A Scandalous Vow (Scandalous Series Book 7)

by Ava Stone

  “You saw him talking to St. George, nothing more, and you couldn’t even hear them. It could quite simply have been a chance meeting. Do you honestly think they were saying something treasonous with Lady Staveley right there, listening to every word?”

  “I think your feelings for the man cloud your judgment,” Sebastian countered, even if she might have a point.

  “Well, I think he’s running right now because of you. I think he’d do anything in the world to protect Caroline Staveley, and your break in at her home this evening has spooked him. Do you really think a man like him would run otherwise?”

  Laura did make a valid point, he supposed. With everything Sebastian had ever known or ever heard about Haversham, he wasn’t a coward. And if the man was leaving London, odds were he hadn’t thrown his lot in with St. George. He’d stay in Town to finish his part of the conspiracy if that was the case, wouldn’t he? “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded.

  “So you won’t breathe a word of this to Galloway?” She snipped the thread against his leg, the coolness of her scissors against his skin made him shiver.

  “You do have a pair of scissors in your hand and I’m in a fairly vulnerable position right now.”

  Laura laughed. “Honestly, Sebastian, has anyone ever called you a baby?”

  “Yes,” he said honestly. “Though it’s usually in the throes of passion.”

  Chapter 22

  Damn it all, Marc cursed the day Blackaby of Bow Street was born. The obnoxious man was posted right outside Haversham House, peering up as though the building itself might give him all of life’s answers. The incessant fool.

  Marc glanced down at his pocket fob. 4:15. He had to change into something more serviceable, throw his pistol and a few other items into a valise and still get to the coffee house on Piccadilly in less than an hour, something he could easily have managed on any other given night, but with Blackaby standing guard…well, that damned runner did add an extra wrinkle into the plan.

  Emma cried softly against Caroline’s arm, and if she wasn’t trying to be strong for her children, she would probably have cried right along with her. Rachel, across the hack on the opposite bench, still hadn’t looked at Caroline without an accusatory stare since they’d fled Staveley House.

  The door to the hack opened and Simmons peered inside. “I’ve secured passage for my sister and her family all the way to York. You’ll have to change coaches there.”

  Thank heavens Simmons had traveled to the coffee house with them as Caroline had never purchased passage on a mail coach before, she’d never ridden in a mail coach before, and she doubted she could blend in doing so now. It was still so hard to believe that they were in danger, and fleeing London under the cover of night, disguised as someone from the servants’ class. And now they had to change coaches in York? What if they missed the coach headed to Driffield? Or what if she made it to Saddleworth Hall without Marc and his staff turned her away? Or what if—

  “His lordship has done this a number of times, milady.” Simmons must have read the panicked expression in her eyes because he added, “He’ll be with you, and all will be well.”

  Which was what she kept telling herself. But where was he? “Any sign of his lordship?”

  The butler shook his head. “But he knows the schedule, madam. And our driver here says you can stay in the hack until it’s time to depart.”

  “I miss Fluff all ready,” Emma whimpered.

  Caroline slid her arm around her youngest daughter’s shoulders. “I am sorry, sweetheart. But Lord Fluffington wouldn’t be happy, all squished in a mail coach.”

  Emma sniffed. “But he’ll miss me.”

  “Simmons will take excellent care of him,” Caroline soothed.

  “He shall have that duck he likes so much, Miss Emma,” Simmons added. “Every night, I’ll see to it. And I’ll keep him company until you return.”

  “Are we returning?” Rachel asked, anger dripping from her voice.

  “Of course we will,” Caroline replied, though it was a question she didn’t really know the answer to. However, she supposed they would return at some point, wouldn’t they? Or would it never be safe? Heavens, where was Marc? She’d feel so much better about everything if he was there with them. He said to go without him if he didn’t make it in time. But what if he didn’t catch up to them? What if something had happened to him?

  “I had plans for this Season.” Rachel sighed. “This is hardly fair to me.”

  Caroline scoffed. “If the other night is any indication of the plans you had for this Season, then it’s a very good thing we are leaving Town.”

  Rachel seemed poised to press her case, but before she could do so, Emma straightened in her seat, her dark eyes wide. “What did you do, Rachel?”

  “None of your concern,” Caroline said before Rachel could reply. After all, such tales of masked dagger-wielders were hardly things she wanted dancing around in Emma’s head. She didn’t even want them dancing around in hers.

  “I just don’t see why we have to leave Town,” Rachel continued. “Why can’t we contact Bow Street? Why can’t we stay with Uncle Luke for a while? Why can’t—”

  “Luke!” Caroline gasped, halting whatever else Rachel meant to say. Oh goodness! She hadn’t sent any sort of word to her brother. There hadn’t been any time for that. Luke would be beside himself with worry when he discovered she and the girls had disappeared. “Simmons,” she said, “will you please tell Mr. Beckford where we’ve gone?”

  The butler looked at her as though she was a complete simpleton. “Your carriage is on its way to Benton Park, milady. Everyone will think that’s where you’ve gone, and in the interest of your safety, it would be best for everyone to believe that you’ve returned to Westmoreland for the time being.”

  Of course. She hadn’t thought of it that way. Caroline was not very adept at this secret life sort of thing. It was no wonder Marc was still such an enigma. This saying one thing but doing another had, apparently, been a way of life for him for many years. How did one ever get accustomed to living in such a way? She could barely keep it all straight in her mind.

  After a while, her butler looked down at his watch fob and frowned. “I do believe it’s time, milady.” Then he opened the door of the hack wide for Caroline and her daughters to climb from the hired carriage.

  Simmons paid the driver and then retrieved Caroline’s small valise from the bench and handed it to her. “This is where we part.”

  Oh, so soon? Caroline sighed, having no confidence she was going to be able to pull this off. “Thank you, Simmons.”

  “It has been my pleasure serving you, madam.”

  Caroline glanced over at Rachel and said, “Take your sister’s hand, please.”

  Her daughter nodded, and together the three of them quickly crossed the way and headed for the Gloucester Street Coffee House. The hostlers were readying the horses and others were loading large sacks onto the top of the mail coach.

  The driver glanced down at her from his box and said, “You’re the family headed to York?”

  She nodded. “Y-yes, we are.” Heavens, her nerves were on end.

  “I thought the fellow said there were four of you.”

  “I’m not certain if my…husband will make it in time,” she replied, feeling so strange referring to Marc in such a way. “He says we’re to leave without if him if he’s not here.”

  “Good of him, missus.” The driver laughed, seemingly at her expense. “As the royal mail waits for no one.”

  No, of course it didn’t. She was such a ninny and her cheeks stung from embarrassment.

  “Climb on in,” he urged. “The royal mail waits for no one.”

  Oh. Blast it! She was awful at this. Caroline nodded quickly and opened the door to the coach, for what might possibly be the first time in her life that she’d ever done such a thing. Goodness, what else would she need to do for herself in order to blend in? She had no idea, she was so accustomed to som
eone always being by to assist in whatever she might need at any given moment. But now she was completely alone with Rachel and Emma depending solely upon her. She silently prayed she was up to the task.

  Emma climbed inside the mail coach first. Rachel followed, shooting Caroline another accusatory glance, which was truly the last thing she needed at the moment.

  A steadying breath escaped Caroline just as she was about to climb into the coach after her daughters. And then a hand clutched her waist.

  Her heart stopped and she yelped.

  Before she could even think, a very familiar voice rumbled in her ear, “Miss me?”

  Marc!

  “Oh!” she exclaimed as relief washed over her. Caroline spun in her spot and threw her arms around his neck, barely noting his very drab attire. “You’re here.”

  He held her tightly for just a moment and kissed the side of her cheek. “Go on, love, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  She slid her arms from his neck and shot a glance toward the driver who was regarding them with a frown. “Yes, the royal mail waits for no one, I know.” Then she climbed inside the coach and found a stoic looking vicar and what she assumed was his wife, a sour faced woman all in black, on one bench, with Rachel and Emma sitting on the opposite one. They were to be squished, indeed.

  “Emma, up,” Caroline said. “You’ll have to sit on my lap.”

  As soon as she assumed her spot and Emma settled on her lap, Marc slid onto the bench beside her. He draped his arm around her shoulders and a relieved sigh escaped her. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing or how she would manage it, but with Marc beside her, every ounce of fear began to slip away.

  Finally, they were headed north! Marc breathed a sigh of relief when the couple traveling with them climbed out of the coach at Biggleswade and no one else climbed in. A short respite for the next day, he was certain, but a respite just the same.

  Rachel slid to the opposite bench, and Emma followed her lead, then she curled up and laid her head in her sister’s lap. In no time, the little girl was fast asleep, but her sister was wide-awake and casting a censorious glance in Marc’s direction. That was to be expected, he supposed. Rachel had, after all, discovered him only partially clothed and heading to her mother’s bedchamber just a few hours ago.

  He squeezed Caroline’s shoulder slightly, and when she looked up at him, her usual bright eyes were dulled from exhaustion and his heart ached a bit. “Emma has the right idea. Why don’t you fall asleep, my dear? We may not have this whole thing to ourselves the rest of the way to York.”

  “How long to York?” Rachel asked.

  “London to York can be done in a little over twenty hours,” he replied. “But then we’ll have to switch coaches there.”

  “Yes.” Caroline sat up a little straighter against him. “Simmons said as much. He said you’ve done this a number of times.”

  “Every couple weeks or so,” he agreed.

  “You don’t like riding in your own carriage?” Rachel asked a bit waspishly. “You prefer…this?”

  Marc gestured for her to keep her voice down. They could still be overhead after all. “This is faster,” he told her quietly. “And my comings and goings aren’t noticed as they would be otherwise.”

  “Every couple weeks?” Caroline blinked up at him, expectantly.

  “Aye.” Marc nodded, though he didn’t explain more than that. They could, after all, be overheard if the driver was of a mind to do so, and Marc wasn’t willing to risk Callista’s safety by saying more than that at the moment.

  “There is so much about you I don’t know,” Caroline said.

  And she knew more than most. He smiled in response. “When we’ve reached our destination, you may ask me anything you’d like.” Saddleworth was the one place in the world he felt as though he could speak openly, as it was so far removed from Society.

  “May I ask anything I’d like as well?” Rachel asked.

  “Of course.” After all, Marc wasn’t certain he could stop the girl if he tried. “Though I’ll decide what I choose to answer.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly at his response, but she thankfully didn’t say anything else.

  Marc almost felt sorry for whatever fellow she brought up to scratch in the years to come. He had a feeling she would keep that man on his toes every day of his life.

  Caroline settled back against him, and Marc slid his arm around her shoulders. And for the first time in the last few hours, she smiled as she closed her eyes.

  “I think,” she began softly, “I am going to come up with a list of questions.”

  Belatedly, Marc regretted not stipulating the removal of an article of clothing for each question she asked. Perhaps he could negotiate that in once they reached Saddleworth.

  Chapter 23

  Good heavens, Caroline was beyond sore, and she was certain she’d never smelled so poorly in all of her days. Twenty-two hours to York and another two and a half to Driffield, and an additional half-hour in the back of a sheep cart to Saddleworth Hall. In the distance, the dark stone Elizabethan manor was a beacon of safety and civilization and perhaps the most welcome site she had ever seen.

  “Not very friendly at the ‘all,” the farmer said as he pulled his cart to a stop. “Can’t imagine they’ll be ‘appy as a pig in muck to see ya.”

  “Aye, my brother says the marquess is a right old bastard,” Marc agreed with a nod, having assumed a rather strong Yorkshire accent as soon as they arrived in Driffield. “But I’ve got mouths to feed. I ‘ave to see if they ‘ave somethin’ for me.”

  “Can understand that,” the farmer said. “If they throw ya out on yan arse, ‘ead into the village. Talk to ‘ornby at the Swan and Rose. Might ‘ave somethin’ to tide ya over.”

  Marc thanked the sheep farmer for his hospitality and tried to pay the man a few coins for his troubles, but the farmer wouldn’t hear of it as Marc had ‘mouths to feed’. Then he urged his cart and old bay down the lane, leaving Marc, Caroline, Rachel, and Emma to walk the short distance to the Saddleworth gates.

  “Funny,” Rachel muttered under her breath. “I’ve heard the same thing about the marquess.”

  “Rachel!” Caroline’s mouth fell open in shock, but Marc seemed to bite back a smile. At least he wasn’t offended. Still, she and Rachel were going to have a long conversation about her general demeanor once they were settled at the Hall.

  Not even a moment later, a hulking gate keeper hurried with great purpose from his post toward them. But as he got closer, his stride slowed just a bit and a smile spread across his face. “We didn’t expect ya, milord.”

  “I didn’t send word,” Marc replied, having dropped his adopted accent altogether and sounding much more like himself. “Take the lady’s valise, Barrow. We’ve had a long journey of it.”

  “Oh, aye, of course.” The gate keeper quickly took Caroline’s valise and reached for Marc’s as well. “’er ladyship will be so pleased to see ya.”

  But Marc shook his head, keeping his luggage in his grasp. “I can manage,” he told his servant.

  And then the five of them ambled through the foreboding iron and stone gate and down the path to Saddleworth Hall. Exhaustion had long since seeped into their bones. Emma and Rachel said very little and Caroline even less as they made their way toward the manor house.

  The lands of Saddleworth were lovely, the quiet wood that they traveled through and then the picturesque gardens that they came upon. But once they finally reached the Hall’s grand entrance, Caroline wasn’t certain if she’d ever been so happy to be anywhere in her life.

  As they reached the door, it opened and a middle-aged butler stood just inside the threshold. He seemed young for a butler, honestly, and his dark eyes rounded in surprise when they landed on Marc. “Milord!” He stepped aside for them to enter the manor house.

  “Robson,” Marc began, “Lady Staveley and her daughters will be staying with us. Please have her ladyship set up in the marchione
ss’ chambers and her daughters near Lady Callista.”

  “Of course, milord.” The butler reached his hand out for Marc’s valise, which he handed over without hesitation.

  “I’m sure her ladyship would like a bath drawn and for her daughters as well.”

  “I’ll see that it’s done.”

  “Perfect,” Marc said as he started down the corridor alone. “And please send for my daughter. I would like to see her.”

  Caroline watched him go and was a little surprised that he hadn’t said anything to her before he departed for parts unknown. But perhaps he was just as tired as she was.

  Marc sank into the over-stuffed leather chair behind the desk in his study and took his first breath of relief since before they’d fled London. It was good to be home. Good not to have to look over his shoulder at any given moment. Good to drop his usual façade and just be himself, or it would be once he peeled off the ratty clothes he’d worn for over a day.

  Of course, he’d have to find some way to explain all of this to Callista. He had no idea at all how his daughter would take this sudden invasion of her space, an invasion that might not end any time soon.

  “Papa!” As though his thoughts of her had conjured Callie up, she raced into his study and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re here. But why—”

  He squeezed her tight and kissed her cheek. “On my life, you get prettier every time I see you.”

  “Papa!” she laughed as she pushed away from him. “You are silly.”

  “You’re the only one who thinks so,” he told her and cupped the side of her face. She was such a precious child. “How are the French lessons?”

  “Tu m'es manqué, Papa.” She grinned at him.

  He couldn’t help but smile in return. “I missed you too, love.” Though she did need to work on her accent. He’d have to have yet another conversation with her governess about that. “Sit down for a minute, Callie, I have something to talk to you about.”