A Night of Forever

by Bronwen Evans

  She was about to comment on his absence, but stopped herself in time. It would not do to alert Victoria to the fact she and Dufort were under observation.

  Instead she buttered her toast and said cheerfully, “Would you like to accompany me today? I’m taking Sealey to visit Richmond Park and the deer. Remember, I promised him last week. With his mother away, I thought I’d give Beatrice a break from minding him. I’ll likely take her ward, Henry, as well.”

  Victoria gave her a preoccupied look.

  “I’d love to, dear. However, Mr. Duckworth has arrived with papers he needs me to review. The need is urgent, and the matter is likely to take me all day. How unfortunate.”

  Victoria would indeed think such a visit was unfortunate. Mr. Duckworth was the trustee for her father’s estate. From what she had seen of the interactions between Mr. Duckworth and Victoria, it was safe to say there was tension there. Isobel was grateful Victoria had no say about the funds her father had put aside for her.

  She swallowed her mouthful of toast and reached for her tea. “They must be important if he’s come all the way from Northumberland. What a shame. Today is one of the few warmish days we have had. It seems a waste to spend it locked away inside.”

  “It’s rather fortunate, actually, because Dufort is unwell. He’s on his sickbed, and you know how I don’t like going out without him.”

  Dufort was sick? He didn’t look the type to get sick, but Isobel did not question it. She merely nodded, thankful that she hadn’t tried to slip into his room this morning on her way to breakfast. The thought had crossed her mind as she walked down the corridor and passed his room, but for some reason she’d hesitated. Thank goodness she had.

  “It will be wonderful to have a night at home for a change. I don’t know what time I’ll be back from the park, but we didn’t accept any invitations for tonight, did we?”

  Victoria wrinkled her nose, as if deep in thought. “No. It is going to be a busy few weeks. Your engagement announcement has brought a flood of invitations. We shall both have an evening at home—with perhaps a game of cards after dinner, and then an early night.”

  “That sounds heavenly.” Isobel glanced at the clock. “Goodness, I must hurry, or Sealey will think I’ve forgotten him.” She rose, and as she left the room she called, “Good luck with your correspondence, I shall see you tonight.”

  She needed to fetch her shawl, hat, and gloves from her room. The carriage was waiting below, but as she made her way to her room, a thought struck her.

  Before she lost her courage she stopped outside Dufort’s room and knocked. There was no reply. Perhaps he was asleep. She looked up and down the corridor and then knocked once more, louder, and stepped into his room. As she suspected, the room was empty, the bed nicely made.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Where was Dufort, and what was he up to? He never left Victoria’s side. Now suddenly he was gone. She was worried for Arend’s sake. She’d be safe today with a dozen Runners accompanying her, but she needed to get word to Arend.

  She’d send a note to Arend from Beatrice’s townhouse.

  —

  A quarter of an hour later she entered the home of Lord Coldhurst. She was looking forward to the day, as Sealey was a lovely boy. She wondered if Evangeline had told Hadley he was a father. Beatrice and Sebastian must know, because the boy looked so much like Hadley no one would doubt his parentage.

  When she’d first met Sealey, Isobel had had no idea his father wasn’t Viscount Stuart. Then she’d met Lord Fullerton. She understood Evangeline’s reasons for keeping the child’s parentage secret. If Victoria learned the boy was Hadley’s, then he’d be in grave danger.

  After telling Lord Coldhurst’s elderly butler that she would see her own way to the upstairs drawing room, she mounted the stairs and made her way quickly to the room where the ladies liked to meet.

  A few feet from the door she heard her name, and slowed. Then stopped. Portia was talking about her.

  “I feel so disloyal,” she was saying. “We should warn Isobel about Arend. I can see her being dazzled, and her emotions are more engaged every day.”

  Isobel knew she should walk in and announce herself, but her feet would not move. Instead she hugged the wall with her back and listened.

  “I hate it too.” It was Beatrice. “She’s such a lovely young lady. But we can’t say anything—not about Arend and his deplorable tactics, and not about what we have uncovered in the journals. Not until Arend is sure she is not in league with her stepmother.”

  Was that what he was doing? Seducing her to test her innocence in Victoria’s evil game? Her heart throbbed and ached in her chest at the thought that last night’s tender passion had all been a lie. No. Impossible. He’d certainly not faked his desire; she’d felt the evidence.

  “What absolute tosh.” Marisa sounded indignant. “Isobel is no more in league with Victoria than I. I’m sure of it. She was so frightened of that terrifying carriage ride. I’d stake my life on it.”

  Bless Marisa for her defense and her confidence. Isobel wanted to hug her. But Portia was right. She had been falling in love with the rogue. She wanted to kick herself. How stupid was she? Of course Arend’s motive for seducing her could have nothing to do with love. She was nothing to him except an item to cross off his list. Find out if Isobel is in league with Victoria. Step one, seduce her. Step two—

  “Then I feel doubly guilty.” Beatrice’s sigh was one of mixed anxiety and worry. “Arend is seducing her, and I can see it’s working. When he lays on the French charm, Arend is irresistible. He’s handsome, rich, and darkly mysterious. We all know what a beacon that type of man can be to a susceptible woman. I’d hate to see her fall in love with him. He is a loyal friend, but there’s such darkness in him. Even Sebastian thinks it unlikely he’ll ever marry.”

  “Really?” Portia said. “Grayson thinks he’s desperate to do so. He simply won’t realize it until he meets the right woman.”

  Arend had been almost desperate last night, but it hadn’t been for marriage. She wanted to weep at the sense of hurt and betrayal welling up within her. Of course he’d meet the right woman one day. He could have anyone he wanted. It just wouldn’t be her.

  “He never talks much about his family,” Beatrice said, “so I assumed he wasn’t interested in having children.”

  Beatrice’s comment jolted Isobel out of her self-pity. How could anyone not be interested in having children? Children were both a legacy and a gift. She wanted lots of children.

  “Ridiculous.” Marisa scoffed at the idea. “As for his family, his elder sister married a local squire. That match was organized by the Duke himself. His younger brother is a vicar on the Claymore estate. So, you see, he could decide to remain a bachelor and the succession would be safe. But I think his desire for a child of his own will win out. You must have noticed how wonderful he is with both Henry and Sealey.”

  Even in her pain Isobel had to admit Arend was wonderful with the boys.

  “Then why,” Beatrice asked, “is he so secretive about his family?”

  Isobel wanted to know the answer to that question too. At any moment someone could walk up the stairs or come out of a room and see her standing in the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, and mentally urged Marisa to explain.

  “Grayson says,” Marisa said slowly, “it’s because he’s ashamed of his family’s poverty. The Duke of Claymore paid for Arend to attend Eton. I suspect that is why Arend’s father did not report what the men did to Victoria. He owed the Duke everything.”

  Isobel tried to imagine being in such a soul-destroying position: owing a man so much that one would allow him to hurt another person and not say a word. She couldn’t. It would shame her too much.

  “But since Arend’s diamond find,” Marisa continued, “he’s one of the richest men in England. When Maitland heard about the depletion of the diamond mines in India, he suggested he invest Arend’s money for h
im in case the same thing happens in Brazil. Since then Maitland has more than doubled Arend’s investments. So, you see, even without the mine he’s wealthy, extremely wealthy.”

  Marisa’s love for her husband vibrated from her every time she said his name.

  “Well,” Portia said, “all I know is that we women have to stick together, and I believe that Isobel deserves to know the truth.” Her voice softened, became hesitant. “I remember what I was prepared to risk for the man I loved. If she’s fallen in love with Arend, she may very well risk her life. I don’t think that’s fair.”

  Isobel couldn’t bear to hear any more. The idea that not all the ladies were certain of her allegiance hurt almost as much as learning of Arend’s treachery. Sisters. She’d longed to fit into this group and finally have something she’d missed her whole life—sisters. Loss kicked her in the stomach and she doubled over.

  She crept back to the stairs, descended two, and then clomped back up them.

  She couldn’t remain with the women long or she’d break down. Nor would she give them a chance to tell her anything or show their pity for her gullibility. This was between her and Arend. If he believed she was in league with Victoria, then she had a few things to say to him. A man who could not trust, could not be trusted, for he would lie and deceive in order to hide his true self.

  She couldn’t wait to see him in Richmond. She’d be dignified, but he would learn in no uncertain terms that she didn’t appreciate his duplicity. Their betrothal was over. She would hire her own Bow Street Runners and find her father’s killer on her own.

  When she entered the room, it was with a smile on her face and a cheerful greeting. “Good morning, ladies. Such a fine day for a visit to Richmond Park. Do any of you wish to join us?”

  Beatrice rose, took her two hands, and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I wish I could go with you, but duties keep me here. Henry has come down with a stomach ache, so Nanny has advised he stay at home too.”

  Beatrice released Isobel’s hands and walked to the window. “The Runners are entertaining Sealey with a game of hide and seek in the garden,” she went on. “He could not sit still waiting for you.”

  How wonderful to know there was one person she could love without reserve. “He’s been waiting to go with me ever since his mother arrived in London,” Isobel said, moving to the window.

  “And he’s having a wonderful time.” Marisa came and slipped her arm through hers, turning her away from the window. “Come and have tea with us before you go.”

  How could she sit with these women, who she’d thought were her friends, and pretend that all was well? “I’m sorry, no. It’s a long trip, and we want to be back before dark.”

  She saw the tension leave the women’s faces at her refusal. Hurt knifed through her once again. But what did she expect? She was more or less a stranger to them, and their loyalties were to their husbands and to each other.

  Twenty minutes later, Isobel sat in the carriage beside a very excited Sealey and opposite two rather large Bow Street Runners. Two more Runners traveled at the rear of the carriage, another sat beside the driver, and a further six accompanied them on horseback.

  Lord Coldhurst was taking no chances. Even though Henry was no longer one of the party, Sealey still had the same protection as Coldhurst’s adopted son. Isobel would have felt better about the protection if she didn’t believe she was part of the reason for it. How could they think she’d let anyone hurt a child?

  Isobel let Sealey chatter all the way to Richmond. He was far too excited to be quiet and watch the world pass by, and she needed the distraction he provided. Arend would meet them at the park. They would share a picnic and she would tell him of Dufort and thus fulfill her obligation to him. Sealey would enjoy the deer and the exercise. While she and Arend watched him, she would, perfectly politely, state her position and end their association. Arend would walk away. She would gather up a tired little boy and the pieces of her heart and take them all back home. Tomorrow…

  She was not looking forward to tomorrow.

  The carriage stopped, as she had directed, at Pen Pond. All Sealey could talk about were the deer—the animals would have to come to drink at some point.

  Arend, however, was not at the pond.

  The Runners insisted that they stay near the carriage at all times. It was not easy to do with an energetic five-year-old boy.

  Had Arend been with them, it might have been easier.

  But if Arend wasn’t there, the deer were. Sealey even found two other families with small boys to play with.

  Isobel arranged the picnic near the shelter of the carriage under oak trees for shade, and then told Sealey to see if any of the other children wanted to join them for lunch. Delighted, he raced off across the green grass, deer bounding away at his approach.

  She was seated on a rug on the grass, with a glass of champagne in hand, when the shot rang out.

  One of the Runners toppled off the carriage.

  “Get inside!” another runner yelled at her.

  But all Isobel saw were the two horses bearing down on Sealey.

  Where the hell was Arend when she needed him?

  He wasn’t here. But she was.

  She scrambled to her feet, snatched up the hem of her gown, and raced off across the grass as other shots rang out, calling for Sealey as she ran.

  Sealey had stopped at the sound of the first shot. Now, no doubt galvanized by the terror in her voice, he turned and started running back to her. She didn’t look behind her. The Runners were under attack? She was Sealey’s only hope.

  Grabbing Sealey’s hand, Isobel pulled him toward the protection of a copse of trees. All they could do was hide until the Runners prevailed.

  They had almost reached safety when two horses swerved between them and the copse in an attempt to cut them off. Heart pounding, breathing ragged, Isobel scooped Sealey into her arms. She staggered under his weight and managed two steps forward before another shot rang out. Something buzzed past her ear.

  “Stop, or the boy dies.”

  Isobel went cold with horror as she recognized Dufort’s voice. So this was where he had gone—to wait for Sealey. She’d just delivered Hadley’s son right into his enemy’s hands. She clutched the little boy closer. Now no one would believe she was not in league with Victoria.

  Where the hell was Arend?

  “Hand up the boy,” Dufort growled, “or I’ll shoot you both.”

  Every nerve screamed at her to refuse, but one look at Dufort’s twisted face told Isobel he would kill them both without a blink if she disobeyed.

  Helpless, filled with horror and rage, she followed Dufort’s gesture and lifted Sealey up to sit before the second rider. When she stepped away from the horse, Dufort’s pistol was still pointed at her. So when he held his other hand down to her, two things flashed across her mind.

  One, Dufort wasn’t going to shoot her. Two, he was taking her as well as Sealey. Relief seemed out of place, but it flowed through her. At least this way she would be able to protect the little boy as much as she could.

  She didn’t resist. For Sealey’s sake, she had to stay alive.

  She stepped forward and grabbed Dufort’s offered hand. With a strength that was scary, he lifted her to sit before him on his horse. She barely had time to grip the animal’s mane before he swung his horse around and kicked it into a gallop.

  They traveled at a grueling speed for what must have been at least an hour. Once, she heard Sealey crying, and craned around Dufort’s broad shoulder to see the little boy and his captor riding almost at their side.

  “Be brave, Sealey,” she called in what she hoped was a cheerful tone. “Everything will be all right, you’ll see. This is quite the adventure, isn’t it?”

  The boy’s tears didn’t stop, but he no longer sobbed uncontrollably.

  By midafternoon, she was chilled to the bone, and every one of those frozen bones felt as if it had been rattled, kicked, and stomped on. Her finger
s screamed with cramp from gripping the horse’s mane.

  When Dufort began to slow his horse, she was both grateful at the prospect of their journey’s end and terrified at what was ahead.

  A few minutes later they turned into a driveway and followed it to a reasonably sized country house.

  Dufort reined in his horse and then swung Isobel down to the ground. She staggered as her legs refused to hold her weight, almost fell, righted herself, and then stumbled over to where Sealey still sat in front of his captor.

  Wordlessly she reached up for him. To her amazement the rider allowed the trembling child to slip into her arms.

  “It’s all right,” she soothed. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “I want to go home,” he whispered, his bottom lip trembling. “I want Mummy.”

  Her heart broke. “I know,” she whispered back. “But we need to be brave now.”

  Dufort dismounted and tossed his reins to the other man. “This way,” he said, and gestured them toward the house.

  For one fleeting moment Isobel considered running. But it was a stupid idea. She couldn’t carry Sealey, and she wasn’t going to leave him behind, alone and scared.

  Anyway, the chances she would leave this place alive were almost zero. She now knew too much, had seen too much, and was in no doubt that Victoria was behind this kidnapping.

  So she wasn’t surprised to walk into the drawing room and find Victoria sitting beside the fire.

  “Good afternoon, Isobel,” her stepmother said, studying her with cheerful interest. “Yes, you were right—she was on to us, Dufort. She doesn’t appear surprised to see me here.”

  Isobel adjusted Sealey’s weight in her arms. “Dufort is your man, Victoria. Your involvement was a logical deduction.”

  Victoria’s smile spread across her face, any pretense that she wasn’t gloating gone. “Where are my manners? Please sit.”

  Isobel took the offered seat only because Sealey was heavy. “What are you doing, Victoria?”

  Victoria’s attention moved from Isobel to the boy in her arms, and an expression of loathing hardened the lines of her face. “Dufort, I think the boy would be better off upstairs.”