Ducal Encounters 02 - With the Duke's Approval

by Wendy Soliman

  The warmth she had experienced from the horse’s body was a transitory affair, and she was now colder than ever. Cold, lost, and almost at the end of her tether. She was delirious she realised with detachment, probably suffering from something incurable brought on by the cold. She thought of all those sleeping shapes she had seen in doorways and berated herself for being so weak. With good fortune, she would not have to experience anything like this ever again. Those poor souls had nothing better to look forward to. She promised herself that if she did manage to get home, she would do something positive to help the poor.

  Thus resolved, she and the horse wandered with no clear purpose for what seemed like an eternity. The streets were gradually filling with people, and she sensed more than one curious glance being sent in her direction. Fortunately, the conditions were so bad no one paused to question her, probably because they couldn’t see her too clearly. She really ought to be grateful for the snow and poor visibility. She considered asking for help, but caution held her back. She had got this far using her own wits, and she would push on for a little longer.

  “We need to find a bridge,” she told the cob. “We are on the wrong side of the river. If we could just find our way across.”

  Much to Anna’s astonishment, just after that, she came across a bridge with dim carriage lights crossing it to show her the way. Feeling euphoria burst through her frozen body, she turned the cob in that direction. But having gained the opposite bank, she still had no clear idea of where she was and continued to wander in the hope something would become recognisable. The streets were a little wider, the buildings a little less shabby, but she was still a long way from home.

  “Just one more corner,” she told the horse through chattering teeth, feeling as though she was burning up, even though she was frozen. She slid sideways again, her head pounding, making her feel dizzy, and almost slithered to the ground. She clung to a handful of mane and pulled herself upright, biting her lip against the searing pain in her shoulder, feeling as though she was slipping in and out of consciousness. “If I don’t recognise anything by then, we shall just have to ask.”

  Every time she heard another horse or a carriage, she panicked. She was bound to be recognised. Dear Lord, help me, please! Anna made all sorts of bargains with God, promising to be a better person, to make good on her earlier resolve to take more interest in the poor, and not to make fun of the feuding villagers in Shawford and Compton.

  The wind whipped fat snowflakes across her tired eyes, blinding her. Perhaps that was why she did not immediately realise where she was. She looked up when she reached a crossroads, wondering if she could find the strength to go on, and thought she must be hallucinating. How could she have reached Piccadilly without knowing it? Elation streaked through her.

  “We are safe now,” she assured the cob, patting her neck and turning her towards Bolton Street. “I am know where I am. Home is just a little further.”

  ***

  “Lady St. John?” Winchester looked at Clarence askance. “Are you sure?”

  “After the war, her late husband and I were both involved in the negotiations at the Congress of Vienna, and a lot of other areas that required mediation.”

  “Hmm, now this starts to make sense.”

  “But Lady St. John would not have been involved in any of those matters,” Vince pointed out. “And her husband is dead.”

  Clarence lifted his shoulders. “Political wives are privy to more secret information than you might imagine.” He managed a mirthless smile. “Even diplomats sometimes require a confidante.”

  “But the events you refer to were three years ago,” Nate said. “Why would anyone be worried about it now?”

  “A very good question,” Clarence replied grimly, scrubbing a hand wearily down his face. “And one which I have yet to find an answer to.”

  “Come on, Romsey,” Vince said, impatiently striding about the room. “You must have some idea.”

  “I can make an educated guess, but I have no solid facts to back it up.”

  “We won’t hold you to it,” Winchester said.

  “All right. Feelings are still running high about the redistribution of territories within Europe. A lot of people feel they were not treated well. I am guessing St. John was privy to information that would show someone in a bad light if it became public. If that person is in negotiations over territories still disputed, who knows what lengths he might go to in order to ensure that information didn’t become public? Petty squabbles endure, gentlemen. Take it from one who knows.”

  “I agree,” Winchester said, scowling. “But even if someone was desperate enough to try and abduct Lady St. John, the same questions apply in her case. How could anyone possibly know she would walk on the terrace in the middle of a society ball?”

  “Anyone who knows her well would be aware,” Clarence told him. “Frankie is claustrophobic. She hides it well, but if she’s in a crowded room for too long she panics and needs fresh air. That’s why she always keeps a shawl on hand wherever she goes at night, so she can have a respite, no matter the weather conditions.”

  “Dear God,” Winchester said in an undertone.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier just to snatch her off the street?” Vince asked.

  “In broad daylight?” Clarence flexed his brows. “Besides, I doubt she goes anywhere unattended, and whoever is behind this wouldn’t risk being associated with the abduction. No, I’d wager whoever planned this was in attendance at the ball, in view of hundreds of people when Lady Annalise was mistakenly taken.”

  “We need to have Lady St. John here,” Winchester said, looking a little desperate. “If she was the real target, then she is in danger. She also might be able to shed light upon who is responsible.”

  “But what of Anna?” Vince asked, voicing the question that had already occurred to Clarence. He had refused to consider it because there was nothing he could do to resolve it, other than the efforts he had put in place, which seemed pathetically inadequate. “Once they realise they have the wrong lady, she will be of no further use to them.”

  “They wouldn’t…” Nate swallowed and tried again. “They wouldn’t do away with the sister of a duke, surely?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t find out,” Vince replied grimly.

  Winchester strode across to a desk in the corner of the room, and reached for pen and ink. He wrote a few lines, sealed his missive, and rang the bell.

  “Have this delivered to Lady St. John at the Duchess of Bexley’s residence,” he told Faraday, the butler, when he responded to the bell. “I know it’s early, but I doubt if they have gone to bed yet. The ball will still be going on. I have asked Lady St. John to join us here as a matter of urgency regarding Lady Annalise. I feel sure she will come. Please wait for her and ensure she returns here safely.”

  “I shall see to the matter myself, your grace.”

  “Take Paddock with you, as well as a driver,” Winchester said, clearly not prepared to take any chances with Frankie.

  The Sheridan brothers looked at one another, wearing identical scowls, but no one spoke. There were no questions left to ask until Frankie got there. Clarence excused himself to go outside and check with his men. Not that he expected anything to come of it, but it made him feel as though he was doing something useful. It was still dark, and a full moon shone from a clear sky. The snow had stopped, but the air was frigid.

  “Where are you, Annalise?” he said aloud, feeling the full weight of the responsibility he bore for this sorry affair.

  Dear God, why had it fallen to his lot to make so many enemies on behalf of an ungrateful government? Something inside him had unlocked since dancing with Lady Annalise that evening—feelings he had previously kept under close guard, not expecting to have any use for them. He had been attracted to Winchester’s lively sister when he first met her in the summer. He was, after all, only human. But he had no intention of taking that attraction further. Clarence had no reason to marry. He did not n
eed a lady’s fortune and had no business with emotional involvement. Clarence had learned from the cradle to be self-sufficient and was already wedded to his duty. He had too many responsibilities to make time for a wife and family. A cousin could inherit the earldom when the time came, and leave Clarence with the freedom to follow the career he had always known would fall to his lot.

  Duty and patriotism had been his father’s bywords. Those same standards had been beaten into Clarence since he was in short coats, and he had spent every waking moment living up to his father’s expectations of him. Nothing he did was ever sufficient to gratify his cold-hearted parent, but that didn’t prevent Clarence from trying. It was too late to change direction now. He knew nothing else. Besides, too many people relied upon him.

  Even so, the satisfaction he had once taken from resolving sensitive international situations with tact and subtlety suddenly seemed …well, unsatisfactory. Clarence shook his head, watching Winchester’s carriage appear around the side of the house, heading for the duchess’s home. Obviously, this business had upset him more than he realised. Mixing with such a close family as Winchester’s—feeling the affection they entertained for one another, seeing how determined the Sheridan men were to protect their sister—had left a mark. And made him realise just how alone he actually was. Alone, but he had never felt lonely before. As an only child who barely remembered his own mother, he had not experienced anything quite like the Sheridans before. He had known large families, but most of them couldn’t abide the sight of one another, causing him to congratulate himself on his self-sufficiency.

  Lady Annalise was lovely, and highly sought-after. Always assuming she survived her ordeal, she would accept an offer soon enough and establish a life for herself as one of society’s leading hostesses. Clarence could then put her out of his mind and get back to that which was really important. He ignored the virulent pang of jealousy that stabbed him when he thought of her with another man. Jealousy was not an emotion Clarence was accustomed to, and he simply assumed it was engendered by guilt.

  Shaking off the feeling, he strode across the road and conferred with one of his men stationed there. As suspected, he had no new intelligence to impart.

  ***

  Clarence and all three Sheridans stood when Frankie was shown into the drawing room at Sheridan House a short time later, still in her ball gown.

  “Thank you for coming,” Winchester said.

  “I could not have slept a wink anyway for worrying. What news?”

  “I’d best let Romsey explain what we think happened,” Winchester replied. “But first, can I offer you refreshment?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Winchester indicated to Faraday that he could leave them. He did so, closing the double doors quietly behind him. Frankie turned to look expectantly at Clarence, who lost no time in relating their suspicions to her.

  “I was the target?” Frankie clasped both hands to her face, looking deathly pale and totally shocked. “This is my fault.”

  “It is not your fault,” Winchester replied firmly.

  “If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” Clarence said. “Lady Annalise was in my care.”

  “The blame lies with the people who took her,” Winchester said. “And we were hoping you might be able to cast some light upon whom that might be, Lady St. John.”

  “We feel persuaded the abduction was arranged by one of our foreign guests,” Clarence added. “Has anyone approached you with regard to St. John’s affairs recently?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Four male heads turned expectantly in Frankie’s direction.

  “I thought nothing of it at the time, but Count von Hessel spoke with me at Lady Trumper’s ball last week.”

  Vince frowned. “He’s the strutting peacock who has offered for Miss Outwood?”

  “Thinks very well of himself, if you ask me,” Nate added with a competing frown.

  “Ah, that makes sense,” Clarence said, almost to himself. “I ought to have thought of it.”

  “What did he want of you, Lady St. John?” Winchester asked.

  “He commiserated with me over Gerald’s death. Said he planned to write when he heard of it, but had no idea where I was. He went out of his way to be charming, said how much he enjoyed Gerald’s society, and how good he was at what he did.” Frankie tossed her head. “Not so very good as it transpired, since it got him killed. However, that isn’t the point. People I met during my marriage often speak with me at social events, and I still thought nothing was out of the ordinary.”

  “Presumably he said something that made you change your mind,” Clarence said.

  “Yes, he would keep talking about Gerald, which I thought was rather indelicate of him.”

  “Quite so,” Winchester muttered.

  “He then asked me what had happened to Gerald’s papers. He supposed they had been passed on to officials at the foreign office. I told him that must be the case, but I couldn’t possibly know for sure.”

  “Did he seem satisfied with your answer?” Clarence asked.

  “He changed the subject, but then came back to it, sounding a little too casual, now I think of it. He asked if my husband kept diaries, or any personal papers. I thought the question impertinent, and it made me uncomfortable, so I didn’t give him an answer. Then others joined us, and he couldn’t ask anything else.”

  “Well then, it must be the count who has Anna.” Nate scowled. “The blaggard!”

  “Can you think of any reason why he would be so concerned about…excuse me, Lady St. John, a dead diplomat’s papers, Romsey?” Winchester asked.

  “Not off hand but I dare say—”

  The door opened and all head’s turned in Faraday’s direction. “What is it?” Winchester asked. “Any news?”

  “No, your grace, but Mr. Pierce is here, desirous of a word with Lord Romsey.”

  “My secretary,” Romsey said, standing. “Excuse me, Frankie, gentlemen. He is co-ordinating the search for Lady Annalise and might have news.”

  Clarence chose to speak with him out of the earshot of the others. If the news was not good then it would be better if he heard it first. He ran down the stairs and found his secretary in a greatcoat covered with fresh snow, standing in the entrance vestibule.

  “What is it, Pierce?” he asked. “What have you discovered?”

  “I have had men asking everywhere,” Pierce replied, shaking his head. “But the weather has kept most villains quiet tonight, and those that are about claim no knowledge of a lady of quality being abducted.”

  “Damnation!” Clarence paced the length of the hall, staring through the window at the snow falling outside. With each hour that passed, his fears for Lady Annalise multiplied exponentially. “There must be someone, somewhere, who knows something.”

  “We are still asking, but—”

  “What the devil?”

  He blinked, thinking at first that he was imagining things. A cob walked slowly down the middle of the snow-covered square, with what looked like a ragamuffin almost sliding off its back. Some sixth sense told him who that ragamuffin was, even though he wasn’t close enough to see. Clarence inhaled sharply, pulled off his coat, and raced for the front door. He tore through the snow in his indoor shoes, much to the astonishment of Pierce and the men he had stationed in the square. He reached the cob and grasped its halter, bringing it to a stop.

  Lady Annalise, for he knew it was her, even before she lifted her head from beneath the thin blanket that covered it, slid from the cob’s back, into his waiting arms. Dear God, she was frozen to the bone, barely alive. She screamed when her shoulder touched his body. Clearly, she had injured it, so he gently lowered her to her feet, supporting her with one arm as he draped his coat around her. He then scooped her carefully into his arms again, keeping the afflicted shoulder was away from his body.

  “You’re safe now,” he said, wondering if that was actually true. Clarence’s heart lurched. Damn it, she couldn’t die!<
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  “So cold,” she muttered, her blue lips lending support to her words. “So cold.”

  And then, she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  Clarence turned to his men. “Stable that cob in his grace’s mews,” he said curtly. “It must belong to someone. We might be able to trace who took her if we find out where it came from. Then await my orders.”

  He carried Lady Annalise into the house, thanking a God he was unsure he believed in any more for her safe return. If she was safe. She was suffering from extreme exposure to the elements, had injuries the extent of which he had yet to conjecture, and her recovery was far from certain.

  “Faraday,” he yelled, as soon as he was through the door. “Blankets, warm water. Warm, not hot mind.”

  Sheridan males spilled from the drawing room on the floor above to see what the commotion was about.

  “My God, it’s Anna!” Nate cried, leading the charge down the stairs. “Let me take her.”

  “I’ve got her,” Clarence replied. “Let’s get her into the drawing room.”

  “Is she all right?” Winchester asked.

  “Exposure,” Clarence said succinctly. “We need to warm her up.”

  “She’s unconscious,” Vince said. “How did she get here?”

  “Later.”

  Clarence carried her into the drawing room and sat her beside the fire. Faraday burst in, carrying the blankets himself. Clarence grabbed one, removed his coat and the tatty, soaking wet rag from around her shoulders, and replaced it with a thick, dry blanket.

  “Lady Annalise,” he said urgently. “Wake up. You can’t sleep now.”

  “Let her sleep, damn you!” Nate cried.

  “He’s right, Nate.” Winchester placed a restraining hand on his brother’s arm. “We need to keep her conscious until we’re sure she’s warm. If she sleeps, she might not wake up.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Have the fire banked up, Faraday,” Winchester barked. “Send someone to rouse her grace, and send word to Doctor Fisher.”