“Miss Harrismith.” Lord Ramsey placed a calming hand on her arm. “If you’ll permit me on such short acquaintance, please allow me to convey you to your sister. My carriage awaits. As I have mentioned, I am about to embark on a journey to Windsor.”
Desperate, Beth grasped at this solution. “How kind,” she murmured, still searching around her for the rude woman. She couldn’t make sense of her behavior, nor the letter. Jenny and Andrew would surely have reached Castlebridge some hours ago. Why would they be in Twickenham? “I can’t imagine…” She put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, might we go now, my lord? I’ll just give this note to the footman.”
“Allow me. I shall join you at the front door.” He took the note from her tense fingers and disappeared among the chatting guests.
Lord Ramsey joined her again a few moments later as she donned her evening cloak and gloves.
“My carriage awaits your pleasure, Miss Harrismith!” he said with a gesture to the black coach drawn up at the entry, the carriage door open, the steps put down.
Beth took a deep breath of the cool night air. Not caring about how such behavior would be viewed by the ton, she allowed him to assist her inside where she sat on the burgundy velvet squabs. Ramsey’s carriage was elegant, but the patterned silk walls had faded, the cushions slightly worn.
She gazed out the window as they drove through the gates onto the road. Even if it caused gossip for a month of Sundays, there was no alternative. She smoothed her gloves over her nervous fingers. “I do hope this will not take you too far out of your way?”
“Not at all. Only too pleased.”
He removed his hat and sat back a smile lurking in his eyes. The carriage rocked through the night. Beth fell silent, her throat too tight for conversation. She sat stiffly clutching her reticule. Was Jenny badly hurt? And what of William?
Chapter Two
Finally able to excuse himself from the men surrounding Lord Liverpool, Marcus made his way through the crowd in search of Miss Harrismith. The supper dance was about to be called. He had promised Andrew to keep an eye on his sister-in-law, but trusted it hadn’t been necessary. She seemed a young woman with a good head on her shoulders. And a very pretty head it was, with her pale gold hair and eyes as blue as a summer sky. Surprised at the perfect peach Andrew had been keeping from him. He must not be tempted to compliment her again. She had frowned at him, which was not the usual response he got when he sought to charm a lady. She’d surprised him. Most debutantes tended to drop their gaze from his, but she’d studied him frankly, her expressive mouth making him contemplate inappropriate thoughts.
Miss Harrismith and her chaperone were away from their seats, and as the dance floor was empty as the supper dance had not yet been called, he went in search of her in the antechambers. As he crossed the gallery, in the hall below a woman’s voice was raised on the edge of hysteria. Curious, Marcus descended the staircase. He recognized the lady before he reached the bottom stair: Mrs. Grayshott, addressing the butler in ringing tones.
He made his way over to her. “May I be of assistance, Mrs. Grayshott?”
She spun around and glared at him. “Here’s the gentleman! Mr. Nyeland! Where is Miss Harrismith?”
“I’ve no idea. Why? Are you unable to find her?”
“You didn’t go off with her?”
Marcus raised his eyebrows. “No I certainly did not.”
“It wasn’t you then who took her away?” she asked, breathing heavily.
He gazed at her mystified. “It was not.”
The lady reached out and took a firm hold of his sleeve. “Would you please help me, Mr. Nyeland? These stupid servants can tell me nothing! I am at my wit’s end. Miss Harrismith appeared to be such a quiet little thing. But my goodness, such a sly one.”
He eased her hand away. “You must explain all to me, Mrs. Grayshott.”
She put her hands to her reddened cheeks. “I have failed in my duty! What will the duke think of me?” She nodded her head violently, the feathers in her headdress flapping like wings, while her scowling daughter stood mute beside her.
Marcus drew the distressed lady to a chair and ordered the footman to bring her a glass of Madeira. Afraid she’d faint, he took her fan and applied it vigorously. “Now, please tell me exactly what has happened.”
“It was after you and Miss Harrismith danced.” Mrs. Grayshott glared at him. “You did not return her to me, afterward, sir.”
“But, Madam, I…” Marcus began.
Mrs. Grayshott’s face flushed beneath her purple turban. She held up an imperious hand. “A footman brought a note from Miss Harrismith, explaining she had left the ballroom to meet a gentleman in the gardens, by the fountain. Well, of course I could not allow that! The Duke would be so angry! I rushed straight off. Didn’t I, Phillida?”
“Yes, Mama.” Her daughter, Phillida sank onto the seat beside her an expression of annoyance on her face. “Shall I send for smelling salts?”
She flapped a hand at her daughter. “We must find Miss Harrismith before this becomes a frightful scandal, which will undoubtedly fall upon me!”
“The dance took Miss Harrismith and me to the far end of the room. It was some time before we found our way back to her seat. You were absent, however. You did not think to search for us on the floor, Mrs. Grayshott?”
“Of course,” she said indignantly. “But the countess’ balls are always a crush.” She cast him a suspicious glance. “The note stated clearly that Elizabeth was in the garden!” Did the lady believe he’d been the rake who whisked Miss Harrismith outside?
“Where have you looked for her?” Marcus urged as an inexplicable sense of unease tightened his shoulders.
“Everywhere! The garden paths are poorly lit. Such false economy! A servant accompanied us with a lantern. But even so I was afraid I would fall and break an ankle.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “It took us an hour! There are several water features!”
“And you found no sign of Miss Harrismith?”
“No! Nor was she in the ladies withdrawing room, the other reception rooms, the cardroom, or the supper room.” She made a grab for his sleeve again, but Marcus, fearing for the cloth, anticipated it, and moved slightly out of reach.
“Ah, here is the footman with the Madeira,” he said, wondering what the hell had happened to Miss Harrismith. He too, had failed in his duty it seemed.
Mrs. Grayshott drank half a glass, which appeared to calm her. She gestured to a footman who waited patiently for a chance to speak. “This servant assures me that Miss Harrismith is not in the house!”
Marcus’ gaze flickered over his face. “Has every room been searched?”
“Yes, sir,” the footman said. “The lady could not be found.”
“And you did not see Miss Harrismith leave the house?”
“I was not on duty at the door, sir,” the footman said. “That would be the butler, or the footman, Charles, but they have been called upstairs.”
Perhaps she had been overlooked in some corner engaged in conversation. That the note was meant to send Beth’s chaperone on a fool’s errand, was of great concern to him. “But Miss Harrismith would have no reason to leave the ball so early in the evening,” Marcus said. “Did she not give you a clue to her feelings?”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Grayshott glared up at him. She thrust the empty glass at the footman and stood. “Miss Harrismith would hardly take me into her confidence!” She whirled around. “Countess Wallington must be told of this.”
“I believe the duke would appreciate your discretion in this matter, Mrs. Grayshott,” Marcus said gravely.
“Eh?” She paled. “Yes, perhaps you are right, sir. But what if we can’t find Miss Harrismith?”
“Miss Harrismith must be here somewhere. Please leave the matter in my hands, Mrs. Grayshott. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll send a footman to search the rooms again, and speak to the grooms. They will certainly know if Miss Harrismith has departed in a carriage. The
footman who brought you the note must be questioned. Which one was he, do you remember?”
“Goodness me, no,” Mrs. Grayshott said irritably. “They all look the same to me. But I shall do nothing and leave it entirely in your hands, sir.”
With a bow, Marcus left her pleased that his warning had subdued her, at least for now.
Had Beth succumbed to a rake’s flirtation? He strode outside, liking this less and less. Not just because Andrew had asked him to keep an eye on Beth, but because he’d been drawn to her. He’d looked forward to dancing with her again and taking her into supper. She was the epitome of a fresh-faced young debutant, but she didn’t simper or blush. He had spied a gleam of humor and intelligence in her lovely eyes and when a smile curled her lips, she was utterly beguiling. While he couldn’t be certain on such a brief acquaintance, he found it impossible to believe she’d run off with a lover. Surely if that was her intention she would have made some excuse to leave him before he returned her to her seat after the dance?
Word would soon spread, and the gossips would be out in force. This would ruin Miss Harrismith’s chances for a decent marriage. But it was her safety more than her reputation that worried him most. Whoever had persuaded her to leave the ballroom with him could not be a decent fellow seeking to claim her hand.
Outside, a liveried groom assisted a lady and gentleman into their carriage. Marcus waited filled with impatience. Andrew would have this man’s hide when he learned who he was, but Marcus would like to get his hands on the fellow first. Soften him up a bit. A muscle ticked in his jaw. As soon as the groom was free Marcus beckoned him to his side.
Beth sat stiffly on the squabs as the carriage left the Mayfair streets behind. Lord Ramsey urged her not to worry, that he was sure she would find her sister already restored to health. His words failed to reassure her. Beth couldn’t respond beyond a nod. Rendered silent, she clutched her hands in her lap, her breathing rapid, her stomach tied in knots.
Soon, the coach left London and traveled on toward Richmond in tense silence. It seemed ages before they passed through Richmond village. The coach rattled over a stone bridge on the River Thames where moonlight cut a brilliant swathe across the black waters. They traveled on through Twickenham, passing the ornate gates of fine mansions set back among the trees. Only the fitful moonlight and the swinging carriage lamps showed the way.
Finally, the carriage turned through a pair of wrought-iron gates and rattled along a rutted driveway through an avenue of gnarled aged oaks. Beth sat forward as clouds drifted away from the moon. Ivy was rampant on the trunks of the trees. She put down the window. The gardens ran down to the river where moonlit waters sparkled through the trees. The smells wafting from the dank river and rising from the damp ground and rotted greenery made her slightly nauseous. The waist high grass which had not been scythed in years deepened her fear that they had come to the wrong address. She dragged in breaths of chilly air. “We must have made a mistake,” she said to Lord Ramsey.
He didn’t answer.
Welcome lamplight shone through a break in an unruly yew hedge. The carriage continued along the gravel drive through neglected gardens which were a tangle of weeds and woody plants.
“Ah. We shall soon see.” Lord Ramsey leaned forward to look out the window.
Beth gasped. An ancient three-story house appeared before them. A Gothic spire jutted into the sky from a tower at one end of the rambling dwelling. She turned to the man beside her. “This must be a mistake,” she said again. “Where is the duke’s carriage?”
Ramsey’s smile was cool as he leaned forward to pat her hand. His unruffled manner belied the expression in his eyes which were lively with interest. “In the stables, I imagine.”
The horses halted before the house where blank mullioned windows looked down. She caught sight of flickering candlelight in one of the upper windows. Someone awaiting their arrival.
The horses’ hooves and the clatter of the carriage wheels on the gravel must surely have alerted them, but the door remained closed and no grooms came to take the horses.
How odd that there was no response from the house. Beth drew her evening cloak around herself. “Why would the duke and duchess be brought here?”
“It’s a mystery. But there’s probably a straightforward explanation awaiting us. We’ll go inside and find out, shall we?” Ramsey opened the carriage door and leapt down. After putting down the steps, he offered her his hand.
Beth stood on the driveway and glanced around. It was deathly quiet, the air heavy with an impending thunderstorm. She glanced up at the coachman hunched on the box, then with a nervous shiver, took Ramsey’s arm. He led her over the drive.
Before they reached the porch, the coach trundled away.
Surprised, she turned to Ramsey. “Wasn’t he to wait?”
“Not good for the horses. He knows to return within an hour or so.”
She hesitated, staring at him. His tone did not reassure her. In the half dark she couldn’t read his expression. Should she trust him? How could she not when the letter clearly stated this address? She had seen the name on a brass plate beside the wrought-iron gates. Whittemore House. Eager to see Jenny and Andrew, she wrapped her evening cloak around herself and walked to the iron-studded arched door, relieved to see lamplight glimmering through the glass panels.
Ramsey rapped on the iron knocker. The sound echoed hollowly within, and minutes went by. No one came. He reached for the latch. The heavy oak door opened with a fierce creak and a musty smell rushed out. “Shall we go in?”
Beth nodded, eager to find her sister and speak to Andrew.
Ramsey’s hand on her arm ushered her inside.
They stepped into a gloomy stone paved great hall. A lamp sat on a long refectory table the wick turned low, barely lighting the towering two-story space. Several high-backed chairs were placed along the paneled walls decorated with ancient weaponry and crossed swords. The lamplight played over a suit of armor which stood as silent sentry at the foot of the black oak staircase. Beth swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She stepped back when a gleaming metal arm seemed to move. The back of her neck tingled, but then she realized that it was only a trick of the light. Cobwebs wafted in the breeze from corners as Ramsey closed the front door behind them.
“Jenny? Andrew?” Beth called up the stairs. No one replied. She spun around to Ramsey. “Where are the servants? Is the owner of this house not here? Could there be some mistake?”
Ramsey drew off his great coat and hung it up on a hook. He threw his hat and gloves down onto the table. “I don’t see how there could be. The address was clearly stated on the letter.”
“I’d like to read it again.” Beth held out her hand. He had not returned the letter to her.
He felt in his pockets and then shrugged. “Didn’t I give it to you?”
She shook her head impatiently.
“I’m afraid I must have left it on the table at the ball. I saw candlelight in the upstairs windows as we came down the driveway.” He held out a hand for her cape. “Allow me.”
Beth fought the instinct to turn and run. She was being foolish. Surely Ramsey was correct. The note had clearly stated this address. He would know no more than her. She should be grateful to him for having stayed with her and not driven off and left her alone here. He was her only ally, but the charming manner he’d adopted in the ballroom had long vanished. His words were crisp and there was a look of impatience on his face. Perhaps he was annoyed and as much surprised by this as she was.
Beth slipped her cape from her shoulders into his waiting hands, then placed her reticule on the table.
He added the garment to his own. “Shall we go up?”
She tamped down another shiver. Annoyed with herself, she ignored the strong desire to rush outside and away. With one hand she raised her skirts a little, and they climbed the winding staircase up into the dark, the old stair treads protesting beneath their feet. Faded tapestries and oil paintings too dark
to decipher hung on the walls. The smell of dust and dirt assailed her with each anguished breath, the wooden banister carved with dragons and horrid-looking creatures, cold and unresisting beneath her gloved fingers. The old house had been sadly neglected. A hollow empty sound followed them along the gallery. Might the accident have happened near here, and this house the only recourse they had? It appeared to be set in acres of land with no houses close by. But the possibility didn’t reassure her. For where was Jenny? And their servants?
“Perhaps my sister recovered, and the duke has taken her home,” Beth said. “They would not have expected me to come here.”
“We shall see,” was all Ramsey offered. He was not at all the warm, friendly man she had met at the ball. Why did he not express as much concern and confusion as she?
He flung open a door. The atmosphere in the drawing room was oppressive. Perhaps it was the heavy dark beams or the oak panels on the walls. The room was inadequately lit by a branch of candles which threw dark shadows into corners. It was damp and cold. Logs were laid in the grate in the huge stone fireplace.
“You must be exhausted, Miss Harrismith. Sit down and I’ll see if I can find someone.”
He went out and closed the door. Beth pulled off her gloves. She hated being left alone, despite Ramsey’s detached manner, which had begun to worry her. She remained standing. She had little inclination to sit. The woodwork was dull with dust, the chair covers shabby. Beth called her sister’s name again and then Andrew’s. Her voice echoed back at her and was met with silence.
Jenny and Andrew were not here. She did not believe they had ever been here. She turned to quit the room. She must find Ramsey and insist he take her back to the ball. But when she tried the door, she found he’d locked her in.
Beth cried out and rattled the latch. Ramsey had tricked her. But how? And for what purpose? It seemed extraordinary that he would go to all this trouble to ravage her. And yet, what other reason could there be? Fear tightened her chest. She banged on the door and shouted, afraid her voice would barely register beyond the solid walls. The old house remained silent, but for a tree branch scrapping the mullioned window and the scuttle of vermin behind the walls.
The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides Page 38
