“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said in an unsteady voice, her face flushed.
He wanted to ask if felicitations with Winslow were in order, but there was no point. He couldn’t take a bride to France and subject her to danger, not until those who wanted him dead were dealt with. He bowed and quit the room before he gave in to the impulse.
As he strode to his carriage, a girl with fair plaits crossed the gravel drive with a big golden-haired hound in tow. The dog showed his teeth and growled.
She patted his large head. “Down, Wolf.”
Wolf obligingly sat.
Daniel bowed his head. “I believe you are Lady Mercy.”
She bobbed a curtsey. “I am, Your Grace.”
“I am relieved to see your beauty was not spoiled by your recent accident.”
Her eyes clouded and she put a hand to a tiny red mark on her chin. “I’ve been improving my nose with an implement I fashioned from a piece of wire.” She gave a trembling sigh.
Daniel saw it and his heart filled with sympathy. “Your nose is classical, Lady Mercy,” he said lending gravitas to his tone. “I feel it would be a shame to alter the shape.”
He was rewarded with a grateful smile which lit her blue eyes. “Oh, do you think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
She studied his waiting carriage. “Father says phaetons are dangerous.”
“When they are raced, most certainly. But any vehicle is dangerous if you’re reckless or unskilled.” He leapt up into the carriage and released the reins. His greys stamped their hooves, keen to be gone. “I bid you adieu, Lady Mercy.”
She offered him a small, shy smile. “Au revoir, Your Grace. Come, Wolf.” Mercy walked back to the house with her faithful hound in tow.
Another pretty Baxendale girl to set London ablaze in a few years. Daniel guided his team down the carriage drive. He turned to gaze back at the handsome house, which was not a rambling gothic nightmare like some but a charming, well-proportioned dwelling, built of local sandstone and set amongst pretty gardens. A family home, he thought, with a flash of yearning. Something that seemed more remote to him than ever.
He returned to his task ahead and gritted his teeth. Sophie. Would he find her in time? The thought of her hurt made him want to commit murder.
****
Hope was reliving her brief moment in Daniel’s firm embrace. She quickly banished the thought when Charity walked into the room. She carried a canvas, bringing with her the familiar smell of oil paint.
“His Grace didn’t stay long.”
“He believes Sophie has eloped and has gone after her.”
“If she wants to marry, she’s old enough, surely?”
“Daniel doesn’t know who’s behind it. The man could be a fortune hunter. He could be dangerous. Anything might happen. I should have told him sooner about Sophie’s interest in Mr. Braithwaite.”
“But you couldn’t. You were sworn to secrecy.”
“It was awkward.” She sighed. “I regret not at least trying to explain more to her about the way of things in London. Strangely, living in York, she has been sheltered more than we have in some ways.”
“Would the duke force Sophie to marry a man of his choice?”
“I can’t believe that of him.”
Daniel wasn’t a harsh man, but even her father could be strict when he considered his actions to be justified by society’s decrees. Hope sat thoughtfully fidgeting with the fringed sash of her apple green morning dress. Would it have mattered what she’d said to Sophie? Sophie was a force of nature. She’d swept into their lives and hadn’t been much affected by the ton. Rather, it had been the other way around.
Charity replaced one of her paintings on the wall with her latest work.
“I like that one,” Hope said, rising to study it.
It was of their barn, the timbers richly defined against a dark green woodland backdrop, with their cat, Sable, in the foreground, preening in the sun. Even with her mind elsewhere, Hope was suddenly aware of just how talented her sister was.
When she heard the clatter of the barouche in the driveway, she hurried to the window to watch her parents arrive.
Her mother walked into the parlor while her father stalked down the corridor to his study. They heard the door slam.
“I have nothing new to tell you. I was aware that Lady Sophie lacked manners, but to go off like this….”
Tears flooded Hope’s eyes and anxiety gripped her chest as she explained about Daniel’s visit. “What if something terrible has happened to Sophie?”
Her mother put an arm around her. “Don’t be too distressed, my love. His Grace will locate her. I believe he is correct in assuming she has run away with some fellow. That young woman was determined to have her way. I knew it from the outset.”
Chapter Seventeen
Driving toward London on the turnpike road, Daniel found success at the first respectable inn he pulled into. The innkeeper informed him that a lady answering Sophie’s description had stayed the night with her brother, a tall, red-haired gentleman.
“Well dressed he was and he tipped very generously, too.” The proprietor looked expectant.
“As shall I, good fellow.”
He consulted his register. “A Mr. Branson and Miss Branson. They took separate chambers and departed after an early breakfast.”
“What sort of vehicle did they travel in?”
“The gentleman drove a cabriolet, Your Grace.”
Daniel nodded. They’d travel slowly in a small carriage with just one horse. He would catch them.
After tipping the innkeeper in a similar manner to the mysterious Mr. Braithwaite, Daniel took to the road. He held on to the knowledge that this man cared for Sophie’s reputation, at least as far as appearances were concerned.
Daniel overtook a laden stagecoach and a slow, lumbering cart and increased his pace. A stage could travel from Brighton to London in four hours. But Mr. Braithwaite appeared to be in no hurry. They would have to rest the horse at some stage, and it was doubtful they’d make London by nightfall.
He’d found no sign of them during the day. As night approached with a heavy bank of clouds blocking any chance of moonlight, he tamped down his impatience and pulled into the yard of a coaching inn. Daniel was about to question the proprietor when he heard a familiar tinkling laugh. He spun around. Sophie!
He strode into the coffee room, and the tight hold he’d had on himself evaporated. She sat smiling at a stranger, a coffee cup in her hand, as if it was a perfectly normal occurrence. Hiding his profound relief, he approached their table. “Mr. Branson? Or is it Braithwaite?”
Sophie flinched at the tone of his voice. “Daniel!”
The man leapt to his feet. He bowed. “Braithwaite, Your Grace.”
“I hoped you were back in England, Daniel, I—” Sophie began.
Daniel silenced her with a quelling look and directed his question at the man standing before him. “You have acted like a scoundrel, sir.”
Braithwaite pointed to the spare chair. “Please be seated, Your Grace. I cannot sit until you do, and it’s been a long, tiring day.”
Surprised at the man’s mild tone, Daniel shelved his intention to demand the fellow come outside, where the matter would be swiftly sorted with his fists. He pulled out a chair and studied Sophie’s abductor. Braithwaite was older than he’d expected, perhaps closer to forty and soberly dressed.
“Daniel, Mr. Braithwaite is driving me home to London, where he planned to consult you.”
“Then why not return home in the proper manner, Sophie, having given your gracious hosts an idea of your direction?”
Sophie reddened. “I didn’t think it fair to involve Hope—”
“So you left her confused and worried.”
“If I might be allowed to explain, Your Grace.” Braithwaite calmly stroked a coppery sideburn. “Lady Sophie has a somewhat impetuous nature, of which I’m sure you’re aware.” He paused to give her a f
ond smile. “I have tried to convince her that I’m not a suitable husband for a duke’s daughter. But she won’t hear of it. She felt the only way we could marry would be to go to Gretna Green. I was never of the same notion; I prefer to act honorably. But you were away in France, Your Grace, and Sophie was threatening to run away and come to live with me in my modest digs in Town. In your absence, I felt it behooved me to keep her safe, so I arranged to meet her in Tunbridge Wells.”
Daniel glanced at Sophie, who was remarkably quiet. She gazed at Braithwaite, her expression a mixture of frustration and affection.
“Once I had her in my safekeeping,” Braithwaite continued, “I proceeded to escort her to your home in London, where I hoped to find you. I will, of course, abide by any decision you make. I pray you will think on it first, however, and not judge me too harshly. I love your half-sister, you see. I believe I can be a good husband to Sophie and wish very much to make her my wife.”
Sophie’s eyes pleaded with him. “We plan to travel abroad, Daniel, to Egypt.”
“I have no illusions about the difference in our class,” Braithwaite said. “Sophie deserves so much more than I can offer her. But I’m not without means. We are not aristocrats, it’s true, but we are not poor.”
“Horace has studied at Oxford and traveled the world,” Sophie said with a proud, proprietorial smile.
“I’d like to learn more about that,” Daniel said.
Braithwaite immediately launched into a list of his credentials. They were impressive, but it was Sophie’s smile, which finally made up Daniel’s mind. He felt instinctively that she would be safe with this man. Safer perhaps, than with him at this moment. He beckoned to a male servant who hovered uncertainly in the room. “Tell the ostler to stable my horses for the night. We shall require a private parlor and three bedchambers. And bring me a bottle of your best wine.”
He sat back and folded his arms. He’d handled Sophie badly. He’d been too intent on arranging her life to suit him. He should have given her his full attention and not let her fob him off when he’d tried to learn what was in her heart. “I can’t approve of the way you’ve gone about this, sir, but you have my sympathy. I’ve come to know my half-sister well.”
Sophie laughed. She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Daniel, Hope is not yet engaged to Winslow. Should he ask her to marry him, her father will insist that she accept him, and I know she doesn’t wish it.”
Pained, his pulse beat hard in his throat. “Did she mention why she’s averse to Winslow’s suit?” He had to know more, although much good it would do him. He was like a man in a desert, desperate for water, when it came to news of Hope.
“She doesn’t love him. But in a sennight, she and her family are to attend a house party at the duke’s estate.”
Frustrated, he downed the last of his wine in a gulp. He placed the glass on the table. If he left early in the morning, he would reach Town by midday.
“You are old enough to know your own mind, Sophie. I hope in the future you will not regret your decision.” He smiled. “Somehow, I doubt you will.” He visualized her wandering with her husband amongst the pyramids in Egypt, collecting artifacts for the museum. It seemed a perfect role in life for her. Her archeologist was obviously a well-educated fellow with a sound, rational mind.
“Will you give me away, Daniel?”
“I’d be honored. And I’ll assist with a special license and attend your wedding. But there won’t be time for me to offer all the trappings a woman wants for her trousseau.”
“As if that matters,” Sophie said. “You have done quite enough for me, Daniel.” She took Braithwaite’s hand and gazed into his eyes.
“I believe you’ll appreciate a quick wedding, Braithwaite,” Daniel said with a grin. “You won’t find peace until you’re married.”
Braithwaite raised an amused eyebrow. “Peace? I believe you jest, Your Grace.”
He liked the man’s calm grey eyes. “Daniel, please.”
“Horace,” Braithwaite said, offering his hand.
You could tell a lot by a man’s handshake. Braithwaite’s was firm and decisive. “Now will you join me for dinner?” Daniel beckoned to the servant. “Unless I’ve missed my guess, I can smell the rich aroma of roast beef wafting from the kitchen.”
After a hearty repast, Daniel sat down in his chamber and penned a letter to Hope. He briefly described the situation to alleviate her fears. He wanted to say so much more, but it would have to wait until he saw her.
Heavy hearted, he put down the quill and rose to go to the fireplace, where sweet apple wood burned. Gazing into the flames, he admitted he would miss Sophie in spite of all the headaches she gave him.
Two days later, Sophie walked down the aisle of the small London church on Daniel’s arm. Dressed in a simple yellow gown and brown straw bonnet adorned with daisies, she looked radiant. Waiting for her, Horace Braithwaite looked like a man who’d died and found he’d gone to heaven.
The matter of her dowry was settled, which Braithwaite insisted was to be invested in her name.
After the simple ceremony, they went to a hotel to celebrate with champagne. “I hope you know that, should you need me, you have only to contact me,” Daniel said when Horace had left them alone.
Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. “I am so grateful to you, Daniel. I don’t know where I’d be but for you. You’ve given me everything.”
“That’s not true, my dear, but thank you.”
“But it is. The past is no longer a heavy weight on my heart. You made me believe in the goodness of men again. And I was able to appreciate those qualities in Horace.”
He smiled. “You’ve given me something very precious too, Sophie.”
“Surely not. I had nothing to give.”
“You opened my eyes to what I’d been denying myself. That I wanted a wife and family again.”
Her eyes widened. “I did that?”
“You did.” He kissed her cheek.
Sophie clutched his sleeve. “Go back to Hope, Daniel. Don’t delay. Go now.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Stop meddling.”
“Make sure you tell Hope, that I’m sorry I caused her so much worry.”
“Please avail yourself of my Mayfair house, or indeed my house in Ham, for your honeymoon,” Daniel said when Horace returned. “I shall not be there.”
“Where will you be Daniel?” Sophie asked him with an innocent expression.
“Never you mind, Mrs. Braithwaite.”
“That’s good of you,” Horace said. “But I have booked into a hotel. My wife and I”—he paused to bestow a loving smile on Sophie—“shall leave for Cairo at the end of next week.”
****
When the post brought two letters, Hope took the one addressed to her and hurried to where Charity sat in the morning room on the cerise-striped chintz sofa beside the canary in its cage.
Daniel’s note had been sent from a coaching inn. He wrote that all was well with Sophie. “Only fancy,” Hope said, admiring Daniel’s elegant cursive, “Sophie is to marry the man she ran away with. But Daniel seems quite at peace with it, for Braithwaite turns out to be an archeologist and a man of means.”
“I’m pleased for her,” Charity said. “Sophie would never have fitted into London society.”
“I believe you’re right.” Hope re-read the letter for something she might have missed. Some sign from Daniel that he wanted her, but she could find nothing. She dropped the letter onto the table. “He says nothing about returning.”
“He can hardly put everything in a letter,” Charity said in a consoling tone.
“I suppose not.” Hope rose and went to the birdcage where the canary hopped about and chirped. “Although some hint would have been appreciated.”
“I doubt he would do that. If he wants to marry you, he will come and speak to Father and ask you properly.”
“What makes you think he wants to marry me?”
“It�
��s obvious in the way he looks at you. We artists are observant,” Charity said. She raised her brows. “I can also tell that you want him.”
“I’ve tried not to care about him,” Hope admitted. “This is all such a horrid mess that I can’t see it happening. With Winslow about to propose, if Daniel came today on bended knee, Father would send him packing.” She sighed. “And then there’s the matter of leaving you all to live in France.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible.”
“Don’t give up just yet.” Charity chose an apple from the bowl on the table and, with a paring knife, sliced off a piece. When she thrust the fruit through the bars of the cage, the canary hopped down to peck at it.
Mama came into the room. “Here you are. We’ve received an invitation from the Duke of Winslow. He has brought his house party forward to this coming Saturday. Something has arisen with the king apparently. It’s for the best, I daresay. We need to have this matter settled with the birth of Honor’s baby almost upon us. Come to your bedroom, Hope. We must prepare your wardrobe. You will need to look your best. And don’t look at me like that, my dear. We shall see how you feel when, and if, a proposal should come about.”
Hope sucked in a breath and cast an anguished glance at Charity. “Mama expects me to be so overwhelmed by the duke’s estate I’ll say yes,” she whispered.
“Most ladies would be,” Charity said. “But you don’t need to.”
Hope hurried after her mother, whose voice could be heard from the stairs. She relayed her news about Sophie’s elopement.
Her mother’s eyes widened. “First Faith’s friend Rosalind running off to marry a doctor, and now this. Has the world gone mad?”
If Daniel should ask her, Hope was sure she would do the same.
Chapter Eighteen
A letter arrived from de Villèle, advising Daniel that the men who’d plotted to stop him now languished in a French prison. The discontented Spaniards desperately wanted France’s help in their desire for Spanish influence in the New World. He offered his assurance that Daniel was in no further danger.
Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Page 13
