by Joan Vincent
Mandel sauntered triumphantly up to them, Sarita’s hand firmly held to his arm. “Mesdames, how lovely you are this beautiful day.”
“You seem unusually gay, monsieur,” Lady Phillippa noted, fighting a surge of distaste at the young Frenchman’s manner.
“Is something wrong, Sarita?” she questioned, seeing her wan looks.
“Nothing—now,” she answered. She reached out to free her hand.
Reluctantly, Mandel released his hold.
Sarita swung on him angrily. “You will leave at once.”
Question, then anger flared to his features.
“You are wrong, monsieur, to think I would marry a—a cur such as you.”
Stepping forward threateningly, Mandel found two parasol points in his stomach.
“You have been asked to leave,” Lady Phillippa said icily. She jabbed her parasol.
“It is not wise to stay beyond one’s welcome,” Lady Imogene added.
A wine-red flush came to Pierre’s features. He clenched and unclenched his hands. “You shall regret this, mademoiselle,” he spat, and strode angrily away.
“He seemed such a nice young man,” Lady Imogene tisked sadly as she lowered her parasol. “What a rather nasty look he had. Do you think we should have Ben and Josh keep watch in case he returns?”
“You had best remain indoors, Sarita. Have one of us with you whenever you do go out until Monsieur Mandel has had time to cool his feckless ardour,” the marchioness cautioned. “A man scorned is no less dangerous than a spurned woman.”
“What else shall happen?” the countess sighed heavily.
“Brienne and Henrietta could be reconciled. There hasn’t been a sound for at least a half hour,” Lady Phillippa noted hopefully.
“Perhaps Brienne realized the futility of her purpose and took action?” countered Lady Imogene.
“Purpose? Action?” Sarita questioned.
The marchioness bit her lip. “You don’t think she would—”
“Of course not,” the countess said, but her words were less than confident.
“Perhaps,” Lady Phillippa began and paused. Without another word, the three women raised their skirts in unison and ran to the rectory.
Chapter 19
Mandel stared at Lin Sullivan’s battered face.
“Stubborn un, ‘e be,” the burly man beside him grunted. “Ain’t said no more than ‘e did the first time. ‘Haps what ye ‘eard tell o’ ‘im ‘twerent true.”
“I’ll decide that. It could be I only need to find someone more capable than you to persuade him,” Mandel sneered.
“I’d like to see the likes o’ ye or ‘is lordship make the man talk,” scoffed the other.
“The seed of a brain does lie in that noggin.” The young Frenchman rubbed his chin. “When full darkness falls, take the earl to that deserted cottage near Pergrine Manor.”
“Will ‘is lordship ‘prove o’ ‘avin’ ‘im so close like?”
“You take orders from me,” Mandel snapped.
“But if ‘e be found, it do point the finger at ‘is lordship.”
“Which should teach you something.”
The burly figure stared stupidly, then began to chuckle. “A bit o’ protection fer yerself, eh? Ye be the smart one.”
“Then do as you’re bid and keep watch for Sullivan. Also put a watch out along the coast. I’m expecting Le Blatte. He must not be caught.”
“Them’s too stupid to catch the likes o’ Le Blatte,” jeered the other.
“And what of the brandy we lost?”
“T’was only a bad toss o’ luck.”
“If there is another such toss, ‘twill be unfortunate—for you,” warned Mandel and walked away. Certain no one was about, he slipped through the concealed opening of the cave and hurried through the woods towards Pergrine Manor.
Twilight had fallen by the time he presented himself and asked to speak with his lordship.
While waiting in Pergrine’s private study, Mandel eyed the richly finished Chippendale furniture and luxurious velvet drapery. This room was one of the few not stripped to pay for Pergrine’s expensive habits. He caressed the polished desktop possessively.
“I told you not to come here,” Lord Pergrine blustered angrily after the butler closed the door behind him. “It is too dangerous.”
Mandel shrugged insolently. “What risque is there in discussing a greenhouse?”
“You fool. Don’t you know Gerard is here? We must be careful. What do you want this time?”
“Lord Gerard’s man, this Finley—is he willing to do as you said?”
“If the persuasion is high enough. Has the gold been delivered?”
“Do not fear, it shall be. When is the exchange to take place?”
“The night of the ball. At least there will be some advantage to Lady Pergrine’s nonsense. Neither Finley nor I will be missed for some time.
“Will the boat be waiting if we choose to leave England?”
“As promised, my lord. And I shall be going with you.” Only the twitch of Mandel’s lower lip revealed his anxiety over the possible reaction to this news.
Pergrine fidgeted nervously with his cravat. “But I thought you were to remain.”
“I will no longer be of use here. There is someone I wish to take to France.” He picked up the letter opener on Pergrine’s desk and ran his finger against the edge.
“Not Dunstan?” Pergrine asked fearfully.
“Non, he is to die. Mademoiselle Durham is to go with me.” He poised a fingertip atop the point of the opener.
“One of the Durham chits, eh,” laughed his lordship. “That will set up old Durham’s hackles.”
“She will not be going willingly—at least not at first.” Mandel’s lips curled into a malicious smile.
“Not willing? You’d best leave her out of it then.” Pergrine shook his head. “Only complicates matters. Makes it more dangerous for all of us. Finley won’t take to it.”
“She goes with us.”
“No.”
Mandel leaped to Pergrine’s side. He pressed the letter opener against his heaving chest.
“Take your hands from me, Mandel. Without me you have no documents, no plans, no numbers.”
Slowly, Mandel relaxed, lowered the knife, and sauntered back to the desk. “Lord Dunstan has been taken to the deserted cottage just north of this manor,” he said, his back still to Pergrine.
Striding forward, his lordship spun him around. “You imbecile! Don’t you realize the danger? Return him to the cave at once. Your men let him hear too much.”
“Remove your hand, my lord.”
The Frenchman’s cold, birdlike eyes raised fear in Pergrine.
“Without me you do not have your gold. Lord Dunstan’s nearness is to remind you of that.”
“I’ve been true to my word,” the other blustered. “You have always received what you wanted.”
“And I shall continue to. It is no longer I who take the risks, my lord.”
“I still think you should leave the Durham chit out of it. Think. She will be more easily missed than any of us,” Pergrine insisted. His gaze wavered as Mandel remained unmoved. “And what of Dunstan?”
“As I said, he shall die,” Mandel answered coldly.
“I must return to my guest.” Pergrine fingered his cravat with a trembling hand. “Good eve, Mandel.”
“My lord.” Pierre bowed and watched his lordship scurry away like a rat on a well-waxed floor.
* * * *
“Mr. Sullivan, you don’t know how we’ve awaited your return,” Reverend Durham greeted Dunstan as he stepped down from the phaeton before the rectory at dusk.
“I learned of Lord Enoch’s disappearance when I halted at Runnet.” Cris returned the firm handshake. “What has been done to find his lordship?”
“Clem Traunt and I have led searches for the past two days but to no avail.”
“Could Traunt be summoned? I would like to speak wit
h both of you about this matter.”
“Of course. Mr. Caine will go for him at once, but I believe you should speak with Lady Dunstan,” the reverend urged. “This has been a very difficult time for her. You are acquainted with Lady Dunstan?” Durham asked, sensing the other’s reluctance.
“Rather better than is comfortable—at times,” Dunstan said with a wry grin. “Will you take me to her? This had best be done at once.”
“I am certain she does not hold you personally responsible for her son’s disappearance,” the rector sought to ease the young man’s discomfiture as he led him towards the solarium.
“Is everyone inside?” Dunstan asked at the door.
Durham nodded.
The earl quietly opened the door and walked in. Seven pairs of eyes bent upon him as he halted before Lady Dunstan and gave a deep bow. From the corner of his eyes he saw Lady Brienne nod.
“You may straighten, Mr. Sullivan,” Lady Dunstan told him haughtily.
“I sincerely regret my absence at the time of his lordship’s disappearance. I pledge to do all in my power to discover those responsible,” said Cris.
“You do intend to find my son, then?”
“Every attempt is being made,” Reverend Durham interposed quickly, sensing a brouhaha coming.
“Do you believe a ransom will be demanded?” she continued, ignoring the rector.
“I do not,” the earl answered.
“That is fortunate. At this moment I would not pay a farthing for my son’s return.”
“Oh, Lady Dunstan,” Deborah implored. “Surely you do not mean that.”
Her ladyship’s features softened as she took in Deborah’s stricken look. “I do not, my dear. But,” her gaze returned to the earl, “my son does at times try me beyond the limits of maternal endurance.”
“But it is not Lord Enoch’s fault he was . . . kidnapped.” Deborah’s bottom lip quivered.
Exasperation spread over Lady Dunstan’s features. She fanned herself with her kerchief.
“My sister is curt because of her grief,” Lady Brienne assured Deborah. “No one desires the safe return of the earl more than she.”
“I am capable of speaking for myself, Brienne,” Lady Dunstan interposed. She straightened her kerchief into a neat square, then looked at her son. “We are happy to see you safely returned, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Your journey here was pleasant, I trust,” Dunstan said, sitting down beside his mother. He tossed a smiled greeting to Sarita.
“Abominable. It was horrid—as is any travel over country roads. And—”
The baroness coughed a warning cough.
“But Mrs. Durham has been so kind since my arrival,” Lady Dunstan amended. “It quite makes up for the unpleasantness.”
“I will see to the matter we discussed,” Reverend Durham told Cris and excused himself.
Silence hung heavily for a few moments.
“Mr. Sullivan, could you perhaps advise us, knowing Lord Enoch as you do?” the baroness asked.
“I shall try,” he managed with appropriate sombreness.
“We have been invited to a ball at Pergrine Manor just two days hence.”
“And you question the appropriateness of attending it at such a time?” he finished for her. “With all respect,” Dunstan took his mother’s hand, “I can assure you that your son would wish you—all of you,” he glanced to the others, “to attend. Such action on your part,” the earl added hastily, “could possibly cause the villains to drop their guard—to make an error that would lead us to his lordship,”
“If that is true, I insist we all attend,” Lady Dunstan replied. She sighed theatrically. “Though it shall be difficult.”
“Until Lord Enoch is found, there can be no easy rest for any of us,” Dunstan noted soberly, looking at no one.
* * * *
“Sarita, I hoped I would find an opportunity to speak with you.” Dunstan took her hand and drew her into the shadows of the Hall.
“Do you not fear the Ghost of Malvern?” she joked shakily as he took her in his arms.
“Lady Brienne has exorcised it,” he stated with a chuckle. Gazing into her eyes, he became quite serious. “She has also told me of the gossip—”
Sarita placed her fingertips on his lips. “It does not matter.”
Kissing them lightly, he continued, “But it will in the days to come. And I mean for us to have many days together—a lifetime of days.” Dunstan sighed heavily. “But first I must find Lin—Lord Enoch.”
“I am certain you shall.”
“I wish I was as certain. You must recognize the possible danger. I am involved in trapping spies.”
“Pierre?”
“How did you know?”
“Last night when I was returning to the rectory for the first time, I accidentally overheard him speaking with another man,” Sarita answered reluctantly.
“What was said? It could be important.”
“Something about a man, Le Blatte, that he wanted information before he sent more gold. Pierre told the man to tell Le Blatte he needed the gold for a—a payment.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Pierre also wanted a boat kept waiting on the shore, but the other man said he could promise nothing, that only by luck had brandy instead of gold been taken from them during a raid. Does it mean anything to you?” she asked.
“Yes, more than I have time to explain now. Beware of Mandel. He has no idea you heard this?”
“I am certain he did not,” Sarita assured him.
“Pergrine is also involved in this. That is why we must attend the ball.” He tilted her chin up. “There is a reason behind all this oddness.”
“I know you shall explain when you are able.” Complete trust warmed her words.
Dunstan’s lips brushed hers, and then held them fast as he crushed her against him. The danger about them forgotten as their hearts twined in rapturous delight.
Chapter 20
“Before Traunt arrives, there is a personal matter I must speak with you about,” the earl told Reverend Durham after taking a seat before him in the library. “I am depending upon your confidentiality in this. The entire matter cannot be cleared until . . .. But I am getting ahead of myself.” He lounged back, the earnestness in his eyes belying his indifferent pose.
“First, a necessary confession. I am not Cris Sullivan, but Enoch Crispin Henry Edward Kennard, Earl of Dunstan. The man posing as me is, in truth, Lin Sullivan, my secretary.” He paused.
“That explains much,” Reverend Durham noted calmly without any trace of surprise.
“The deception was, unplanned, a quirk on my part.”
“Go on.”
“I was sent here to learn how the French were getting detailed accounts of land and naval movements from someone in this area. I have been successful to a degree.” Dunstan leaned forward, all indifference gone.
“I believe that Lin was taken either because he uncovered something of importance or because they have learned of my activities. If his true identity is revealed, his life will be forfeit.”
“Did the dowagers know of this exchange of identities?”
“They discovered it a short time ago. I had not seen them since I was a young boy. They have persuaded my mother to consent to the disguise.”
“Persuaded?” Durham thought of the uproar heard earlier between the women. He nodded and flexed his jaw. “Do my daughters know this?”
“No.”
The rector’s look hardened.
“I will tell Sarita everything as soon as Lin is safe. It is she I wish to speak of. I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“You believe she will accept you, even after learning of your deception?”
“I am hopeful she will understand the reason behind it. I love your daughter deeply, Reverend. I seldom have the opportunity to discern whether a woman cares for me or for my position and wealth. I have no doubt that it is I Sarita loves.”
“Only if she wants the title alone. Lin is more a friend and companion to me. He has been my personal secretary, but that is at an end. He is a man of means and came with me on this journey as a personal favour. If your daughter loves him, it will not matter if he is simply Master Lin Sullivan, Esq.”
A knock on the floor ended their conversation. “Enter,” Reverend Durham called, and Clem Traunt strode into the library.
Dunstan rose and offered his hand.
The identity exchange was explained to Traunt, and the earl launched into a brief outline of his investigation of Lord Pergrine’s and Pierre Mandel’s involvement.
“Then one of them has his lordship—I mean Mr. Sullivan?” Clem apologized.
“It would be best to continue as we have,” said Dunstan. “I remain Sullivan until this is finished.
“But yes, I believe they do have Lin. And they are about to make a decisive move. The papers Finley carries are worth several thousand pounds to the French, but once he sells them, he cannot remain in England. Neither can Pergrine. Mandel may feel secure, though, because he has not taken an overt part in this manoeuvring.”
“I still find it difficult to believe that Peregrine is actually a traitor,” said Reverend Durham. He shook his head. “That he has the worst traits of the English peerage I readily agree. But to betray his country?”
“Pergrine is a desperate man, Reverend. Poor investments, mishandling of his holdings, and incessant gambling have all eaten at his funds. Now there are none left. The duns will soon take his lands from him. He is, in fact, a pauper.”
“Even so, many men have lost more than he and not turned traitor.”
“He has been lured by the promise of land, wealth, prestige, and power. Men have succumbed for far less,” Dunstan replied. “My first concern is to free Lin; second, gain proof against Mandel, Pergrine, and Finley, and third, prevent those documents from being handed over.
“Every cottager should be questioned. Someone must have seen something. My own men will continue scouring Pergrine’s land.
