by Diane Farr
“Where are you going?”
“Brighton,” he said through his teeth, and started down the stairs.
Edith must have foolishly disclosed her destination in the note. Olivia ran out into the passage and called after the earl’s retreating form. “Wait! Ralph, what will you do when you find her?”
“Kill her. And that whoreson Rival,” he shot over his shoulder.
Olivia, stunned, pressed her hands to her cheeks. Ralph always said such things, terrible things, when he was angry. Of course he wouldn’t really kill anyone. Not his own wife. People didn’t do such things. And certainly he would not harm Lord Rival. It was absurd. Why would he? George had nothing to do with this.
Even so, half-formed fears chased madly through her brain. Ralph’s apparent certainty that George was aiding in Edith’s escape, and that when he found Edith he would find George with her, frightened Olivia on some deep and primal level that she hardly cared to acknowledge.
She heard the front door slam, far below, and the sound seemed to break her trance. She would think about the implications later. She would worry later. Now was the time to act, not think. She spun round and flew back into Edith’s bedchamber. Bessie tried to hand her Edith’s note, but Olivia was intent upon Joe Pratt.
She grabbed the lad by his shoulders and turned him to face her, speaking urgently into his startled face. “Joe, I need you to take a message to Lord Rival. At once. You will probably find him at the school. If he has left there, you must seek him at his home in Mayfair. Take a hackney; it’s the fastest way. Ask his lordship to return here to me immediately. Warn him that—that Lord Badesworth has taken a foolish notion into his head and means to do him a mischief. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lady,” said Joe eagerly. He wasted not an instant, but pelted down the stairs.
“What does Edith’s note say?” asked Olivia, finally taking it from Bessie with a trembling hand.
“Not much,” admitted Bessie. “She wrote so hastily, I can barely make it out. Why is Ralph angry with Rival?”
“Because Ralph is a lunatic,” retorted Olivia, praying that this was, indeed, the only reason. Her eyes scanned Edith’s note, concentrating on the scrawled words. They did not shed much light. “Brighton,” she murmured, bewildered. “Why did he think she was going to Brighton?”
The note said merely,
Dear Olivia and Bessie, pray forgive me but I cannot stay. You have been more than generous and I am very greatfull. Pray accept the candyI was going to give you but now there is no tyme. Lord Rival [illegible].
I am so sorry to inconvince you but I must go and it is better that you not know where, I promise you I will be safe for I go to one who loves me. I should have gone there at once but it was to far. I shall writte to you when I am safe. Edith.
Olivia read it. She read it again, her unease growing. That was surely Lord Rival in the center of the note, but what came after? She pointed to the phrase, holding the note toward Bessie. “What does that say?”
“Inconvince. She means inconvenience.”
“Yes, yes, but what comes before it? Something about Lord Rival.”
Bessie stared hard at the crumpled paper, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Did you see the basket of marzipan she left us? Poor little poppet! It was a sweet thought.”
“Never mind that,” said Olivia impatiently. She read Edith’s note again, straining to understand it. “Why does her note mention Lord Rival? How does she know him?”
“I didn’t even think of that. Mercy! It’s odd, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Ralph taxed me with it a half hour ago, and I promised him that Edith and Lord Rival had never met. But apparently they have.”
“Well, he can’t think she meant Rival by that one who loves me rubbish! Is that what sent him flying up into the boughs?”
“Perhaps. There’s no knowing what may be in Ralph’s head.” Olivia suddenly realized that the housekeeper still hovered nearby, her forehead knotted with concern. “Mrs. Pratt, kindly see to it that bandboxes are packed for Bessie and me, suitable for an overnight stay. Immediately, if you please.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Mrs. Pratt vanished about her business, but Bessie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Bandboxes! Ivy, what are you thinking?”
Olivia’s face set in stubborn lines. “That you and I must needs go to Brighton. If Edith is truly headed there—for whatever reason—and Ralph is on her trail, we must catch her before he does. Or soon enough afterward that he won’t have time to harm her.”
“How are we to catch her?” demanded Bessie. “Ralph seemed to know where she was going, but we do not.”
“Actually, we needn’t catch Edith if we succeed in catching Ralph. I know it can be done; one hears of runaways being caught after much longer head starts than this. At any rate, Lord Rival will advise us.”
Bessie looked as if she might pop. “Lord Rival! What has he to say to anything? I hope you do not mean to air our family’s dirty laundry with—”
“Bessie, for heaven’s sake, Ralph said he meant to kill the man! Even if it’s just bluster, we must, at the very least, warn him.”
“Joe Pratt will warn him,” said Bessie patiently. “Ivy, be reasonable! If you truly mean to set out after Edith, we can’t wait for Rival.”
Olivia’s chin jutted stubbornly. “I shan’t leave without him.”
“Then it’s a fool’s errand,” Bessie grumbled, but Olivia was adamant. Irrational or not, she wanted George by her side. It wasn’t so much his counsel that she wanted, it was his presence. She would know no peace until she saw him walk through her door—not, she was ashamed to admit, because she was afraid that Ralph would do him an injury. She was privately sick with fear that Ralph was right.
Part of her was bracing for the possibility that Joe Pratt would return without George, saying that he could not be found. If Ralph was right, then Edith had not hurt herself when the makeshift rope let go because Lord Rival waited beneath her window. The mental picture of Edith tumbling into George’s arms made Olivia feel as if the room were spinning. If Joe returned without him—if George and Edith were even now on their way to Brighton together—dear God, could she bear it?
When Bessie left to supervise the packing of her bandbox, Olivia was left alone in Edith’s empty bedchamber. There, her private demons stalked her. She tried in vain to fend them off, busying herself with a perfunctory inventory of Edith’s room. She fought down her rising fears by searching for clues.
A few of Edith’s toiletries seemed to be missing. Her clothing had been tossed about in her dressing area. This indicated hasty and abbreviated packing. But Olivia could not concentrate. Her demons hovered and circled like vultures, pouncing whenever her thoughts paused. They gnawed and tore at the tender edges of her mind.
The demons whispered that Edith had appeared on her doorstep the very night before George entered her life. Was it coincidence? Or had Edith, as Ralph had told her, left her husband for George? Had George and Edith been meeting on the sly all along?
It would not be the first time Olivia’s gullible heart had trusted and been betrayed. It was her worst nightmare, to relive that particular pain: discovering that someone you loved was deliberately playing you for a fool. Or, in this case, two someones.
Imitation friendships were the chief hazard of wealth. In small ways, with casual acquaintances, it did not matter when people smiled and fawned and flattered. One usually heard the false note, spotting the insincerity before it had a chance to hurt. But in great matters—to be wrong about friendships that mattered to you—to show kindness to someone the way she had shown kindness to Edith, and be despised for it—that hurt. And it hurt worse, it hurt unbearably, to dream about a certain man, to melt at his touch, and then discover that he secretly laughed at you.
Olivia steeled herself to meet that pain again.
Giving in to the demons, bracing herself to learn that George had spirited Edith away, she worked herself
into such a state that when she heard a familiar baritone voice and quick, firm tread below, she could not, for a moment, credit her own ears. She froze, holding her breath, then let it out in a whoosh. The relief was so overpowering that she grabbed the bedpost to keep her knees from giving way. She heard his footsteps taking the stairs two at a time and then, like a miracle, George stood in the doorway before her. He was still wearing his many-caped driving coat and his tall, broad-shouldered bulk nearly filled the door frame.
His gaze flicked over her and his expression altered. “What’s wrong, sweeting?” He crossed to her in three quick strides and gripped her shoulders, his eyes filled with concern.
Belatedly, Olivia realized she was still clutching the bedpost. She gave a shaky laugh and let it go, smiling mistily up at him. “Nothing. My foolish fancies were getting the better of me.”
His grin flashed, although his eyes were still serious. “Excellent. I hope you count me among your foolish fancies.”
He had misunderstood her, but it didn’t matter. She smiled up at him, giddy with relief. “Oh, yes. You are the most foolish of my fancies. But thank you for coming so quickly—indeed, there is not a moment to be lost.”
One brow shot up. “Are matters so urgent? Where is Lord Badesworth? Joe Pratt tells me he is making threats. I have come here to make sure that whatever threats he makes, he makes against me, and me only.” He cupped her cheek briefly in his hand. “Is that what distresses you, Ivy?” he asked, his voice rough. “Has he threatened you? Tell me.”
“Threatened me? Not really. He would certainly blame me if he could, but I was with him when Edith disappeared. He knows I had naught to do with it—today, at least, although he may persist in thinking I helped her run away the first time. Ralph spews so much bombast that there is no telling what he truly believes.”
He returned both hands to her shoulders and leaned back, holding her at a distance as if trying to bring her face more sharply into focus. “I think we are speaking at cross-purposes. Who is Edith?”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon. Lady Badesworth. Edith is my sister-in-law.” It seemed he did not know her name. This was reassuring.
His air of bafflement increased. “Now, look here—I was told that your brother is hunting for me, breathing fire. I assumed he discovered our friendship and means to end it if he can.”
Olivia gave a startled little laugh. “No! Ralph wouldn’t care what becomes of me. He thought you had formed a . . . a connection—an illicit relationship with his wife.”
It was George’s turn to look startled. “The deuce you say! What put such a cork-brained notion into his head?”
Olivia began toying with the edge of one of his greatcoat’s capes, still watching him out of the corner of her eye. “Why is it a cork-brained notion? I thought you had a history of—of stealing the affections of married women.”
“Certainly I do,” he said promptly. “But only when it serves my own interests. Ivy, you wound me! I may be a lascivious chap, but I am not an idiot.”
This callous speech should have made her think less of George. Somehow, it had the opposite effect. She beamed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she confessed, relaxing happily. “I suppose it would be rather stupid of you to seduce Edith. Under the circumstances. But, well, Ralph told me that she left him for you.”
“Poppycock. Don’t tell me you believed it.” He tilted her chin up with one hand, studying her face in unabashed amazement. “You did believe it. Why?”
“She’s run away! Didn’t Joe Pratt tell you?”
“No.” He frowned. “Why should he?”
“She left a note.” Olivia’s voice faltered a little. “It mentioned you.”
George looked thunderstruck. “But her note didn’t say she was eloping with me!” he exclaimed. “It couldn’t have.”
“No.”
“Well? What did it say?”
Olivia felt a little foolish. “We’re not entirely sure,” she admitted. “No one can read it.”
After a moment of stunned silence, George threw back his head and laughed out loud. Olivia was sure now that her fears had been completely silly. “I ought to have known there was something strange about all this,” she confessed, delighted. “After all, you never met Edith.”
“Yes, I did,” said George unexpectedly. “She ambushed me one day and bade me drive her to a confectioner’s shop.”
His reply was surprising, but its straightforward delivery was further evidence that Ralph had frightened her for no reason. Olivia leaned back against George’s strong arms and shook her head, mystified. “Well! I have a thousand questions, but I suppose they will have to wait. Edith must be found without delay.”
George glanced idly round the room. “There’s the basket of marzipan she purchased. I’d know it anywhere; those infernal ribbons flapped in my face all the way here from the shop. Where is her note?”
“I have it.” She pulled it from the pocket of her round gown and handed it to him. “Ralph read it and concluded she was heading for Brighton, although I see nothing about Brighton in it.”
He gave it a cursory inspection. “She has a grandmother in Brighton,” he said absently. “Well, what a goosecap! She does mention my name, but I fancy she is still nattering on about the marzipan. Fatal, to put my name in a farewell note when running away from her husband! No matter how innocent the context, my name has a rather—er—inflammatory effect on married men. I don’t wonder at Badesworth’s jumping to conclusions. Cooler heads than his have fired up with less cause.” He handed the note back to Olivia. “Why did you send for me, my dear? Would you like me to chase down the runaway for you?”
“Not for me. With me.” His casual mention of Edith’s grandmother gave her a jolt—how well did George know Edith?—but she must not stop to inquire now. “I wish to accompany you. Please.”
His eyes gleamed down at her. “This gets better and better. That curricle was the cleverest purchase I ever made.”
She stuffed Edith’s note hurriedly in her pocket, still anxiously studying his face. “Can it be done, George? Will we catch them?”
“How long ago did they leave?”
“I don’t know when, exactly. Edith left, I think, at least an hour ago. Ralph has been gone for nearly that, but he always travels in his own coach. He will have gone back to his hotel, I daresay, to make arrangements. I would not be surprised if he is there yet, or at the very least, has barely left.”
“In what sort of coach?”
“An old-fashioned traveling coach—a berline, I think. He prefers comfort to speed. And he always hires a guard to sit on the box with the driver, so assembling his party may take a bit of time.”
“Good. How do you suppose Edith is traveling? On foot?”
The absurdity startled a laugh out of her. “I hope not! But I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t know.”
“Does she have any money? Any luggage with her?”
Olivia thought swiftly. “Yes, she has money. And she has taken a few belongings, although I don’t think she has taken much. She knew Ralph was in the house when she left—well, that’s the reason why she left!—so I suppose she will use whatever money she has to buy speed.”
“A post chaise, then. I can’t imagine little Lady Badesworth riding ventre à terre to Brighton.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Brighton. What a pity her grandmother lives in Brighton.”
“Why?”
He flashed his wickedest grin at her. “Because I’d rather take you to Scotland, my sweet. And spend several nights on the road.”
18
In the end, they did take Lord Rival’s curricle—for the sake of expediency. But it was hardly the most practical equipage for three persons on a cold day. Bessie staunchly insisted that neither her comfort nor her dignity be considered in this emergency, so their objections to placing her on the hard little bench meant for a groom or tiger were overruled. Perch there she did, sitting very upright and gazing straight ahead, a th
ick rug tucked round her to ward off the chill. The ladies’ bandboxes were strapped to the back of the curricle, Olivia was handed up to sit beside George, and off they went, still earnestly discussing at which towns they should change horses and where to obtain shaving tackle and fresh linen for George, since it seemed probable they would spend the night in Brighton.
“And please do not protest at my expenditures on your behalf,” begged Olivia. “We are deeply in your debt for escorting us, and I will do whatever I can to minimize your discomfort and inconvenience. It is the least I can do, sir, after presuming upon your good nature in this unconscionable way.”
“Very well,” said George affably. “I’ve no objection. Be as generous as you like. It will compromise me, of course, to accept expensive presents from you, especially items of a highly personal nature. But I rely upon your sense of honor and fair play. I am confident you will offer me marriage after you have ruined me—”
Olivia choked. “And I suppose you intend to accept my offer.”
“Certainly I will accept it. With unbecoming alacrity. I can barely contain myself, anticipating the moment when you kneel and request my hand.”
Olivia was acutely conscious of Bessie hovering watchfully behind their heads. Her seat, meant for a servant, was positioned high enough so that she could not well overhear their conversation if they kept their voices low, but Olivia felt uncomfortable enough isolating her devoted chaperon without falling into the rudeness of a murmured, exclusive conversation with George. She gave him a warning look, therefore, and turned the subject away from their nonsensical banter.
“How long will we be on the road, my lord?”
George shrugged lightly, his eyes on his team as he skillfully threaded them through the congested streets of London. “That depends, I suppose, on whether we overtake our quarry en route. If we do not, and must look up Lady Badesworth’s grandmother in Brighton at the end of our journey, I daresay we have an arduous day ahead of us. Especially if none of us knows Lady Badesworth’s grandmother’s name or direction.”
