Well, one thing was clear. Her masquerade had nothing to do with French spies. But why had she not come to him for help? Surely, she knew he cared for her? And she was not precisely indifferent to him—if one could judge by her response to his kisses. An heiress. And she had been in his household for months as little more than a servant!
They had been riding well over two hours and it had long since grown dark, though a nearly full moon gave erratic light through masses of clouds. Feeling the coach slow and stop, Adrian opened the door and put his head out.
“Seaton,” he said, recognizing the man who approached.
“I been waitin’ for yuh, my lord. Rec’nized the team,” said Seaton, who had been working in Adrian’s stables for weeks now. “Thought yuh’d be along soon.”
Adrian climbed down, momentarily glad to stretch his legs. “Where is she?”
“There’s a fork in the road ‘bout a hundred yards yonder.” Seaton gestured. “Take the left an’ about two miles on is a lodge—they got her there.”
“How many?” Rowlands leaned out to ask.
“That big redhead, a coachman, an’ one other. But about ten-fifteen minutes ago, another coach took that fork. Two men in it, I think. Couldn’t tell for sure. Too dark.”
“Pennington, probably,” Adrian said. “Where are they holding Miss Palmer?” He could not yet think of her as Lady Elinor.
“In a downstairs room. Lit up like a palace, it is. Seem to have someone upstairs, too, though. See shadows on a window up there now an’ then. Graham’s on watch.”
“Climb up there and direct John Coachman,” Adrian ordered. “Stop before we get there—no sense announcing our arrival. Then the four of us will go in and John can follow a bit later.”
“Yes, sir,” said Seaton and John simultaneously.
Elinor sat at the table in a combined dining room-drawing room of what had once been a modest hunting lodge. She was cold and hungry and terrified. She drew her shawl more closely about her.
The brutish Burt had shoved her into a chair as soon as they arrived.
“Bring the lad down,” Brompton growled. He stood over her.
There were awkward sounds on stairs and Peter was pushed into the room ahead of Burt. Her brother’s hands were tied and there was an ugly bruise on his cheek.
“Oh, Peter, I am so sorry.” She tried to rise to go to him, longing to hug him. Her uncle’s fingers bit into her shoulder, forcing her back onto the chair. Peter’s face was drawn with anger and frustration. A memory of him as a child of eight refusing to allow tears to come when he had been punished flashed across her mind. Only this was much more serious.
“I’m all right, Ellie. We’ll get out of this. You’ll see. They cannot make this work.”
“That’s enough outta you,” Burt growled and cuffed him lightly above his ear.
“Leave him alone!” Elinor shouted.
“Take him back upstairs,” her uncle ordered. When Peter was gone, he said to her, “Now you’ve seen him. You do as I tell you and he will survive as the eleventh Earl of Ostwick.”
“And if I don’t? You’ll kill him? I cannot believe even you would stoop so low.”
“No. Got no stomach for murder. Burt has friends on the docks. Ships’ captains are always looking for extra hands, no questions asked. Some of them pay dear for pretty young fellows.”
“You monster!”
“Tut, tut. No name-calling. It does not become your ladyship.” He grinned malevolently. “Now you just sit tight and wait for your bridegroom to arrive.” He went to the door and yelled, “Toby!”
“Aye!” a voice called.
“Bring us some wine and something to eat.”
“Be right there.”
A few minutes later a short, wiry fellow with thin black hair entered the room bearing a tray with a flagon of wine, several glasses, and some bread and cheese, already sliced.
“Rather simple fare, but eat up,” Brompton said, helping himself. “You’ll have a fancy wedding supper later, I’m sure. Here’s a toast to your coming nuptials.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute.
That comment nearly turned her stomach, but she reached for bread and cheese. If she did manage to escape, her first worry should not be getting a bite to eat.
Presently they heard the arrival of a carriage. A few minutes later, Pennington and another man walked into the room. Pennington was attired in clothing that might have been fashionable on a man thirty years younger. On him it merely looked ludicrous. In contrast, his companion was dressed in serviceable, sober black and carried a Bible.
“Ah, my dear, you are looking lovely—as usual.” Pennington grabbed her hand and bent over it just as he might in a duchess’s drawing room. She jerked her hand away and he frowned. “Didn’t you explain the way things are to her?” he asked Brompton.
“She knows. She’s just stubborn.”
“I’ll take that out of her,” Pennington said with a look at Elinor that promised retribution. “This is the Reverend Mr. Porterman. He will do the honors.”
“It won’t be legal,” Elinor said. She turned to the clergyman. “I am shocked that a man of the cloth should be party to such a travesty.”
“Lord Pennington has assured me he has a special license,” the reverend said. “I daresay you would be very surprised at what a clergyman can do—given the right incentive.”
“Enough guineas, you mean,” sneered Pennington. He pulled a paper from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Elinor. It was the special license, signed and sealed by a bishop. “All right and tight, my love. Now, can we get this over with?”
“I need a drink first,” the minister said, reaching for the wine.
“Good grief.” Pennington gave out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what comes of getting a drunk to do a job.”
Fascinated, they all watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Now—get on with it,” Pennington ordered. He grabbed Elinor’s arm to jerk her to her feet beside him.
“This cannot be happening,” she wailed, trying to free herself from his grip. “Please ...” Her eyes appealed first to her uncle then to the minister.
“Just do it,” Pennington ordered the clergyman.
“Ah ... dearly beloved,” the minister intoned with a loud belch, “we are gathered here to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
“I think not,” said a voice in clipped tones as the entrance door crashed open.
“Adrian!” Elinor gasped.
“I hadn’t even got to that part yet,” Porterman complained.
“Who are you?” Pennington challenged.
“My good man, you interrupt a family matter,” Brompton said in a stuffy tone.
Adrian stepped fully into the room, backed by Rowlands and Seaton, who held drawn pistols. Brompton and Pennington paled noticeably and Elinor sucked in great gulps of air to keep from fainting.
“My niece is marrying Baron Pennington with the blessings of her guardian,” Brompton said. “Now, if you will just step aside and let us proceed ...”
“She is of age and needs no blessing,” Adrian said. “But that is entirely beside the point. She cannot marry him.”
“And why not?” Brompton blustered, but he kept his eye on the men with the guns. “We have a special license. Everything is in order.”
“Get on with it,” Pennington screeched. He tightened his grip on Elinor’s arm and she winced at the pain.
“Adrian, they have Peter. They—they hit him,” Elinor sobbed.
A part of Adrian’s mind appreciated the farcical elements of this situation, even as he recognized the potential tragedy. Stall. He had to keep them from proceeding in this charade of a marriage and he had to distract them while Graham and Davies checked out what was going on upstairs and neutralized any danger there.
“Let her go,” Adrian demanded.
“The woman is going to be my wife,
” Pennington said in an emotional frenzy.
“No, she is not,” Adrian said. “Even if you were not deterred by my friends and their pistols, I could not let you continue. She is already married—to me.”
“Adrian!” Elinor gasped. “No. You cannot . . .” Finally, she jerked free of Pennington who had relaxed his hold at Adrian’s stunning announcement.
Adrian held her close but to one side of him. He nuzzled her hair even as he kept an eye on her uncle and her would-be husband. “I know we agreed to keep it a secret, my dear, but what choice do I have?” His words were clearly meant for their stupefied audience.
“I need a drink,” the minister said.
“You don’t understand.” Elinor’s tone was fierce. “They have Peter.”
Peter. She was willing to go through with this for Peter? Marriage to the likes of Pennington? Well, he was damned if he would allow such sacrifice, no matter what the outcome for him personally. But that would have to be sorted out later.
There was noise of thumping boots and overturned furniture overhead, then of more than one person descending the stairs.
“They have Peter!” There was hysterical desperation in her voice now.
“No, they don’t, Ellie. Not anymore.”
A young man entered the room followed by a redheaded giant and a smaller fellow, prodded with pistols held by Davies and Graham.
“Oh, Peter. Peter.” Elinor ran to him and enfolded him in her arms.
Taller than she was, Peter laid his cheek against her head, his shock of chestnut hair blending exactly with her own as she sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s all right, Ellie. I’m all right. Didn’t I tell you they couldn’t make it work? ’Course, we had help.” He raised his head and looked at Adrian, Graham, and the others. “I do thank you gentlemen.”
Good God, Adrian thought, he is no more than fifteen! Then it hit him. Peter was Peter Richards, new Earl of Ostwick. Her brother. He had spent all this time agonizing over her love for her brother?
“I don’t believe it,” Brompton said. “If she were married to such a high-ranking member of the ton, we’d have heard about it. We are family.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Adrian’s voice was dangerously soft.
“Good God, Brompton,” Pennington warned. “Don’t be a bigger fool than you already are. The man’s said to be a crack shot.”
“But why ain’t we heard about this so-called marriage before this? We are her family,” Brompton whined to the room in general, avoiding looking at Adrian. “Peter, my boy, did you know it and not tell me?”
Peter, having disengaged himself from Elinor’s embrace, still stood next to her. He looked to her for direction before responding. She shook her head.
“No. I did not know. But I would trust her judgment in such matters much more than yours. Your concern for ‘family’ comes rather later, Uncle.”
“Why you ...” Brompton took a step toward Peter, then abruptly stopped as Rowlands trained his pistol more directly on him.
“Don’t even think about it,” Rowlands warned. Then he turned to Adrian. “What do you want we should do with these fellers, my lord?”
“What I want would be both inhumane and illegal,” Adrian said.
“These two,” Rowlands indicated a man named Toby and Burt, “are in a heap of trouble already. Told yuh I rec’nized Burt here.”
“Robbery, burglary—and they are connected somehow with at least two dead bodies found in the dock areas,” Graham explained. “At the very least, they’ll be transported. But they’ll probably be hanged.”
“Good,” Adrian said vehemently. “Rowlands, you and Seaton take those two in and do whatever you would with them. Keep the Richards name out of your report, if you will.”
“Consider it done, my lord,” Rowlands said. Others in the room watched as Burt’s and Toby’s hands were tied behind them and they were unceremoniously ushered from the room.
“Keep your eye on these two, Graham,” Adrian ordered, indicating Brompton and Pennington. “Davies, see if you can find some paper and writing instruments.” Then he turned to Elinor and her brother. “Come, my dear. You and Peter have a seat over here. This will not take long and we will be on our way.”
He led them to a settee at the other end of the room. Elinor had not said a word since learning her brother was safe. Adrian worried about the strain he saw plainly on her face. He wanted to hold her, tell it was all over, that he would take care of her. But she still clung to Peter.
He returned his attention to Brompton and Pennington as Davies came back with paper, ink, and two pens.
“You two sit and write what I tell you,” Adrian said. When it was done, he picked up the papers, ensured the ink was sufficiently dry, folded them, and put them in his pocket. He leaned over the table and spoke softly but precisely to each of them. Then he said, “All right. Graham, you and Davies take these two back to town. Stop by Trenville House and get some more help. Then see that Lord Pennington is escorted to his estate in the north. Take Brompton to Ostwick House and put a guard on the place. Ostwick and his sister will be my guests for a day or two.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was nearly midnight and the strain of the last several hours had taken its toll as Elinor tried to make sense of what had happened. Adrian’s announcement that she was his wife troubled her most. Why had he done that? Surely there was another way. This would surely be the principal topic in every ton drawing room tomorrow. Even if Brompton’s tongue could be controlled, there would be no controlling his wife—or her friends.
She sat in the forward-looking seat of the coach with Peter at her side. She still clung to his hand to reassure herself she had brought no harm to her brother. Adrian sat opposite them and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, ostensibly to Peter, but with frequent glances at Elinor for her understanding and concurrence. Elinor knew Peter was flattered to be consulted as an equal by such an out-and-outer as the Marquis of Trenville. She could only be grateful for such consideration of the younger man.
“The confessions those two signed should safely remove them from being any further source of annoyance to either of you,” Adrian said.
Curious, Peter asked, “What will happen to them?”
“Pennington has been informed that if he so much as steps off his estate within the next three years, I shall bring charges against him, and he, too, will likely be transported then, along with Burt and Toby.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And—and Uncle Brompton?” Elinor’s voice still showed strain, but she could feel herself at last beginning to relax.
A small lantern in the coach gave off faint light. She saw Adrian’s expression harden.
“Tomorrow my man of business will buy up his debts. He and his wife will be on the first ship to the Americas. If he returns, he must be prepared to repay me—or face debtors’ prison. That is, unless you object . . .”
“No—” Elinor said.
“Absolutely not.” Peter’s voice was mature and determined.
“Our war with the United States is over. They will survive nicely if they exercise good judgment,” Adrian said, reassuringly.
Exhausted, Elinor had started to doze fitfully, her head resting on her brother’s shoulder, when Peter’s question caught her attention.
“How did you happen on this scene so quickly, sir? And with Bow Street Runners in tow?”
She straightened, alert now. “Bow Street Runners?” How had she missed that?
“Those fellows he sent off with Uncle Brompton and the others. Really, Ellie. . .” The impatient younger brother was back.
“My lord?” She looked inquiringly at Adrian and he shifted uncomfortably.
“The men have been guarding my children, and members of my household, ever since we returned to London and we knew a French spy was—or is—directly connected to me.”
“Who?” Elinor could not hide her shock.
“We do not yet know.” Adrian again shift
ed slightly under her gaze.
Elinor stared at him, remembering the feeling of being watched. It had been Seaton who always accompanied her and the children on their rides. And hadn’t Adrian been overly fastidious about her never leaving the house unaccompanied?
“Me? You suspected me?”
“Not lately,” he said. “And certainly not now.”
“But you did. Adrian, how could you think that I—I—a spy? How could you? How dare you?” Utterly devastated he would think her capable of such perfidy, she stared at him in disbelief and anger for a moment, then turned her head to the darkened coach window to hide her tears.
“Elinor, please.” He sat forward and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away from him. “Please. Try to understand. Elinor ...”
Ignoring the pleading note in his voice, she turned with a stifled sob and snuggled closer to her brother. Peter put his arm around her shoulder and patted it clumsily. She was sure Peter had not missed her and Adrian’s use of each other’s Christian names.
She was vaguely aware of Adrian’s voice explaining to Peter about the discovery of spy activities within his own household and attempts to catch such agents. Eventually, his voice trailed off as she refused to look at him.
The rest of the journey passed in silence. When they arrived at his town house, Adrian exited first and reached an assisting hand to her. She wanted to ignore it, but dared not do so lest she stumble and fall. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she felt the surge of warmth his touch always brought. But this time it was accompanied by a sense of betrayal.
In the entrance hall, she started to mumble a hasty good night when she noted with some surprise Captain Olmstead emerge from the library.
Then Adrian spoke directly to her. “My lady, I believe you should hear Captain Olmstead’s report.”
“If you insist. Allow me to freshen up a bit and I shall be right back.” She proceeded up the stairs.
Sixteen
Adrian watched as Elinor climbed the stairs, her curiosity obviously warring with fatigue and disillusionment. He wanted to take her in his arms and make her listen to him, but duty—in the person of Nathan Olmstead—once again asserted itself.
My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 18
