Mr. Storm helped the women from the carriage and escorted them inside. “Josie, would you mind spending a few minutes to attend me before I depart? You are tired. I shall not keep you long.”
Her father give Lady Grey a speaking glance, and the hostess withdrew and closed the door to the drawing room.
Mr. Storm took his daughter’s hand, led her over to the settee, and joined her there, setting aside her reticule and fan on the table nearby.
“What is it, Father?” Jose found comfort in his hand holding hers.
“Something is amiss. You cannot hide from me that you are unhappy. You are pale, and the sparkle in your eyes is gone. Would you care to share with me what is heavy on your heart?”
“Lady Grey did not explain what happened?” Josie blinked back her tears.
Her father nodded. His eyes were warm, and his brows furrowed in concern. “Will you tell me in your own words?”
Josie stared to weep softly, her father enfolded her in his arms, and she soaked his neck cloth. Emotionally spent, she hiccupped and raised her eyes. “I ruined it, Father. I did not believe him, and he will never forgive me, but everyone said it was true, and I do not understand why this happened.”
“Now if I had not heard the more specific details from Lady Grey, I would say that you just spoke a bunch of nonsense.” He smiled at her as his thumb came up to wipe away a stray tear. “Listen here, young lady. If Remington is half the man I think he is, he is worthy of your trust. I expect he would resume a courtship if you would only give him a sign of some kind.” Josie started to talk, but he gently placed a finger over her lips.
“Hear me out. Do not tell me. I know what the gossips have said. I have seen the infamous drawing. My intuition tells me there is more to the story than society claims. ’Tis often the case with gossip, even what the papers report. I may not have been of as elevated status as your grandfather, but I’ve seen enough over the years to know when a man has integrity and when he doesn’t. Lord Remington is of the first camp. He is sure to have his enemies in Parliament, and politics can be a dirty business.
“It is good for you to realize this now, my dear, because it is likely to be the first of many such scandals when you wed into the upper ten thousand. Deserved or not, it is the warp and woof of this society. What is more important than what everyone else says, however, is this—what is God telling you?”
“How do I know what is my own wishful thinking and what is truth?”
“Pray. Listen. Ask Him to show you and make it clear what you are to do when the moment is right. I will pray as well.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“I love you, daughter.” With that, he kissed her forehead and said farewell.
Josie slept better that evening and awoke hopeful.
The rounds of visits took their toll even though the highlight was now on new scandals about some debutante being caught alone with a man or another eloping, or some titled gentlemen dueling on the Green over some perceived debt of honor that seemed to emerge daily.
Josie found it tiresome.
That afternoon, she had a barouche ride with Sir Tidley, whom she found enjoyable as he spun tales about people around them.
“Miss Storm, observe that young milkmaid over there by that tree? She is really the lost princess from Estonia, kidnapped and brought to London fifteen years past and raised humbly to keep her from discovery. And that young man, should he choose to marry her, will someday be a prince, even though right now he mucks out the stalls down at the stables at the east end of the park.”
Josie grinned. “But, Sir Michael, should they be happy in their changed circumstances?”
Michael grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “And why should they not be? A tidy fortune can cover a multitude of sins.”
Josie’s smile faltered. “Not all sins are easily wiped clean, Sir Tidley.”
“Are you harboring some sinister secret? Is there a skeleton in your closet dancing merrily in eagerness to escape?”
Josie shook her head. “No, sir, but I do harbor my own failures, and sometimes the strictures on us in society make it difficult to make right the wrongs.”
“And who, my dear, would you make restitution to?”
Josie glanced at him and searched his eyes. “I. That is to say…it is a private matter, and I cannot say more.” She focused on her hands clenched in her lap. She would not use Marcus’s friends as a go-between. She needed to find a way to speak to Marcus herself. She glanced up and out of the barouche to the pastoral scene beyond them. “I apologize, Sir Michael, for taking the enjoyment out of our ride.” Josie pointed to a little boy punting a boat in the pond in the distance. “So, what tale belies that young man’s existence?”
Sir Michael regarded her in silence for a few moments before he nodded, smiled knowingly at her change of topic, and began again to render another comical story about the young man.
Soon, she found herself smiling again. Josie prayed that somehow she would find a way to speak to Lord Remington should he happen to be present at one of the three balls she was scheduled to attend that evening.
Josie’s plans were frustrated as she counted down the days until she could leave London.
She enjoyed the sights of town in the company of some of the young men who had been courting her. The Tower, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and even an evening at Vauxhall Gardens for finely sliced ham and viewing the fireworks were exciting. Her enjoyment was tinged with regret that she was not experiencing these with a certain gentleman with dark wavy hair and chocolate colored eyes. She had tried to catch his eye, but he never acknowledged her presence. Her heart shrank. She would be leaving town in a few short days. Time was running out.
~*~
The next day, Josie took Molly with her on a walk to the small bookstore on Larson Lane, next to the confectioner’s shop she had spied a few days past. She had hoped to purchase some books and treats for her siblings. Maybe she would purchase a book for herself for when she got home. It was a perfect fall day. The air was crisp, and for once, London did not smell as awful as it usually did with the wind directing the odor of the Thames away from them.
Even with all of her dancing, she had missed the exercise of her daily walks. Today she enjoyed lengthening her stride as they made their way. She stopped to purchase a posy from the small stall at the end of the street and paid generously for it. She inhaled the fresh smell of mums from a tidy garden as she walked past. She took in the sights of the street sweeps and horses pulling dray carts loaded with produce, young children herded by their nannies, and a few of the fashionably elite out to purchase items to take with them to the country.
Josie entered the bookstore and enjoyed the smell of leather and ink. After a short consultation with the proprietor, she made her selections and bought a bag of treats for her brothers and sister. She would miss the luxury of easy access to these things when she returned to Westwood. Molly carried her purchases, although Josie held her posy and occasionally lifted it to her face to inhale the scent and smile. It took her back to a happier time at Rose Hill. And Marcus. She frowned. All her thoughts brought her to the same place. Marcus.
Josie wondered if she would ever visit Rose Hill again and grieved the loss—not of that beautiful estate, but of the man who owned it. Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the carriage that stopped alongside the curb or the large man who exited.
He approached her with all courtesy. “Youz be Miss Storm?”
This huge ox of a man with his bushy red hair and bearded face took Josie aback. She hesitated a moment before she responded. “Yes.”
“Iz a message from Lord Chester. Hez wants youz to come right away if youz would. It be urgent like.”
“My grandfather is in town?”
Molly shook her head. “I do not think—”
Another man grabbed the young maid from behind.
Josie screamed but found herself equally overcome by the red-haired oaf. Whatever he placed over her m
outh smelled horrible. The posies slipped from her fingers as darkness descended.
Josie awoke on the floor of a moving carriage, confused. Her head ached from the repeated bouncing against the hard floor, and she struggled to right herself. Her stomach rebelled violently, and she almost retched. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she tried to take deep breaths. She prayed. Think, Josie. Lord, help!
She was alone, and it was dark. From the uneven rhythm of the horses’ hooves, she noticed how ill matched and tired they were. She inched her way up to the seat and found the outside shutters of the carriage closed. Trapped. She remembered the attack on Molly. A red giant. Obviously, Lord Chester had been a ruse. Her grandfather would never have treated her thus.
Josie cast up her accounts on the floor of the carriage. The smell almost caused her to do it again. Her head pounded, and she fought to think clearly. She weakly contemplated jumping from the carriage, until she discovered the locked doors. She prayed and leaned back into the corner and braced herself against the opposing seat in an unsuccessful attempt to stop the throbbing in her head and the roiling of her stomach.
The carriage rolled to a stop in a small village. Josie heard the difference in the sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestones. There was noise in the stable yard and instructions given to change horses. The door unlocked, and the giant peered in.
“I suppose youz want to use the privy? I will escort you. No talkin’ to no one or youz don’t make it to the coast.”
Josie nodded and experienced a flood of dizziness as she exited the carriage.
He roughly escorted her around the back of a little inn to an outhouse.
When she was finished, the giant half- jerked, half-walked her back to the carriage. He gave her a small piece of bread to eat.
She refused, afraid her stomach would rebel. The old ripped squabs were more visible, and someone had thrown straw over the floor where she had made a mess earlier. The stench overwhelmed, but she did find, to her relief, that the black covers were missing from the windows.
He shoved her into the carriage without ceremony, and the doors locked from the outside.
Josie leaned back in the corner and shivered in fear.
~*~
Lord Remington had trailed Josie discreetly when the attack occurred. He sent his tiger off to round up his friends and sprang his team in pursuit of the carriage Josie was in. He stayed a distance behind so as not to arouse suspicion.
Mr. Neville had also been trailing the pair and the man, at his signal, now saw to the welfare of the abigail.
Marcus’s only hope now was that his friends would arrive, as prearranged, to help him out before it was too late. He doubted he could handle that giant and the other man alone. But he would do whatever it took to ensure Josie’s safety.
25
Marcus drove into the yard and spied Josie. He was outnumbered and chose to continue to follow until the others caught up. He hoped it would be soon.
The red giant told his weasel-faced partner that if they didn’t hurry, they would not make Dover by evening and he had too much money riding on this “prime piece” to miss their packet.
Marcus scribbled and left a note with the innkeeper for his friends. With new horses put to his carriage, he was ready to resume his journey behind the kidnappers.
They called her a “fancy piece,” which indicated they intended to sell her to a brothel. Even if his friend did not arrive before the carriage reached Dover, Marcus would do everything in his power to prevent her from boarding any boat. The thought of what would happen to her if he failed was too horrific to bear.
That any other man would someday marry Josie galled him. She belonged to him. As the horses’ hooves pounded the dirt road beneath him and the wagon bounced, he mourned again the loss of Josie’s good favor and even the right to fight for her. Dust flew in his face stirred up by the carriage in front of him, causing his eyes to burn. Fight for her he would, even if she never chose to believe in his integrity. He prayed that his brother and friends would be there to help or Marcus was most certainly riding to his death.
Prayer. When had he last prayed? In typical fashion, he took it upon himself to assume responsibility for the lives of those around him, including Josie. A dip in the road forced his bottom off his seat, and he came down with a hard jolt. He grinned and shook his head. Yes, God. You definitely have my attention. The miles flew past as he prayed fervently for God to intervene in some way and rescue Josie, while at the same time, Marcus surrendered himself to the possibility that he would be forced to sacrifice more than his reputation this time.
~*~
Josie watched the scenery pass at dizzying speed. They exchanged horses again in another small village. The giant had peeked in and leered at her. Terror overwhelmed her, and she wondered if death would be preferable to what they had planned. She was dizzy from the drug they had used. It made thinking about her situation nigh on impossible. Weak and helpless, she recited Scripture to calm herself and could almost hear Marcus’s comforting voice from when he had read the words of Psalm to her only a few months past.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD which made heaven and earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD is thy keeper; the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.
The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore.
Josie‘s future was uncertain, and she prayed for rescue. She had a sense of peace that God was aware of what was happening and was there with her in the midst of it all. She shivered, hugged herself, and tried to fight the heaviness in her eyelids.
She awoke with the slowing of the carriage. Peering outside the carriage window, she observed a posting house. It was dark, and a thick fog had rolled in. From the cursing she heard from her captors, they had obviously not reached as far as they intended. She shivered in fear about what a night in an inn with them would mean.
Lord, please save me.
The giant roughly pulled Josie from the carriage, and she struggled to stand as the world spun wildly around her. The air was cold, and she shivered. She wished she had worn her redingote to the bookstore earlier. It seemed she was in a nightmare until she heard a familiar voice.
A stable hand had come to take the horses and spoke with a cockney accent. She startled at him.
He glanced at her and gave her a cheeky grin and a wink. Sir Michael Tidley!
Red made it clear to the servant that the horses were to be ready very early in the morning.
Michael tipped his hat and led the horses off to the stable.
Josie glanced around. Was Sir Michael alone, or were there others?
Another carriage pulled into the courtyard as Red escorted her to the door of the posting inn.
She sensed him. Marcus was here. Why would he come for her? Her spirit deflated as she remembered her cruelty to him at their last meeting. Did she dare hope that he would aid her?
Red deposited her on a bench by the front door with a growl to stay as if she were a dog. Not that she was in any condition to run. She couldn’t stand on her own without blacking out. Red went to talk to his weasely partner. Soon Red came over and roughly hauled Josie back to her feet and moved her toward the door of the Inn.
Lord Remington blocked their entrance.
Josie gazed up at Marcus and feared what might happen. He flickered a glance at her but focused on her captor.
Red glared back, his hand that held her arm clenched even tighter.
“You’re hurting me,” she yelped.
“Maybe you should leave the lady alone,” Marcus ground out. His fists clenched.
“She’s mine.”
Josie swayed as dizziness and fear overwhelmed her, along with the scent of the slums that emanated from the brute beside her. She had the urge to retch again but dreaded doing that on Marcus. Before she realized what was happening, the brute shoved her onto the bench so hard she smacked her elbow against the wooden back support. The sudden move sent the world spinning wildly.
Wiping at her mouth with a handkerchief that somehow found its way into her possession, she looked up to observe Marcus’s gaze on her, brows furrowed in concern.
Before she was able to respond, the red giant grabbed Marcus by the shoulder, spun him around, and leveled a punch into his gut.
Josie winced. She looked to the left and recognized Lord Westcombe arguing with Weasel.
A knife slipped out of the kidnapper’s sleeve and barely missed Phillip’s side as the aristocrat moved quickly and retaliated with force.
The refinement she had known these men for disappeared in the fierce battle that erupted. Lord Harrow, Sir Tidley, and Captain Allendale appeared from the stables.
“A good mill! Let us join them, men!” shouted Michael as the men ran to join their friends. Michael joined Philip in his battle against Weasel.
Jared and Theodore ran to assist Marcus.
Josie watched in horror as the men pummeled each other, feigned, and ducked as knives slashed through the air. It was a convoluted dance with the only music coming from the cheering of the crowd gathered from the town and inside the building where she sat shivering from cold and fear. She prayed fervently that Marcus and his friends would prevail.
Michael and Phillip soon stood over an unconscious Weasel. They bound him and left him in the dust. Their clothing was torn, and blood dripped from Michael’s nose, yet he smiled as if energized. Together they turned to assist Marcus, Theo, and Jared.
Marcus fought well against the giant. But the large man was too much for him. The giant handled all three men coming at him with ease. He roared as he tossed Jared aside like a rag doll. Marcus roared back as he lunged for the giant’s stomach in an effort to knock him over. The bigger man tripped over Theo’s foot in the process but was quickly back on his feet and fought fiercely. Michael joined in the melee.
The Virtuous Viscount Page 22
