* * *
When she arrived home at last, it was just as Captain Saunders was coming in for the night. At her appearance, he stopped dead.
“What the devil has happened?”
“I have had another misadventure,” she said, wishing she did not have to explain herself. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep away her headache, which was now of epic proportions. “May we discuss it in the morning? I am not feeling quite the thing right now.”
The alarm in his eyes softened to concern. “Just tell me this. Are you all right? Has someone harmed you? You are all over blood.”
She sighed. “At least let us sit.”
He took her arm and led her into the library and seated her before the fireplace. Lighting the fire, he said, “I don’t mean to keep you awake, I can tell that you are in pain. But we must know with what or with whom we are dealing here.”
“I wish I could tell you. All I know is that someone got hold of our carriage, and when I tried to come home early, they made off with me. As soon as I realized what was happening, I jumped out. Thus, the blood. Fortunately, it all happened in front of Lord Webbingford’s house. He was very kind. His housekeeper bandaged me and made tea.”
She did not miss the emotions that chased across his face—outrage, relief, and then suspicion.
“Webbingford is sound as far as horses go, but he is the veriest rogue. Did he try to take advantage of you?”
At this reaction, she stood, annoyed. “He was a gentleman, though I find it absurd that you, of all people, should be speaking of rogues. I am far more concerned about who was driving our carriage and what the fate is that I barely missed.”
Frowning, he said, “Of course you are. Forgive me. My words were inappropriate. I am most disturbed. Where are you injured?”
“Just my knees and the heels of my hands. My attire did not offer much protection. Now, if you are satisfied, I am going to retire to my bed. Good night.”
“Wait! You could have been killed. Did you see the driver? Was there a footman?”
“Yes. No. And yes, but I did not look at him.” Turning, she left the room to the sound of the captain’s muffled curses and the clink of the whiskey decanter.
Chapter Fourteen
Ernest drank off his whiskey in one gulp and barely restrained himself from throwing Beau’s crystal glass into the fire. He had never felt so helplessly angry. Who was this wraith who was trying to kill Marianne? And why had he reacted so inappropriately at the mention of Webbingford?
The captain swore at himself. He was a rogue himself. By her lights, she had every right to hold him in disdain.
He had never sought the company of a truly virtuous woman. What was worse, his feelings for this particular virtuous woman were unlike anything he had felt before. They were not bound by lust. Though he was excessively attracted to her, there was more to it than that.
Ernest tried to define his feelings, but he was not used to such an exercise. When she hurt, he wanted to banish the source of her hurt. He wanted to hold her face between his hands and smooth away the worry and care there. His dearest wish at the moment was to take her away from this cursed investigation and sail with her to Italy, fulfilling her long-held dream.
At that moment he heard the door and walked out into the hall to greet his brother’s party.
“Missing your carriage?” he asked, anger bubbling beneath the surface of his words.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Beau. “I found my coachman and footman tied up with cords in the mews. They had both been knocked out from behind, and the carriage was gone.”
“Someone used it to kidnap Lady Deveridge tonight! Obviously, it was someone at the ball who was watching her and knew she was leaving alone. Why did you not go with her when she left? Why did you not see her home?”
Beau’s face lost color. “The devil! How do you know this?”
“She escaped by throwing herself out the carriage door into the street. She is injured.”
“How ever did she get home?” asked a stricken Penelope.
“She managed to enlist Webbingford’s help. She fetched up at his doorstep.”
“I must go to her!” said Penelope, turning for the stairs.
Arabella stood in one spot, tears pooling in her eyes. “Is she going to be all right? Beau, you told me that Lord Webbingford was one of those men I was to stay away from.”
“Her injuries are not life threatening, and for once Webbingford behaved himself,” said Ernest. “Go on up to bed, Bella.”
“She did not tell me she was leaving,” said Beau. “I did not even realize she was gone until we were gathering to leave. Pen told me then that she had gone ahead because of her head.”
“My anger is not really with you. She should have spoken to you. I imagine her head was playing up so badly all she could think of was getting home quickly.”
“I was in the card room, dash it,” said Beau. “Do we need to call a physician?”
Ernest told him about Webbingford’s housekeeper.
“Come into the library and have a drink with me,” said Beau. “This is a serious business. The fellow clearly thinks Marianne can identify him.”
They walked into the library and poured a whiskey each. “She did see a man walk into the stall,” said Ernest. “He must be doing the drugging himself if he would go to these lengths not to be recognized.”
“Yes. That is unexpected. I shall have to think about this.”
“Is Strangeways still going to race Virginia’s Prize?” Ernest asked.
“His brother has a guard posted on him. He should be dope-free by race day. He’s planning on running him. He has another jockey. Odds on him are long.”
“Lady Deveridge is planning on attending the races. We must make very certain she is safe.”
Beau said, “I know. I wish she’d stay home, but she says she never misses the King’s Plate. Maybe tonight has made her change her mind.”
“I feel so confounded useless!” Ernest tossed off his drink.
He felt Beau’s eyes on him. “Tonight was the first time she was out alone since the incident in the stable, Ernie. Now we know she needs constant guarding. She should never have had to face such a thing as kidnapping. I do feel responsible.”
“You should have seen her when she walked in like an ill-treated urchin! From now on, she’s not going anywhere without an escort, whether she likes it or not.”
* * *
Ernest was fit to be tied. He slept little that night, his mind swinging from anger at the unknown villain to concern for Marianne. When had she come to be “Marianne” in his thoughts?
She was plucky, that was for certain. Imagine jumping out of a moving carriage! And then walking up to Webbingford’s door when she didn’t even know who lived there. Such behavior was unusual for a lady, to say the least.
When he saw her in the hall tonight, it had taken every bit of strength he possessed not to go to her and take her into his arms. Ernest had never known anyone like her, save perhaps Lady Strangeways and Penelope. They were not ladies one dallied with. They were ladies one married. But marriage had no place in his life, he told himself again.
Perhaps after he had found this villain, he ought to journey to the North to stay with Manfred. He hadn’t seen his brother in years. However, the idea made him feel intensely lonely.
* * *
Gweet greeted him late the next morning as he came down for breakfast.
“Mama got the most beautiful flowers this morning! She must have an admirer. Come, look.”
She led him into the morning room where an enormous bouquet of roses sat on the coffee table. An ill suspicion caused him to pluck the card from amid the blooms.
I could not sleep for worrying about you. May these flowers brighten your day. I hope you will recover soon from your ordeal. Until next Friday, Webbingford.
Anger suffused him. Had Gweet not been standing there, he would have pocketed the card so Marianne would
never see it.
What is wrong with me? Why am I feeling like the veriest ape-man? Is Marianne attracted to Webbingford?
“I do not know why Mama is not down yet. Or anyone else, for that matter. Was it a very late night last night?”
Ernest realized that Gweet did not know of her mother’s latest calamity.
“Sit down, my dear, and I will tell you of it,” he said, gentling his voice.
She sat on the sofa behind the flowers. Sitting next to her, he said, “Your mother is going to be all right, but she had another misfortune last night.”
Alarm sprang up in Gweet’s brown eyes. “What happened?”
“Someone . . . someone made off with her in Lord Wellingham’s carriage. But she was very brave, and as soon as she realized what was happening, she jumped out onto the street.”
“Oh my heavens!” Gweet’s face lost its color. “How horrible! Why do these awful things happen to her? Did she tell you someone followed us the other day when we went to Blossom House?”
His alarm ratcheted up another notch. “No, she didn’t. I warned her not to go out without a male escort! I’m so glad nothing happened to either of you. You must have been frightened.”
“We both were. But in the end we decided we had imagined it. But why should someone wish her ill?”
He decided, much as he disliked it, that he must make Gweet aware of her mother’s danger. “We think someone is drugging Lord Strangeways’s race horse. That morning when she was hit, she saw someone. He obviously thinks she can identify him, but we are determined to find him before he can do anymore harm.”
He took the girl’s small hand in both of his and chafed it. “You must be very brave, like your mother.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “But . . . how did she even get home?”
Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped her eyes. “The man who sent her the roses happened to live very near, and he made certain she got home in his carriage. From now on, we are going to look after her very carefully.” He forced a smile and asked with a brightness he did not feel, “How would you like to go for a ride in Rotten Row this morning?”
“You think to cheer me up, but I must see Mama to make sure she is all right.”
“It would be better to let her sleep. I promise you she is safe in her bed. She scraped her knees and hands a bit, but they are bandaged.”
Gweet gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose it would be all right to go riding. It is very boring in the mornings when everyone is still asleep.”
“I imagine it is,” he said.
* * *
The first time he saw Marianne that day was at tea. She looked wan, and there were dark smudges beneath her tired eyes.
“I think I must take Gweet and go home to the country,” she was telling Penelope.
“That is a misbegotten idea,” he said, without even greeting her. “You would have no protection at all there, and neither would Gweet.”
“I should be very sorry to lose your company,” said Penelope. “When are Bertie and Lady Catherine due home?”
“I have no idea,” Marianne said, her eyes still turned to his sister-in-law.
He had been an idiot the night before. When had he become so surly? “How are you feeling today?” he asked.
“I have been better,” she said, sipping from her teacup.
“Have you seen Gweet?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you so much for taking her riding this morning. That was very kind.” Her tired eyes suddenly took on a determined glint. “I shall not retire to the country. I wish to help catch this creature. What steps can we take?”
He said, “I have a feeling that our man is winching up his game before the King’s Plate. Not to put too fine a point on it, I think he meant to murder you last night. There must be something about him that he feels you will recognize at the race. I intend to be within hailing distance of you from now until then.”
Marianne’s brow creased. “I must think!” She brought a fist to her head as though she would hammer it. “What is locked in there?”
“Try to remember,” he encouraged her. “Was there anything about his figure that sets him apart?”
“I remember thinking he must be young.”
“Young?” he said. “I thought you said he moved like someone older.”
“I was confused. His gait was deliberate, as I told you, I think. But I have only just a hazy recollection of someone not too tall. I think that is one reason I thought he must be a groom. A boy helping around the stables. But he did move oddly.”
Penelope said, “I am not at all certain you should be going to the race. I am afraid you will be in worse danger than ever.”
“I feel compelled,” Marianne said stubbornly. “In addition to wanting to help find who murdered the jockey and who has been drugging that poor horse, I do not want to miss the race!”
Ernest’s heart warmed again at her pluckiness. “You must help me in imagining we are connected by a short lead. I would not have you stray a yard from me the whole time.”
“And Beau shall be with you on your other side,” Penelope said. “If you insist on going, we do not intend anything to happen to you.”
The protectiveness he felt for her blotted out almost every other feeling. He wanted to be with her every moment but knew that was a certain way to smother her.
Webbingford had the advantage of not being a sea captain. Would she allow herself to have feelings for the man, though he was a thoroughgoing rogue?
“I saw your roses,” he said, unable to stop himself.
“Yes,” she said, looking into the fire. “Lord Webbingford is very kind.”
“Do you go to a ball this evening?” he asked.
For a moment she didn’t answer. Then she turned toward him, and he read resignation in her gaze. “I think not. You shall not be required to tell me it is not wise, nor shall you be compelled to accompany me. I shall stay at home with Gweet and play chess.”
He felt relief at her decision. “I imagine your daughter to be very shrewd at the chess table.”
“She is bold, but can be trapped if she is not careful.”
“I would say she takes after her mother, then,” he said with a grin.
* * *
Upon finding out that the Wellinghams planned to dine alone at home that evening before the ball, Ernest decided to sup at Brooks’s in hopes that he would be in a position to hear the latest gossip about the race.
The first person he saw as he entered the dining room was his friend Abernathy. The very man, he thought, walking over to join him.
“Have you heard the latest word on the race?” the retired captain asked him, his mouth twitching in that new way it seemed to have.
“Lady Deveridge was kidnapped last night,” Ernest said.
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Has she been found? Has she been hurt?”
“She rescued herself, and fortunately her injuries are minor. But I shall be at her elbow until this beggar is caught, I can tell you.”
The man’s lips twitched again. “I have further news on his identity, I believe. Someone has put it about that Greenwood, the trainer, is over his head in debt and was seen arguing rather forcibly with Simpson the night he was killed.”
Surprised, Ernest said, “He told me they were best mates. Any idea how this rumor started?”
“It came out of the stables, I believe. By the by, Gibson apparently brought Virginia’s Prize up Newmarket. He will race.”
“What are the odds?” Ernest asked.
“Long. The rumor has got about that he was drugged and is not back in form.”
“Gibson knows his business. I don’t think Strangeways would run him if he were not up to snuff.”
“I’m not at all certain. Think I’m going to bet against him. This new boy, Nemesis, looks good to me.” Abernathy tossed off the remainder of his claret and tackled a chop.
“Who’s his owner? I haven’t heard of him.”
“Webbingford.
”
“The confounded man seems to be everywhere I turn.” The waiter came to take Ernest’s order. His appetite had vanished at the sound of the rogue’s name. He ordered only a bottle of claret. “I thought he owned Refulgent?”
“The mare came up lame. Nemesis is his up-and-comer.”
“Bit risky betting on an unknown against the favorite, isn’t it?”
“That’s the way to make money in this game,” said Abernathy, his eye twitching.
Could this former captain be his man? Ernest wondered suddenly. Then he shook off the thought.
“The lady I’m marrying disapproves of betting, so this may be my last gamble.”
They left the talk of horse racing and indulged in reminiscences of sea life for the rest of the evening. Ernest’s appetite returned, and he ordered dinner.
Chapter Fifteen
Midway through Marianne’s chess game with Gweet, Wilson announced Lord Webbingford.
“Oh! The man who sent the roses!” exclaimed Gweet.
Marianne was glad of her daughter’s presence as the man strode into the drawing room. She stood.
“My lady!” He bowed over her hand. “I came to see how you did. It appears your hands are still well bandaged, I am relieved to see.”
“Yes, thank you. Lord Webbingford, this is my daughter, Miss Marguerite. Marguerite, darling, this is Lord Webbingford, who came to my aid last evening.”
The girl sprang up and gave their visitor her most elaborate curtsy. “Thank you so much for helping my mama,” she said. “And for sending the beautiful flowers.”
“Yes,” said Marianne. “The roses are quite lovely.”
“Only the very loveliest flowers for you, my lady.”
She began to be uncomfortable. His eyes were fixed on her in such a way that she felt almost undressed.
“I am surprised that you have no other evening entertainment,” she said.
“Balls bore me, as do debutantes. I could think of nothing nicer than to call on you.”
She seated herself but did not ask him to be seated. “As you can see, my daughter and I are playing chess. It requires all my wit to beat her. She is become quite formidable.”
Love Unexpected: A Regency Romance (The Saunders Family Saga Book 1) Page 10
