Lord Atherton shouted. The dismal gloom was made even more unsettling as his anxious voice returned to him in a series of ever fading solemn echoes.

  Visibility was only a few feet ahead and so they almost passed the small rocky outcrop but Lord Gifford swiftly turned the boat as an incongruent flash of green caught his eye. They found Belle in a half swoon, gagged and bound upon the cold, unyielding stone. She opened eyes that looked blindly around her as her brother removed her bonds and lifted her in his arms. It seemed to take her a few minutes to focus but slowly sense returned to them.

  “Georgie,” she murmured, using the name she had used to call him when a young child. “I am so cold.” Her teeth were chattering in her head and she was shivering uncontrollably.

  “I will have his liver for this,” Lord Atherton growled as he wrapped his coat around her and stepped into the boat, cradling her on his knees. “It is all right, Belle, I have you, you are safe now.”