by Ella Quinn
I would like to assure you that all is well.
However, your sister and I were seen by Certain Persons as we drove into the yard. Naturally, I put it about that we are betrothed and are visiting my mother.
I shall be prepared to discuss the settlement agreements when you arrive.
Yr. Servant,
C. Kenilworth
Next he wrote a missive to his mother warning her she was about to have guests, but not giving her any idea as to what sort of visitors to expect. That was probably not well done of him, but he must explain how his betrothal came about and the reason his betrothed—if one could call a lady who refused to wed one a betrothed—was not happy about it. And that must be accomplished in person. Although he never thought to be happy about Lady Bellamny’s presence, he’d most likely need her help.
He also penned a note to his valet, Cunningham, directing the man to travel immediately to Hillstone Manor with whatever clothing and other items Con would need for at least a week. Upon reflection, he instructed his valet to contact Lady Charlotte’s maid and tell her she was to accompany Cunningham to Hillstone Manor.
Con placed the pen down, replaced the cork in the standish, and sanded the letters before dripping wax on the folded papers and pressing his signet ring into the red blobs.
He leaned back in the hard wooden chair. If only Braxton—of all the care-for-nobody slibberslabbers—had not seen Con and Charlotte come into the inn yard after having traveled most of the night. If Con were a superstitious man, he’d think that his pretending to be Braxton the previous evening had conjured up the popinjay.
Con rubbed his chin. There was nothing for it now. The die was cast and all of that. At least he would make his mother and sisters happy.
He strode to the front of the inn and found the landlord. “I must have these missives sent out by messenger immediately. Please have the man wait for a reply. I shall also require a chamber and some wash water.”
“Very good, my lord.” Mr. Watson pulled his forelock. “I’ll have a room made up straightaway.”
Con wandered into the common room that stood off to the side of the hall, preparing to partake in the house’s ale while he waited for his chamber to be readied.
“Kenilworth.” Lord Gerald Heathcote gave Con a toothy smile. “The ale here is excellent.” The man shoved a chair out from the table with his foot. “Join me.”
“So I have heard.” He glanced around and not seeing Braxton, joined Lord Gerald. “I believe I will. It’s been an interesting morning.” And evening, yet what else was he to say? “What brings you to the country?”
“Boxing match, don’t you know.” He held up two fingers to the barkeeper. “Decided to come down early. Inns fill up quickly for that type of thing. Braxton heard me tell another fellow and said he’d come as well.”
How could Con have been such a dunderhead? Despite what he said earlier, he had been planning to attend the match himself. “I’d forgotten.”
“Uh, about that.” Lord Gerald lowered his voice to a whisper. “What is Lady Charlotte doing here? Braxton thinks you must be eloping, but I told him you was going the wrong way to Gretna Green.” Lord Gerald frowned. “Can’t think why you’d have to elope in the first place. You’re eligible enough for any lady.” Two mugs were set before them. Lord Gerald took a long draw on his. “Didn’t know you was looking for a wife. Would have suggested my sister. The eldest one. The other one’s not out yet. Come to think of it, don’t remember seeing you at any of the balls and such this Season.”
Because I haven’t been at any of the entertainments, and I have been actively not looking for a wife. The Fates have a strange way of interfering with one’s plans.
He would have to remember to tell Charlotte—he supposed he no longer needed to use her title—the bouncer he was about to tell his acquaintance. “Lady Charlotte and I recently formed an understanding. I decided it was as good a time as any for her to meet my mother. During the journey down we had a slight accident with the phaeton. No one was harmed. However, she and I became a bit rumpled. Naturally, Lady Bellamny was accompanying us in her coach.” He had to think back to what had been said when Lady Bellamny appeared. Thank the Lord, Braxton had not heard Con and Charlotte bickering.
“Never thought I’d see you leg-shackled so soon.” A large smile spread over Lord Gerald’s face. “Nevertheless, I’m happy to wish you happy. But why the rush down, when you could have attended the match?”
“We wanted to inform my mother of our decision to wed.” Con had no doubt that once Mama and Worthington heard that Con and Charlotte had been seen by Braxton, Charlotte would be made to go through with the wedding.
“Thought Worthington was out of Town?” Lord Gerald asked, confused. Then again, he had always been a bit buffle-headed.
“I spoke with him just before he left. However, as I said, my mother needed to be informed before an announcement was made.”
“Well, then.” Lord Gerald finished off his ale and rose. “I’ll just toddle off and tell Braxton he was out.” The man gave Con a jaunty bow. “Very glad we had this talk. Braxton owes me a pony now. Told him Lady Charlotte wouldn’t have just run off. Not the type, if you know what I mean.” Lord Gerald suddenly looked anxious, and his mouth started to open and close. “My apologies. Not what I meant to say a’tall. Naturally, you’d know she isn’t that type. Wouldn’t be marrying her if she was.”
“Naturally.” Con’s hand clenched. Given any reason at all, he’d gladly plant Braxton a facer. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help the situation. The man was as poisonous as a viper. He would ruin Charlotte and Con simply for his own amusement.
“I’ll just be off.”
Con stifled a sigh of relief. At least Lord Gerald had swallowed the story.
A few moments after Con finished his ale, the landlord appeared to take him to his chamber.
He stripped and poured warm water into a bowl, then washed as best he could before shaving. There was nothing to be done about his crushed cravat or shirt points, but Cunningham would be at the manor by this evening.
Con wondered if Charlotte had written to her maid, and if he should tell her he took care of the matter for her. Or perhaps, considering she didn’t seem to wish to have anything to do with him, he would be better off keeping his own counsel.
Until she understood how precarious both their positions were, that was going to be a problem. He had never wanted a reluctant bride. One of the reasons he eschewed balls and other tonish events where young ladies would be present was to avoid just this type of situation, betrothed to a lady due to forces beyond his control.
Good God. What a muddle. Wellington had married from a sense of obligation, and look how badly that had turned out. Con had even less of a choice in the matter than the general. If only he had not got lost. If only he’d been able to get her back to Town before dawn, this problem could have been avoided. Or if she had not formed a completely unreasonable opinion of him that was as ridiculous as it was insulting.
What was the world coming to when the mere possession of a mistress caused a man to be accused of abuse? Not only that, but it was not true. He always treated his ladybirds with generosity and kindness. None of them had ever complained. It was the nature of the business that, eventually, one moved on.
What manifest nonsense to think badly of him for doing what all men did.
Charlotte must be made to understand that Cyprians were in a different class than the poor women at Miss Betsy’s or some of the other brothels. He agreed that some of those women were badly treated, even if they chose to be there. His mistress, however, and others saw the advantages in entertaining gentlemen, and enjoyed their work. There was nothing unsavory about it, and the women were well compensated.
Someone had to make Charlotte see sense. Although, it would not be him. She wouldn’t listen to him if he was fool enough to make the attempt. Hopefully, Lady Bellamny would have a talk with Charlotte and explain the ways of the world. Then a
gain, she might come around when she understood her option was to wed him or be cast out of Polite Society and never marry.
If she did not wed him, no one would believe the story that they’d been traveling with Lady Bellamny. If anyone actually looked into the matter, that clanker wouldn’t hold water, and her reputation would not be the only one at risk: Her sisters would be harmed.
He groaned. Not to mention his sisters. He could hear them haranguing and condemning him for an unthinking here-and-therian without the intelligence to convince an innocent young lady to marry him.
Damn if he’d let Charlotte make him look like a veritable coxcomb. There was no choice. She must wed him.
Con rubbed his cheek as he remembered her soft curves. His earlier reaction to her—before she’d begun harping about him keeping a mistress—had been strong enough that he thought he might enjoy teaching her about the sensual arts.
She was beautiful, well dowered, passionate, and intelligent. Other than her unfortunate tendency to champion impures, she was exactly the type of woman he had planned to wed . . . one day.
He stared at himself in the small shaving mirror. Whether he wanted it or not, that day was here.
He would simply have to channel Charlotte’s passions away from what he had done with his mistress to what he would be doing with her. What could be easier than seducing one’s own betrothed? An innocent who had probably not even been properly kissed—or kissed at all, if he knew her brother—before him.
Con made his way to the stables, where his leader had been tended. “I’ll need to hire another pair. My stable master will make arrangements for these two to be taken to Hillstone Manor.”
“Aye, my lord,” an older groom responded. “We’ll take good care of them. I got that pair of grays. Good goers, if ye ask me.”
He looked over the horses’ points. Satisfied, Con replied, “Have them ready in a half hour. Lady Bellamny’s coach will be required as well.”
He’d be damned if he was going to wait all day for the ladies, and he had to arrive at his mother’s house with an attendant for Charlotte.
“I’ll call fer her ladyship’s coachman.”
“Good man.” Con strode back to the inn and went directly to Lady Bellamny’s parlor, where he found her and Charlotte drinking tea. Two plates with leftover food were on the table, but there was enough on the tray for him to break his fast.
An almost empty bowl of milk sat on a table next to Charlotte. Collette was on the sofa, curled next to her mistress, who was absently stroking the feline. The homely, domestic scene belied their current circumstances.
“I ordered our carriages to be ready in half an hour, if that suits you.”
“Excellent,” Lady Bellamny replied. “I took it upon myself to write Lady Charlotte’s cousin, asking for her maid to attend her. I also wrote to Lady Worthington. Worthington can be a bit of a hothead where his sisters are concerned. She will be able to exert a calming influence.”
That was probably the best idea anyone had had all day. “Very well.” Con lowered himself onto a chair next to Charlotte. “Is there any tea left?”
“I shall order a new pot.” Lady Bellamny tugged the bell pull.
“Please.” He glanced at Charlotte. She had not even looked up from gazing at the cat.
The blasted chit probably thought that if she ignored him he would go away.
Con opened his mouth to address her when Lady Bellamny caught his eye and shook her head. Very well. He’d leave well enough alone for the time being. She had not been at all ill-mannered or petulant before she had discovered his identity. Perhaps the events of the past day were catching up to her, and she would be better behaved when she was at his mother’s home and had an opportunity to recover.
He had rank, wealth, and had been told by more women than he could count that he was handsome. Con did not believe he was being immodest in thinking that she could really not do much better than him. Unless, that is, she was after a duke, and young dukes were thin on the ground. Sooner or later Charlotte would come around.
He filled his plate with slices of rare roast beef and bread.
If the Fates were with him, he’d have enough time before Worthington arrived to persuade her she wished to spend her life with him.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth Bell, Miss Betsy to most people and Mrs. E. Bottoms to others, arrived at the Hare and Hound shortly after ten in the morning to find the place in an uproar. “Burt”—she grabbed the man’s arm as he rushed by—“what is going on?”
“My girl, my poor Annabelle, has gone missing,” Mrs. Wick, the landlord’s wife cried into a large handkerchief. “It was that man who was here, claiming he was lord, as took her.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “I know he made my poor girl go with him.”
Betsy immediately clasped her hands together, holding them to her chest. “My dear Mrs. Wick, surely she would not have run off. Annabelle is such a good girl.”
“She is at that.” The older woman wiped her eyes and nodded. “He must have knocked her out and took her.” Betsy could see when the idea entered the woman’s head. “Can ye help, miss? I know yer used to working for folks richer than us. We don’t have a lot, but we’ll give ye what we got to get our dear girl back.”
“You do not even need to ask.” She wrapped her arms gently around Mrs. Wick. “You and your family have been such good friends to me, I will do it without compensation.”
“Oh, thank ye, thank ye. I don’t know what we’d do without ye!” She straightened her apron. Pulling out a fresh handkerchief, she blew her nose. “Will ye go right away?”
“Of course. If you will tell me the name of the man who took her and anything you can remember about him, I shall begin the search as soon as I have delivered the lady the Smiths brought in yesterday.” Betsy glanced at Burt. “We’ll leave within the hour.” Turning back to Mrs. Wick, Betsy asked, “Do you think you are well enough to prepare something for the young lady upstairs to eat, and help her clean up?”
“Oh, goodness.” The woman jumped. “I’d forgot all about her. I’ll have her ready directly after I bring you a cup of tea in the parlor. Won’t do for a lady such as yerself to be in the common room. Not even this early in the morn.”
“You are so kind, Mrs. Wick. I thank you.” Betsy smiled at the lady before making her way to the only room in the inn that could pass for a parlor.
It was because the place did not generally cater to gentry that she’d chosen it. What she really wanted to know now was who the gentleman was who took Annabelle and how much he’d pay Betsy to keep the chit. It stood to reason that by the time she found the girl she’d no longer be a virgin.
Several moments later, an ear-piercing scream stabbed the air.
“I’ve found her, I’ve found her!” Mrs. Wick’s shouting could have been heard in the next village.
Well, that was a short-lived deal, Betsy thought sourly.
The landlady ran into the room. “Oh, Miss Betsy, you won’t believe what happened. That wicked young lady, although I don’t know as I should use that term for her after what she did, had a gun and tied my Annabelle up. That Lord Braxton helped her.” Mrs. Wick was wringing her apron again. “He must have been the reason she ran away from her lawful husband.”
Betsy bit down on her lip hard to keep from saying things she shouldn’t. Burt and Dan would have a lot to answer for. Bloody fools letting Lady Charlotte get away after all the planning that had gone into capturing her. And how the devil had she got ahold of a pistol? They’d answer for that as well.
“Please tell both Mr. Smiths I would like to see them.”
“Yes, Miss Betsy. I’ll get them right away.”
She had just drained the cup when Burt knocked on the door and opened it, dragging Dan by the sleeve. For several long moments, she remained where she was, allowing the silence to weigh heavily while the two men fidgeted. Finally, she asked, “How did she get a pistol?”
Burt looked at Dan,
then back to her. “She must a had it in her basket.”
Betsy’s back teeth clenched as she tried to control her temper. Losing it here where everyone thought she was a lady would not help. “A basket.” She bit off the end of the word. “Is there a reason you did not look in this basket?”
“I asked,” Dan said, glaring up at Burt. “Asked if she had any food in it.” Dan shrugged off Burt’s hand. “She said she was going to fetch somethin’.”
Betsy focused on Burt. “And it did not occur to you to think she was lying?”
“No, miss. I was busy keeping Dan from trying to get to know her, if you know what I mean.” He glowered at Dan. “I never thought a young lady would have a gun. She was just walking to the other house.”
Well that, she had to admit, made sense. Betsy didn’t think she would have thought of it either. Although, if she were a man, she’d plant both of her employees facers just for losing the chit. And Dan. Bloody hell! Just what she needed, a man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out a sack. “Dan, here is your payment. I will not need you again for a while.”
His jaw dropped, but he grabbed the money and dashed out of the parlor.
“Burt, how do you plan to remedy this problem?” Because she would get Lady Charlotte back. The amount that lord was willing to pay for her made the gentry-mort worth more than Betsy’s last three packages all together.
* * *
The early morning dew had dried when Lord Kenilworth handed Lady Bellamny and Charlotte into her ladyship’s large traveling coach. She could barely stand to have him touch her and was glad for her gloves.
Thinking he would travel with them, she had sat next to Lady Bellamny. Thankfully, his lordship had opted to drive his phaeton instead of riding in the carriage with the ladies.
“I shall put your lack of manners, which I know you possess,” Lady Bellamny said in a caustic tone, “to the horrible experiences of the past day.” Her ladyship looked at Charlotte, making her feel as if she were six again instead of eighteen. “I will expect you to behave correctly to Lady Kenilworth.”
