A Lady's Vanishing Choices

by Woodson, Wareeze

  Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Why’s he doing this now?”

  “I’ve an idea he wants me locked away so he’ll always have control over me. I turn one and twenty this year, of an age to seek employment elsewhere. That would certainly spoil the image he promotes of himself as a caring uncle.”

  Bethany rubbed her brow in reflection, paying little heed to Maggie’s last words. The threat of being thrown into Bedlam frightened her almost more than the thought of being chased by the killer. Maggie’s next words startled her out of her grim reflections.

  “I’ve studied about your problem.” Maggie took a long swallow of tea. “Now his uncle has up and died, the new earl was appointed as the head law, hereabouts. I could let him know . . . like ‘twas me who saw the killer. Then no trouble would come to you. How’d that be?”

  “That’s a terrible idea. Questions may be asked and you would have no notion what to say.” Bethany faced Maggie. “Perhaps there wasn’t a body in that bundle. I’m certain of the rolled up blanket, but perhaps I imagined the rest.” Deep in her being, she believed the blanket contained a corpse.

  “Posh. You always been reliable before. Supposing there is a body? If not, could be stolen coins or the like, even something important to the government? That needs reporting. No sense in doubting yourself now,” Maggie finished.

  Bethany cast a stricken glance at her. “Let me think about it.”

  She didn’t want to be involved. She couldn’t bear any more ridicule.

  “Tain’t something that can be put off forever,” Maggie challenged her. “Besides, the earl being new around here and all, stands to reason he ain’t heard a word against you.”

  “Possibly.” Bethany eased into her chair again. “I knew the right thing to do. Finding a way to report the crime when that would involve a three-hour journey seemed impossible. One problem solved. Since he is close by, I’ll tell him the first chance. I promise.”

  Perhaps the occasion wouldn’t arise for a long while. Something might intervene. Perhaps someone else would stumble on the grave or the pit, however unlikely that seemed. Clasping her elbows across her belly when her stomach roiled at the notion of reporting the crime, Bethany sighed.

  She gained her feet and gave Maggie a quick hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With a lot to consider, Bethany made her way out of the village. Of course, she should go to the earl and tell him the story. Maggie convinced her of that, and she would—at the perfect moment. Then the responsibility would rest on his shoulders.

  She sidestepped a hole in the road, and although she had traveled this same path only an hour since, a shiver of apprehension crawled down her spine. Lately, everything in her life seemed to have jerked out of kilter.

  Bethany took the short cut through the neighboring estate. Her mind had settled on exactly what she must do, she plunged onward, anxious to get back to the manor. She ignored the branches of the yews and beech trees that shaded the bridle path, reflecting on her recent conversation with Maggie.

  Caught up in the storm flooding her mind, she failed to take note of the sudden pounding of hoof beats shivering the ground beneath her in time to duck off the path. The horse caught up with her before she could escape.

  Much to her surprise, the rider reined his mount to a standstill and flung out of the saddle to stride towards her. Her eyes were drawn to the hunting vest the stranger wore and the yellow banners half tucked into the pocket.

  Chapter 3

  Paralyzed with fright, Bethany couldn’t move. She gasped for air, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode out of her chest.

  Is the village or the manor closer? She turned to run, but before she could take a single step, the man moved in front of her.

  “Bethany. Is something amiss?” he asked with a thread of alarm in his voice. He glanced around the area then back at her with a puzzled frown. “Beg pardon if I startled you. It’s Perry. You remember. We tread this very path together when we were young.” A charming smile lit his entire face, and amusement lurked in his eyes. “You don’t recall.”

  She finally managed to drag her gaze off the yellow scraps in his vest pocket, up his chest, to rest on his face. He did look familiar, a much more mature version of her friend, Perry. She recalled his careless disregard for his appearance. Nothing had changed. He had the same bronzy-brown locks atop a handsome face, but now he had the features of a man, not the boy she’d known. When she found her voice, she scolded, “You frightened me near to death. Very few come this way since Lord Athon died.”

  His expression clouded for a moment and he muttered, “Yes, I miss my uncle dreadfully, but the property belongs to my brother now.” His countenance cleared, and he extended his arms with a cocky grin in a bow. “I’m back. Sir Perry at your service.”

  The yellow scraps never left the fringe of her vision, disturbing her, nudging her to make haste away from this place. Poised for flight, hand at her throat, she glanced back at his pocket.

  His gazed followed hers. “I beg pardon. I shouldn’t have paused to greet a lady in all my dirt. Forgive my impulsive behavior.” He gave a self-mocking grin and caught her hand.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to pull out of his grasp. “Sir, your conduct is appalling.”

  “Don’t run away then.” He dropped her hand and moved back one non-threatening step.

  Barely able to conceal her sigh of relief, she hunched her shoulders. With him at least an arm’s distance away, she had a better chance to run. What a dolt. She could never out distance him. He’d be on her in an instant.

  She tried to steady her voice when she asked, “What is that yellow thing in your pocket?”

  Laughter lit his eyes. “Only hunting markers. I throw one down to indicate the location of any downed game for collection later. Originally, that’s the reason I took this path.”

  Why did he find her question so amusing? She definitely found nothing humorous about the situation. The yellow scarf seemed coiled—ready to strike. She edged back. He could be the killer. Alarm continued to build inside her, and she tensed every muscle.

  With a coaxing smile, he said, “I recall when you were a very young lady. I fancied you—thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever run across. Elegant, gallant, intelligent—all the things I thought a young lady should be. You’re even lovelier today.”

  Heat rushed up to her hairline. She drew a disturbed breath. Unable to discern why he would bother to flirt with a lady considered on the shelf by her relatives, her unease continued to grow. Perhaps he thought to distract her from the markers. “That’s very kind.”

  He smiled into her eyes, probing, searching every nuance of her expression, as if attempting to read her acceptance of his approach. “I’d like to become reacquainted with such a lovely lady. We were friends long ago.”

  When she’d first met him, she’d thought him mature and sophisticated. Now, at her twenty to his twenty-four, he seemed young and without confidence in himself. He seemed a mere boy trying to impress her with a force of will. His smile appeared perfect and compelling, however, she doubted the sincerity of such charm. He must have practiced in front of a mirror to achieve this level of success. The question of why he wasted it on her continued to nag at her.

  The yellow banners drew her attention again. “I really must go.”

  “Must you?” A frown knotted his brows, and his voice deepened with a hint of displeasure.

  “Indeed.”

  “Allow me to accompany you. I’d be honored to see you safely to your door without further mishap.”

  Horrified, she stammered, “That’s not necessary.”

  “I know. It’s something I very much wish to do.”

  “My uncle is expecting me.” With a chill racing along her spine, she backed away before scurrying
down the path. The sensation of Perry’s frustrated stare drilling into her back caused her to run as if all the demons of Hell were after her. Her breath came in great sobs, and she developed a stitch in her side. Glancing over her shoulder, she sighed. He hadn’t followed.

  Safe now, she slowed. She still couldn’t fathom why he’d expressed such interest in her appearance. Perhaps she’d acted the frightened fool for no reason. Perhaps he was innocent. Simply because he carried a vest and yellow banners didn’t necessarily mean he was the killer—or did it?

  Royce leaned back in his chair with a warm towel wrapped around his face, waiting for his morning shave. He could hear his valet moving about the room before sharping the razor against the strap.

  Royce’s mind drifted to yesterday. The woman responsible for his near encounter with disaster invaded his thoughts. She was an undeniable beauty, and he couldn’t shake her from his mind.

  Where had his wits gone begging? He had his future planned, and he didn’t intend to allow a hoyden with a pair of huge, whiskey-brown eyes to lure him into her web. Recalling the terror reflected in her eyes, he determined the trifle of an accident couldn’t possibly be the cause of her fear.

  Puzzled, he went over the incident in his mind. She’d taken the bend in the lane on one wheel, her horse allowed to run wide open. If he hadn’t adroitly avoided locking wheels with her gig, his curricle may have overturned, and he could have been injured or killed. Her conveyance landed in the ditch by the hedgerow, but that was nothing to raise such panic. Perhaps a trifle shaken, even a bit of distress could be excused, but terror? Certainly not. Some females were overcome by the slightest upset, but she had been more than merely overset. What else had he missed?

  Why drive at a breakneck speed, and why had she been all alone in the gig? Of course, country rules of conduct were much more lax. All the same, her behavior was shameful for a well-brought up lady—if she was a lady. Her clothes had certainly not spoken of wealth, but the gig had been well enough. He hated it when he couldn’t take anything at face value. Always suspicious and overly cautious, he counted it the price he must pay for his position of Lord Lieutenant until he could recommend another to serve as Justice of the Peace. There is a mystery here. One I must solve.

  Impatient now, he moved restlessly, wishing for the end of his relaxing shave.

  “Milord, with your indulgence, I shall be only a moment longer. Be perfectly still.” The valet brought the razor to the base of Royce’s throat.

  Chapter 4

  Royce Carrington, Fourth Earl of Rivton, stood in the shadow of a two-story building and glanced around. Dusky dark obscured the outline of his shadow. While he surveyed the area, a carriage rumbled past on the cobbled street in front of the Foreign Office. He waited another few minutes before slipping across the street and into the side door of the government building. The guard, stationed at the front door, paid him no mind. He frowned at the shocking want of conduct displayed by a watchman.

  The dim hallway appeared deserted, but light shone from an office further down the corridor. Other than his own, no footfall sounded in the practically empty building, and he found the near silence unsettling. With a firm stride, he made his way down the hall to his cousin’s office and pushed inside.

  The faint smell of dusty, leather tomes permeated the air and mingled with another odor Royce couldn’t identify. Perhaps his cousin’s scented soap. The idea of noticing the smell of John’s soap brought a half smile to his lips.

  He spied John Carrington behind a cluttered desk, reading a document and scribbling notes in the margin. The scratch of the pen crossing the paper seemed unusually loud to Royce, agitating his already raw nerves. John had better have a good reason for his summons, else he would find himself alone. Royce cleared his throat and John glanced up.

  Royce drawled, “I thought I was exempt from all of this listening at doors and such. If you will cast your mind back, when father died, I resigned from the service.”

  John deposited his quill in the inkstand. Smiling, he leaned back in his chair. “I dare say. Welcome cousin, or should I say Lord Rivton?”

  Royce held up his hands in surrender. “Enough John.” With a wry grin he continued, “Such a gudgeon and talking foolishness with it.” He sobered and fixed his cousin with a stare. “Still, let there be plain speaking between us. I hope you have a sound reason for that curst note you sent to summon me.”

  John sighed and leaned forward. “My superior is in a pet. That’s the reason for your summons.”

  Annoyed, Royce waved his hand in dismissal while he regarded John. “He always appears in alt for one cause or the other. Why did you really demand this meeting?” Royce made a steeple of his fingers in front of his chin and drilled John with a searching look. The troubled expression in his cousin’s eyes caused a chill of apprehension to rush over him. “You know I have plans of my own.”

  A reluctant laugh escaped John. “Rumor has it, you’ve been attentive to the Littleton chit.”

  “I see you’re current with every on-dit running through the town.”

  “You have me there.” John shrugged. “You’re not an agent of the government now. If you choose not to help us . . .”

  “John,” Royce warned. “Give over.” He shifted in his chair and searched his cousin’s countenance. “What is amiss? Why are you wearing that serious expression?”

  “You’re shrewd my friend.” John sighed. “Very well. It’s Bonaparte. He must be stopped this time. No mercy.”

  Irritated, Royce grumbled, “Devil take the blighter. Why couldn’t he stay conquered? Elba was the perfect prison for him.”

  “Obviously, not so perfect. An unquenchable thirst for power drives him, I dare say.” John moved to the edge of his chair and straightened his spine. “But Joliet Savoy, closely connected to the royals, shall we say, is of central interest.”

  “And?” Here it comes. Royce nearly groaned aloud while curling his hands into fists.

  “We suspect state secrets have been leaked to her. She may have pilfered a few items of jewelry from the royal family too.”

  Royce interrupted, “A serious business. She’d have no other reason to gather information, other than to pass it to Bonaparte or his agents.”

  John’s lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Indeed. Important documents are missing—papers that Bonaparte would give anything to possess.”

  “And you say these documents were stolen by this Joliet Savoy?”

  John nodded. “It’s feared so. We think she may have coaxed some state secrets out of a few indiscreet chaps.”

  “You think?” Royce grabbed the arms of the chair instead of pounding the desk in frustration.

  John shook his head. “Tongues grow loose when a gentleman is in his cups and in bed with a lovely charmer. Certain men have no business in the Horse Guards or at the Foreign Office. Of all the dunderheaded officials, this group takes the cake.”

  Royce’s brows shot up. “You allow these papers in the hands of such gentlemen?”

  John invested each word with disgust. “These fellows have friends in high places. Some are highly thought of.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he continued, “I’m not saying there is deliberate wrongdoing with these chaps. Merely loose tongues and careless handling of secrets.”

  Royce tamped down a touch of impatience. “But what does that have to do with the wilds of Chadwick and me?”

  “Joliet Savoy must be found before any further damage results from her encounters. The trail leads to Bath where her brother is reputed to have rooms, only a few hours ride from Chadwick.”

  “So?” Royce ground his teeth, nearly at the end of his patience.

  “We need your help to find her. She isn’t in this alone, so we’re searching for her accomplice, as well. Possibly her brother.”

  Ro
yce grimaced and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Well, we certainly can’t have spies and the like waltzing around our nation undeterred.”

  “My superior suggested you give a ball. Since you have recently taken up residence at the hall, what could be more appropriate than a ball? Sort of a welcome to the neighbors, so to speak?”

  “I’m ordered to give a dashed ball at the request of your superior?” Royce reared back against the chair. “Devilish forward of him.”

  “That doesn’t signify.” John lowered his voice to a soothing level.

  Royce smothered a sigh. Trying to gull me into accepting his edict, is it? He makes a damned good case, leaving me with little choice. After all, this is for king and country.

  “Before you fly off the handle, let me put forth a few benefits to you. It would be a step in the right direction where your courtship is concerned. Having a house party, or even several entertainments, should allow more opportunities for wooing. With Sara and me, along with Sir Frank Blair and a few others as guests, you shall certainly find it necessary to entertain. That will afford you with the perfect cover for inviting your victim . . .” John chuckled deep in his chest. “Pardon, I meant the object of your affections, to more than a single ball. You may sit in her pocket at your will.”

  “I didn’t say I intend to court a lady,” Royce ground out. “If I were so inclined, what’s a paltry house party here and there, after all?” Royce stewed, finally spewing out, “Seems you and your superior have my life all mapped out. I thank you.”

  “So it would seem. Don’t forget that I’ll be there to do the actual spying, and Sara will be with me.”

  Royce cast a withering glance at John. “You are likely to come to a bad pass with your smooth tongue and cozening ways. Still, your lovely wife is always welcome in my home. And being such a great organizer, she can arrange everything for me. I shan’t find it necessary to lift a finger,” he finished on a lighter note.