The Yorkie flew through the house and barked for all the world as though he intended to protect his mistress from any evildoing with every bit of his tiny might. It was so comic that Virginia almost laughed in spite of her worries.
Virginia didn’t know what she would do if she didn’t follow the lady’s advice. “You are terribly kind, but I can’t allow you to go out at this time of night.”
“Never mind, dear. I have a pistol, and I know how to use it. We shall be safe. Now, just you eat. We must be back in London by morning. And dear me, I must get you a warmer shawl.”
The broth and bread were delicious, and Virginia ate ravenously. The pounding on the door had finally ceased. Virginia heard the equipage drive off.
Mrs. Landscombe entered the room, a wool Liberty shawl over her arm. “Here, dear, this is just what you need for a cool spring night like this.”
“Do you have a wagon or a carriage?” Virginia asked.
“I have a little cart and a sweet pony I take to the village to do my shopping. It will be sufficient to get us to the posting house. The horrible George has moved on, by the way. Let us hope he does not spread stories.”
After dining and attiring herself in the shawl the size of a small blanket, Virginia and her diminutive rescuer left for the posting house.
“I should like to hear your story, my dear,” Mrs. Landscombe said. “How does a young American lady arrive in England during wartime?”
She shared an abbreviated version of her story and added, “My uncle is at his estate in Dorset. That is where I was going.”
“This George sounds thoroughly abominable. Do you have someone in London who can take up cudgels against him?”
She recalled that George was not her only problem. There was the business that had made her leave London. Did society now think her a spy? Where was she to go? She didn’t want to return to her aunt’s house, as Lady Ogletree had most likely been complicit in George’s plan. It had been very clear that she was pushing for a union between them.
But there was one household where she thought she might be welcome.
“I have two very kind friends who will take me in,” she said, telling Mrs. Landscombe about Lady Clarice and Miss Braithwaite.
When they arrived at the posting house, a prosperous-looking inn with a yard full of carriages and horses, Mrs. Landscombe instructed her to go inside and get warm while she made the arrangements to rent a conveyance.
Once inside the inn, she sought a private parlor but left the door open for Mrs. Landscombe. As she warmed gloved hands at the fire, to her shock and surprise, she heard a familiar voice.
Lord Strangeways? Here? What on earth was he doing at this posting house?
Moving near the door, she listened.
“I am inquiring after a young lady who has been taken against her will,” he was saying. “Her aunt is of the opinion that the lady is being forced to elope to Scotland.”
His words stunned her. Her aunt had sent the viscount? Stifling her desire to fly across the room to him, she remembered in time that the viscount was probably looking for her in order to arrest her. Though she wished he truly was sent by her aunt to rescue her, she was afraid he was here for the latter purpose.
How she hoped Lady Clarice and Miss Braithwaite would be willing to give her shelter! If they didn’t she would simply have to acquire a horse and some boy’s clothing and make her way to Dorset on her own.
She kept out of sight, and soon the viscount left the inn. How had he known which road to take? Virginia tried to puzzle it out. Perhaps Lord Wellingham was on the Dorset road and Sir Bertie was going yet another direction.
She sat before the fire. Seeing him had been difficult, and her hands were shaking. Her heart was sore, her head hurt, and she realized she was thoroughly miserable.
Then Mrs. Landscombe came through the door to the parlor, and Virginia forced a smile to her face.
“I managed to rent a fast chaise,” Mrs. Landscombe said. “With luck we will arrive around two in the morning if we start now. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” Virginia said, pulling herself out of the chair. “You are so kind to me.”
“This is the least I can do. You poor thing. What a sad welcome you have had to our country!”
The journey in the post chaise was more comfortable than the curricle had been, and they had four horses instead of two, making it a faster trip. She thanked Providence all the way back to London that it had thrown her in the way of kind Mrs. Landscombe.
“Tell me about yourself, ma’am,” Virginia invited. “How long have you been widowed?”
The lady replied that it had been many years, and she had come to live on the outskirts of her village in order to be closer to brother and sister-in-law. Her brother was a vicar and very kind. She didn’t discuss her financial situation, but Virginia thought it must be adequate in order for the lady to have an independent residence. Knowing this wasn’t always the case for widowed women, she was happy for Mrs. Landscombe.
She listened to tales of the woman’s children, who also lived nearby. Her daughter was married to a baronet and had three daughters, all in London for the Season. One son was her brother’s curate, and another was a solicitor in a neighboring village.
The widow asked Virginia about America and expressed sadness at the loss of her parents and her home. “I hope you will find a fine Englishman and settle down happily. This will just be a bump in the road, my dear.”
Virginia had not the energy to protest and counter with her own plans to return to America. She merely smiled a tired smile and soon fell asleep against the squabs.
She woke when the horses slowed, signaling their entrance into London. Relieved, she told her rescuer that they could dismiss the post chaise at an inn and find a hansom cab that would know the address of Lady Clarice. She knew it only as Blossom House, near Green Park.
When this was accomplished, Mrs. Landscombe still showed no signs of fatigue. “I am actually quite thrilled to be in London,” she said. “This is an adventure for me.”
When they pulled into the district, candles still glowed in many a dwelling. This was the Season, of course, and the ton were still enjoying their entertainments. Virginia had forgotten this and hoped that their odd hour of arrival would not be too inconvenient for the ladies of Blossom House. They had traveled faster than anticipated, and it was only one in the morning.
Pursley answered the door, looking over the guests with no surprise.
“Miss Livingstone, you are here to see Lady Clarice?”
“Or Miss Braithwaite, if either of them is still awake. It is in the nature of an emergency.”
“Miss Braithwaite has just returned home. I believe she has not retired yet. Will you follow me?”
“This lady is my friend Mrs. Landscombe,” Virginia said.
They entered a red saloon, and Pursley lit the candles. To her surprise the motif was entirely Chinese.
“Oh, my,” murmured Mrs. Landscombe.
When the butler left them, Virginia whispered, “These ladies are exceptionally kind but a tad eccentric.”
Miss Braithwaite came bustling in, her iron-gray sausage ringlets bouncing. She carried Mr. Hale under an arm. The little dog started wiggling to be set down as soon as he saw his rescuer.
Virginia knelt to receive him. Wagging his tail frantically, he jumped into her arms. While dealing with doggie kisses, she introduced Mrs. Landscombe to Miss Braithwaite.
“Now, my dear Miss Livingstone, what brings you to Blossom House at this hour?”
“I’m afraid I was kidnapped by the horrible George Tisdale. He was supposed to take me to my uncle’s, but knowing I didn’t know the roads around here, he was carrying me off to Gretna Green.”
Miss Braithwaite’s eyebrows lowered in a scowl, and Mr. Hale growled low in his throat.
“The cad!” exclaimed the lady.
“Fortunately I managed to escape, and Mrs. Landscombe, whom I must count as my angel,
was kind enough to escort me back to London in a rented post chaise.”
“We are, of course, happy to have you, but what of your aunt?”
Brushing aside the words she had overheard Lord Strangeways speak in the pub, Virginia said, “I am afraid she might have been complicit with the Horrible George. It has become clear that she wants us to marry.”
“My dear!” exclaimed Miss Braithwaite. “This is too bad!”
Virginia stroked Mr. Hale’s silky ears. “There is more.” She swallowed and lifted her chin. “I must tell you that Lord Strangeways and Lord Wellingham both believe me to be a spy. I swear to you that I am not.”
Mrs. Landscombe sat a little straighter in her chair. “You did not tell me that! What a terrible coil, to be sure!”
Virginia told them about the egregious Mr. Sagethorn’s attempt to recruit her. “I am convinced he has stolen secret documents from Lord Wellingham, but both men think I am guilty. That is why I was originally going to my uncle.”
“This is quite a tale,” said Miss Braithwaite. “I must say, you have been treated very shabbily, Miss Livingstone. I regret it from the bottom of my heart. We must see what we can do to repair your reputation.”
Virginia drooped. “I am terribly tired. Must we talk about this now?”
As though she hadn’t heard her, Miss Braithwaite went on. “I think the duchess’s literary luncheon tomorrow should do very well. It will show people you have not eloped, and the duchess’s championing of you will suit you very well.” She tossed her head emphatically. “I feel I must take Tony over my knee! What nonsense is he thinking?”
The lady stood. “Now you ladies must retire and get some sleep so you are ready for tomorrow. Mrs. Landscombe, allow me to say that you are a brick.”
“I am appalled by the way this poor lady has been treated!” her rescuer said. “I am so glad it was my cottage door upon which she knocked.”
Their gracious hostess led them to rooms that were already lit by fires, with warming pans heating, and ordered hot milk with honey.
Virginia’s anxiety began to wane as she realized she was in the best of hands. As she fell asleep at last, she sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.
Chapter Nineteen
Tony was frantic. He could find no trace of Tisdale and Virginia. Exhausted, he finally stopped at an inn that he judged to be the farthest north that they could have reached by curricle that night. After making his customary inquiry, he tumbled into a lumpy bed and slept fitfully.
In four hours he was up again, and, following a large breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and grilled tomatoes, he was back on the road.
Where are they? Could Lady Ogletree be wrong? Has Tisdale laid a hand on her? Either way she is compromised. It is my fault! The poor lady believes herself to be accused of espionage. And she believes that I have turned against her—that I am her enemy.
If only he could have controlled his anger! Pamela had him seeing betrayal where there was none. And now he had failed to stop Tisdale.
He rode back toward London, keeping his eye out for the pair in their open curricle. When it began to rain, he reflected that it was a misery he deserved. He stopped at an inn to dry out and wait for the rain to stop.
A drunken man was bullying the innkeeper. “You’ll give me another or I’ll smash your head in!”
The innkeeper only laughed. “You? You’re a runt. I’d have you flat in a trice.”
With a shock Tony recognized Tisdale. Usually impeccably groomed, the man stood coatless, his cravat shapeless, his shirt hanging below his waistcoat. His hair was uncombed, his eyes wild.
What had he done with Virginia? Rage shot up inside him like fireworks on Guy Fawkes Night.
Tony walked over to the man, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around, and landed a fist in his face. Tisdale collapsed.
As he stood over the wretch’s fallen body, Tony demanded, “What have you done with Miss Livingstone?”
Tisdale struggled into a sitting position. “Left me. She left me.”
Tony knew a spurt of hope. Reluctantly he helped the man to his feet. “What do you mean, she left you? Sober up, man.”
“Grabbed the reins. Stopped the horses.”
Clever Virginia. She knew her way around horses, he remembered. “Where did she go?”
“Disappeared.” Tisdale laughed. “Disappeared.”
“What do you mean, disappeared? You must have seen where she went!”
“Went right up to the cottage door. Took her in. Devil take them!”
Had Virginia landed on her feet? Had she found someone to help her? Gripping Tisdale by his bunched-up shirt, Tony said, “Where was this cottage?”
“Don’t remember. Outside a village. Middle of nowhere.”
Frustrated almost beyond measure, Tony let go of the man, who slumped to the floor.
At least she was free of Tisdale. He could only hope she had found herself someplace safe.
Leaving the inn, he was glad to see the rain had stopped. He couldn’t see that he had any choice now but to go back to London.
* * *
His man tut-tutted over the condition of his clothing, ordered him a bath, and prepared him a hot rum toddy. It was near evening by the time Tony called at Shipley House.
“I came to call on Miss Livingstone,” he told Stevens.
The man seemed uncomfortable. “She is not at home, my lord.”
Was she not receiving, or was she still gone?
“Lady Ogletree?” he asked.
“I will inquire whether she is receiving visitors so close to dinnertime, my lord,” he said with clear disapproval. Please wait in the small saloon.” Stevens led him into said room, which was cold and unwelcoming without a fire.
Perhaps ten minutes went by before her ladyship appeared. “Oh, Lord Strangeways! Have you just returned?”
“Yes. Is Miss Livingstone here?”
The woman raised her chin and looked down her nose. “Are you going to arrest her?”
Guilt smote him. Was that the reason Virginia had fled? “No. No. That was all a dreadful misunderstanding. We have the true culprit.”
“Very well,” the lady said. Using the candle she was holding, she lit the fire and several candelabras in the room. “She is back in London. She managed to escape from my nephew. I was right. He was attempting to abduct her and take her to Gretna.”
“May I speak to her?”
“She is not here.” For the first time, Lady Ogletree appeared unsure of herself. “I am not to tell you where she is, but her reputation is safe. She appeared at the Duchess of Ruisdell’s literary luncheon today.” The lady seated herself, and Tony followed suit.
“It was quite a stylish affair, and no doubt will be reported in The Morning Post. If anyone caught any whiff of scandal about her leaving London with George, her presence there will put it to rest.”
He thought of his fruitless search and wet ride back to London. And all the time she had been safe here, attending a literary luncheon! Miss Virginia Livingstone was an enterprising lady, indeed.
“You were there? You spoke to her?”
“Yes. I was somewhat upset to learn that she thought I had connived with my nephew. I own I did hope for a match between them—he is sadly in need of money—but I would never have countenanced an elopement.” The lady sighed. “I have not treated her well, I fear. I have sent for my husband. He will be very angry with me, but Virginia needs her uncle now. They do very well together, and, between my meddling and your accusations, she has had an abysmal time of it.”
Surprised at the lady’s repentant state but glad for Miss Livingstone’s sake, he said, “I am certain she will be happy to see him. I have apologies of my own to make to her. If I write a letter to her, will you see that she receives it?”
“Yes. And I have as yet to thank you for going after my niece so promptly. You were very obliging.”
“You were right to send me, however much I failed at my mission. I am glad y
our niece proved to be so enterprising.”
* * *
Upon reaching home, Tony found that his mother would be out for dinner, so he informed his butler that he would take his dinner on a tray in his library. He intended to get started on the letter to Virginia.
He had not gotten further than the salutation, however, when Daniels informed him that Lord Sutton wished to see him. Heaving a weary sigh, he told the butler to bring the unwanted guest to his library.
“Where is she?” demanded Sutton the moment he entered.
Forcing himself to be calm, Tony poured the man a whiskey and handed it to him before answering. “I assume you are referring to Miss Longhurst?”
“Don’t play the innocent with me. I know you have been out of town. Pamela is not at home. I can add two and two.” Without his normal veneer, the man was just plain ugly with his heavy brows and huge nose and mouth.
Tony poured himself a whiskey. “She has gone to Woolston Glen, I think you will find. I did not take her there. I do not intend to visit there. I have interests of my own concern that have nothing to do with you or Pamela.”
Sutton tossed back his whiskey. “Convince me.”
“I don’t need to convince you. All you have to do is go to the country and find her. I will admit that she expects me to visit her there, but it is her own assumption and none of my doing.”
“She cried off our engagement because of you, I am certain of it,” the man said, huge fists clenched and bitterness evident in his narrowed eyes.
“If she did it was her own decision and had nothing to do with my desires in the matter. As I said, I am otherwise inclined at this time.”
“Who is she, then?” Sutton stuck out his chin, and Tony dearly wanted to land a blow there. “I have not seen you with anyone.”
“The lady does not return my affections. You and I have our work cut out for us. I think both matters call for kid gloves.”
“What do you mean?”
Tony stared into the fire. “Special handling. You must not bully Pamela.”
Sutton appeared to reflect upon this. “She thinks I am a bully?”
His Mysterious Lady, A Regency Romance (Three Gentlemen of London Book 2) Page 18
