Theory of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  She took her tea and toast in Ash’s chamber to be out of the way of the servants restoring the public rooms and wished for a window. Should he ever see again . . .

  She halted her reflections at a knock on the door. One of the twins stood there in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, looking anxious. His mop of dark curls needed cutting.

  “Is Father available?” he asked.

  Ah, Hugh, the more responsible one. “I’m not sure he wishes to be disturbed. Could I help?”

  The more he scuffled and avoided answering, the more fear balled up in her midsection. The twins had been dangerously quiet lately. “If it’s important enough, I can be the one to disturb him. If you can tell me, I can decide, and he can shout at me.”

  Hugh flashed a brief, grateful smile. “It’s Hartley. He went off to see if Mr. Garrett would be a good dog owner. Mr. Garrett left his card and everything. I wanted to tell Father first, but Mr. Garrett said Father knew, and he was in a hurry, and since he was one of our guests, we thought maybe it would be all right. But then, just when he closed the carriage door, he said something that didn’t sound amusing . . .”

  Perhaps she was simply sensing Hugh’s uneasiness, but her toast felt as if it was ready to come back up. “What did he say?” she asked, trying not to react in any way that would frighten the boy.

  “He said if we wanted to see Hartley again, we should visit him at this address.” He handed over the card.

  To see Hartley? Did he mean to keep the boy instead of the dog? Full-blown panic took root at that possibility. She glanced at the card.

  The address was in Chelsea. She didn’t know how long it would take a carriage to travel that far, but she knew the village was a considerable distance from where they were now.

  Today was the day Ash needed to encourage men to save England. She couldn’t disturb him with this, if it was some sort of prank.

  Trouble, Ash’s great-grandmother whispered worriedly in her head.

  Hidden Harriet whined that this time, Brave Christie may have bitten off more than she could chew.

  Christie swallowed hard. Ash had solved all her problems. If she was to learn to be as strong as he . . . She should be able to deal with the twins herself. She fought sheer terror at the responsibility.

  29

  Ash sealed the last document and shoved it across the desk at Erran. “I am bored with this game. I’ll be happy to hand the Commons over to you.”

  “You’re good at twisting arms in both Houses,” Erran insisted. “You’re simply bored because you’re not juggling two dozen other challenges at the same time. You need to find a trusted carriage driver so you can travel about more. You can do far more talking to the villagers and tenants back home than Theo can. He’ll be happy to have you back.”

  Ash had no intention of being hauled about in a carriage like an aging invalid. Contemplating training his stallion as his eyes, he heard Erran depart and Christie’s voice in the corridor. A moment with his wife would be a pleasurable break in his day—he had yet to determine what she hadn’t been telling him last night.

  He counted the steps to the doorway and searched for her scent. It wasn’t as strong as usual—probably because someone was sleeping in her chamber, and she hadn’t had access to her perfume this morning.

  His hesitation apparently offered the opportunity for her to come to him. Ash relished the unexpected pleasure of hearing her pace increase at his appearance, and he more than enjoyed it when she kissed his cheek. He didn’t like it quite as much when he realized she was wearing a hat and pelisse.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, caressing her silky cheek and wishing the day were over.

  “I’ll be back in time for whatever madness is planned this afternoon. Do you really mean to lead your lost lambs to slaughter today?”

  She was prevaricating again, and trying to distract him. Ash frowned. “I don’t mean to lead anyone anywhere, but yes, we intend to arrive en masse. What are you and the ladies plotting?”

  “You have your plots. Let us have ours. I’m in a bit of a hurry and you have another appointment shortly.” She kissed his cheek again and hurried out of his reach.

  Ash slammed his fist against the door jamb in frustration at literally and figuratively being kept in the dark. Wincing at the pain, he retreated to his desk and waited for the next obstacle in his path. He wanted to follow Christie. Why would she lie to him when she knew he would know she was lying? What was she hiding?

  He knew he hadn’t misjudged her so badly that she might be out consorting with other men or running away to join a circus or any of a dozen other things his former mistresses had done. Christie was the kind of woman who would help others before she’d help herself.

  And she knew how important the outcome of this day was to him.

  That thought played in the back of his mind as he cursorily dealt with the next piece of business. He worked himself into a state just imagining the ways Christie could be helping him without worrying him. Or would she be helping the twins? They’d been sadly neglected this week.

  “Jessup!” he shouted after the next visitor left. “Send for the twins.” With luck, some servant would hear his bellow.

  Before the butler could appear, one of the boys rapped on his door. “Did you wish to speak with us, sir?”

  “There’s only one of you, Hugh,” he said in irritation. “Where’s Hartley?”

  A hesitation singularly akin to Christie’s warned him that the boy was parsing his words before Hugh spoke a word.

  “With Chuckles, sir. Did you need us for something?”

  “Shouldn’t you be in the schoolroom?” Ash asked in irritation, trying to figure out why his son would be lying—and if it had anything to do with Christie’s lies.

  “Our tutor has today off. Miss Chris said I was to call for your headache powders if you start yelling. Shall I have someone bring them?”

  “Where is Christie?” Ash asked craftily, seeing how far he could test the boy’s honesty.

  More hesitation. “She asked me not to say, sir. She says you are very busy and must save the kingdom today.”

  Save the kingdom? Ash rubbed his forehead. Was that what all these papers and arm-twisting amounted to? At this point, if men couldn’t figure out the right course without being told, the kingdom might as well go to hell.

  “I’m done with saving the kingdom,” he lied. “Is Christie with Hartley and Chuckles? We could join them.”

  “Yes, I’d like that, sir,” the boy said with such a huge sigh of relief. “They took the berlin to Chelsea. I know how to drive a gig, so I can probably drive the curricle.”

  Chelsea? Ash wanted to knock all his inkpots to the floor and roar What the devil are they doing in Chelsea? But for a change, remembering his wife’s warning about terrifying people with his shouts, he put a curb on his temper so he didn’t terrify Hugh. If both Christie and Hugh had to lie about her whereabouts . . . Ash had a really nasty pain in his gut.

  His brothers were out martialing the clubs and coffeehouses as Ash could not. If Christie already had the berlin and driver, he had no one to rely on but himself. And Hugh.

  If he meant to find out what was happening, he would have to play the part of a damned drooling idiot being driven about by a lad of ten. The mighty marquess of Ashford would make an ass of himself in front of all London—because every important man in the kingdom was in town and right down the street for this session.

  He could wallow in his pride or accept Hugh’s offer.

  Accustomed to having his demands met without having to make uncomfortable choices, he wanted to howl. Howling wouldn’t find Christie and Hartley.

  Once upon a time, he would have simply dismissed the domestic problem and went on with his work. He’d learned almost too late that life was about paying attention to details—and to family.

  “Call for the curricle. I’ll handle the horses,” he said, nearly tearing his hair out with impatience and irritation. The town horses wer
en’t the placid ponies Hugh had driven in the country, and the curricle was no stable gig. “You tell me where to turn, and we’ll meet up with them in no time.”

  He was officially out of his mind, but it was better than sitting here slowly simmering and yelling at everyone who crossed his threshold.

  Action satisfied him far more than fretting. He may have lost his sight and possibly his mind, but he refused to lose his wife and son.

  “I can only say the spirits in my head are restless and worried.” Sitting in Aster’s colorful parlor, Christie expressed her fears to the Malcolm ladies, who had hastily assembled at her request. “You can only look at your charts and say there is danger. And Celeste can’t sing down an enemy holding the boy, even if we are sensing that correctly, and there is no assurance of that. Our gifts are not helpful in protecting the family.”

  She was failing already. She had thought seeking help would give her some notion of what to do, but the problem only seemed to grow greater.

  Weak Harriet wanted to take the coward’s way out and worry Ash with her fear that Hartley may have been abducted. The strong marchioness of Ashford she wanted to be suffered agonies at the possibility of failing those she loved.

  “Oh, we’re correct about Hartley being in danger, no doubt,” Aster said, rolling up her chart and frowning. “We’re fortunate William is in town to sell some of his dogs. I’ve sent word to him, and he’s said he’ll meet us at that Chelsea address with his animals. Theo and Erran need to concentrate on this afternoon’s session, so it’s best not to disturb them until we know what we’re dealing with. Jacques should be joining us shortly. We’ll work out something if the situation is as bad as it seems.”

  A servant knocked at the door of Aster’s colorfully-decorated jungle parlor.

  All three women glanced up. The servant nervously gestured toward a footman in Ashford’s livery in the hall. “Lady Ashford has a message.”

  “Oh dear. What is it, Smith?” Christie reached for the pelisse she’d simply thrown over the chair arm in her hurry to gather an army to find Hartley.

  “It’s his lordship, my lady,” Smith said, stepping forward. “He and the boy have taken the curricle, and Lord Erran is wondering if you know where.”

  “Ashford is driving a curricle?” Christie gasped, her heart falling to her stomach.

  “Blind Ashford?” Celeste asked in astonishment. “How is that possible?”

  The footman looked uncomfortable and shifted from foot to foot. “I cannot say, my lady.”

  “My word, that’s it!” Aster cried. “Lester, bring my hat and pelisse! Is the berlin outside?” She turned to Christie.

  “Do you know how he’s driving a curricle?” Christie asked in bewilderment.

  “Hugh is his eyes, of course. Even though the team is well trained, this is pure Ives arrogance. They’ll kill themselves.” Aster gestured at Christie’s footman. “I need you to give this address to Erran and Theo.” She hurried to her writing desk and jotted down a note. “They must decide what to do about your indecisive guests, but we must tell them that Ashford and the twins are in trouble. The Commons will be voting today, and it is possible someone is trying to distract Ash and his brothers from turning the tide against Wellington.”

  As the footmen raced to do her hostess’s bidding, Christie wanted to shrink under the chair. This was what the voices were telling her? That Ash would kill himself driving blindly after his son? Or that the kidnapper meant real harm? And she’d only made it worse by not warning him?

  “The guest last night,” she whispered. “Did Theo tell you who the man was I warned him about?”

  “He only saw Lord Montfort. The baron is always surly.” Aster fastened her pelisse and reached for her hat.

  “He was with another gentleman, a drunken one.” Christie swallowed, trying to remember that furtive meeting. “If it was Montfort speaking, he told his friend to ‘do as you were instructed and we’ll be better off.’ And the gentleman said he’d lose his house if Lansdowne didn’t pay his debt to him.”

  “Bryghtstone,” Celeste said worriedly. “Erran mentioned that Bryghtstone loaned Lansdowne a great deal of money and was now unable to pay his mortgage. Lansdowne apparently promised to double his money but the investment hasn’t come through.”

  “Bryghtstone was one of the sots Theo installed in your guest chambers,” Aster said in horror. “It all fits. He’s lured Hartley to Chelsea in hopes of distracting Ash. Still, I’m sure we can manage a worthless piece of human garbage like that.”

  If Bryght is like his father, he won’t be alone, a new voice in Christie’s head said worriedly. Aster’s house had ghosts too? She would experiment some other time. Right now, she could just listen and pray, and try not to worry the ladies too much about being haunted by their family’s ghosts.

  “He won’t work alone.” Christie spoke the ghost’s warning in terms they understood. “Weak men hire thugs. Ash is riding into a trap.”

  “Slow down,” Hugh cried. “Farm cart on your right.”

  Ash gritted his teeth and sought the shadowy motion that would indicate an obstacle in the curricle’s path. If only he had his stallion . . . Futile thought.

  “Tell me more of this Mr. Garrett,” he commanded, trying to make the best use of their infernally slow pace. They would no doubt freeze to death while he drove like a septuagenarian.

  “He’s the gentleman who offered to buy Chuckles. Watch, there’s a dog running in the gutter on your left.”

  Ash was willing to sacrifice animals if necessary for his son and Christie, but not if it could be avoided. He still didn’t know if they were in actual danger, so he moderated his pace even more, clenching his jaw in the process. Had the gas lamps been on, he might have had a better idea of the road. As it was, the gray day offered only limited light and shadow to determine his location. He was relying mostly on the experienced horses and Hugh’s warnings. With luck, they were almost out of the worst traffic, and he could pick up their pace.

  His gut was roiling that any dastard would even think of touching his son. He could not concentrate for the fury infusing him, so he filled his skull with information.

  “What is his appearance?” he demanded, knowing the senselessness of asking description from his sons but hoping for some small piece that might identify the culprit.

  “Old, sort of skinny, ginger side-whiskers.” Hugh’s voice indicated how hard he was trying to remember.

  Old meant anything from twenty to a hundred to a child. Ginger, however, reduced the suspects to one in a hundred. He sought another identifying factor that Hugh might recognize. “Watch fob with a rabbit’s foot?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hugh said eagerly. “Do you know him, sir? Does that mean Hartley is fine?”

  Bryghtstone desperately needed money. Brought up as a spoiled only son, Bryght wasn’t very bright. He could very well be stupid enough to hold Harley for ransom.

  “Watch for the sign post,” Ash reminded him, not answering the question. “The turnpike should be approaching. Have our coins ready.”

  The nodcock probably hadn’t counted on a blind marquess coming in person. He no doubt meant to intimidate Christie or a servant into handing over his purse. But Ash had no intention of letting his son suffer in fear while waiting for a ransom demand.

  They paid their toll and Ash let the horses have their heads as they traveled the wide, paved turnpike. Early Sunday morning lessened the amount of traffic encountered.

  “I need you to stay out of sight once we reach the house,” he told Hugh. “Hop out, hide in the bushes, whatever it takes so he doesn’t realize I have help. He’ll be taken by surprise at seeing me. If you have a chance, sneak around him and find Hartley.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hugh said worriedly. “What if he has a weapon?”

  “Bryght may be stupid, but he’s a gentleman. He won’t shoot a blind man, and he’d be drawn and quartered for killing a lord. He simply wants money and he won’t get it if I’m dea
d.”

  “That makes sense, sir,” Hugh said in relief. “You think he meant for Miss Chris or one of my uncles to come looking for Hartley?”

  “I don’t think he thinks at all, but we can be certain he didn’t expect me.”

  Ash hadn’t memorized the winding lanes of Chelsea as he had the city, so it took them several efforts and questioning the locals to find the location. “Tell me where to stop where they can’t see us from the house.”

  “May I have the reins, sir? There’s a narrow path . . .”

  Ash hated releasing control of the precarious vehicle, but it made sense that the one with eyes handle the tricky parts that didn’t require knowing roads or powerful horses. He handed over the reins and tried to determine their surroundings from his limited vision and scents, but he was afraid he was failing badly. That did not improve his fury, but he would not take it out on his son. He had better targets.

  “Hedgerow and evergreens?” he guessed as the curricle slowed and turned. “Can you see the house? Are there any carriages or horses in sight?”

  “Nothing, sir. The house is a rather large, three-story brick,” Hugh said, sounding worried again. “There are several outbuildings. I can’t see them all. Hartley could be anywhere.”

  If there was no carriage, then Christie had not come here. That wasn’t exactly a worry off his mind, but her whereabouts could be relegated to later. They need only find his son now and leave. “Look for a dog pen. Hartley may not be in any danger at all.”

  “How will you proceed, sir?”

  “Stay hidden and scout the area for me. Come back and tell me how many buildings, if you see Hartley, and how many others you see. I’m going to find my way into that stand of evergreens, out of sight. I can tell a great deal by just listening. We’ll decide what to do once we know what we’re up against.”

  “Yes, sir.” Eager for adventure, too inexperienced to know fear, Hugh leaped down and confidently tended the horses.

  Moving more tentatively than his son, Ash shuffled through dead leaves and tried to determine markers for his senses. This late in November, there were few flowers to light the darkness, but he smelled rotting apples and felt them crush beneath his boot to the left of the curricle. The evergreens were to the right, closer to the property.