“Nonsense, Cousin!” Charles protested. “One does not come to the theater to hide in one’s box. Miss Barrett, and you of course, are quite the talk of the ton. If you aren’t seen talking and flirting amongst everyone else during intermission then the opportunity to see and be seen has been wasted.”
“I really don’t care to see and be seen, Mr. Balfour,” Jane protested. The Duchess of Elsingham had clearly not been so hesitant. The very second the curtain had begun to drop, she’d been out of her chair and diving into the fray.
“You may not, my dear,” he continued in his same wheedling tone, “But others do. It would not do as the future Duchess of Elsingham to be seen as standoffish or cold. You must set an example.”
“She doesn’t feel well, Charles. Leave off. In fact, Miss Barrett, if you prefer, we can leave the performance early and return home,” Marcus offered.
“No,” Jane replied instantly. It would be utterly disastrous to be alone with him. She didn’t trust herself or him. Perhaps being in a crowd of people was the best possible option regardless of how distasteful she found it. “As much as I might dislike admitting it, your cousin is correct. We should socialize and behave as any other affianced couple might… regardless of the rather strange circumstances we have found ourselves in.”
“If you’re certain then?” Althorn asked.
“I’m not, but it won’t hurt anything to be sociable,” Jane replied easily.
He only arched one eyebrow imperiously. “Very well then. Let us go and entertain the masses. It’s a bit like being a gladiator in Rome, is it not?”
Jane rose and took his proffered arm. “They likely fared better and were less likely to be eaten alive,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He was still chuckling under his breath as they made their way out into the lobby where the other patrons were gathered, drinking their lemonade and gossiping at a volume that was positively deafening. As they walked down, the crowd parted. Voices dropped to the merest whisper, but the sheer quantity of whispers still created an undeniable hum.
“Will it ever stop?” Jane asked softly. “Will we be objects of curiosity forever or will your disappearance and reappearance fall out of fashion as a topic of conversation?”
“There will always be new gossip, Miss Barrett,” he answered levelly. “Besides, isn’t this your stock in trade?”
“It’s very ungentlemanly of you to bring that up,” she pointed out. Then she teased in return, “One might think you weren’t brought up as a gentleman, in fact. You might not even be a real marquess!”
*
Marcus bit back the retort that instantly sprang to his lips. She wouldn’t appreciate offers to behave ungentlemanly enough to make her forget that she was a lady. Not to mention that they were hardly in a place to make such ribald comments. “Miss Barrett, you wound me. I’ve been devoid of the comforts of my English home for so long. Is it any wonder that I have forgotten such things?”
She didn’t laugh, but he could see the amusement in her eyes as she lifted her glass of watered down lemonade to her lips and sipped daintily. The round of well wishes began immediately. A nameless and faceless throng of people descended upon them, congratulating them on their betrothal, on his delayed return home, on the end to their enforced period of mourning and how lovely it was to be seen out in society again.
“Were you out in society all that much?” Marcus whispered to her.
“I was never out in society. There was no need for it. My father’s fortune had already caught a husband for me,” she answered rather acerbically.
“Oh, my dear heavens! We thought you were dead, my boy! Dead as a doornail!”
Marcus groaned. A simple outing with his betrothed and a small flirtation had now turned into a farce, except it wasn’t even remotely amusing. Lady Olmsworth was the last person in the world he wished to get stuck conversing with. She always had rather unfortunate breath and a propensity to be long-winded. The two did not go well together. Not to mention that she’d been half in love with Marcus’ father for the entirety of his young life and would, no doubt, wax poetic about just how much Marcus looked like him, just as she had on every other occasion.
“I am quite hale and hearty, as you can see,” he assured her. “Please excuse us… Miss Barrett has grown overly warm with the crowd. We must get her some air. Pardon me, Lady Olmsworth, Lady Devers.”
Taking Jane by the elbow, he led her toward the door. “If you could faint, much like you did at your first sight of me, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“I cannot faint on command!” she hissed back at him. “Where on earth are we going?”
“Anywhere that Lady Olmsworth is not,” he answered. “And unless you want to be regaled with tales of how handsome my father was, what a wild buck he was back in the day, and just how many times she cuckolded her late husband with him, you’ll try to look a bit peaked and wan right now.”
Jane blanched at is description. “Oh, dear heavens.”
“That’ll do nicely,” he said, taking in her horrified expression.
“Lord Althorn!”
They both glanced back at the bellowed greeting. It was Lord Ainstruther, a family connection to the duchess, who’d often been in attendance at the family’s home. The man was long-winded, loud, rather smelly and had an unfortunate habit of staring at Jane’s breasts as if they might actually pop out of her gown at any moment.
“If I feign a swoon, you must promise to catch me,” she said.
“I swear it on my life.”
Dutifully, Jane sank against him. It was overdone, possibly the worst display of acting in the history of the theater and would likely fool no one. It did give them a convenient excuse.
“It’s the heat,” he said. “Charles, we must go… I’m terribly sorry.”
Charles smiled. “Not to worry, Cousin. I’ve seen this piece performed several times already. Let’s get Miss Barrett home, shall we? I’ll collect her grace if you want to get her bundled into the carriage.”
“Straightaway,” Marcus agreed as he ushered the unnaturally limp form of his betrothed out the door. Next to her ear, he whispered, “You’d make a terrible spy.”
“Were you a terrible spy?” she asked.
“I was a very good spy. Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” he offered suggestively. “I’ve heard such tales of daring are very seductive.”
Her eye roll was all the answer he required. “Just get me into that coach before I trip and do injury to us both.”
Marcus glanced up and their carriage was in the line that flanked the street. It was already being pulled forward. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, it was just in front of them.
Helping Jane into the conveyance, he climbed in after her. His intent had been to leave the door open for propriety’s sake as they awaited Charles and his stepmother. But the carriage door closed with a remarkable amount of force and the horses lurched forward almost instantly.
Marcus reached for the handle of the door only to discover that it was curiously absent. His banging on the ceiling of the carriage was ignored by the driver.
“What is happening?” Jane asked.
“I believe we’re being kidnapped,” he replied easily.
“Surely you jest!”
“I do not jest… not now. We are being abducted and for what reason I cannot begin to say, but I’ve little doubt that Charles is behind it.
*
Charles waited for a full five minutes, giving the carriage ample time to get away. The driver had clear instructions to take them to a small cottage near one of Marcus’ lesser estates. He would recognize the dwelling and also recognize just how far removed it was from any other residence, including his own. In the dark and the cold, they would have no option but to spend the night there together without a chaperone. Unless, of course, he elected to jump from the carriage, but Charles wasn’t worried on that front. Marcus would never dream of abandoning Miss Barrett to the less than tender me
rcies of whomever might be responsible for their abduction.
Just as he’d imagined, the duchess cried out in dismay. “Where on earth is our carriage? Surely they would not have gone off without us!”
“I confess, my dear aunt, that I overheard them speaking of an elopement,” Charles said, just loud enough to be overheard by anyone else who’d stepped outside for some air.
“What a silly thing to do when they are already betrothed!” she pouted.
“They have waited far too long already… or so I heard Marcus profess to dear Miss Barrett,” Charles continued. “No doubt they will be wed by the time they return.”
The duchess cried out in dismay. “How could they do this to us? How could they deprive of us of the joy of planning a wedding… and a ball? And all of those lovely gowns we were going to shop for together! Oh, that hateful, vile wretch! I know it was all her idea!”
By the time the Duchess of Elsingham had finished her litany, two dozen eager ears were trained on them. Charles patted her arm congenially. “There, there! My poor, dear aunt! I’m certain that when they return from their elopement we can plan a proper ball to celebrate their marriage. Who could refuse to pay homage to such a joyous occasion, after all?”
The duchess sniffed and wiped away her feigned tears. “You’re quite right, Charles. I’m certain they didn’t mean to be selfish.”
It was all going just as they’d planned. “I’ll get us a hack for the journey home… I do apologize for the terrible inconvenience and for you having to ride in such a low conveyance.”
One of the many men listening intently stepped forward. “Nonsense, Balfour! I’d never dream of letting her grace ride in a lowly hack. Let me see you both home in my fine barouche!”
“Thank you, Lord Ramsleigh,” the duchess gushed. “How very chivalrous you are!”
He patted her arm and then brought her hand to his lips. “Think nothing of it, my dear. I couldn’t help but overhear what a trying evening you’ve had. How very thoughtless of your stepson and his betrothed to take off in such a manner and leave you stranded!”
She tittered and smiled as if on cue. “You are too kind, Lord Ramsleigh.”
Charles watched the other man lead her off and then fell in step behind them. The entirety of London society would be talking about the elopement. If they refused to marry when they returned, they would both be ruined. Smiling, Charles thanked his lucky stars for his love and the twisted machinations of her mind. Watching her with Lord Ramsleigh, even he was half-convinced she had been taken completely unawares by the absconding couple, much less had a hand in it herself.
Chapter Twelve
The carriage had rumbled along for what seemed to be hours. They were well out of the city and the carriage lamps only provided so much visibility in the yawning darkness. But as the vehicle slowed, Marcus sat up straighter. He could hear other voices and the sounds of other horses. It was obviously a prearranged rendezvous.
“If they ask you to get out of the carriage, do not,” he warned. “You’ll be safer in here.”
“They? How many of them do you think there are?” Jane asked, a hint of panic creeping into her voice.
“No more than one or two, I imagine. If they mean to ransom us back, they will likely not harm either one of us, but we should take no chances,” he countered, trying very hard not to alarm her. In truth, he suspected many more than that, but there was little point in increasing her fear which was surely considerable to begin with.
But Jane, even in their current predicament, was thinking everything through. “And if they don’t mean to ransom us back? If they mean to eliminate us so that Charles can have the title?”
“It’s a title with no fortune at present and I don’t believe that Charles has the kind of time necessary to court and woo an heiress. He’s been gambling, you see, and losing very heavily,” Marcus reminded her. He prayed fervently that those responsible for abducting them were not after repayment of one of Charles’ debts.
But as they sat there, the coach grew quieter. The creaking of the box as the driver disembarked faded into silence and no one came to the side of the carriage. Even the horses had stopped their whinnying and snorting. The stillness was almost unnatural. They had gone, Marcus realized, and left them there.
“They’re not coming to let us out, are they? We’re locked in this carriage!” The panicked tone of her voice was not one he was accustomed to, but then being locked in such a small space was not something she was accustomed to. He was altogether too familiar with it.
“No,” he said. “I can get the carriage door open. As long as it isn’t moving, we can get out safely. Get back as far as you can.”
When Jane had eased to the far corner of the carriage, Marcus gripped the frame near the door and brought his foot up, kicking it until the latch finally broke loose and the door swung open. By the end of it, his leg was aching, his recently healed wounds protesting such strenuous activity.
Easing out into the darkness, he cursed softly. It was nearly pitch black, but it didn’t matter. He recognized the countryside and the surrounding landmarks well enough. He felt Jane moving behind him, leaning out the carriage door.
“Where are we?”
“South of London… near Whitehaven, one of our smaller estates,” he said.
Jane breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Then we can get help from the staff!”
“When the sun comes up, yes… but not before. This is the countryside, Jane. They’ve brought us out into the middle of nowhere, really… it’s all farmland and woods. There are wolves, Jane, and in the long winter months they grow very hungry. We cannot risk it until daylight.”
He saw her pause. Then he saw that the reality of their situation and the knowledge that they faced just as great a danger from nature as from men settle in upon her. “So we wait in the carriage then?” The question revealed her reluctance to stay cooped up in the small enclosure any longer. He didn’t relish it either.
“There is a house just there,” he said and pointed beyond the carriage on the other side. “It’s a small cottage. No one lives in it, but it’s kept stocked with blankets and firewood for the gamekeeper when he’s out this far from the house. We aren’t just near one of my estates, Jane. We’re on it. But we’re still at least a mile from the house in the dark, and that’s if we go cross country. If we follow the road, we’re at least three miles and heaven knows what we might encounter along the way.”
“So we’ll spend the night there… alone? Just the two of us? You can’t be serious.”
Marcus sighed. “They took the damned horses. We can’t even drive the carriage ourselves. We’ve no other option.”
“Did you plan this? Is this your way of forcing my hand, of forcing me to agree to marry you? I’ll be ruined!” she protested.
“I have more honor than that. I asked you to be my wife and I agreed to give you the time to make a decision on your own, Miss Barrett,” he said, biting the words off sharply. “I’ll not be impugned in such a manner by you or anyone else! Have I done anything that would make you think so ill of me, Jane? Do you honestly believe I am that lacking in honor?”
“Who else has anything to gain from seeing us wed?”
Charles. “I can’t say for certain… I would imagine that my cousin, and his outing to the theater, were all part of a much bigger plan. No doubt, he has been offered ample financial compensation for his role in this and, no doubt, my father and your father were quite thrilled with the plan.”
She looked away then. It wasn’t an argument that could be easily refuted. “Do we really have so little say in our own lives? You’ve been home for less than a sennight and they’ve already managed and schemed us into an impossible situation. There is no coming back from this, Marcus… now neither one of us has a choice!”
“Let’s get inside before we freeze, Jane. I’ll build a fire. When we’re both warm and reasonably more calm, we’ll discuss it further.” Marcus offered her his hand. H
e watched her hesitate. Dark as it was, there was just enough moonlight in the small clearing for him to see it.
“This isn’t how things should happen.” Her voice was tremulous and she was clearly overset by all of it. He couldn’t blame her.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry… but it cannot be undone.”
She took his hand then and allowed him to lead her toward the house. It was a small gesture, but it proved that despite her earlier suspicions, likely borne out of nothing more than panic and the trauma of the evening, she trusted him. That, in and of itself, was more than enough to appease him.
*
Charles entered the house with the duchess. They hadn’t returned straightaway but had enjoyed a long drive that allowed them to indulge their own passions. Ramsleigh was an old friend, after all, and had been more than willing to be dropped off at his club and allow them use of his conveyance. If anyone asked, they would simply state that they were keeping up the appearance of searching for Marcus and his stolen bride.
As they stepped into the foyer and divested themselves of their cloaks, they could hear shouting from the library.
“Riggs, what on earth are they going on about now?” Cassandra asked, her tone clearly revealing her impatience with both her husband and Mr. Barrett.
“Your grace, I believe that Mr. Barrett is somewhat upset about rumors that were circulated in a publication by the name of the London Ladies’ Gazette. They have been arguing quite bitterly for the past hour,” the butler informed her gravely. “I am fearful for his grace’s health, under the circumstances. Such tempers are not good for him.”
Cassandra nodded. “We’ll attend to it, Riggs. Thank you.”
When the butler had vanished, presumably to do whatever it was that butlers did, she whirled on Charles. “Do you know anything about this? Have you done something utterly stupid that will wreck our plans?”
Charles glared at her in indignation. “I’ve done only what we agreed to. What the devil would I know about the Ladies of London Gazette?”
“London Ladies’ Gazette,” she corrected. “The only person in this house who even reads that nonsense is Miss Barrett! One would think with her obsession with puerile gossip, she’d be a more interesting companion!”
The Missing Marquess of Althorn (The Lost Lords Book 3) Page 14
