A Lady by Chance (Historical Regency Romance)

by Cheryl Bolen

  She swept by the profusely male passengers, Morgie silent at her side. "You must keep up your strength if you are to be of help to Anna. After all, she is our chief concern."

  "Undoubtedly." His eyes darted from James to Haverstock – who were standing at the rail deep in conversation – to the plank, which was being raised. "I say, Lyddie, you had best depart now. The ship's about to sail."

  "Another thing I've been concerned about," she said, ignoring his comment, "is your deplorable French. They'll take you for an Englishman straight away if you open your mouth. And that will certainly not help us find Anna."

  "Us?"

  "I think perhaps I should accompany you." She did not meet his gaze. "I could pretend to be your wife. That way I could do the talking. My French, you know, is uncommonly good."

  "You can't go into France with us! It's far too dangerous."

  "Pooh, I'll blend in with the natives." She stopped and faced him.

  "Now see here," Morgie said, watching the ship inch away from the dock. "Haverstock!" he shouted.

  The marquess, turning and seeing his sister still on the boat, rushed to her side. "What the deuce are you doing onboard?"

  "I've decided to accompany you," Lydia stated.

  "This is no trip for a woman," he said scathingly.

  "Nothing will happen to me with my two brothers and dear Morgie to protect me."

  "Got to do something with her, Haverstock," Morgie uttered.

  Her brother watched the distance between the boat and dock widen. "What she needs is a good spanking." His mouth tightened into a grim line, then he met James at the stern. He had to remove himself from Lydia's presence lest he do something vulgar like shake her senseless.

  "At least we're on the right track," James said hopefully. "Even if it is two days cold. We would have been mistakenly on our way to Bordeaux if you hadn't found that fisherman who remembered Anna and the proper English gentleman on the Calais boat."

  The fisherman's words still haunted Haverstock. "The lovely lady looked as if she were scared to death of something," he had said.

  Haverstock seethed with a rage toward Sir Henry. Any harm the man meted against Anna would visit him tenfold, Haverstock vowed.

  He watched the waves lap against the sides of the ship and felt the spray of salt water in his face. Each knot forward seemed endless. If only he weren't two full days behind! Not only were they at the disadvantage of two days' start, but they had no idea which direction Sir Henry would have taken.

  What could he do to gain on them? Haverstock wondered. Sir Henry was sure to be hiring a traveling coach, so riding horseback should make up some of the distance. Provided they could determine Sir Henry's destination. Haverstock could make up additional time by not stopping for meals.

  "Lydia's not being her usual practical self at all, it seems," James remarked.

  "Lydia's fortunate to still have her neck intact."

  "What do you plan to do with her?"

  "Lydia has no part in my plans. Nothing will come between me and finding Anna. Lydia will have to take the first boat back to Dover."

  "You know that won't be until tomorrow morning."

  Haverstock nodded. "And I'll bloody well not wait. Morgie can take care of her."

  "But – -"

  "But she will be compromised by being forced to spend a night in Calais with him."

  "Yes."

  "My dear brother, has it not occurred to you that is the very thing Lydia wants?"

  Before Dover's white cliffs were out of sight, Morgie's face turned a decidedly raw shade of green, his brow grew moist and he looked as if he were about to expire. At Lydia's insistence, he had plopped down on the wooden deck, dead in the center of the boat, putting his head between his drawn-up knees.

  Pulling her skirts beneath her, she sat along side of him and stroked his sweaty brow. "Poor Morgie," she soothed.

  As wretched as he felt, the touch of Lydia's hand brought him an almost settling feeling. That was the thing about Lyddie. She was settling. No wonder that squire fellow wanted her. What a fine home she would make for him and his brood. Perhaps it was because she was the first-born female. She had a way about her of completely taking charge. Of making things always run smoothly.

  Quite surprising, actually, that she hadn't been snatched up earlier by some lucky chap. But, then, she was not a beauty. His eyes traveled slowly over her. She had removed her hat, and her black hair glistened in the fading sun, the salt air whipping it away from her face. She was the same size as he was – a size he had never considered very feminine. But now, it seemed a very agreeable size. Like Lydia herself. Solid. Dependable. It wasn't as if she were fat or anything. And her breasts really were quite spectacular. She had a very fine posture, too, and looked most becoming in her new dresses. Actually she had an elegance about her.

  That squire was a lucky chap indeed.

  Morgie shook his head and rued his own plight. He was going to be sick. Very sick.

  Lydia sensed it. She got up, walked a short distance away and came back with a small wooden barrel. "Here."

  He gratefully accepted it and proceeded to heave the contents of his stomach into it.

  At first he was too sick to be concerned over the embarrassment of his situation. Then, when it occurred to him Lydia was sharing a rather unpleasant intimacy with him, he seemed not at all to care. He rather fancied sharing intimacies with her.

  "We'll use the last vestiges of daylight to try to learn their direction," Haverstock told those gathered about him on the Calais dock. "Check the stage," he told Morgie, who had made a remarkable recovery as soon as his feet touched the firm soil of Calais.

  "I'll see what I can find out at the livery stable," James said.

  Haverstock nodded. "I'll go up to the tavern and see what I can learn."

  Hands on her hips, Lydia said, "I plan to make myself agreeable to all the ship's hands I can. Maybe I'll find one who remembers Anna."

  "Now see here, Lydia," Morgie said. "You can't be wandering about those ships unescorted."

  "Then you'll just have to accompany me," she challenged.

  Haverstock swallowed hard. "It's as if they were never here," he said a half hour later as their discouraged group gathered in front of the now-empty schooner.

  No one matching the description of Sir Henry and Anna had boarded a public stage, Lydia and Morgie learned.

  No horses had been hired by an English gentleman two days earlier, James determined.

  Not a soul at the tavern saw an English lady the day before yesterday.

  Even Lydia's queries of the deck hands yielded no information.

  "You'll just have to put yourself in Sir Henry's position," Lydia said. "What would he do?"

  "He would take Anna to Paris," Haverstock said bitterly. He put a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "Come, James. We'll take the road to Paris."

  "What about us?" Morgie asked.

  "My dear friend," Haverstock said, "you are responsible for escorting my troublesome sister back to London."

  "But – -there's no boat tonight," Morgie said.

  Striding toward the stables, Haverstock threw a glance over his shoulder to Morgie. "I have full confidence in your sound judgment."

  Chapter 29

  As soon as the brothers left, Morgie engaged a private dining parlor for Lydia and himself. What he was going to do after dinner, he did not know. He watched her as he moved toward their table near the hearth where a low fire was laid. But someone else was watching, too. He turned and saw a woman standing in the doorway, outlined by the cloudless night sky. Dressed in peasant clothing, she was of an age near his own and carried a babe in her arms. She looked straight at him and mumbled something in French.

  "What's she saying?" he asked Lydia.

  Lydia sprang to her feet, walked up to the woman and began a conversation in rapid French.

  "She's worried about her husband. He hired out his carriage two days ago for a short ride to the C
hateau Montreaux and has not returned yet." Lydia questioned the young mother some more. "She says an English gentleman hired her husband, but she doesn't know if there was a woman with him. The man matches the description of Sir Henry."

  Morgie pressed a coin into the woman's hand and instructed Lydia to get the directions to Chateau Montreaux. "Assure the woman we'll do everything we can to restore her husband to her. And find out who in this town owns the fastest horses. I intend to make an offer that cannot be refused."

  The hemp which bound her hands together cut into Anna's wrists. This was the second day she sat in the shabby drawing room on a faded damask sofa looking at a torn Aubusson carpet. Once a sparkling testimony to French aristocracy, the chateau now served as headquarters for espionage activities, though only a handful of minor French officials remained. And each of them – thankfully not in this room now – held Anna in contempt.

  "You know you can untie me," Anna told Sir Henry, who stood beside the marble mantle dressed impeccably in pale blue silk. "I daresay it would be impossible for me to escape with your spies about."

  A devilish smile played at his lips. He moved across the fragile carpet, withdrew a knife from beneath his waistcoat and cut the rope.

  "You'll have no need to try to run away again, Anna."

  "Oh, but I have a need. I must clear my husband's name since you have no intention of releasing my confession."

  "What a fool you are. You do not have to end your life to preserve his. The marquess is perfectly safe. He has not been arrested. It was only a lie I devised to get you to come with me."

  Swept up in a savage rage, Anna stormed across the worn carpet, raised back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could.

  Sir Henry's expression flitted from stun to controlled anger. "You will regret that," he said, stroking his reddened cheek.

  "Where is my husband?" Anna demanded.

  "He is probably at Haverstock House thoroughly furious with you for running off with me."

  Her eyes flashed. "I hate you!"

  "And if you're wondering about your confession, I can assure you it is in a perfectly safe place. It will ensure I have your cooperation in whatever endeavors I choose. The letter clearly discloses your French sympathies. So it is to your advantage to live in France now. With me."

  She had been an utter fool. And of course Sir Henry was right. She could never go back to England and never again see Charles.

  At least she had the consolation of knowing her misdeeds had not ensnared her husband.

  Anna nodded reluctantly. She still wore the same tattered dress she had worn two nights ago when she had tried to run away. "Allow me to dress more presentably if we are to go to Paris."

  Monsieur Le Fleur, who owned a most profitable vineyard, also possessed the fastest horses on the entire coast, but they were not for hire, Morgie was told. Fortunately, Monsieur Le Fleur's winery was on the road to Paris, and fortunately for Morgie, Monsieur Le Fleur was most agreeable to accepting one-thousand gold sovereigns for his two best horses.

  Morgie's good fortune, however, did not include a moon-lit sky. His and Lydia's ride was painfully slow at times while they slowed for curves and ruts and cursed the darkness that impeded their progress.

  "My brothers face the same obstacles," Lydia said reassuringly. "And do not forget they will be checking every posting inn along the way. We will easily make up their hour's head start."

  As the road left the coast, it straightened, and they could ride much faster. Lydia's prophecy was fulfilled within two hours when she and Morgie raced over a hill only to ride up on Haverstock and James.

  Haverstock turned sharply when the riders came abreast. "What the deuce?"

  Morgie reined in. "Wrong road," he gasped.

  Haverstock and James came to a complete stop.

  "You know where Anna is?" Haverstock asked hopefully.

  Morgie nodded. "A place called Chateau Montreaux."

  "Damned if I don't know the place!" James said. "Not far from Calais."

  Lydia nodded.

  "Bloody hard to get in, though," James added.

  "I've been thinking," Lydia said.

  Morgie slapped his forehead. "We're in for it now."

  "Hear me out," Lydia urged. "Whoever is manning the gatehouse at Chateau Montreaux would hardly be able to refuse admittance to a single female."

  "Meaning you?" Haverstock asked.

  "Yes. I plan to tell him I have been retained as a companion to the English lady. The fellow who works the gate would hardly know that wasn't the truth."

  "Capital idea," Haverstock said sarcastically. "My very English sister just waltzes herself into a chateau teeming with Frenchmen and single-handedly rescues my wife while I preserve my hide on the safe side of the chateau walls."

  "He's wise to dislike your plan, Lyddie," Morgie said.

  "I wasn't finished," Lydia snapped. "I thought you could sneak in while I distract the gatekeeper."

  "She's right," James said. "We could sneak in while she's talking to the fellow. As dark as it is tonight, we'll never be seen."

  Morgie stroked his chin. "Not bad."

  Haverstock nodded thoughtfully.

  It was midnight when they tied their horses to a tree several hundred yards from the Chateau Montreaux gatehouse. "The less you know of our whereabouts, the better you will be," Haverstock told Lydia. "Just concentrate on your part. We'll get in."

  Lydia nodded, then rode her horse all the way to the gate where she called out, announcing herself in flawless French.

  The door squeaked open and a gray haired man rubbing his eyes directed an impatient gaze at Lydia.

  She gently stroked her horse's mane and walked to where her face was illuminated from the glow of the lantern which hung beside the gate. "Pardon for waking you, sir. I daresay you looked for me hours ago," Lydia said. "I was beset by highwaymen who took my bags as well as the very carriage I was riding in. But I'm finally here. By the way, I am the companion to the English lady."

  Shaking himself into a shirt, he ambled toward the gate. "You are alone?"

  "Yes, quite." She saw no sign of her brothers or Morgie and became alarmed. But she remembered Haverstock's words. We'll get in. She just had to do her part.

  She decided to mount her horse to draw the gatekeeper's eye to a higher level. He began to pull the gate open. She heard it scraping against the hard earth as he walked forward, his back to her.

  Then she saw them. Three of them lying on the ground, shimmying through the opening. She kicked the horse and it spurted forward, coming abreast of the gray haired main. She must think of something to say to him to keep him from looking back.

  "Are many people here now?"

  "Besides the English couple, there's just four others."

  "I do wish you'd do something about your bandits. I'm at a dreadful disadvantage without my personal belongings." She trotted in, the gloomy chateau at the end of the lane now capturing her attention.

  As prearranged, she dismounted half way up the drive and waited for her companions though she was so impatient, she retraced her last several yards.

  She did not hear them until James greeted her. "Well done, Lyddie."

  She asked excitedly: "Did you hear how many – or should I say how few – are here?"

  "Only four?" James said.

  "That gives us even odds," Lydia said.

  "No, it doesn't," Haverstock said firmly. "You have no part from here on out, Lydia. In fact, I plan to walk in quite alone. James can be my backup."

  He strode off purposefully toward the big house. It was in darkness except for one lighted room on the first floor. Setting his feet carefully on the cracked ground, he followed the light spilling from a French window. As he got close, he heard muffled voices. One of them was Anna's. He edged closer and peered through the panes. His heart caught at the sight of Anna. Dressed in a low-cut gown of ivory silk, she sat at a marquetry game table. Her hair was swept away from her face, accentuating the el
egance of her slender neck. Sir Henry sat opposite her. No one else was in the room.

  The sight of Anna unhurt and in possession of her faculties flooded him with relief. "My wife plays vingt-un," Haverstock whispered to James as he placed his ear closer to the window.

  Sir Henry dealt. "The man I had hoped to meet here, my dear, has not come. We will go to Paris in the morning. That fool coachman is driving me quite mad in his impatience to visit the capital."

  Haverstock tried the knob. It opened, and he strolled into the salon. "I've come for my wife, Vinson."

  Sir Henry flung down his cards and bolted to a standing position, feeling for a sword at his side that was not there. His jade eyes flashed with anger.

  "Charles!" Anna gasped. A flicker of emotion – was it pleasure? – danced in her soulful eyes.

  "Are you all right, my dear?" Haverstock asked as he walked to her.

  He held her in his gaze as she slowly nodded. His eyes trailed over her. She appeared physically unharmed, but there was something in her demeanor, a moroseness, he had not seen there before.

  The thought of Sir Henry forcing himself on Anna was almost as frightening to Haverstock as physical harm. "If you have violated my wife in any way, Vinson, I will kill you here and now."

  "Please tell your brute of a husband that I have not forced my attentions on you, Anna," Sir Henry said.

  She took a long look at her husband. "I am guilty of many wretched things, Charles, but not of adultery."

  It was all Haverstock could do not to cradle her in his arms that very minute. Sir Henry took a few cocky steps toward Haverstock. "That is not to say Anna did not choose to leave with me of her own free will."

  "I have no reason to believe you," Haverstock said. "You are a traitor, a murderer – and now an abductor."

  "Tell him, my dear," Sir Henry instructed.

  Haverstock confidently watched Anna. Hadn't she just assured him she was not an adultress?