“Southend?” Lucianna’s brow furrowed. “That is in East Essex, nearly a four-hour journey from here.”
“Yes, it is. All the more reason we should hurry.” Triston pulled the door closed and sat back. “They have a several-hour lead on us.”
“They who, my lord?” Ophelia’s breathless tone said she might be in danger of fainting. “I should send word to my father—“
“There is no time.” Lucianna gave Ophelia a stern look.
“Very true.” Triston nodded in agreement as the carriage started out of the drive.
“What will ye have me do’n?” Ames shouted over the moving carriage wheels as he hobbled alongside the conveyance.
“Follow us and stop in Hadleigh. Collect the magistrate and demand he come to the cliffs!” Triston sat back, confident his servant would not let him down. Next, he faced the two women across from him. Lady Lucianna had him pinned with her assessing, narrowed glare while Lady Ophelia sat wide-eyed and visibly shaking. “I will explain everything on the way, but we must be going.”
His stepmother and former betrothed, Esmee, was a callous, spiteful creature. But harming another, especially a woman? That did not seem within her at all. The act would not benefit her in any way, and if Triston knew anything about Esmee, it was she only did what benefited her. However, if Abercorn were with her—and they were embroiled in some sort of illicit affair—there was no deducing what the pair was up to.
Triston only hoped he and Edith’s friends arrived in time. From the blood on the journal, he suspected that Edith had struggled with her abductor and had been injured in the process.
“We should not have pushed her to continue looking into Abercorn,” Ophelia mused aloud, wringing her hands in her lap. “If anything happens to her, it is our fault. The duke is a dangerous man…we knew that, yet still we needed answers.”
“Do not say this.” Lucianna placed her arm around her friend’s shoulders as they shook with a silent sob. “We were all doing our part to prove the man guilty of Tilda’s death. Yet, mayhap we should have come together and not allowed her to spy on the duke alone.”
“Do you truly think Abercorn is behind this?” Lucianna asked, pinning her glare on Triston as if he should have prevented all this.
Blast it all, he wished he’d been close enough to stop it.
“I am uncertain if Abercorn is solely involved, but we are headed for my stepmother’s cottage. It was gifted to her on her sixteenth birthday by her maternal grandmother. It lays mostly unused. I, myself, have only been there once. It is a long journey, and I suggest the pair of you rest. We will arrive by sunrise.”
The women stared out the window as they traveled beyond London and into the darkened countryside. The easy, well-oiled sway of the carriage may lull the women to sleep; however, Triston would get no rest until he knew for certain Edith was uninjured and back with her family—and with him.
His jaw clenched at the ludicrous notion. They’d shared one kiss—a rather innocent one, at that. There was little possibility he’d so much as crossed her mind after she departed his lodgings. Unfortunately, the same was not true for him. He’d thought of her while he bathed. He’d muddled his cravat more than once preparing for the soiree as he’d searched the room for her sun-kissed pale locks. If he’d hurried and arrived at the ball sooner, he would have discovered Edith’s disappearance far earlier than he had.
Pushing the curtain from his window, Triston stared out at the night. A sea of darkness surrounded them with only the occasional glow of the moon through the overgrown trees bordering the rutted road.
He could not think what Esmee was doing consorting with Abercorn—if Edith’s notes were correct, and the two dark-haired beauties were truly one and the same.
Hell, Triston had no doubt they were one and the same.
It was Esmee’s way of things. She’d claimed an interest in him only long enough to catch his father’s eye. She wed Lord Downshire quickly, securing her place as marchioness, but Abercorn could make her a duchess—did she not realize the messiness of divorce?
A part of him felt remorse for his father, duped by a woman he’d loved enough to hurt his own son to claim.
Triston wondered if he’d fought harder to keep Esmee if she’d have seen how much he’d truly cared for her—but, over time, he’d come to realize his attachment to the raven-haired woman was an emotion built solely on lust. It had never been anything close to love between them. He understood this now. The brief relationship he’d forged with Edith was far deeper than anything he’d experienced with Esmee. It only took Edith’s disappearance to make him realize the depth of his connection to her.
His blood boiled at the thought of Esmee being responsible for what was happening to Lady Edith. He would journey to the far reaches of England to secure Edith’s safety. He’d wage war against a fire-breathing dragon to make certain she was unharmed. And Triston would lay down his own life to make bloody certain Edith lived a life full of happiness and love.
Without a doubt, he was willing to give up his existence to secure hers.
A woman he’d met only a short time ago.
He didn’t know her well enough to say if any of his feelings were love, and not more than any chivalrous gentleman would offer; however, he was driven to do far more for Edith than he had ever felt compelled to do for another person.
Triston was certain he could not look back. He could not turn away. He could not live his life as if Lady Edith had not completely taken over his every thought and action.
It became more and more difficult for Edith to draw breath through the thick hood, and her head still pounded while her shoulder and hip throbbed. Every one of her limbs was numb with cold. Intense shaking had overtaken her firm resolve to not show her panic to the woman who kept her bound.
Time was passing, and the servant hadn’t returned, but then again, neither had she heard the carriage depart. At least there was someone still about with the power to stop this madness. Edith must speak with him, give him a reason to help her.
Was it morning yet? If her hood was removed would she see the sun had risen while she was tied to the chair?
And the woman currently stalking in front of her was nothing if not mad.
She moved from calm and reserved to angry and shouting to high-pitched laughter with a note of irrationality. The subject of the woman’s inquiry seemed to bounce between topics just as rapidly as her temperament changed.
Despite several hours locked in the cold cottage with her, Edith was no closer to determining the woman’s identity. She knew with certainty that she’d never heard her voice before. Was she a jilted lover of Abercorn’s? Possibly another person the duke had harmed?
Edith was hard-pressed to keep her fear at bay long enough to concentrate on the mystery at hand.
“I am finding it difficult to breathe.” Her voice was muffled and Edith was uncertain if the woman could understand her. “Can you please remove my hood?”
Edith had asked the same question several times before, but her captor never seemed to hear the question; instead moving on to another subject as if Edith hadn’t spoken. It was as if the woman were wasting time—or waiting for someone to arrive. Everything was beyond Edith’s comprehension. She was exhausted, her mind finding it hard to connect thoughts and words after so many hours bound to the stiff-backed chair.
“Mayhap a drink of water?” She attempted once more. “My throat is—“
“After all I have done, all I have suffered through, you and Triston think to ruin me?” Her voice cracked, and she laughed once more. “I cannot allow this to happen. Never will I allow this to happen. I have come so far, given up so much—I will not allow you, the spitting image of a porcelain doll with hair of pure gold and skin as fair as any English rose, and Triston to take from me what I have always deserved. A proper English rose, imagine that. Never would I have through Triston would favor such a dull chit.”
The woman’s words were becoming more and m
ore confusing as the hours passed and morning crept toward them. Edith could see muted light through her hood, something that hadn’t been there before. The sun must be rising.
“I suppose it cannot hurt to remove your hood now,” she mused, her feet starting again across the room. “He will be here soon. There are many things Triston is, however, lacking intellect is not one of them. Though I am far more clever than the pair of you. He will find your little notebook and come for you. If he needs any further proof, my maid let slip to the butler where I was going. I will have my confirmation that the pair of you will not cause my downfall.”
“I can tell you, I have no idea what you speak of. You can set me loose now, and I will never say a word of this to anyone,” Edith begged. “This must be some mistake or misunderstanding.”
The hood was jerked from her head, the woman’s grasp taking with it a thick lock of Edith’s hair.
“Ouch!” Edith blinked rapidly to clear her blurred vision as she turned her head back and forth, taking in the room around her. However, the woman was nowhere to be seen.
“Look all you want,” the woman hissed in Edith’s ear. “Soon enough, you will see nothing but the watery cliffs below.”
Her fears confirmed, Edith whipped her head sharply. The woman—the raven-haired beauty from Lord Abercorn’s upstairs’ window and Lord Torrington’s carriage in Hyde Park—stood behind Edith, her long locks tumbling down over her shoulders in disarray, her icy-blue eyes widened in madness.
This must be the woman Triston spoke of, the one who had betrayed him for his own father. “Lady Downshire.” Breathlessly, Edith turned away from the lady to hide her utter shock. A window stood directly before her. The carriage that had brought her sat in the drive, the driver now leaned against the side, his mask discarded during the night. “Please, allow me to leave. I will never speak to Lord Torrington again. I will stay far from Abercorn and his properties. You will never see me again.”
“Oh, very shortly I will never have cause to see you or Triston again,” Lady Downshire cackled. “Mayhap I should be rid of you now? I can’t have Triston being the hero and embarking on the folly of saving you.”
She needs must keep the woman talking, must stall her. “Do you truly expect Lord Torrington to come for me?” Edith asked, keeping her eyes trained out the window, silently begging the servant to come to her rescue, but he never glanced in her direction. “I am barely acquainted with him. He has no reason to worry about me.”
Lady Downshire moved into her line of sight, her hands clasped behind her back. For the first time, Edith gained a clear view of the woman. Young, but her face held deep lines. She could not be more than a few years Edith’s senior. The woman’s deep hair, unblemished skin, and catlike eyes were alluring in a sensual way. She understood what had drawn Triston to this woman; she was captivating in her exotic appearance.
But why hadn’t he been enough for her?
“You were betrothed to Lord Torrington?” It was as good a subject as any, and hopefully, one that would keep the woman talking until Edith could discern a means for escape. “I am sorry things did not go as planned.”
Lady Downshire’s hands fell to her sides, and a sneer settled on her face, marring her lovely features as rage overtook her. “Do not speak as if you know anything. You are a senseless maid with no knowledge of life.”
“I assure you, I know much of life…and loss.” Edith lowered her eyes to her lap, not wanting Lady Downshire to see how much it hurt her to admit anything about Tilda’s death, especially to a woman obviously intimately connected to the man she feared had played a part in her friend’s demise. “You can talk to me.”
Without warning, the woman lashed out, her flat palm landing against Edith’s cheek with a crack. Her neck whipped sharply and heat boomed across Edith’s face. She pressed her lips together, determined not to cry out from the pain and shock of the woman’s venom.
She turned away from Edith, moving without further word to a chair across the room. It must be the place she’d sat silently when Edith and been brought into the cottage.
Thankfully, Lady Downshire’s anger seemed to ebb as she sank into the chair, her shoulders sagging as her scowl relaxed to a mere frown, her thoughts obviously drifting to another time and place.
Edith stared back toward the window, a cloud of dust could be seen in the distance.
Her heart sped up. Someone was coming.
The approaching carriage remained unnoticed by the driver leaning against Lady Downshire’s coach as he stared off toward the cliffs beyond the cottage.
The roar and slap of the waves likely drowned out the sound of the coach and four horses.
“Ah, it must be him,” the woman sighed pulling back the cloth and staring out the window. “It is indeed. Triston has finally arrived. You know, I thought he would arrive hours ago. Is it possible he does not care for you as much as he cared for me?”
Chapter 14
“Look!” Ophelia exclaimed, her nose pressed firmly to the windowpane, keeping out the early morning ocean breeze. “There is a carriage. She must be here.”
After long hours of pondering the situation, Triston was certain Edith would be found within the cottage at the end of the drive. His father’s carriage waited out front, but no sign of the Abercorn coach could be seen. His elation was only dimmed by his cautious nature—and the need to get his hands on Esmee and demand she give him answers.
The morning fog off the cold North Sea rolled in from the open waters to settle on the cliffs, only burning off once the midday sun crested above the area. If he’d journeyed here under any other circumstances, Triston would halt the carriage and take in the sight from the drive, a bit above the cottage and cliffs below.
Not today. Not ever would he gaze upon a cliff so majestic and not think solely of destruction and chaos.
And loss.
Esmee had taken Edith. There were no more lingering doubts once he spotted his family carriage outside of his stepmother’s family home.
He stilled himself from throwing the conveyance door wide and running the remaining way to the cottage. Triston could outrun the horses, his blood pumping violently through him would push him fast. However, he would not alarm the women across from him before it was necessary. If he raised their nervousness, they could very well find themselves in harm’s way. They could not follow him into the cottage. He needed them to wait in the carriage until he’d determined Esmee was no threat and Abercorn wasn’t also within the dwelling. He could not rescue Edith while keeping the other two women safe and out of trouble.
If he hadn’t been so overcome with the need to find Edith, he would have realized sooner that the pair would have been safer remaining in London and allowing Triston to find and return Edith.
“I must ask a favor, Lady Lucianna.” Triston looked to Edith’s tall, slender friend—undoubtedly the leader of the group if her command of the situation during Edith’s disappearance was any proof—for support. “I need you both to wait in the carriage while I enter the cottage.”
“You think we should trust you?” Unease laced the woman’s words as she assessed him.
Triston held his hands out, palms up. “I have brought you both this far. I care deeply for Edith’s safety, as much as the pair of you.” He moved to Lady Ophelia, her pensive expression meaning she was seriously thinking through everything. Maybe he should have addressed her first. “Lady Ophelia, it is imperative I keep all three of you safe—return you home whole and unharmed.”
“You were incapable of completing that task when it was only Edith you were charged with. What makes you think we trust you to be able to step up with all three of us hanging in the balance?” Lucianna questioned.
Ophelia set her hand on Lucianna’s arm. “Come now, Luci. Lord Torrington has been honest with us thus far since discovering Edith’s journal. We have little idea what we will find in the cottage. Let us allow him to venture in first.”
Their carriage pulled up alon
gside his father’s, with Samson leaning against it, his gaze on the cliffs beyond. The servant’s family had been in the Downshire employ for three generations.
Triston bounded from the carriage before either woman had confirmed they’d remain out of sight. He needs must make sure they had some semblance of surprise—if Esmee hadn’t already seen them. Walking around his father’s coach, he immediately had Samson by the collar and twisted, cutting off the man’s yelp before it left his throat.
“What have you done?” Triston hissed, bringing the servant’s face close to his own.
“Lord Torrington!” Samson croaked, pushing at Triston to release him. “I—this—ye must—” he stammered.
“I must do nothing but allow the magistrate to deal with your misdeeds.” Triston pushed the servant away, the sudden action sending the man splaying into the dirt. “Is it only Esmee and Lady Edith inside?”
When Samson remained silent, pushing himself back and away, Triston stalked forward. “If one hair on Lady Edith’s head is harmed, it will not end well for you or Esmee, I swear to you.”
“I—I—I never harmed the girl, m’lord. Swear on me pa, I didna.” Samson crawled backwards. “I was only do’n what m’lady said.”
“Kidnapping an innocent woman?” Triston seethed, advancing on the man. “Was it you who hit her? There was blood on her journal.” Triston bit back the urge to pounce on the man, take out his pent-up aggression that had built during the four-hour journey to the sea.
“I startled the girl, and she bumped her head on a tree branch. That be all, m’lord.”
“What is Esmee’s plan with her?”
“She doona be tell’n me much, but I heard her talk’n ta herself—she planned ta lure ye here.” Samson tripped over himself, and he rushed to get the words out. “After that, I not be know’n. I swear ta it.”
The woman was using Edith as a pawn to lure him to these cliffs.
Triston’s lip curled back in a snarl, and his eyes narrowed one final time on the servant before he turned and called for his own driver. When he hurried over, Triston bit out each word as if it were his fist slamming into something—or someone. “Tie him up. Make certain he does not slip away. Ames should be here with the magistrate before long.”
The Disappearance of Lady Edith (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 1) Page 11
