The room seemed to spin out of control, and Arabella feared she might swoon.
“Bastard,” Anthony muttered under his breath and supported her. “This cannot happen. I will never allow that blackguard to put his hands on you.”
“Neither will I, Lord Rockingham.” Emily folded her arms. “Since you came to Sanderstead, your lordships have been naught but kind to me. You speak to me like a grown person and not a child, and for that I am grateful. But Lady Rockingham has bestowed upon me the honor of her friendship, and I could not call myself a friend if I stood by and let Dr. Shaw have his way.”
“Thank you, Emily.” Moved by the lofty speech, Arabella fought tears and guilt, because she deliberately manipulated the young woman. “You are a right and true friend. What do you recommend?”
“First, you must write your letter.” Emily squared her shoulders. “There is only one problem. The post could take a sennight to deliver the correspondence to your family, but a messenger could take it straightaway.”
“Then we use a messenger,” Anthony replied. “Do you know someone?”
“I do, my lord.” Emily compressed her lips, and again Arabella sensed a problem. “Mr. Parker, the local merchant who supplies the estate. He rides to London, every sennight, to purchase excess goods and produce on the docks, but he requires payment.”
“How much?” Arabella asked.
“My dear, I apologize, but I haven’t dealt in coin since before the war.” Anthony rubbed his chin and paced the length of the hearth. “But we must reach Beaulieu if we are to have any chance of success.”
“My lord, my mother taught me never to leave the house without money to pay for a hack, in the event I needed to make my own way home, and I am always prepared.” Arabella turned to Emily. “What is the messenger’s price?”
“A guinea, my lady,” the maid replied. “No more or less.”
“Where is my reticule?” Arabella tapped her cheek. “The one with the seed pearls and embroidered lace?”
“The top drawer of the tallboy, my lady. Permit me to fetch it for you.” The maid strode to the mahogany dresser and retrieved the item in question. As she handed Arabella the frilly indispensable, Emily said, “Have the letter ready when I return to clear the dishes from your noon meal. I will meet with Mr. Parker, tonight, and he departs on the morrow.”
“I know there is one here, somewhere.” Arabella sifted through the coins and located a shiny, gold guinea, which she passed to Emily. “This should satisfy Mr. Parker.”
“With any luck, the missive should reach the city in the afternoon.” Anthony frowned. “Now, how are we to escape? And where do we go?”
“Well, as with any cobbled together plan, we require a little luck, but I know the guards’ schedule. The one named Fergus is grimy and shiftless, and he often falls asleep when he is on duty. He will be watching your door, overnight, Thursday next.” Emily neared. “That is when we make our break for Weybridge, where we might meet your rescuers.”
“And you will come with us, to London.” Arabella clutched Emily’s hands. “I will not leave you to face the consequences, when you have done us such a service.”
“Thank you, my lady.” The maid sniffed. “You should eat, because the food gets cold, and you must keep up your strength.”
“I will.” Arabella pressed a chaste kiss to Emily’s cheek. “I am in your debit, my friend. And I will repay you.”
“Live free and take care of your babe, and that is repayment enough, my lady.” Emily curtseyed and said aloud, “Ring when you are ready for me to clear the dishes.”
Too anxious to even think about eating, Arabella sat at the small table and lifted the silver cover from her plate. A healthy portion of bread, a thick slab of cold ham, a square of cheese, and grapes left her wrinkling her nose, as her belly rebelled. “I am not sure this is a good idea.”
“Darling, consider our child.” Anthony tugged a single grape from the bunch, bit off half and fed her the rest. “I will write to Beaulieu and have him gather the Mad Matchmakers. If necessary, we make our stand for freedom, in Weybridge.”
Chapter Fifteen
The prospect of failure had a way of forcing a man to face his own mortality, to confront past regrets. To ponder his priorities and rank each item according to that without which he could not live, emphasizing the importance of family and love. Ah, love. It posited a curious emotion, two-fold in its power, manifesting unfathomable strength and incapacitating weakness at the same time.
At war, he knew no such impediments, because he had no wife or child. No rosy future of which to dream. Unencumbered by husbandly responsibilities, he charged the field, indifferent to the potential consequences. Never considering the cost. Unafraid of death. Death. A prospect he defied countless times. But all that changed, because Arabella’s demise he could not begin to contemplate. To succeed in making his escape and ensuring Arabella and his babe’s safety, Anthony held tight to the strength. Coveted it. Let it bolster his courage as they prepared to flee Sanderstead.
“She is late.” His bride, bedecked in a traveling gown of lavender wool, sat on the sofa. She slapped her thighs twice and stood. Before the hearth, she paced. Then she walked to the windows and gazed at the night sky. She stopped and hugged herself. “What if something happened? What if Shaw discovered our plan? What if—”
“What if you take your ease in my lap and calm your nerves? We will be much more comfortable, together.” He told himself she worried for naught, and Emily would be along, soon. They just had to be patient, although patience was a scarce commodity, at the moment. “Perhaps a sip of brandy will help?”
“It burns my nose.” She wrinkled her adorable appendage, and he chuckled. He needed a distraction, and she always proved most capable at diverting his torments. “But I will take you up on your first offer, because if we delay much longer, I shall scream.”
He understood the anxiety. The bone-gnawing agitation ever present. Like an old friend, the battlefield reflections flashed before him, and he closed his eyes against the barbarity. The blood. The bodies.
“Well, that will certainly garner unwanted attention.” He patted his leg, and she stepped about his knees and complied with his suggestion. Soft and feminine, she was his balm. His sanctuary. His voice of reason amid the chaos that loomed in the fringes of his mind. Watching. Waiting for a moment of vulnerability to strike. “I just wish we heard something from Beaulieu. Of course, he may not have been able to send word.”
“Emily said Mr. Parker assured her that he gave the letter into Beaulieu’s hand, so we must believe the Mad Matchmakers ride for Weybridge, as we speak. They will not disappoint us. They will be there.” How he envied her faith. Unshakeable. She rested her head to his shoulder and sighed. “Anthony, I’m frightened.”
“As am I, darling.” He gave her a gentle nudge and kissed her forehead. “But we must have courage. At the very least, Beaulieu knows our location and the details of our imprisonment. While I wish we had time to formulate a more reliable stratagem, wherein my friends could ride to our rescue, here, I suspect we would be grossly outnumbered, and Shaw would hold the advantage. With no reinforcements, it is likely our little rebellion would fail, so we stick with our plan.”
“I know, but—oh, where is she?” Arabella bit the fleshy base of her thumb. “Talk to me. Tell me something. Anything to divert me, I beg you.”
“As you wish.” He glanced at the book that occupied most of their days. “Did you know Larrey saved General Blücher’s son, after he was taken prisoner by the French, near Dresden?”
“Indeed?” She pressed her lips to his neck, and his senses awakened.
“Aye.” He set his crystal brandy balloon on the side table and cupped her bottom. “At Waterloo, Wellington ordered our men not to fire on Larrey, because of the uncommon bravery he showed as he treated the wounded. Later, the Prussians captured him near the border, and they wanted to execute him, but a German doctor recognized Larrey. Blücher in
vited Larrey to dinner, gave him money, and released him.”
“The man sounds too good to be true, does he not?” She ran her tongue along his jawline, and every fiber of his being honed in on her.
“He is a genuine humanitarian.” Anthony caressed the crest of her ear with the tip of his nose, and she shivered. “When I found the book, I was prepared to dismiss Larrey’s conclusions, because of his nationality. Given what I’ve read, I could not have been more wrong.”
“What matters is that you know you are not infirm.” She placed a series of feathery kisses along the curve of his cheek, until she hovered within striking distance. “You may be different, but you are the best of men.”
With that, she claimed his mouth in a searing affirmation of her desire. She pressed on him sweet caresses and whispered words of encouragement. She told him what he did to her. How he made her feel, and he reveled in every moment of it. Delighted in her show of passion, leaving him in no doubt of her ardent admiration.
Until they were rudely interrupted.
The wrought iron bolt clicked, and they parted. The hinges creaked, as Emily pushed open the door. With care, she secured the heavy oak panel and tiptoed into the sitting room.
“Your lordships, we must go, now, without delay.” The maid waved at them. “The house is abed, and Fergus sleeps.”
“You do not think we will rouse him?” Anthony asked, as he stood, carrying Arabella with him. Every nerve charged with palpable agitation, and his muscles tensed. “What if he wakes and shouts an alarm?”
“I doubt it, my lord.” Emily grinned. “I laced his ale with laudanum, and the man is a pig. He snores like my grandfather, after he’s had too much rum.”
“Then let us away.” Arabella pulled on her gloves and grabbed the bundle of items she refused to leave at Sanderstead. As they spent the day preparing for departure, it became painfully clear she did not doubt, for an instant, they would succeed. It never occurred to her that their grand scheme could founder, potentially leaving them in a far more dangerous situation. Oh, no. Not his resourceful bride. She set her mind to do something and assumed she would achieve her goal. He prayed he didn’t destroy her optimism, because he dearly cherished that part of her character. “It is past due to put this dreadful affair behind us.”
“All right.” Emily lowered her voice. “We must take the servants’ stairs to avoid discovery, because Shaw refuses to use them. He does not view himself as a member of the below stairs staff. I asked the stablemaster to prepare the wagon, because I needed to pick up Cook’s order from the grocer. I have done this, before, on many occasions, so I should not have aroused suspicion.”
“You are wise, as well as loyal, my friend.” Arabella grasped Anthony’s hand and squeezed his fingers, and it was an endearing habit he had come to rely upon and expect. “We are fortunate to have you, and we are with you. We shall take orders from you.”
The maid turned the knob and slowly opened the door. She peered into the hall and glanced left and then right. After a quick nod, she led them into the wide passage. Sitting in a chair, with his arms folded and his chin resting to his chest, Fergus rattled the rooftops with an unusual, three-syllable exclamation.
Following in Emily’s wake, Anthony brought up the rear, as they navigated the house in the dark. They wound their way through a maze of corridors, some faintly illuminated by wall sconces. At one point, the maid halted, and Arabella followed suit, which caused him to bump into her. She gasped, and he slipped his arm about her waist and kissed the back of her neck.
Again, Emily waved for them to trace her path.
Old demons haunted and taunted him, faceless figures emerged from various doorways, and he told himself he imagined the enemies crouching in the shadows. The urge to run proved a potent intoxicant, as familiar torments echoed in his ears, provoking and terrifying him, and he longed to flee. The only thing that stopped him was the constant thought of his wife and child. They captured his attention to the detriment of all else, and that, alone, helped him control his otherworldly urges.
In a dimly lit corner, the maid paused.
“These are the servants’ stairs,” Emily whispered. “There are four and ten steps, so take care not to fall.”
Anthony and Arabella nodded, in unison.
With caution, they descended to the first floor, the wood boards creaking beneath their feet. As they stepped into the candlelit servants’ sitting room, Anthony detected hushed voices coming from the dining area. Emily halted them with an upraised palm. Slowly, she walked the length of the hall and peered around the corner at the other end. Then she waved, frantically. Anthony scooted Arabella forward, and they continued into the kitchen.
“Over there.” Emily pointed. “Through the butler’s pantry, there is another hallway that leads to the servants’ entrance. The wagon should be waiting, there. We will depart at a slow pace, so we do not attract attention. You must hide beneath a burlap blanket, in the back, so you are not spotted.”
“We understand,” Anthony replied.
Moving swift and sure, they all but ran to exit the main residence. Outside, he inhaled a deep breath and peered at the stars that twinkled like a field of diamonds in the night sky, which reminded him of the predawn hours, as he camped at Le Haye Sainte and prepared for battle. They were not free, but they were closer to their goal.
The farm wagon, hitched to a lone horse, had been parked on the pebble drive, and as Emily ran around to the opposite side to climb into the high back seat, he lifted Arabella into the box. The tattered blanket, which smelled of damp earth, had seen better years, but he was not about to complain, as his wife reclined, and he pulled her into the crook of his arm.
Tension built, and the cavalry bugle blared in his brain. In his mind, the infantry drummer beat the pa rum pum pum pum, and the troops formed the line. Cannons fired a rapid salvo, the explosions ripping open large gashes in the ground. Reducing men to naught but unrecognizable bits and pieces of flesh and bone.
It wasn’t real.
It was a symptom of the horrors he witnessed. He knew that. He understood that. Shaking himself, he blinked a few times and flexed his jaw. Again and again, he told himself he was safe. He was with his marchioness, and they drove for Weybridge.
The big guns silenced. The mortars vanished. The drums faded. The soldiers disappeared.
“Stay down.” Facing forward, Emily clucked her tongue and flicked the reins. The wagon lurched forward and rocked in a repetitive rhythm. “We are rounding the side of the house.”
“Do you see anyone,” he asked, as Arabella clung to him. He stole a quick kiss.
“No, my lord.” The maid glanced at them. “We approach the hedges, which provide some shelter, but I suggest you remain where you are until we have cleared the gates.”
“Of course.” He shifted, and Arabella drew him near and kissed him.
“Better?” she inquired with a knowing smile. “You know I am with you.”
“I know.” While she said naught, she knew the agony he fought. He bent his head and claimed another kiss, because he needed her. “And you? Are you anxious to get home?”
“What do you mean?” Arabella rubbed her nose to his and caressed his cheek. “Wherever we are together, that is home, my lord.”
“Even here?” He chuckled, and the last of the harbingers dissipated. “Huddled in the back of a farm wagon, beneath a smelly burlap blanket?”
“Even here, my darling husband.” With her teeth, she grazed his chin. “But worry not, because it will all be over soon. And one day, we will tell our children of our adventure and laugh about it, I promise.”
He hadn’t the heart to dispel her notion or disillusion her. He could only hope she was right.
“Your lordships, we have passed the gates.” Emily urged the horse into a canter. “If only we make it to Weybridge.”
*
Arabella rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. When she reached for Anthony, she grasped nothing.
Alert in an instant, she lurched upright and discovered the wagon parked before a quaint building marked with a sign that read: Weybridge Inn. They made it. They found their freedom in the town where old tradition claimed Julius Caesar crossed the Thames.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Emily asked, as she still perched in the high back seat. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I’m fine.” Arabella yawned. “Where is his lordship?”
“He went to find a friend.” The maid stretched tall. “And he bade me not disturb your slumber, given your condition.”
“Emily, I am with child. I am not dying.” Arabella craned her neck and peered over the edge of the box. There was no sign of her husband. “How long has he been gone? It will be dawn, soon.”
“Do not fret, my lady.” Emily glanced over her shoulder, as if she were on guard for a sudden attack. “I am sure we will evade Shaw and his men, should they pursue us. They would have had to navigate the same muddy roads that slowed our progress.”
“True.” Still Arabella could not escape the feeling that they remained vulnerable to discovery and recapture. That prospect she could not abide, as it was doubtful the doctor would keep his prisoners together. Once Shaw discovered she increased, he would send Anthony to an asylum, and she might never see him again. She could not allow that to happen. “But I would just as soon depart for London, even if we must journey in the wagon.”
“My lady, I understand your hurry, but it would be a difficult trip in the best of circumstances.” Emily took Arabella’s hand, as she climbed up to sit beside the servant in the high back seat. “The wagon is no place for you, right now. An extended trip could harm the baby.”
“You are right.” Arabella massaged her sore neck. “I am anxious to get home, to safety. If we can reach the city, we can fight the duke. He detests malicious gossip, and I would grant interviews to every newspaper and scandal sheet in town to protect Lord Rockingham.”
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 23
