He looked up and smirked at her obvious relief.
“Your betrothed won’t awaken until at least noon.” He laughed.
“Why did you request my presence?” Julia asked stiffly, refusing to react to his mention of Larsden or their upcoming nuptials.
“We’re leaving after luncheon, and I’m not taking you on a ship in a ball gown. People will get suspicious.” He wasn’t even looking at her, speaking through mouthfuls of his breakfast.
“You will go into the town and purchase a gown.”
“And where might I do that? I do not know where I am. I do not know if there will even be a dressmaker to assist me.”
Her father sighed and threw down his cutlery.
“You always were a contrary little madam,” he said by way of response before gulping down some of his ale. “The hotelier assures me that there is a woman not ten minutes’ walk from here who will have a dress for you and that she can adjust it in no time so that it at least sort of fits. I don’t care what it looks like as long as it doesn’t draw attention.”
Julia tried not to react to his words, but surely, surely, if he was sending her off alone, she could raise an alarm. Could get someone to help? They couldn’t be that far from Ranford Hall, could they?
“And in case you get any ideas,” her father continued with a smirk. “I’ve already told him you’re not right in the head, and that we’re bringing you back for treatment. He assures me that a maid of his will keep a close eye on you and explain the situation to anyone who needs to be told.” He leaned forward now, and he was suddenly the threatening man he’d been in her youth. “So even if you think of telling your sorry tale to all and sundry, there’s not a person who’ll believe you.”
Julia felt the hope die in her as quickly as it had come about, but she still wouldn’t react. She would remain stoic and passive if it killed her.
She could still get away in London. She must.
“I have no money,” she said softly.
Her father took out a purse of coins and threw it at her feet.
“Be quick,” he barked, before returning to his plate.
Julia turned and left without another word.
“THEY HAVE TO HAVE stopped here,” called Charles to Edward and Tom.
Caroline and Rebecca were fast asleep in the carriage.
Clearly a rescue was not as exciting as either of them had imagined.
“Yes, they couldn’t have gone much further with the horses.”
“Are you sure?” shouted Tom over the wailing wind. “We are only on the outskirts of the city. Surely they would have headed straight for the docks?”
Charles felt panic rise, then logic thankfully reared its head.
“I think not,” he responded. “They wouldn’t have got a sailing yet, so it wouldn’t make sense to push the horses beyond their limits for the sake of a short ride to the docks.”
“And remember, they came to the Hall from Dublin then straight back. I’m surprised the horses made it at all,” continued Edward.
Charles tried to curb his impatience.
They had wasted time stopping at inns along the way and making enquiries.
Clearly Sir William cared not a whit about the welfare of his horses.
This hotel was one of the first ones a traveller came across when entering Dublin. The horses couldn’t possibly have made it much further than this.
They drew to a stop at the stables, and the carriage door flew open.
His sisters were awake then.
“Are we here? Did we find her?” asked Rebecca sleepily.
Edward dismounted immediately and went to lift her from the carriage.
“We’re going in to check, sweetheart,” he said with a kiss to her head. “Why don’t you go inside out of the cold and rest?”
Tom had moved to assist Caroline and was bending to speak in her ear. Caroline was nodding, but her eyes were taking in their surroundings.
Suddenly, she gasped.
“Charles. There! Is that Julia?”
Charles spun around at her words, his heart hammering in his chest. But he saw nothing.
“Where?”
“Oh, I was sure I’d seen a flash of green satin. I thought it must be she.”
“Should I go after her?” he asked desperately.
“No, what if it’s not her?” asked Tom, squinting in the direction that Julia pointed.
“What if Caro and I go?” asked Rebecca.
“Absolutely not.” Edward was frowning at his wife in disapproval.
“Why ever not?” argued Caroline. “It will be better for us to go while you deal with her horrible father.”
“You’re not traipsing around Dublin alone,” said Tom.
“And especially in your condition,” Edward said to Rebecca.
“We don’t even know that it was her,” said Charles. “And we’re wasting time.”
“Well, if it was her then she’s getting further away,” countered Rebecca, crossing her arms mutinously.
“All right, Rebecca and Edward will go and see if it was Julia,” said Charles, taking command of the situation before they lost any more time. “I’m going inside.”
“Tom, you go with him,” said Edward at once. “And make sure he doesn’t shoot anybody. Caro can stay with you, in case Julia is in there and needs…” He hesitated, and Charles’s heart damn near stopped. “…female assistance,” he finished hoarsely.
They all knew what he was thinking. If Julia had been forced, a woman would be the best person to take care of her.
Charles swallowed past the lump in his throat. Nothing had happened to her. He had to believe that.
With a quick nod to Edward, he turned on his heel and marched inside.
He didn’t know what he would find, but he prayed to God that it would be Julia safe and well.
ONCE INSIDE, THE SMELL of alcohol and cheap perfume hit Charles square in the face. Clearly, this hotel wasn’t the type of place Julia should be, if she was here.
A tall, wiry man came bustling over as soon as Charles, Tom, and Caroline stepped inside. His eyes were nearly on stalks. No doubt, their kind didn’t usually frequent such a place.
“Good morning.” He bowed low, his voice nasally and immediately grating. “Welcome to The Grand—”
“Did two gentlemen arrive here in the early hours of this morning with a young lady?” Charles demanded immediately.
The man’s eyes popped open wide, whether surprised at Charles’s rudeness or the question itself, he didn’t know or care.
“Er, I cannot say for sure, Mr.--?”
“Lord Ranford,” bit out Charles.
The man’s eyes grew even wider.
“M-my lord, can I offer you a drink or—”
“You can offer me an answer.” Charles made sure he looked as murderous as he felt.
The man swallowed nervously.
“There was a man. With his daughter.”
Charles’s heart picked up speed. It had to be them.
“What did she look like?” he demanded.
The man looked at him curiously then at Tom and Caroline standing behind Charles, listening avidly.
“Very beautiful,” he said, somewhat lasciviously to Charles’s mind. “Glorious red hair. Her dress seemed a little unsuitable but—”
It was her.
Charles lunged forward and grabbed the man by the lapels.
“Where are they?”
“Th-the older gentleman is breaking his fast in their private parlour,” the skinny man stuttered, fear evident in his eyes.
“Where?”
He pointed, and Charles dropped him before running in the direction of the closed door.
He pushed open the door without knocking and stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was that Julia wasn’t there; the second that her father was.
The older man looked up from his paper, and, upon seeing that it was Charles who had burst through the door, a c
old and calculating grin spread across his face.
“Ah, do come in, my lord,” he said, sitting back and folding his arms. “I was hoping you would join us.”
JULIA LEFT THE DRESSMAKERS much warmer but just as miserable.
The maid who had been assigned to accompany her stuck by her religiously. Clearly, she believed Julia was insane because the few brief attempts Julia had made at conversing were met with a startled glance and either a nod or a shake of her head.
The dressmaker had, as promised, made short work of dressing Julia.
When she’d entered, her eye had been drawn to a dull brown bombazine, a gown she would have chosen immediately, but she stopped herself before asking for it and fingered the purse in her pocket.
It wasn’t much of a rebellion against her father, but suddenly Julia wanted to defy him, even a little. So when the mantua maker approached, Julia smiled and set about picking the loveliest, most expensive dress she could.
Now, here she stood, not long later, bedecked in a walking dress that was the absolute height of fashion.
The gown was simple enough in design, but the cut was excellent. The colour reminded Julia of golden sand, and the sleeves and neckline were bordered in champagne-coloured lace. She had chosen a burgundy spencer to wear over it and had even bought herself a thick woollen cloak in the same colour as the spencer.
The mantua maker, apparently sensing that Julia was willing to spend plenty of money, had sent a serving girl to the milliner’s to purchase Julia a new bonnet and then on to get her some sturdy boots.
For these, Julia was most grateful, since the satin slippers she’d worn for the ball would not have done at all.
At the thought of the ball, Julia felt the now familiar pang of heartbreak.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she was there on the cusp of her very own happily ever after with Charles.
She was reluctant to go back to the hotel. Had even saved enough of the money to purchase a ticket on a coach taking her away from Dublin, but she was still in the same position as before — nowhere to go and nobody to turn to for help.
Besides, the hotel maid who had been studiously ignoring her, was now very vocal in her assistance that they returned.
Julia glanced around the streets helplessly once more, as though looking for a miracle that she knew would not be coming.
A moment later, she thought she must be descending into the madness that her father claimed she suffered, for she would swear that the dark-haired gentleman towering over everyone else and scanning the crowd was the Duke of Hartridge.
The crowd around him parted slightly, and Julia almost cried out in relief and surprise.
That was Rebecca, tiny and very pregnant and wrapped in the arms of her husband.
“Rebecca!” Julia shouted, not caring about the scandalised looks she was receiving.
Both Rebecca and His Grace turned at the sound of her voice, and Julia saw Rebecca’s mouth form a surprised oh before she took off at a run toward them.
She couldn’t quite believe it, but here they were. She was saved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“GIVE ME ONE GOOD reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you right now.”
Charles cocked the pistol and aimed it at Julia’s father.
He was burning with a rage he had never known, but he would show no emotion to this creature.
He wanted to demand that Sir William bring Julia to him, but something told him to hold back.
The old baron merely smirked, and Charles wanted desperately to wipe that damned smile off his face.
“I doubt your friend there will let you shoot an unarmed man,” Sir William said casually. “I can’t imagine a spoiled little earl such as you would enjoy swinging from the gallows.”
Charles took a step forward, and Tom put a steadying hand on his shoulder.
“Easy,” he said softly.
The baron chuckled and stood up.
“See?” he said smugly. “Now, I assume you’re here about my daughter. I’m a reasonable man, and I am more than willing to let you have her, if you can better Larsden’s offer. And, of course, if you’ve already tossed her skirts, she’ll be worthless, should he find out.”
There was a brief moment of absolute silence before Tom sighed and let go of Charles’s arm.
“All right,” he said. “He deserves it.”
Charles grinned momentarily before lunging across the table to grab hold of the monster. He would enjoy nothing more than pounding the man’s face in.
“Stop it.” Caroline’s voice rang with such authority that Charles actually paused briefly before common sense returned, and he lunged again.
But Caroline quickly stepped in front of him and placed a staying hand on his chest.
“Charles,” she whispered urgently. “We must find out about Julia.”
Charles knew she was right, but it killed him.
“Then I can shoot him,” he said between gritted teeth.
Caroline smiled a little.
“Then you can shoot him,” she confirmed as though it would be a reward for good behaviour.
“I think not,” the baron said, still in that same smug tone. “Remember, Ranford. The gallows.”
Charles felt his tenuous control slip by the second. But the baron wasn’t finished speaking.
He had turned his attention now to Caroline and was eyeing her in a way that made Charles’s teeth itch.
“You’re a pretty little piece,” he said with a mocking grin. “I know plenty who would have paid a high price for you.”
“Well,” said Tom conversationally, and Charles turned to see him aim his own pistol at the baron. “Now I’m going to shoot you.”
“I do wish you’d both stop threatening to kill me when neither of you is willing to hang for murder,” snapped Sir William.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Tom, sounding relaxed and even cheery. Only the clenching of his jaw revealing how furious he actually was. “My wife is an odd sort. She’d probably find it romantic if I were to be hanged for defending her honour. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Terribly romantic,” sighed Caroline happily.
Tom grinned and winked at her then laughed aloud when she winked right back.
“Do you two mind?” Charles scolded before turning back to Sir William. “Where is she?”
“I assume you mean Julia. I sent her to get a suitable gown for travelling. Which suits very well, I should think, since there are things you and I need to discuss.”
Charles raised a brow then smiled his own cold smile.
“The only discussion we’re having is whether or not you leave here with your limbs attached. And even at that I shall let Julia decide.”
“You seem to be forgetting, Ranford, that Julia is my daughter, therefore, my responsibility. She’s not going anywhere with you.”
“We’ll see about that,” threatened Charles.
“Has it slipped your mind that she is engaged?” the baron smirked.
“Not at all. I just don’t give a damn,” Charles smirked right back.
The baron didn’t speak for a moment or two, just eyed Charles with a quizzical look on his face. Finally he sat back down and spread his hands in a pacifying gesture.
“I am a reasonable man, my lord. If you would care to offer a counter offer to Larsden’s, I should be happy to let you have her—”
He didn’t get to finish as the last vestige of Charles’s control broke.
With a growl of pure hatred, Charles finally got his hands on Julia’s father. But rather than shoot him, Charles grabbed the man’s shirt and landed a blow on his face. There was the satisfying sound of bone crunching beneath his fist, and he pulled back, letting the older man drop to the floor, his hands going up to clutch at his broken nose.
“You’ve bloody broken it,” he yelled at Charles.
“I’ll break more than that if you ever speak about Julia like that again,” said Charles, hun
ching down so he could bring his face to the other man’s. “I know what you are, and I know what you did to your wife. I’m taking Julia home with me where she belongs, and if you ever so much as look in her direction again, I will kill you,” he assured softly. “I won’t shoot you. I will kill you with my bare hands. Slowly.”
“She’s not yours to bring anywhere,” spat Sir William.
“No, she’s not,” agreed Charles. “Because she’s not a piece of property. She’s a person. A human being. And you have treated her worse than I would treat a dog.”
Standing back up, he dragged Sir William with him by the scruff.
“But that ends today, understand?”
Sir William was turning a satisfying shade of puce.
“I’m going to marry her. Not because I want to own her, not because I’m going to buy her, and not because I want to bed then corrupt her. I’m going to marry her because I love her, and she deserves to be with someone who loves her, someone who knows how lucky he is to even breathe the same air as her.”
Charles let the older man go with a shove.
“And you will never see her again,” he spat.
“Charles?”
At the sound of his name, he whipped round, and there she was, standing in the doorway, flanked by Rebecca and Edward, tears glistening in her emerald eyes.
“Julia, thank God.”
He rushed toward her, hardly daring to believe that she was truly okay, that no harm had come to her.
“Are you all right?” he whispered urgently, holding onto her arms but afraid to pull her closer lest he scare or hurt her.
“I am now.” She smiled through her tears. “Do you really love me?”
Charles gaped at her. How could she doubt it?
“Of course,” he answered, his eyes boring into hers. “I adore you. God, I have been going crazy without you. I’m sorry, angel. So sorry that I let you go. I never will again, not as long as I live.”
“Oh, Charles, I love you too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I just, I didn’t know how.”
“Shhh. It’s all right.” He pulled her close, feeling her warmth seep into his heart. For the first time since last night, he felt like he could breathe properly. “It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re not hurt, and you love me, I don’t care.”
Mysterious Miss Channing (Ranford Book 3) Page 26
