A Suitable Match: Historical Romance (The Marstone Series Book 2)

by Jayne Davis

  The stew seemed to settle in a cold lump in Bella’s stomach. She’d prefer to travel through the night, to lessen the chance of someone catching up with them, but that could be dangerous and wasn’t fair on the others. If she was taken back now, she wouldn’t only have to live at Marstone Park as she had before, she would be locked in her room and supervised at all times.

  Luis counted out his coins in the grey light from the window, ignoring the rattle of rain on the glass as he tried to think of all the expenses he might incur on his journey. He’d never taken much notice of the charges in inns at home, secure in the knowledge that he had plenty of money for his needs, and Don Felipe had paid for most of the expenses on his journey to London.

  Once he’d pawned his spare clothing, he might have enough money for the packet boat to Lisbon and on to his home in Spain. An outside seat on the coach would be cheaper, and would help to ensure he had enough money left when he reached Portugal. At least it was summer, he thought sourly, even if the weather here was nothing like the glorious blazing skies at home. He might get wet, but hopefully not too cold.

  Luis swept the coins back into the leather purse and placed it beneath the mattress, smoothing the counterpane back into place. He’d try a few more pawnbrokers tomorrow, to see if he could find someone to promise better prices, but he couldn’t pawn his clothing until he was ready to leave—Mendes would notice if anything was missing.

  He didn’t know the best places to go, that was the problem. As he’d explored further from the fashionable parts of Town, the pawnbrokers became more ready to accept clothing rather than jewellery, but the sums they offered were only a tiny fraction of the initial cost. The insinuations that he’d stolen the clothes he wore were as insulting as the feeling that he was not being offered a fair price.

  Smiling without humour, he thought that he was the last person who should be complaining about cheating others. Lady Milton, when she’d sent him away, had called him a boy who could not think beyond his own pretty face. She was almost correct—all he’d thought about was claiming what he thought should be his, without any consideration of others.

  Well, the face hadn’t got him far, but perhaps he was beginning to grow up.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and he hurriedly picked up the book he was pretending to read. Don Felipe burst into the room without ceremony, his face thunderous.

  “Lady Brigham says you paid no attention to Lady Sudbury at the ball two nights ago, although she was present, and you have not been seen in public since then. Where have you been?”

  Luis set the book down and got to his feet. “It’s only two days, Don Felipe. I’ve been seducing Lady Sudbury, as you instructed me.” He allowed some annoyance to show in his voice, as if he was irritated about being questioned.

  “No-one has seen you with her.” Don Felipe’s tone was a little milder this time.

  Had Don Felipe had him followed everywhere? Surely he could not have done, or he would now be asking about visits to pawn shops.

  “I have been discreet about it,” he said. “I assumed you would want that.”

  “But the Marstone girl—you failed there.”

  Luis shrugged. “I tried, but Lady Isabella is another woman with honour. I may yet succeed. Should I concentrate on Lady Sudbury?”

  Don Felipe did not respond immediately, but stood with narrowed eyes, one finger tapping his lips. “No,” he said at last. “In fact, I don’t think the Sudbury woman will be worth pursuing at all. No, I have a different task for you.” He ran his eyes over Luis’s embroidered waistcoat, and the matching coat lying over a chair. “One that will require quite a different wardrobe. Mendes will bring you suitable garments and take those away. I will brief you tomorrow.”

  Luis swore as Don Felipe left. What now? He needed money from selling his clothes to pay for his journey. He could pack up now and find a pawn shop, but at this hour of the night, and clearly in urgent need of funds, he was likely to get even less than he’d been offered when making his enquires. And who knew when Mendes would return? He could be caught while leaving.

  No—he should concentrate on not losing the money he already had. He pulled the leather purse from beneath the mattress again, and assessed its bulk.

  Chapter 24

  Nick slid off his rented hack outside the inn in Newbury—it was time to hire a new horse, and to break his fast. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was making too much of this. While he was at Marstone House the day before, a note from Isabella had been delivered to Brooke Street. She had explained that she’d had no option but to run away, but was suitably escorted by several people including Archer, so he need not worry.

  Archer was a competent man, but Marstone was sure to be issuing orders to fetch his daughter back if he hadn’t succumbed to an apoplexy after Nick left him. Archer might need help if they were caught up by someone like Staverton with Marstone’s authority to involve a local magistrate or constable.

  That was only an excuse, he admitted to himself as he handed his mount to an ostler. Even if his help was not needed, he could not remain in London while Isabella might be in danger—whether from the hazards of travel or from being back in her father’s power.

  “Breakfast,” he said to a passing waiter, sinking into a chair in the half-empty taproom. Riding until after dark and then getting up with the sun might not have been such a good idea—he was lightheaded with hunger and fatigue.

  He felt more human after a plate of ham and eggs and a pot of coffee.

  “In a hurry, sir?” the waiter asked, seeing Nick put his money on the table.

  “Trying to catch up with some friends,” he said. “A young lady, with a maid and a couple of menservants. Have they passed through here?” Newbury was an obvious place for them to stop to change horses, or even to have a meal, and this was the main post-house. He could not be far behind them now, although no-one at the other inns he’d stopped at recalled them passing.

  “Funny you should say that, sir. You’re the third person to ask.”

  Third?

  “Who else is enquiring?”

  “A gent, older than you, a couple of hours ago. Said something about the lady’s father being ill, and she needed to go home.”

  That would be Marstone’s man—Nick had expected to be behind him. He’d spent over an hour changing into riding gear and getting directions to Wingrave’s place in Devonshire, so Staverton was likely to be ahead of him, and may well have ridden longer into the night.

  “The other was a family, about an hour ago. A couple with a baby, and some servants. In a yellow bounder, they were.” He scratched his head. “Funny thing is, they was heading west on the Bath road, like the first gent—even asked how far to Marlborough—but they went off towards Andover instead.”

  Nick gave the man a coin for his information. Coaches to Exeter normally went via Bath, but Wingrave’s place was east of Exeter and could also be reached via a more southerly route.

  Could the ‘family’ be the chaise he was after? If so, they had changed their route when they knew Marstone’s man was ahead of them. Sensible, as he might backtrack if he could find no trace of them. He had to admire whichever of them had thought to ask the same question a pursuer would—it would not have occurred to him to do so.

  But where did Isabella get a baby…?

  Billy Fletcher, of course.

  Nick shook his head with a smile as he spread a roll with strawberry jam and wrapped it in a napkin to take with him. If that wasn’t Isabella’s idea, she had a quick-thinking ally.

  His anxiety for her safety abated, but he wasn’t going to turn back now.

  He hired a new mount several more times that day, encouraged by news of a family changing horses at the Star and Garter in Andover less than an hour before him. Even so, he was nearing Salisbury by the time he came up behind a post-chaise with a man and a woman travelling outside. As they turned to look at him, he recognised Langton and Molly, their expressions of alarm changing to
relief as he drew closer. Langton faced forwards again, and he heard a faint shout, then the vehicle began to slow. As it came to a stop, a figure in a plain blue round gown scrambled down into the road and Archer appeared from the other side.

  “It’s only Mr Carterton, my lady,” Molly called from her seat at the back.

  A feeling of lightness spread through him as Isabella leaned against the carriage and closed her eyes. She was unharmed, and he could make sure she reached Devonshire safely.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Nick said as he dismounted beside her.

  “I’m fine, thank you. I thought it was someone from my father.” She took a deep breath, her expression wary. “Why have you come?”

  “Your brother asked me to look out for you. It would have been easier if you’d told me before you set out.” Disappointed that she didn’t seem to be happy at his arrival, his words came out more sharply than he’d intended. He glanced at her escorts, all looking on with interest—this was not the place to discuss the rest of their journey. “I will accompany you to Devonshire,” he went on. “Your father’s man will eventually realise he is ahead of you, and if he retraces his route the waiter at the inn in Newbury will probably remember you now that I, too, have asked after a young lady.”

  Isabella nodded, and this time she smiled. It was only a little curving of the lips, but he was happy to see it.

  “We were planning on stopping in Salisbury for a quick meal,” Archer said.

  “Good. We can compare notes then.”

  “So you have found nothing of use,” Don Felipe stated, dragging out a chair and taking a seat at the grimy table. The taproom was loud with the talk and laughter of dock workers, and stank of spilled ale, sweat, and tobacco smoke.

  Luis, sitting in his merchant’s clothing, suppressed his resentment. “It would help if you told me what I was supposed to be listening for.”

  “Shipping movements.”

  “Santa Maria! This is London—there are dozens of ships coming and going on every tide. More! I cannot list every one. And besides, there must be easier ways of finding out when merchantmen are setting out.”

  “No sign of convoys being assembled?”

  “Convoys? The war in America is over—why would there be a convoy?”

  “Not to America. To Gibraltar.” Don Felipe glared at him. “You have heard of it?”

  “Of course I have. In the south.”

  “That’s all it is to you? Something in the south?”

  Luis leaned away, taken aback at Don Felipe’s sudden fervour. “It belongs to the British, which is inconvenient.”

  “It is a stain on Spain’s honour,” Don Felipe spat. “It should never have been surrendered in the first place—”

  “Sir!” Luis tilted his head towards the occupants of the next table. “Lower your voice.”

  Don Felipe’s frown deepened, but when he spoke again it was more quietly. “Now we are trying to regain it, with our French allies. We are close, very close.”

  Luis wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

  “We could have starved them out by now,” Don Felipe said. “But last year a convoy got through. If it had not…” He pressed his lips together and turned his head away. When he looked back, his eyes burned with hatred. “The English blew up one of our magazines last year. If that convoy had not arrived, my son would still be alive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Luis said, knowing the words to be inadequate. But his unease was deepening. The look in Don Felipe’s eyes was not grief.

  “We will regain it soon,” Don Felipe stated, “but the garrison must not be resupplied. I want word sent if a convoy is being gathered.”

  “Wouldn’t a convoy for Gibraltar gather in…” He tried to remember the map of southern England he’d studied on the voyage over. “…Portsmouth, or one of those ports?”

  Don Felipe nodded. “I have men there, too. But no matter—I can pay others to listen here, and I have a more important task for you now. Do you have a pistol?”

  “A small one,” Luis admitted cautiously. Who did not go armed?

  “Hmm.” Don Felipe stared at the ceiling, his gaze unfocussed. Then he fumbled in a coat pocket and brought out a leather purse. Luis eyed it with interest—if he was about to be given more money, his problems could be over.

  Then Don Felipe shook his head and put the purse away. “I will send Mendes to you. You may need more than one pistol.”

  “What for?” There had been no mention of firearms when Don Felipe’s associate had persuaded him to come to England.

  “I will tell you when the details are confirmed. This should be soon. In the meantime you will familiarise yourself with the major roads in southern England, in case you need to travel to carry out your task. Be here at the same time tomorrow.” Don Felipe left without waiting for Luis’ acknowledgement.

  Luis ordered another mug of ale, and sat thinking. He didn’t like the sound of pistols. Not that he was afraid, but he’d been told he would be gathering information, not killing people. The weapons might be needed for self-defence, but he didn’t believe Don Felipe cared for his safety. He had also assumed he would be working for the Spanish government, even if not officially. But, as with so much else, he hadn’t bothered to find out more. He could not undo his stupidity now; all he could do was try not to make things worse.

  No. Spying was dishonourable enough; he was not going to make things worse by killing someone, if that was what Don Felipe intended.

  He had to find a way of extricating himself from the situation he’d got himself into.

  Bella drank her tea gratefully. Molly was already tucking into a plate of chicken pie and vegetables at one of the nearby tables, Fletcher beside her with Billy on her knee. Bella still felt too nervous to eat her own meal.

  “Archer is arranging for a second post-chaise,” Mr Carterton said as he entered the private parlour and threw his coat over the back of a chair. “We’ll travel faster that way.”

  “Thank you. It will allow Molly to ride inside, as well.”

  It had been a shock to find out at Newbury that someone was already looking for her, and had made such good time that he was ahead of them. Last night’s stop in Reading might have been a mistake. She could have volunteered to take Molly’s place outside, but neither Molly nor Archer would have agreed to that, however much she might insist.

  “May I join you?” Mr Carterton asked. Something in the way he looked at her—as if he really did care about her—made her heart beat faster.

  “Of course.”

  He sat and served himself from the dishes in the centre of the table, the savoury smell making Bella’s stomach rumble. Everything would be all right now she had his help—perhaps she could eat something, after all.

  “Mr Carterton, I am glad you have come,” she said, recalling her manner when he had first caught up with them. “I was rather abrupt when you arrived.” She had expected to be berated for running away, or told that she should have left matters in his hands, but he hadn’t said anything. And she was pleased to have him here.

  “It is no matter,” he said. “But we shouldn’t linger here. It is still possible that Staverton—if it is he—will catch up with us, but he cannot force you to return with him.”

  “Should we travel through the night? I didn’t want to before, because of Molly and Langton being outside.” The pie was as tasty as it had smelled, and she ate a few mouthfuls.

  “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Staverton will eventually track you down, but it would be better if he doesn’t catch up with you until you are at your brother’s place.” He put his cutlery down. “Isabella, why didn’t you let me know you were running away? I could have escorted you from London.”

  “I didn’t want to involve you in my difficulties.” That was one way of putting it.

  “I’m already involved.”

  “Your promise to Will, yes.” She took in the tired lines on his face, the dust on hi
s coat and hat, and warmth filled her. He’d gone to a lot of trouble to keep his word.

  “No,” he said, rather too loudly. Bella glanced at the other table, but their companions were still talking amongst themselves. “No,” he repeated, more quietly. “I did it to make sure you were safe.”

  Her breath caught at the note of sincerity in his voice.

  “I called at Marstone House yesterday morning.” He gave a lopsided smile. “To find out if you wanted me to steal you away to Devonshire, would you believe? The butler took me to your father—he seems to have given up on Narwood.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t explain that subterfuge to him, but he didn’t ask.

  “He insisted that I’d been courting you, but I told him it was no such thing.”

  She pushed her plate away—she must have misinterpreted his expression before. “He was determined to marry me to anyone I’d been seen with. I… well, you have escorted me several times, because of Will.” Having someone else care for her as a brother must be a good thing, mustn’t it?

  “Isabella.” He reached across the table as if he were going to take her hand, but hesitated. “Your father—” The door burst open and he sprang to his feet as two men came in and stood either side of the door. They were grooms, from the look of them, with the signs of hard riding in the mud on their boots and breeches.

  “This is a private parlour,” Mr Carterton protested. “Take yourselves off.”

  They ignored him. Another man entered, older and shorter than the grooms, but with a commanding air. The pie settled in a solid lump in Bella’s stomach as she saw Langton behind the newcomer, one arm firmly in the grasp of another groom. This invasion of their private parlour wasn’t a mistake. Mr Carterton had seen Langton, too; she could tell from the way his body tensed, hands curling into fists.

  The short man’s eyes swept the room. “You must be Carterton,” he said, then turned his gaze on her. “Lady Isabella, your father has sent me to fetch you home.”