Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Where the devil did you disappear to with Miss Crenshaw?” Montgomery demanded as they stopped several paces from the door. “I saw you with her earlier, then overheard Lady Crenshaw asking about her, and grew concerned.”

  “You haven’t seen her?” Erroll asked.

  Montgomery shook his head. “No. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not yet sure.”

  “I wonder if Lady Quincy and Lady Consworth know of her whereabouts?” the earl said.

  “Why would they know anything?” Erroll demanded.

  “They were baiting her with some rather nasty gossip earlier.”

  “When was this?”

  Montgomery thought for a moment. “Nearly three hours ago, when she first arrived.”

  “What was the gossip?”

  “You won’t like it,” he replied. “Lady Quincy has a malicious streak.”

  “That she does.”

  “They said that perhaps you did not find the younger Miss Crenshaw to your liking, but you certainly wouldn’t settle for the elder. To her credit, Miss Crenshaw didn’t turn on them until Annabelle implied that you and the two sisters would share a bed after you married one of them.”

  “Good God,” Erroll growled. “That goes too far even for Annabelle. I will deal with her after I find Miss Crenshaw.”

  “Is it possible she simply went home?”

  “Unlikely. She was in the middle of a not-so-well laid plan that required she be seen tonight.”

  Montgomery’s brows shot up. “That sounds interesting.”

  A thought struck and a sense of apprehension rose. “What do you mean she turned on them?”

  Montgomery laughed. “She gave them both a well-deserved set-down, that included calling Annabelle stupid—well, dense, I believe was the word she used, but she meant stupid. I intervened before she could do any real damage.”

  “How fortunate for me,” Erroll muttered.

  “The ladies deserved what they got, but I decided it was best to save them from her wrath. I feel certain she was about to will them to ashes on the spot.”

  “I have been on the receiving end of that wrath. She is quite capable of the deed.”

  “Would that be when you were with her in her bedchambers at a certain inn?” Montgomery asked.

  “That would be the time.”

  “Exactly what happened? Rumor is, she shot you.”

  “She did.”

  His friend’s eyes glittered. “When you find the lady and set things to rights, I want to hear every detail.”

  “We shall see,” Erroll said. “But now I must find her.”

  Paisley lifted a brow. “In the gardens?”

  “I pray not.” Erroll took a deep breath and left his friend behind as he went down the stairs.

  He made his way through the gardens in the direction Oscar had said he should find the servants’ entrance to the kitchen. Moments later, he found the door and, without knocking, entered. The clatter of work came to a deathly-quiet halt and everyone stared. So much for not drawing attention to himself. His mother once told him he was incapable of being inconspicuous. As usual, she was right.

  “Forgive the intrusion,” he said to the woman he took to be the cook.

  She wiped her hands of the ham she’d been slicing and hurried around the table toward him. Erroll closed the door behind him as she stopped in front of him and bobbed a curtsy.

  “Are you lost, m’lord? I can have someone take you back to the ballroom.”

  “No, Mrs.—” he lifted a brow in question.

  “Childs,” she said, “Mrs. Childs.”

  “Mrs. Childs,” Erroll replied. “I—” he paused and motioned her a few feet to the right, away from the servants who stood still as mice. “I am looking for a young maid.”

  The cook’s eyes widened.

  “For information,” he quickly added. He was no good at this. “My fiancé encountered her earlier in the gardens. I am embarrassed to admit my lady eluded me. A lovers’ quarrel,” he added. “I hope to make amends.”

  The cook’s mouth twitched. “Happens to the best of gentlemen, my lord.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, and silently added, and the worst.

  “That would have been Sally in the gardens,” Mrs. Childs said. “I sent her for apples.” She nodded to the tray of turnovers on the table.

  “Ah,” Erroll said. “So you are the master baker that makes the famous apple turnovers.”

  She blushed. “I wouldn’t say famous, m’lord.”

  “On the contrary, they are the best in all of London.”

  Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. “I couldn’t say, your lordship.”

  Erroll laughed. “I have had them. They are nothing short of extraordinary. Now, where might I find Miss Sally?”

  Surprise shone in Mrs. Childs’ eyes, along with a hint of admiration—yes, Erroll knew full well the affect he had on women, as well as the added effect of addressing the maid as a gentle born lady.

  As hoped, the cook offered with enthusiasm, “I’ll fetch her.”

  She disappeared into the scullery to his right and Erroll nodded to the onlooking servants. They jerked into motion as one, but he wasn’t fooled. They busied themselves, each with one eye on him. It was bad enough they’d been privy to his asking after Miss Crenshaw. He didn’t want them overhearing his conversation with Sally. One maid he might be able to talk into keeping quiet, but even an edict from on high couldn’t silence a full staff of servants. Erroll headed through the door, down the short hallway and turned into the scullery, coming chest to nose with Mrs. Childs.

  “My lord,” she cried, and fell back a step.

  Her ample rump crashed into Sally and Erroll seized each woman by the arm to keep them from falling.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” the cook replied, while Sally nodded, eyes wide.

  Erroll released them. “I am a nuisance, I know.”

  “Oh, no, m’lord,” Mrs. Childs said. “I just didn’t expect you here.”

  He said with a laugh, “Most men shun the kitchen,” then added in a low voice as if he would get into trouble if discovered in the female domain, “especially the scullery. I’m just rather anxious. A groom to be.” He winked. “You understand.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mrs. Childs said, then faced the maid. “Sally, his lordship is asking about the lady you met in the gardens.” The girl’s eyes widened and she cast an anxious look at Mrs. Childs, who said in a no nonsense voice, “Answer his questions.”

  “I heard something in the bushes,” Sally blurted.

  His kidnapping no doubt.

  “I called out,” the maid went on, “and the lady came out of the bushes. She said—” Sally broke off again, and cast her eyes downward.

  “What did she say, lass?” Erroll urged.

  “She said she was under the weather and her future husband wanted her to stay at the party.” Sally jerked her head up, eyes wide. “She wanted to sneak out the back. I swear, my lord, I told her it was a bad idea, but she insisted.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. What then?”

  “I tried to take her to the rear exit, but she wouldn’t let me. Said it was just as dangerous for me to return to the house alone as it was for her to leave alone.”

  More so, in fact. The maid was fair game for any unscrupulous bastard she might have the misfortune to encounter.

  “So I came back to the kitchen.” Sally began ringing a corner of her apron.

  “Miss Crenshaw was angry with me?” he asked.

  Sally’s eyes widened and she gave a tiny nod.

  “And rightfully so,” Erroll said. “I was a cad.” Though Miss Crenshaw had yet to discover just how much of a cad he could be. “Nothing else happened?” he asked.

  Sally began to cry, but before Erroll could say anything, Mrs. Childs said, “Sally, girl, I will beat you myself. Now speak up.”

  Sally took a step backwards, then swung her gaze onto
Erroll and said, “Just gossip, m’lord, nothing more. You know how people talk.”

  He knew well enough. “Go on.”

  “Rumor is, she left with Lord Halifax.”

  Minutes later, Erroll halted on the sidewalk outside the mansion, Somerset alongside him. Erroll scanned the crowded side street for Tolland’s coach. Only thirty minutes had passed since Oscar and David had dropped him back at the mansion, and the street was so clogged with vehicles trying to maneuver along the street that he felt certain they couldn’t have gotten far. Erroll sighted the carriage at the end of the street as it inched its way through the intersection with David and Oscar in the driver’s seat.

  “Come along, Somerset.” Erroll started at a brisk walk down the sidewalk.

  Moments later, they reached the carriage, which had halted behind a hired cab, waiting in a long line of vehicles trying to escape the congestion.

  “Gentlemen,” Erroll called to Oscar and David. Their heads turned. “Oscar, if you would join us.” Erroll pulled open the door and stepped inside with Somerset close behind.

  The viscount settled on the seat beside Erroll as the carriage listed to one side. A second later, the brute jumped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

  “We have a bit of a dilemma,” Erroll said.

  “Dilemma?” Oscar repeated in a low voice that told Erroll he would plunge his knife into Erroll’s heart with the same ease in which he’d spoken the words if anything had happened to his mistress. The coachman was unusually attached to the lady.

  “Indeed. Miss Crenshaw is missing.”

  “What do you mean missing?” Oscar said.

  “I mean her mamma has not seen her since our, er, meeting in the gardens. I spoke with the maid you said happened upon you two. She directed Miss Crenshaw to the rear gate and that is the last she saw of her.”

  “We would have been only a minute or two apart,” Oscar said. “There was no one else in the gardens. I wouldn’t have left her if there had been.”

  “I am sure,” Erroll said. “But despite your chivalry, rumor has it, she left with Lord Halifax.”

  “Halifax?” Somerset burst out. “Eve would never willingly leave with that reprobate.”

  Erroll had to agree. And didn’t like it one bit.

  The last five hours in the saddle had been no better than the five-hour ride Erroll made three days ago, and this time he developed a headache—and the damned revolver he’d stuffed into his waistband was digging into his belly. He shifted the weapon and urged his horse into a gallop as he and his companions had done as often as possible in the darkness. The compelling need to paddle Miss Crenshaw’s bare arse rose with ferocity for the hundredth time since they’d set out after her. The vision only frustrated him all the more—for more reasons than one. This time, however, he would satiate his need. After he shot Halifax.

  Erroll wasn’t naïve enough to believe the earl intended to marry her. He intended to ruin Miss Crenshaw once and for all and embarrass his enemy in the bargain, in recompense for the set down Erroll had given him in the garden. The fact she hadn’t consented to go with Halifax—and Erroll knew she hadn’t—wouldn’t be believed by the ton. The race toward Gretna Green in the privacy of Halifax’s covered carriage would leave no doubt that she wasn’t a lady, but Erroll doubted that Halifax had any intention of going all the way to Scotland.

  So why hadn’t they encountered the two on the road yet?

  Erroll was reasonably sure Halifax wouldn’t harm her. The man was lazy at heart, which meant he preyed on women who were easy victims to sweet words. Miss Eve Crenshaw was anything but a victim. Erroll recalled the gun she had pressed into his belly when he’d sneaked into her room. He also recalled her saying she wasn’t carrying a gun tonight and regretted that fact. Neville deserved a bullet in the belly.

  Either way, Halifax would likely try to seduce her, which meant Erroll would have to kill him just for trying. He dug his heels into his horse’s belly. The animal lunged past Somerset and Oscar’s horses. Seconds later, the two men came up alongside him.

  Half an hour passed, and they were forced to slow. Erroll considered turning back. Surely Halifax wouldn’t have gone this far? Erroll had expected to overtake them within four hours at the most. Had he miscalculated? Maybe they’d turned off on one of the side roads? The faint rattle of a fast moving carriage brought his mind to attention. He glanced to the right at Oscar, but couldn’t see the man’s face.

  “I heard it,” Oscar said in a low voice.

  “As did I,” Somerset confirmed.

  Without another word, the three shot forward. A minute later, a shout went up from the carriage.

  “Halt!” Somerset ordered, but the squeak of wheels said the carriage had picked up speed.

  “Bloody bastard,” Oscar growled. “He’ll kill Miss Crenshaw.”

  The brute was right. The moon, hidden by thick clouds, left them in dense blackness that made fast travel treacherous. Erroll loosened the reins, allowing his horse to gallop unencumbered on sure feet. Seconds later, he discerned the carriage fifty feet ahead and yanked free the revolver from his waistband. Erroll pointed the weapon skyward and fired.

  A woman inside the vehicle screamed and the driver’s “Whoa,” preceded the squeak of slowing wheels.

  “Drive on,” a man shouted from inside the coach, but the driver didn’t obey.

  Erroll slowed his panting horse, with Oscar and Somerset alongside, but Somerset was off his mount first and lunged for the carriage door.

  “Somerset,” Erroll began, but was cut off by Oscar’s “Stop, you fool.”

  The carriage door swung open, and a tall, young man of about twenty years of age stepped to the ground, a revolver pointed at them. Somerset took a step back.

  The young man looked from one to the other of them, then said, “Who the devil are you?”

  “Not the father chasing you,” Erroll said. “Forgive us. We are pursuing a different couple.”

  The young man hesitated.

  “It is no trick,” Erroll assured him. “Somerset, get back on your horse.”

  The viscount complied, but the young man wasn’t taking any chances, and backed into the carriage. Before he closed the door, he said, “Sykes, drive on.”

  The carriage rolled into motion. Erroll urged his horse into a trot and, followed by his companions, passed the carriage.

  When they were out of earshot, Somerset said, “How did you know?”

  “The woman in the carriage screamed,” Erroll said. “Miss Crenshaw does not scream.”

  For the last hour, Erroll told himself to keep riding, but, like wildfire, his worry jumped from one possibility to another, and now he wondered if he’d erred in taking the main road. How far would Halifax ride in order to ensure his story was believed? He would know the gossipmongers needed only the slightest prodding to accept and spread such a juicy story as the one he hoped to inspire. The purest in Society thrived upon the worst rumors. Erroll knew that truth firsthand, as he’d been the subject of many a vicious tidbit.

  He had to admit, though, the scandal with Miss Eve Crenshaw topped even the time he’d made the rounds of half a dozen balls accompanied by London’s most notorious courtesan, Lily Thackery, who had been allied with Lord Belmont at the time. The marquess had a violent temper and met Erroll for a dawn appointment. They both missed, but Belmont, dissatisfied, had produced another pistol from his waistband and tried a second time to shoot Erroll. Erroll’s second shot him before he got off the round, but Erroll was credited with shooting the marquess.

  The man had lived, and didn’t want to recount the story, which Erroll knew was the only reason the magistrate hadn’t been called. Erroll’s father had banished him to Scotland the remainder of that year and through the bitter Highland winter. But the incident with Miss Crenshaw was worse. Far worse. And here he was, chasing her to Gretna Green.

  *****

  Eve couldn’t believe it. Lord Halifax had changed horses and driven th
em through the night as if she and he were truly lovers making a run for Gretna Green. During the first two stops, she’d remained silent. But every subsequent stop thereafter, she had protested that he spent too much money on what was supposed to be a jest. He’d answered that no one could possibly dispute what had happened with so many witnesses along the way. His manner had darkened, however, at their last stop, when Eve announced with a laugh that they’d gone far enough. His “I will tell you when we have gone far enough,” was devoid of humor, and Eve was at a loss to understand what he truly intended.

  Morning was fast slipping away and she calculated they would reach the border within two hours. What were the chances they would reach Scotland in time to witness Grace and Lord Rushton pronounced man and wife?

  Eve jolted awake. She blinked, and another hard jolt reminded her that she rode in a carriage with Lord Halifax. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but she’d grown unnerved staring at him through the morning hours, and had closed her eyes in an effort to blot out his face. The carriage slowed, and Eve pulled aside the curtain. Five years had passed since she’d been on this road, but she hadn’t forgotten the green hills that marked the approach to the Scottish border.

  She released the curtain and shifted her gaze to Lord Halifax. “Sir, we have gone far enough. We need not cross the border.”

  For the dozenth time, a chill crept up her spine when his gaze dropped from her face to her breasts, then returned to her face.

  “You are not particularly rich,” he said. “Three thousand pounds a year. Not nearly as rich as Lady Hancock, but she has a dozen young bucks at her feet.”

  “I am sure she will marry the man she loves,” Eve said.

  He gave a condescending laugh. “Such alliances aren’t based on affection.”

  “If she has the pick of the lot, why not choose a man she cares for?”