Lady of Fortune

by Mary Jo Putney

  The groom next to her said, “Aye, they are, but Sir Edward took a fancy to ’em, and there was no stoppin’ ’im.” The two servants exchanged a look of mutual understanding about the foolishness of the Quality. Then the groom, a burly man of middle years, said, “I’m to the tavern for a pot of ale. Care to join me, missy?”

  Christa shook her head. “No, I’ll wait here for my mistress.”

  The groom guffawed. “Ye may have quite a wait. When the bart is courtin’, he takes ’is time about it.”

  Christa frowned. “Does he court many ladies?”

  “Aye, that ’e does, missy. Till he gets what he wants from ’em. Sure you won’t join me to lift a few?” The groom’s eyes ran appreciatively over the Frenchy’s saucy little derrière, just the kind he liked, but he stopped abruptly when he saw the scowl on the maid’s face. The girl was in a rare taking, and no mistake. He’d find no joy there today. “I’ll be on my way then, miss,” he said uneasily, tugging his hat before he turned away. He wondered who would be the target of the Frenchy’s wrath; he was glad it wouldn’t be him.

  Annabelle was finding her ride with Sir Edward as uncomfortable as she had expected. His entreaties would have melted a heart of stone, but still …

  “Why can’t we wait just a few weeks longer, Edward?” she asked, near tears.

  He gazed at her soulfully, then was called back to his driving by the furious shout of a curricle driver that he had narrowly missed. Several minutes were spent in regaining control of his skittish team and driving to a less heavily trafficked area. Finally Sir Edward pulled the team up beneath a tree so he could give his nervous prey full attention. Taking her hand in one of his, the other being engaged in holding the reins, the baronet arranged his expression once more into the soulful lines he had found so successful. Some women preferred passion, some responded to command, but he had discovered that Annabelle reacted best to emotional manipulation.

  “You cannot know how difficult it is to be a man,” he said huskily. “I burn for you. To be so close, and yet not to have you—it is agony!” Sir Edward squeezed her hand hard, then paused and looked away as if he needed to regain control. After a suitable interval, his piercing gaze returned to her. “The promise in your eyes inflames me … I am being driven mad by love! Your golden hair, your exquisite form, your eyes, so like sapphires … If you will not come with me, I must go away. If you will not be mine, I fear what my actions might be.”

  Annabelle delved into her reticule for a handkerchief. That she should be responsible for bringing such a noble man to such straits! Sir Edward needed her so much—how could she deny him? And in a few weeks they would have every right to be together.

  “I will go with you, Edward,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

  She was rewarded by a blaze of passionate happiness in his eyes. “Oh, my beloved! You are a queen among women. An empress!”

  He leaned forward to kiss her, but she drew away hastily.

  “Edward! Someone will see!”

  Having won his point, Edward was ready to trade lovemaking for logistics. “It must be tonight, then,” he said decisively. The bum traps were hot at his heels, and he’d be in the debtors’ prison in Marshalsea if he wasn’t away soon.

  “So … so soon?” Annabelle quavered. She had made her decision, but she would have preferred a little more time to adjust to the results.

  “Every moment away from you is an age, my darling,” he murmured. “How early do you think you can leave your house? The sooner we leave, the longer the lead we will have on pursuers.”

  Annabelle shuddered at the thought of pursuit. Would Alex really come after her, pistols blazing? What if there were a duel? One of them might be killed—perhaps even both of them!

  It didn’t bear considering, so she resolutely applied her mind to the problem of escape. There should be no difficulty; the house wasn’t a prison, and there was no watch set on her. Fortunately, she wasn’t engaged to go out this evening.

  “I could take a tray in my room for dinner, then say I am retiring early,” Annabelle said. “Since I wasn’t feeling well yesterday and my brother is dining away from home, no one will think anything of it. If I leave when the servants are eating, the only person to avoid will be the footman on duty, and he will never see me if I slip out the side door. Perhaps as early as eight o’clock. It will be dark by then.”

  “Perfect! Remember that we must travel fast and light—bring no more than a bandbox.”

  “I really ought to take Christa, to lend me countenance until we reach Scotland,” Annabelle said wistfully. If her maid came, there would be at least one familiar face at her wedding.

  “Impossible! She would certainly tell Lord Kingsley, and all would be lost! Promise me, not a word to anyone!” The baronet’s tone was fierce, and Annabelle nodded obediently. Of course he was right—was he not a man, and one she was entrusting with her whole future?

  Sir Edward’s voice softened when he saw how docile she was. “You must write a note, of course, so no one will worry. Just be sure to leave it where it won’t be found before morning.”

  She nodded once more. There was a certain peace in having made the decision, and Annabelle was calm when the baronet set her down next to Christa. “Thank you for a pleasant drive, Sir Edward,” she said, pleased with how normal she sounded. Christa eyed her suspiciously and was unusually silent on the trip home, for which Annabelle could only be grateful.

  Her preparations to run away were laughably easy. After all, Alex trusts me not to do anything improper. The thought produced a lump in her throat as she packed spare linen, slippers, and a dress into a bandbox. This will be my wedding dress. She stroked the white lawn gown as she folded it away. Was every thought going to produce more tears? Annabelle had expected to be married in silk and lace—but what was the loss of that compared to her sweet Edward? If she didn’t go with him, she might never see him again. The thought was unbearable, and it strengthened her resolve. Never let it be said that the Honorable Annabelle Kingsley would not dare all for love!

  Nonetheless, by the time she had taken a tray in her room and announced to Christa that she would retire early, Annabelle had a genuine headache and was unwell in earnest. Christa made her some of the willow-bark tea, then pulled the curtains and extinguished the lamps when she left. Annabelle lay in her canopied bed, feeling her head throb, until Christa left the adjoining maid’s room and went down for her own dinner. Annabelle counted slowly to a hundred before getting up and relighting a lamp.

  It took a long time and much scratching out to compose the note to Alex, and Annabelle had to resharpen the quill several times. It was surprisingly hard to explain why she was running away, but finally she blotted the paper and folded it, leaving it on the pillow next to the rolled blanket that she had left under the covers to confuse Christa if the maid looked in on her later.

  Picking up her bandbox, Annabelle took a long look around the pretty room, saying good-bye to her maiden life. It was such a short time that she had been happy here—just the months since Alex had come back and made the house a real home, and now she was going to commit the unforgivable sin of eloping. Surely he would forgive her someday? There were fresh tears on her face as she slipped out the side door and made her way to the carriage waiting down the block.

  Christa was in a fever of impatience to talk with Alex. The groom’s remark that Sir Edward courted ladies till he got what he wanted had crystallized her suspicions: the baronet was either a rake or a fortune hunter or both. Annabelle was obviously besotted with the man, and all too capable of being swayed by someone with a stronger will.

  Alex’s valet, Fiske, told her that Lord Kingsley was at the Admiralty all day, and would be going on to dine with a Navy friend at a club. Yes, he would tell his lordship that Christa wanted to speak with him, no matter what hour he returned. The valet’s gaze was curious, but he ascribed the maid’s inquiry to some mysterious female request from Miss Annabelle.

  Worr
ied about Annabelle’s headache and obvious nervousness, Christa looked in on her mistress about half-past nine to see if she was resting comfortably. In the candlelight the bedchamber was peaceful and Christa was about to close the door again when she stopped. There was something wrong about the slumbering form in the bed—the shape wasn’t quite right. Hoping that the candle wouldn’t wake Annabelle if she was sleeping, Christa drew closer to the bed. It was with a horrible feeling of inevitability that she saw the rolled blanket and the note addressed to Alex on the pillow.

  “Nom du nom!” she swore. “The little fool!” Christa broke the seal without compunction and opened the envelope. The message was rambling and tearstained, but the import was clear: Annabelle and her darling Edward were running away to Scotland, they would return in time for the ball, and she hoped her dearest Alex would understand and forgive her once he met Edward and knew what a splendid, noble fellow he was.

  Christa wasted several moments grinding her teeth and muttering French curses under her breath. Much of her anger was self-directed. She had known something was wrong, had even started to raise the subject with Alex the night before, only to let her personal affairs get in the way of her duty. She might excuse herself on the grounds that no one could have expected a well-bred, docile girl like Annabelle to do something as outrageous as eloping, but Christa refused that solace. She knew Annabelle, knew how eager to please, how desperate for affection the girl was—perfect prey for an unscrupulous man like Sir Edward.

  Christa indulged her reproach only briefly before racing out of the room to Alex’s chamber. If Fiske was there, perhaps he could tell her where Lord Kingsley was dining. She knocked on the door, then burst through without waiting for the valet to answer.

  What she found was Alex. He looked at her, caught in the act of unbuttoning his waistcoat. With a quick smile he cocked an eyebrow and asked with a mixture of wry teasing and faint hope, “Dare I assume this precipitate entrance means you have reconsidered my offer?”

  “Thank God you are here!” Christa cried. “I thought you would be out until late.” She thrust the note at him.

  The humor disappeared from Alex’s face as he saw Christa’s distress. As he took the note, he explained, “My friend was held up in Portsmouth a day longer than expected so I worked late at the Admiralty instead. What has happened?”

  “Annabelle has eloped.”

  “What!” He scanned the note, then looked at Christa, his eyes grim. “How long has she been gone?”

  “Perhaps an hour. No more than an hour and a half, I think. She ate in her room and went to bed early. I had wanted to talk to you tonight anyhow—she has been meeting this Sir Edward in the park regularly, and I was getting worried.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” Alex rapped out. He had already pulled his jacket on and was reaching for his caped driving coat.

  Christa met his gaze steadily. “I did not want to be disloyal to my mistress. I was going to speak of my concern last night, but … events transpired.”

  Alex sighed. “It was partly my fault. Belle told me she had met this fellow. I asked about him and found he had an unsavory reputation, though no one would be specific. I told Annabelle not to let him call, and thought no more of it.”

  “Romantic young females do not always obey orders like Navy lieutenants.”

  “The matter has not escaped my attention,” Alex said dryly. “I assume that if they are heading to Scotland the Great North Road is the best possibility. If I am successful in finding them, I should be back tomorrow. They haven’t much of a lead.” He pulled his coat on, then picked up a hat and gloves.

  Christa put a hand on his sleeve and said earnestly, “Take me with you. If you find her, she will need me. A young woman traveling with her brother and her maid will provoke no comment.” As Alex hesitated, she added, “I have seen Loaming’s carriage and horses.”

  “Very well, you may come. What does he drive?”

  “A bright blue phaeton with silver trim, and a team of white horses with poor wind and spavins.”

  “That bad?” Alex asked with a hint of amusement.

  “I may exaggerate,” Christa admitted, “but only slightly. He is the sort of man who prefers show to substance.”

  She added slowly, “I am wondering, my lord. The message is so specific. If Sir Edward told Annabelle to mention their destination … is it possible he wants to be caught? Did you hear anything that might indicate he likes to compromise girls of good fortune in hopes of being bought off? I would wager he is a man with expensive tastes, and perhaps what he wants of Annabelle has more to do with money than love.”

  Alex said thoughtfully, “That might fit with the hints I heard. If you are right and he prefers to be overtaken, he may stop at an inn or posting house along the way rather than ride through the night. If that is the case, we have a fair chance of bringing this off.”

  Christa nodded. “What will you do if we catch them?”

  He shrugged. “It is hard to say. Certainly I intend to bring Annabelle home. If she absolutely has to have him, she can be married from here in a few weeks when she is of age. But if he is the kind of man I think he is, perhaps I can … persuade him to show his true colors. That should effectively end her infatuation.”

  “Will you fight him?”

  “Only if he insists,” Alex said. “If someone were to be killed, it would be very difficult to conceal.”

  “Sir Edward won’t insist,” Christa said positively. “Like his horses, he is all surface and no bottom.”

  “Let us pray that proves to be the case. Get your cloak and meet me in the stable.”

  Ten minutes later they were heading north at a spanking pace.

  Sir Edward Loaming poured another glass of burgundy, at peace with the world. During the three hours of the ride north, Annabelle’s weeping had gotten on his nerves, but now she sat silently across the deal table from him, playing with her bowl of soup. She had been surprised when they stopped relatively close to London, but Sir Edward’s pockets were to let and he wanted to get as many miles out of his team as possible before he started hiring post horses.

  The baronet had been genuinely undecided whether he wanted to be stopped by Lord Kingsley or not. A chunk of the ready would be more than welcome, but he might be better off if he actually married Annabelle. It was getting harder and harder to get near an heiress, and he might never have such a rich prospect in hand again. While Sir Edward was not sure of the extent of her dowry, the viscount was said to be rich enough to buy an abbey, and he surely would not let his sister languish in poverty. More than that, Kingsley would probably pay extra to keep the circumstances of her marriage a secret.

  Sir Edward’s decision was made for him when they stopped at the Three Crowns. It was a respectable hostelry that occasionally had guests of the Quality, but the night was well-advanced and the house small. When told that there was only one bedchamber available, Sir Edward decided that it was a sign from heaven that Annabelle should become Lady Loaming. He would have told her how lucky she was, but of course she had thought all along that the marriage was going to take place.

  The sleepy landlord had set them up in the coffee room with cold meats, soup, trifle, and several bottles of quite drinkable burgundy. Sir Edward had drunk a bottle and a half of the wine, and his temper improved with every sip. The difficult part was over—Annabelle would not have been missed yet, and her brother might not even try to get her back after she had spent a night on the road with her lover. He wondered how large an annual income he might get from Kingsley. The nodcock deserved to pay—for not mounting a better guard over his widgeon of a sister.

  Sir Edward eyed Annabelle as she perched nervously on the edge of the oak settle. He preferred the riper charms of the Covent Garden ware that he usually frequented, but the girl was a comely wench, and would certainly do for the trip to Scotland and back. She had always responded to his kisses with enthusiasm if not skill, and upstairs the single bed waited. />
  “Come now, Annabelle, have some wine,” he said jovially. “You’ll feel better for it.”

  Having put away substantial quantities of veal, chicken, and game pie, Sir Edward was ready for dessert. “Care for some of the trifle, my love?” he asked expansively. When she shook her head, he said with irritation, “For heaven’s sake, girl, stop moping! This should be the greatest night of your life, and you act as if you were at your own funeral.”

  She looked up at that, but still said nothing. The baronet came over to sit by her on the settle and put an arm around her. “Give me a kiss, sweeting,” he coaxed.

  Annabelle shrank back a little and said nervously, “I have a headache.”

  He smiled toothily. “I have just the cure for that,” he said, and drew her into his arms.

  Annabelle pushed him away as soon as she could. “But we are not married yet!”

  Sir Edward was getting seriously aroused and he brushed her protests aside. “What does a day or two matter? Tonight is the night I make you my own.” He proceeded with his kisses and his hand started fumbling at her bodice.

  Near panic, Annabelle gasped, “But I feel most unwell. Really, I would rather go to my chamber and rest.” She had always found his embraces exciting, but this Edward seemed a stranger, his breath heavy with wine and his caresses impatient.

  Sir Edward played his trump card. “Going to our chamber is a splendid idea. But you won’t get much rest, my dove. There was but one room left, and we will share it, as man and wife.” Ignoring her dismay, he smothered her protests with his mouth.

  Annabelle struggled against Sir Edward with fading strength as he pulled her dress off one shoulder. She considered calling for help, but the innkeeper thought they were married, and she couldn’t face the brangles and humiliation that would result if she tried to explain that they were eloping. She had come too far to turn back.