When he reached Larkspur House, Daniels informed him that Lord Wellingham and Commander Saunders were awaiting him in the library. He frowned. More evidence against Miss Livingstone?
Squaring his shoulders, he entered his sanctuary to find his friends pacing before his fire.
“Have you discovered anything?” he asked.
Beau looked at him, his face long with concern. “Yes. Something quite significant. Tell him, Ernest.”
Beau’s brother regarded Tony with serious eyes and a sober face. “You must keep absolutely mum about this, but Virginia Livingstone and her uncle were passengers on the Intrepid.”
Whatever Tony had expected to hear at this moment, it wasn’t that.
Ernest continued, “You have to understand that before Ogletree inherited his barony, Captain Nestleroad served as commander under him. Captain Nestleroad felt he owed it to Lord Ogletree to help him and his niece back to England. He said quite simply that he owed Baron Ogletree his life. But of course we were all forbidden to mention it, lest it get back to the admiralty.”
“Well, that certainly clears one thing up,” said Tony, relieved. “She did enter the country clandestinely but for the best of reasons.”
“True,” said Beau. “But it is the next bit that is interesting.”
The commander continued, “When I called on her this morning to presume upon our acquaintance and perhaps help Beau, she wasn’t in. However, there was a man I recognized just leaving her house. He didn’t observe me, but I got a good look at him, and after a moment’s thought, I was able to place him.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the mantelpiece. “It was no other than Bert Sagethorn, a seaman we impressed when we took his ship in a battle off Long Island Sound.”
“An impressed seaman?” asked Tony. “Are you certain?” This changed things! The man couldn’t possibly be a government spy.
“Absolutely,” said Ernest. “However, he did take to his heels once we docked here. I have no doubt that he could have set himself up in a mercenary capacity.”
“Selling secrets to his country for profit?” guessed Tony.
“Yes.”
“Miss Livingstone wouldn’t be involved in such a scheme,” said Tony with decision. He was beginning to feel quite relieved.
Beau took up the narrative. “He is obviously a clever sort. He recognized her from the ship, saw the company she kept, read of her injury, and, I imagine, appealed to her patriotism. If she is involved with him, which she must be, since he has called on her twice that we know of, she most likely thinks he works for the government.” Beau paused to take out his pipe and tobacco. “The question is: Did she agree to become a spy?”
“You think she did,” said Tony.
“I think it likely.”
Commander Saunders said, “Anything she agreed to would have to have taken place here in England. The seamen were not permitted to speak to Lord Ogletree or his niece on board ship. Indeed, Miss Livingstone remained below most of the voyage, profoundly ill. It was a rough crossing.”
Tony poured two fingers of whiskey and offered the carafe to his guests. They partook as well.
He thought about his impression that something had happened to upset Virginia when he returned from his errand to Deal that last day they were at Southbrooke.
When he asked her if she knew Mr. Sagethorn after learning of him from Reams, she said that she thought she recognized him but couldn’t say from where. That could very well be the truth, as far as it went. What was their relationship? Were they working hand in glove? And most importantly, for his own peace of mind, had she ensnared Tony in a romantic relationship in order to take advantage of his connections?
“I approached her when we met,” he said finally. “Not vice versa. Every encounter between us was initiated by me.”
“What man can resist a beautiful woman?” Beau asked.
Tony ruminated on this. It did not settle well with him. “I have thought on it. There is not one instance in which she could have predicted my attentions. Besides, why go after me if spying was her intent?”
“She did engineer a meeting with my sister,” said Beau.
“That is the construction you put on it,” said Tony. “Arabella claims to have made the first move.”
“She is clever. The lady could have followed Arabella to the bookshop and assured that they bumped into each other in the fiction aisle.”
Tony drank the rest of his whiskey and, hands behind his back, began pacing the room. “She never followed up on the connection.”
“True,” said Beau. “But she was injured and lost her memory.”
“Ah!” said Tony. “But we have already determined that the connection between Mr. Sagethorn and Miss Livingstone was not formed on the ship. You believe that he sought her out after her memory was impaired, thus launching her into a life of espionage. That was after her meeting with Arabella.”
Beau pursed his lips. “I suppose we could question Lady Ogletree’s butler. He could have called on her at her aunt’s house soon after she arrived there.”
Tony was still confused but growing less certain that Virginia was a villainess. “I shall question the butler. He knows me, at least.” Pouring himself another drink, he said, “Tell me, how do you suppose she got hold of the papers? She was in company the entire time she was in your house last night.”
“She could have come back later, dressed as a boy or some such thing.”
Tony asked, “Why have you settled on Virginia? Why couldn’t it have been Sagethorn?”
“Then why did he visit her today?”
“I don’t know,” said Tony. “I do have a runner following him, so we should find out as soon as he gets in touch with me whether Sagethorn is your man.”
Coincidentally, it was at that moment that Daniels stood in the library door and informed him that a person named Sandby was awaiting him in the front sitting room.
“I will be with him in a moment,” Tony informed him. Turning to Beau and his brother, he said, “This is my runner. Excuse me.”
Mr. Sandby rose to his full height of five and a half feet and pulled at the front of his red waistcoat when Tony entered the green room off the front hall. The man reeked of Covent Garden market.
“Mr. Sandby! I was just hoping for a visit from you!”
“I decided it was toime for my report.” He handed Tony a brown leather portfolio that he recognized as belonging to Beau. “Your man, Sagethorn, pinched that there item from Lord Wellingham’s house last noight.”
An enormous weight lifted off Tony’s chest, and he felt almost giddy.
Virginia is innocent!
“Thank you,” he said, trying to contain his jubilation. “This is a good bit of work. We were aware of the theft and thought it to have been committed by another party. Is there a reason you didn’t bring this by this morning?”
“’Ad to get it back for you. Assumed that’s what you’d want. Then, as soon as ’e discovered hit was gone, Oi followed ’im all over London while ’e troied to run hit down. Just now left ’im getting drunk as a lord at the Spotted Pig.”
“Good work, Sandby. Lord Wellingham will be very grateful to get this back. Could you come through to my library and tell him your story? He will want to send someone to arrest Sagethorn.”
* * *
Once Sandby had left—another guinea from Lord Wellingham in his pocket—and Beau and his brother had gone off to tell their tale to the magistrate, Tony wasted no time making his way to Shipley House. The runner had told him that Sagethorn had called there during his effort to find the papers that had been stolen from him—thus clearing the last of the suspicion clinging to Miss Livingstone. The spy had been told that Miss Livingstone was not at home.
As far as Tony was concerned, Virginia was cleared completely. Obviously Sagethorn had thought she was working against him.
The viscount could scarcely contain his relief. All the way to Half Moon Street, he berated himself for his lack of trust
. How could he ever make it up to Virginia?
When Stevens answered the door at Shipley House, he said, “Miss Livingstone is not at home. However, Lady Ogletree has expressed a desire to see you, should you call.”
Disappointed at Miss Livingstone’s absence yet curious at Lady Ogletree’s request, he followed the butler to the yellow sitting room.
The woman sprang to her feet as soon as Tony entered.
“Oh, Lord Strangeways! What a relief to see you. I was just about to send for you.”
Alarmed, he said, “What the d—What is wrong?”
“I believe George has eloped with Virginia! They took valises and left a couple of hours ago. I just found out from the stable lads. It will be a terrible scandal, and my husband will never forgive me!”
Tony was so stunned that it was with difficulty that he remained on his feet. “Eloped?”
“Yes!” she cried. “Do something! Go after them!”
Tony’s head was spinning like a top. If he was not mistaken, Virginia did not even like Tisdale! How could she elope with him willingly? Especially as he was an Englishman!
Had he only imagined their encounter that morning?
No. This entire incident stank to high heaven. He had been nasty and accusatory this afternoon, virtually telling her that he thought her a spy, but she wouldn’t have married . . . eloped with George Tisdale out of pique.
Another idea occurred to him. “Are you certain they didn’t go to Dorset? To Miss Livingstone’s uncle?”
“No. No, I thought of that, but George would never take her to Dorset. My husband dislikes him intensely. If he showed up in Dorset with Virginia after a journey of several days, Lord Ogletree would know he had compromised her deliberately by not telling her how long the journey was. Even at his age, he would be far more likely to call George out than insist upon a marriage!” She collapsed on the sofa. “This is absolutely dreadful! George told me he was making progress with her. She could have married him in a normal fashion before long. Why did he do it?”
Her tale of woe convinced him that the two had eloped but not that Virginia had gone willingly. What if she thought she was only on a short jaunt to Dorset? She had no idea of English geography. She could be on her way north to Gretna Green with no idea she was being carried off.
“I will go at once,” he told Lady Ogletree. “I only hope I am not too late.”
Chapter Eighteen
Virginia’s heart was smarting. The knowledge that Lord Strangeways could so easily turn against her after their intimate moment that morning hurt in a way that was quite different from her other hurts. As awful as losing her parents had been, she had never been betrayed before.
To think that she had thought she might actually have been falling in love with the viscount. How could he so easily cast her in the role of spy? How could she have allowed such a man to kiss her, to very nearly steal her heart? Even now, she couldn’t forget the warmth of desire she had known that morning.
It must be different for men. Perhaps for them, physical desire could be walled off from other feelings. Maybe for them, there was no deep emotional component such as the one she felt. If there had been like emotions on Lord Strangeways’s part, would he have been so quick to judge her? She thought not.
Remembering their conversation of that morning, however, she had a qualm. Had she not implied that she would choose her country over him? Being a man and able to shut his feelings off separately from his actions, had he thought her to be the same—kissing him when she had no further relationship in mind? Did he actually think her a wanton?
From his perspective she could see that she had certainly acted the part: kissing him passionately and then telling him she was going to return home to America, not marry an English aristocrat. Why had she acted in that way? And if she had spoken the truth, why had his betrayal hurt so much?
There was only one answer. She had come to care for the viscount far more than she realized. He had swept her off her feet since that first dance. And even when her memory of it was gone, he proceeded to reach past her American prejudices as she lay ill at Southbrooke.
The feelings had been tantalizing, every one of them preparing her for what had taken place in the park that morning. To her, Anthony Gibson, Viscount Strangeways, had been a man she could love, not merely an Englishman. But she had run from him that afternoon just as surely as she had run from Sagethorn and Lord Wellingham.
Now, as her instinct to run from danger and hurt waned, Virginia slowly began to wonder if she had made a huge mistake. Dorset was a very long way, George had said. Had she just jumped out of one mess into another? Surely spending several days traveling with him, even though they were in an open curricle, would compromise her reputation. There would be nights at inns!
In her anxiety to take refuge with her uncle, it never occurred to her that Dorset could be so far away or that it didn’t matter whether the Honorable George was honorable or not. In society’s eyes she would be ruined.
Her companion had been uncharacteristically silent. Glancing at his face, she knew him well enough to read his look of complete satisfaction. George Tisdale knew exactly what he was doing.
“I have changed my mind,” she said. “I didn’t understand at the outset that Dorset was so far away. I’m sorry to have put you at such an inconvenience, but I think we should go back.”
“You just realized that all of London thinks we have run off together by now? It is too late, my dear Virginia.”
“You knew,” she said, trying to rein in her anger. “You could have told me at the outset how far away Dorset is. It’s what a gentleman would have done.”
He said nothing, just kept driving the pair of blacks that pulled them.
“Stop at once!” she said.
When he ignored her, she seized the reins from his hands and pulled them back. “Whoa, there,” she said, her voice strong and steady. Before he could stop her, she leapt from the curricle.
They had been passing through a small town with a few dwellings and candles burning in the windows. She tripped up the brick walk to a small home as she heard George calling out to her. Fortunately there was no place to hitch the horses and they were restive, as though they sensed something amiss. Unless he wanted to lose his horses, he had no choice but to stay in the curricle.
The walls of the cottage were covered with ivy that drooped over the portico. Using a brass knocker, Virginia summoned whoever was inside.
A small woman dressed in black with a white pinafore apron carrying a beeswax candle answered. “Yes, miss? May I help you? Are you lost?”
“Yes,” Virginia said. “Can you tell me how far it is to Dorset?”
The woman’s nearly invisible eyebrows shot up. “Dorset? Oh, miss, you are not on the road to Dorset. This is the Great North Road.”
Virginia froze. What? In addition to everything else, George has kidnapped me? He is not even taking me to my uncle?
Her mind raced ahead, trying to decide how she could escape from this disaster. In a moment, she gave her name and asked the woman if she could come in and speak to her mistress.
“I’ll get her for you,” she said. “She has just finished dining. Follow me.”
To Virginia’s great satisfaction, the heavy door was closed and bolted behind her.
They entered a blue-and-white parlor at the front of the house. Virginia strode about the room nervously and peeked out the window. George had evidently found a hitching rail and was leading his horses there.
Impatient, she took in her surroundings. What type of woman lived here? Whoever it was appeared well-to-do. The room was papered with blue stripes, and the furniture was covered in a matching striped pattern. From what she could see the floors were highly polished, and the room smelled of lemon and beeswax.
In moments, a tiny woman dressed all in white entered the room. Even her hair was white, dressed high on her head with a single ringlet over her shoulder. “Millicent says you have lost your way.” He
r voice was light and gentle as she sat down. “Suppose you tell me about it?”
Virginia made a split-second decision to trust the woman. “I am Miss Virginia Livingstone. My aunt’s nephew was supposed to be taking me to my uncle in Dorset,” she said, seating herself on the blue-and-white-striped couch. “He appears to be kidnapping me, since your housekeeper tells me we are on the Great North Road.”
There was heavy pounding on the front door. “Oh, my dear!” the lady squeaked, her hands flying in agitation. “Bette! You are not to answer the door!” A tiny white ball of Yorkie puppy came running into the room and jumped up on his mistress. “You are being absconded with! This person is clearly taking you to Gretna Green!”
“Gretna Green?” echoed Virginia. The woman had spoken the words with contagious alarm.
“Have you never heard of Gretna Green, dear? It is in Scotland.”
“I am an American. I have lived in England only a few weeks. Why would George take me to this place?”
“To be married ‘over the anvil,’ dear. It is where couples fly to when they are eloping.”
“Over the anvil?” Virginia was even more puzzled. “A blacksmith’s anvil? How bizarre! I don’t understand.”
“In Scotland the laws are terribly heathen. For some reason that has never been clear to me, a blacksmith can marry you, and you need not have any proof of age or parental permission. Just making the long journey will compromise you. This George must think you will be anxious to be legally married by the time you get there.”
Horror passed through her, and she jumped up. “Well, I will not! I will not marry him. He is a thorough rascal for thinking he can get away with this. How far must I go to rent a post chaise to take me to London? I have money, thankfully.”
“It is not far, but you cannot travel alone,” the lady said. “I am Mrs. Landscombe, a nice, respectable widow. I will go with you. But first, I am certain you must be starving. Come with me, and Millicent will bring you a bowl of broth and some bread and cheese.”
His Mysterious Lady, A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 2) Page 17
