The Resolute Runaway

by Charlotte Louise Dolan

  How many minutes would it take to equal six hours? a discouraging voice in the back of her head asked, but she ignored it, the same way she ignored Blackstone’s gloating at his own cleverness. She held her tongue until the coach finally turned into the courtyard of another inn and lurched to a stop.

  “There is no need for you to get out, my pet.”

  Forgetting her meek act, Dorie sat bolt upright and glared at the earl. “You promised to feed me. Are you going back on your word? If so, you are even more detestable than I thought!”

  “I fear you may be right, my precious. I am truly despicable. But though I have been called Blackheart by some, I am not so black-hearted as to starve you. On the other hand,” he continued smoothly, “you may forget all your plans to delay us—not that a few minutes’ delay will matter in the long run. But I am a prudent man, and I never take unnecessary risks. Therefore, you will wait in the coach and I will bring your food out to you, and then as we continue on our way to Gretna Green, we shall share a comfortable repast in the privacy of our own carriage.”

  “This is not my own carriage,” Dorie was stung into objecting.

  “But what is mine is yours, and more important, what is yours will soon be mine—legally mine. Not only your fortune, which I discovered is more than adequate to my immediate needs, but also your delectable body.”

  His eyes traveled the length of her, and she felt her skin crawl. He laughed and she knew he noted her blushes. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek with one hand, and when she jerked her head away from his touch, he laughed again, then stepped down from the coach.

  For the first time in her life, she understood how a woman could choose death over dishonor. Not that she was contemplating killing herself. On the other hand, would she hesitate if the opportunity arose to kill Blackstone? If she had a foil in her hand, would she be able to run him through?

  Through and through, she decided. Henceforth she would, in fact, be on the alert for any opportunity to overpower him, disable him, maim him—

  “Psst, Miss Dorie!”

  Her ears must be deceiving her—it sounded like Billy.

  “Quick, get out. We must escape while they are both in the inn!”

  It was Billy—she was not alone! She was so happy to see the boy, she wanted to hug him.

  “Miss Dorie, can you understand what I am saying? Oh, blast, she’s still drugged.”

  “No, I am awake. But however did you get here?”

  “There is no time to explain—they may be back any minute. Come quick.”

  “I’m not sure how fast I can move. My legs don’t seem to want to work very well.”

  “If you can just get out of the carriage by yourself, then you can lean on me the rest of the way.”

  Spurred on by thoughts of what the wicked earl might do to Billy if they were caught, Dorie managed to pull herself up by the straps and move the few feet to the door, but before she could make good her escape, a hand caught her from behind and jerked her back down onto the seat.

  “So, your word of honor is worthless,” Blackstone gloated.

  “It is worth every bit as much as your word,” Dorie retorted, hoping that Billy had escaped notice. “Perhaps it has not yet occurred to you that you will never be able to trust me—that even after we are married I shall never submit to you.”

  The earl did not bother to answer. He smirked in a way that made Dorie wish she had one of her cousin’s foils—she could run this blackguard through the heart and rid the world of the most evil person she had ever encountered.

  As if he could read her murderous thoughts, the earl laughed out loud. The coachman’s voice could be heard outside the coach directing the hostlers to look lively and get the new team hitched up, ‘cause his lordship was not one to tolerate unnecessary delays.

  The horses stamped restlessly, rattling their bits, as if eager to carry her to a “fate worse than death.” Then the carriage swayed as the coachman clambered up and took his place on the box.

  Well, in the novels she and Joanna had giggled over, the hero always managed to ride to the rescue in the nick of time, killing the villain and saving the heroine, who was usually a total ninny to have gotten herself into such a predicament in the first place. Who would ever have thought that she, Dorie the adventuresome, Dorie the intrepid, would be playing the role of mindless ninny.

  “They were out of lemonade for the ladies, so you have a choice between drinking ale or going thirsty. Or, of course, there is always the wine if you prefer.”

  His smile was so nastily gloating, she knew he was lying about the inn being out of non-intoxicating beverages. Well, she had no intention of going thirsty, even if she had to drink something as vile as ale.

  She had eaten most of one sandwich before she realized he had also drugged the ale. As the now-familiar lassitude crept over her and her limbs became too heavy to move, she wished she could at least know if Billy was all right—and more important, if he was able to follow.

  Her last thought before darkness overtook her was of Glengarry, and it was less a thought than an emotion—a desperate, intense longing to feel his strong arms around her once again, protecting her, loving her.

  * * * *

  The knocking bespoke a high degree of desperation, but Hickins did not let the violence being enacted against the great front door interfere with his stately progress across the marbled hallway. Decorum was the main thing, especially after that horrible contretemps this morning, when Lord Glengarry had dared chastise him for what had been, after all, merely the proper performance of his duty.

  Opening the door, the butler stared impassively at the man standing there. Young Mr. Goldsborough, one of Glengarry’s more moderate friends, appeared to be remarkably distraught today.

  “Is Glengarry awake? I must speak to him this instant.”

  The young man rudely tried to push his way into the house, but Hickins blocked his advance. From now on he was determined to follow his orders to the letter, and his orders were that no one was to know where Glengarry had gone.

  “He has already left the house.”

  “Where can I find him, then?”

  “I’m sure I cannot say.”

  “He left no message? No word as to what his plans might be?”

  I was told to follow my orders, the butler thought with satisfaction, and those orders were to lie outright if necessary. “No, he did not let anyone know where he was off to.”

  After a few more fruitless questions and uninformative answers, Hickins was finally able to shut the door and return to his other duties. Knowing full well that his employer’s nephew would have wished him to tell Mr. Goldsborough all about the stableboy’s message and the abduction, the butler could not entirely suppress his urge to gloat. Despite his smaller stature, in the end he had bested that barbarous Scotsman, and moreover, he had done it while strictly following a direct order.

  * * * *

  The trail was not hard to follow, thanks to Billy. At each posting house a stableboy would approach Alexander, ask him if he was Lord Glengarry, and then tell him how many hours ahead the other coach was. It was a discouraging number of hours.

  Blackstone had obviously driven all through the night, which had given him a head start of nine hours. On the other hand, Alexander was driving a much lighter vehicle, so he was able, barring accidents, to travel much faster. Still and all, even though he had now pared down that lead considerably, with the distance remaining to be covered only two hundred and fifty miles, his success depended upon Blackstone stopping for the night while he himself continued in pursuit. He could only be thankful there would be a full moon tonight—assuming that the sky did not cloud over.

  The other question that preyed on his mind was: could he stay awake for another twenty-five hours or so, or would he himself need to stop for sleep?

  The earl, unfortunately, had the advantage of traveling with a coachman, so if they were pressed, the two of them could alternate driving and sleeping. On th
e other hand, there was a good chance Blackstone might think himself safe enough to risk halting for the night. After all, unless he had noticed and identified Billy, why should he anticipate pursuit?

  * * * *

  After a frustrating day spent scouring London for any trace of Dorie, Billy, or Glengarry, Nicholas finally thought of checking the coach road north out of the city. At the first posting house he found the information he sought in the form of a small postboy named Tommy, who was more than happy to spill his budget.

  “And then his lordship brought me back here and left me and continued on alone. That was about nine-thirty this morning.”

  Nicholas mentally calculated the hours that had elapsed—Blackstone had passed through Barnet around twelve-thirty, so Glengarry was about nine hours behind them. And he, Nicholas, was about ten hours behind Glengarry. There was clearly no point in proceeding—he could not hope to catch up with either the pursued or the pursuer.

  * * * *

  Before the Italian tenor finished his first piece, Joanna had realized social events were not really enjoyable without Dorie beside her. Sitting alone—somehow Aunt Theo did not count—Joanna had felt exposed, as if everyone attending the Ridgefords’ musicale were staring right at her rather than listening to the music. And it had also seemed as if everyone were whispering about Dorie—as if every laugh were someone scoffing at the falsehood Joanna had been telling to explain Dorie’s absence.

  Unnerved, Joanna had finally given in to her fears and during the intermission had mumbled an excuse to Aunt Theo and then found herself a seat behind a pair of potted palms, where she was safely hidden from the prying eyes of the curious.

  “Miss Donnithorne is not with you this evening?”

  Disheartened that someone else had decided to make use of the potted palms, Joanna started to utter her oft-repeated lie about Dorie being ill, when she recognized the woman now calmly seated beside her. Her companion in hiding was the formidable Lady Letitia.

  Something about the older woman’s eyes made it impossible for Joanna to speak falsely. “No, she is not,” she answered simply. It was the truth—just not all the truth.

  “The rumor floating around this evening is that she is covered with spots ...”

  Wordlessly Joanna nodded, praying Lady Letitia would change the subject.

  “Strange ... I remember quite well when she had the measles and the chickenpox as a child.” This time there was a glint of humor in her eyes. Unfortunately, she was only making Joanna feel like a little bird about to be pounced on by a large and very hungry cat.

  When Lady Letitia did pounce, however, it was in a totally different direction from what Joanna had expected.

  “He loves you, you know.”

  Without thinking, Joanna squeaked out, “Nicholas?” in a suddenly breathless little voice. Then, realizing what she had said, she profoundly wished she could sink through the floor.

  “Of course Nicholas. He is a dear boy, and I have known him since he was breeched, but like all men, he is sometimes a little obtuse and needs to be nudged before he will come up to scratch.”

  But now Joanna could feel herself turning red as a beet, and there was no way she could answer Lady Letitia or even meet the other woman’s eyes.

  “I am quite adept at that, you know—at giving men little nudges.”

  Horrified, Joanna raised her eyes from her lap and stared at Lady Letitia. “Oh, no, you must not!”

  “Do not try to convince me that you are not in love with him. I am not yet so far into my dotage that I cannot read the expression in your eyes when you look at him.”

  There was kindness in Lady Letitia’s eyes, Joanna realized with a shock. The most formidable, intimidating, thoroughly terrifying lady in London was actually smiling as kindly as if she were Joanna’s grandmother.

  Relaxing slightly in her chair, Joanna tentatively decided to accept the friendship the other woman was offering. “Yes, I do love him, but too much to force him into a marriage not of his own choosing. He loves someone else, I am afraid, and thinks of me solely as a nuisance he cannot wait to be rid of.” She was forced to blink her eyes rapidly, but she managed to hold back the tears at the thought of Nicholas wedded to another.

  “If you are referring to the incomparable Miss Dillon, then it will surprise me very much if we do not read of her engagement in the Gazette before the week is out—and Nicholas’s name will not be linked with hers, of that you may be sure.”

  “He will be so disappointed.” With the best of intentions, Joanna could not quite feel the proper degree of sympathy for Nicholas. In fact, with Belinda out of his reach, might he not...? She hardly dared allow herself the thought.

  “I must disagree,” Lady Letitia corrected. “Contrary to your beliefs, I would say that Nicholas has not spared a thought for the fair Belinda since he deliberately abandoned her in the middle of the dance floor at Almack’s.”

  “He did what? Oh, he could not have done such an ungentlemanly thing!”

  “I rather suspect he was punishing her for running away like a coward and leaving you alone in Belgium.”

  “You know about Brussels?” Joanna felt herself go numb with horror—the whole tale would soon be around town, and Nicholas would again feel honor-bound to marry her.

  The singing stopped and the applause began. Then after a short pause the tenor was replaced by a soprano.

  Lady Letitia patted Joanna’s hand. “My dear, there is so much I know, you would be positively amazed were I to tell you the least part of it. But I do not pass on stories without good reason, and I will keep your secret to the grave. I only wish to point out that Nicholas feels very protectively toward you, which is quite a good indication that his feelings are already deeply involved.”

  “No,” Joanna corrected dolefully, “it merely means he thinks of me as a little sister. He has promised, you see, that he will be like a brother to me.”

  “Well, I certainly hope you were not taken in by such a bag of moonshine. Men are dear creatures, but that altruistic they are not. They do not go around adopting ‘little sisters’ who are of a marriageable age. Of course, men are quite good at self-deception, and they may delude themselves into believing that their thoughts are purely platonic, but no, it will not wash. A man simply does not exert himself to any great degree for a woman unless he is in love with her.”

  “In love? With me?”

  Lady Letitia continued with scarcely a pause. “In your case, my dear, I think the only solution is to do something designed to jar Nicholas out of his complacency—something that will make him realize just how much he loves you.”

  Joanna sighed. “Well, that is the problem, you see. As much as I might wish to do something wild, I am not in the least like Dorie. I could never run off...” Suddenly aware that she had revealed too much, she stopped in mid-sentence. “Oh, dear,” was all she could say—which mild words did not exactly express her emotions at the moment.

  “It is all right. Alexander is a stubborn Highlander and an excellent whip. He will catch up with them in time, especially if Dorie manages to delay Blackstone along the way, and she is very ingenious, you know.”

  Joanna’s mouth hung open. “How could...? Who did...? How had...?”

  Chuckling, Lady Letitia reached over with one finger and pushed Joanna’s chin up. “I told you, did I not, that I know almost everything. But you needn’t fret yourself about Dorie. Instead, you must concentrate all your energies on bringing Nicholas up to scratch.”

  “Dorie wanted to arrange for me to be abducted so that Nicholas could rescue me, but I have not the courage for such adventures. I am not really a very brave person, you know.”

  “I expect right now that Dorie is discovering for herself the drawbacks inherent in being abducted. But you wrong yourself when you say you are not brave. I have heard very nice things about you from some of the surgeons in charge of the wounded in Belgium. ‘Cowardly’ was not the word they used to describe you.”

&nb
sp; “But you see, they did not truly know. I merely acted brave, but inside I was terrified.”

  “I think, my child, that you do not properly understand what being brave means. It certainly does not mean feeling no fear. Rather, it means doing what you know has to be done in spite of being afraid. Do you think all our English soldiers held firm in the face of the French cavalry charges because they were too stupid to know they might be killed? No, the English squares held because the English foot soldiers knew that Corsican monster had to be stopped before he again gobbled up half the continent.

  “And you, my child, were very brave to help bandage up wounds and comfort the dying. You should be proud of your courage instead of calling yourself a coward.”

  There was much for Joanna to think about in what Lady Letitia said. Was that all being brave meant—doing what had to be done, no matter how much one might wish to avoid facing what was unpleasant or scary?

  Belinda had refused even to look at the wounded soldiers, and then Belinda had run away in panic, thinking the French were about to invade the city. Did that mean Belinda was the coward rather than Joanna?

  “Now, then, my dear,” Lady Letitia interrupted Joanna’s thoughts, “if we might turn our attention back to your problem with Nicholas. My plans, I think, you will find a great deal more comfortable than Dorie’s.”

  * * * *

  It was dark again when Dorie awoke from her drug-induced slumber, but she continued to feign sleep. Perhaps when they halted the next time, she and Billy would have another chance to escape. Although what they would do once they were free, she had no idea.

  She had not a shilling with her, and dressed as she was for a masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens, the good citizens of Lancashire and Westmorland would likely take her for a member of the muslin company. If she claimed to be an abducted heiress, Blackstone had only to counter with the assertion that she was his mistress, and there was no doubt who would be believed.

  But still, to try to escape, even if the attempt were unsuccessful in the end, was bound to cause a delay.

  Unfortunately, once again luck was against her. When they pulled into the courtyard of the posting inn, no sooner did Blackstone climb out of the carriage than his coachman climbed in, settled himself on the opposite seat, linked his hands across his fat stomach, and began to snore.