by Cheryl Bolen
He was in no mood for frivolity. “Rain,” he grumbled. Then he pulled out his map. It was beginning to tear along the folds, but he didn’t care. His only interest in it was as a prop to keep him from having to converse with the others, to allow him to mull over the painful scene with Fiona.
“Did you know, Mr. Hollingsworth,” Maggie said, “Lord Navigator is most obsessed with studying his map? Because of his unfaltering diligence I daresay we can be assured of arriving at our destination in the quickest possible time.”
Randolph lifted a brow and regarded Edward. “Do you know where Broadmeadows is?” Randolph asked Edward.
“Not precisely.”
“Here, I’ll show you.”
Edward reluctantly released the fragile map.
“What is Broadmeadows?” Maggie asked.
“It’s Lord Agar’s farm on the outskirts of London,” Edward answered.
“Is that where we’ll stay?” she asked.
“You and Warwick will,” Randolph said, pointing to a spot just north of London. “It’s right about here.”
Edward leaned forward to peer at it at the same time as Maggie. He smelled roses. And thought about a cozy bedchamber at the Spotted Hound and Hare. Then he snatched the map away from Randolph and glowered over it for the next hour.
“I think it very clever of you,” Maggie said to Hollingsworth, “to leave the Warwick coach behind.”
“Actually, it’s Warwick who’s the clever one,” Randolph said. “He pointed out that the crest on his would be a dead give-away to anyone searching for you.”
She nodded. “Anyone looking for me would also be looking for two women--one in spectacles--so as difficult as it was, it’s a good thing I’ve left Becky behind."
“Indeed it is,” Randolph said.
“Do you suffer from motion sickness?” Maggie asked Hollingsworth a moment later.
“No. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “My poor sister does. She can’t read at all in a carriage.” Maggie lowered her voice. “Though he won’t admit it, I believe Lord Warwick also suffers from motion sickness.”
“I do not!” Edward protested.
“You don’t have to be such a bear,” Hollingsworth said.
“Oh, dear,” Maggie said. “He needs to eat breakfast.” She bent over the basket and began serving cold meats and hard-cooked eggs to her companions.
Edward quickly diverted his gaze from her cleavage.
“Lord Warwick’s quite the ogre when his stomach is empty,” Maggie said.
“Then perhaps we should have taken time for breakfast before leaving,” Randolph said, shooting a hostile glare at Edward.
“No, I think his lordship was right. We can easily trim a half hour from the journey just by eating breakfast in the carriage,” Maggie said.
“I’m for anything that will shorten the journey. There’s nothing I hate more than a long carriage ride.” Randolph reached into his pocket and withdrew a miniature cribbage board. “Can I interest you in a game of cribbage after you eat, my lady?”
She tossed a glance at Edward, who refused to look up. “Perhaps Lord Warwick would prefer to play with you for I know he shares your disdain for carriage travel. I, on the other hand, can amuse myself simply by looking out the window.”
The rain was softly tapping on the roof. If it intensified, Maggie was sure to become frightened. She needed a diversion far more than he. “No, you two go ahead and play,” Edward said.
But a half hour later he was to regret his decision. Not only because he was bored to distraction, but more specifically because of the provocative way Hollingsworth set the cribbage board on his bulging thighs and swiveled toward Maggie, their knees wedged together. Damn the man! And if that wasn't bad enough, the besotted Hollingsworth gaped down the bodice of her dress whenever her cards captured her attention. Damn the man!
Edward could feign interest in the damn map for only so long. Eventually he folded it and returned it to his pocket, then sat back and glared at the couple across from him. Not that he was aware he was glaring, of course.
Despite the dreariness of the weather, Maggie’s spirits were high. She chatted amiably with Hollingsworth, and they laughed frequently. Edward tried to discern if she was being flirtatious but decided she was not. She was not even being her seductive self. She spoke to Hollingsworth no differently that she would have spoken to Fiona or to Miss Peabody.
But Hollingsworth was another story. He gazed adoringly at her as if he were a love-struck schoolboy. His thirst to win--and, no doubt, to impress her--was nothing short of ruthless. He kept asking her if she needed the rug, if she was comfortable. He complimented her play. He praised her eyes, likening them to fresh coffee beans. Edward only barely refrained from punching his smug face.
“Harry Lyle said the countess’s eyes were haunting, like those of Anne Boleyn on the scaffold,” Edward said. Hollingsworth needed to know he wasn’t the only man courting Maggie.
“Which I must tell you I found exceedingly flattering,” Maggie said. “Though I had quite forgotten that Anne Boleyn’s eyes--at least in her paintings--are the exact shade as mine. I’ve always wished for eyes as blue as yours, Mr. Hollingsworth. Have you ever noted that more than half the people in the world have brown eyes? Blue eyes are not nearly so mundane.”
Perhaps she was being her flirtatious self, Edward amended. Damn Hollingsworth’s blue eyes! Edward snorted. “I daresay Attila the Hun was possessed of blue eyes.”
“And need I remind you, so is Fiona,” Randolph said, glaring at Edward. Then his gaze returned to Maggie. “What’s this about Harry Lyle? I shall be jealous.”
“Lyle is one of the lady’s many admirers,” Edward said. “She had hoped to receive an offer from him the day we suddenly had to travel north.”
Randolph’s face clouded. “I shall no longer consider Lyle one of my best friends. The rat.”
“I shouldn’t like for you to malign Mr. Lyle,” Maggie said, shooting a scowl at Edward. “He’s a very nice man--unless--” She threw a glance across the carriage to Edward.
“Hollingsworth knows everything,” Edward said.
“Everything?” She asked.
Edward nodded. “Even about The Scoundrel.”
“The Scoundrel?” Randolph asked.
“The man I lamentably married,” Maggie said. “The man whose death did not cost me a single tear.”
“But, then,” Edward said, “the countess does not shed tears when she’s truly distressed.”
With narrowed eyes, Hollingsworth looked from Maggie to Edward. “Are you sure you two have only known each other for a matter of weeks?”
It seemed impossible to Edward that he had known Maggie for only a month. How could she have infused herself into his mind and heart--and even his soul--in so short a time?
“I daresay Lord Warwick wishes he could turn back the clock to a time before he’d ever met me,” Maggie said with a little laugh.
Would he, if he could? How much less complex his life would have been had Maggie not charged into it, shaking up his heretofore predictable existence. But were he in a position to reorder his life, Edward would not change a thing. Not the day in Greenwich. Not his tortuous longing for Maggie. Every minute with her was a fleetingly precious gift. “Never that, my lady,” he said, remorse in his deep voice.
The farther south they went, the bluer the skies became. For Maggie’s sake, he was grateful. He didn’t like to think of her being frightened out of her wits. Especially when he would be powerless to comfort her.
* * *
That night at the inn Maggie begged to be excused as soon as she had eaten. Influenced by her sister, she told them she was desirous of curling up in her bed with a book.
But Edward shot a skeptical glance at her. “You’re at liberty, my lady, to read in the carriage. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you do NOT suffer from motion sickness.”
“You’re correct, but owing to the fact I prefer to be acco
mmodating to those I’m with, I choose not to be a bore during the trip.” She stepped toward the stairs, then turned back. “Mr. Hollingsworth has brought pasteboards. Tomorrow the three of us should play loo or some such game. It will make the journey go faster.”
“I certainly have no objections to that,” Edward said.
For her part, Maggie could not terminate the journey fast enough. Sitting across from Edward’s brooding countenance all day had been sheer torture. How fortunate Lady Fiona was.
Given her profound feelings for Edward, Maggie was not at all sure if she should offer any encouragement to Mr. Hollingsworth. In her words and actions with him today she had been able to maintain an impersonal distance. He was far too fine a man to marry a woman who could not give him her whole heart, and as long as Edward lived, Maggie would never be able to purge him from her heart.
But marriage really was her only option, and Randolph Hollingsworth was a fine catch. She could be Lady Agar—after he inherited, of course.
She removed her blue shawl and lovingly draped it over the back of a wooden chair. Then she undressed and put on a thin wool nightshift and climbed beneath the covers. After she extinguished the candle she lay in the darkness, listening to the forlorn sounds of the wind and the sputtering fire in her hearth and pondered her own hopeless situation.
Then she came to a decision. She would give encouragement to Randolph Hollingsworth.
It was really for the best. For Edward and for her. She prayed she would make him a good wife.
Chapter 26
“Do you like cats, Mr. Hollingsworth?” Maggie asked the following day.
Much to Edward’s consternation, she and Hollingsworth shared a carriage seat again. He did not know why Randolph could not sit beside him and give the lady the seat to herself.
Randolph grimaced. “Can’t tolerate the beasts. Why do you ask?”
Her brows lowered. “Oh, dear, you’re just like Lord Warwick. He’s not enamored of my cat.”
“The longer I was with the animal,” Edward countered, “the less objectionable he became.”
Maggie pouted. “Then why did you not allow me to bring him?”
“Had we the luxury of bringing an additional carriage, he could have ridden with the servants, but you must own traveling with an animal is restrictive.”
“Not with Tubby. He behaved perfectly during our crossing of the Atlantic. He’s such a cuddler, and I miss him so dreadfully.” She feigned a scowl at Randolph. “I could never live without my cats.”
Dear God, was she planning on wedding Hollingsworth, then?
Randolph patted her hand. “I’m sure your cat would be all that’s delightful.”
“Oh, he is!” she said with a sigh. “And he’s possessed of the cutest personality.”
In his observations of the animal, Edward had seen no evidence of a “cute personality,” but he would not provoke Maggie by disagreeing with her.
“I have a hard time believing the creature has a personality,” Randolph said. “Now a dog is a different matter altogether. My dogs are uncommonly intelligent. You could not help but to become attached to them, my lady.”
“But they’re so . . . big!" she said. "I like a pet who can curl up beside me when I sleep.”
The vision of Maggie, Tubby and Hollingsworth lying together in a bed was more than Edward could stand. He took perverse pleasure instead in picturing Hollingsworth with two black eyes.
Hollingsworth frowned and muttered, “Don’t see how anyone could sleep with an animal.”
Though Edward had always shared that opinion, he now thought he could share a bed with a gorilla for the sake of sleeping with Maggie.
But he must not allow his thoughts to go there. He tossed out a card. “Shall we continue the game?”
Edward had to admit playing cards made the journey seem to pass much more quickly.
Over the next several days they played every card game that could be played with an odd number of participants, and the days flew by.
The favorable weather also accelerated their progress, and they made the trip to Broadmeadows in one less day than the journey to Windmere Abbey had taken.
* * *
It was mid afternoon when their coach pulled up to the stone house at Broadmeadows, and as much as he hated to leave Maggie, Randolph said his farewells and continued on to London. He and Warwick had discussed exactly how he would proceed once he got to the Capital.
He was in a very good humor as his horse pounded along the country lanes. Though he’d not been able to speak privately with the countess, he was confident she favored his suit. After her reserve during the first day of their journey, she had warmed to him. She complimented his play at cards. She liked his blue eyes, and she had even solicited his opinion on felines. In the future he would have to speak more favorably of the damned creatures. Randolph would be deuced glad when all this business was wrapped up and Maggie could become his wife.
Riding his mount was a distinct improvement over being cooped up in a carriage, especially when the weather was so deuced fine. No summer day could be preferable to this with the greenest of meadows sloping up to meet skies as blue as a robin’s egg.
He reached the Foreign Office at four o’clock and went straight to Harry Lyle. The man was huddling over a map when Randolph entered the office.
“Where’s Warwick?” Randolph asked.
Lyle spun around, recognition instantly registering on his features. “I had hoped you could tell me. Have you come from Yorkshire?”
“I have.”
“And Warwick’s not there?”
“Of course he’s not! Why would I seek him here if I’d just left him?”
Lyle’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been deuced worried about them.”
“Them?”
“Warwick was last seen with the Countess Warwick, an extraordinary beauty.”
It was difficult for Randolph not to acknowledge Maggie’s beauty and even more difficult not to flaunt his own impending engagement to her. “Countess? But Warwick’s pledged to my sister! Unofficially, of course. He surely can’t have gone off and married someone else.”
“No, no! This countess is the . . . the widow of his late uncle.”
“I thought the old lord died a bachelor.”
Lyle shook his head. “The codger upped and married the beauty before he died.”
“Is that so? When do I meet this purported beauty?”
“That’s the problem. She’s disappeared, and so has Warwick. I’m devilishly worried they’ve been murdered.”
Randolph sank into a chair. “Dear God! What makes you think this?”
He watched Lyle’s reaction. The man seemed genuinely upset. “No one’s seen them since we all attended Almack's two weeks ago.”
A gaunt looking young man entered the office, standing just inside the door, listening to their conversation. Harry did not notice him at first. Randolph frowned and tossed a glance at the intruder. The man could certainly use the services of a good tailor.
"Can I be of service to you?" Harry stiffly asked the man.
He stammered. "I . . . I, uh, wish to trouble you for a code book. It seems I've left mine at home. I'll just take Warwick's. By the way, any word from him?"
"No, dammit," Harry said.
Randolph stood and introduced himself.
"Sorry," Harry said. "Mr. Hollingsworth, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Kingsbury. Charles Kingsbury."
"Your servant," Randolph said, inclining his head.
They waited until Kingsbury left the office to resume their conversation. "Is he trustworthy?" Randolph asked.
Harry shrugged. "I wish I knew the answer to that."
“Have you looked for Warwick at Hogarth Castle?”
“We’ve looked at every one of Warwick’s properties and were planning to seek him next at Windmere Abbey.”
“We?”
“Lord Carrington is just as upset as I. We fear that Warwick and the countess
were abducted. Carrington’s kicking himself that he didn’t requisition some Horse Guards to protect them.”
“Why in the bloody hell would a civilian merit the Horse Guards?”
“The countess was suspected of being in possession of important documents that could be sought after by our enemies.”
“Then it looks as if the enemy’s got the earl and countess.”
Lyle’s voice was grave when he answered. “Yes, it does. Damn it!” The man was almost in tears.
“Is that Randolph Hollingsworth?”
Randolph whipped around to face Lord Carrington, then stood and bowed. “Your servant, my lord.”
“Have you come from Yorkshire?”
“I have, but Warwick’s not there. Lyle’s been telling me about the disappearance.”
Lord Carrington, too, looked genuinely worried. “If anything has happened to them, I’ll never forgive myself. I should have had them guarded every minute.”
Randolph found himself wondering if Lord Carrington, too, had become enamored of Maggie. Was no man immune to her charms? He supposed Warwick was, given that he was pledged to Fiona, but he could not completely discount him. For many days there had been a particularly tortured look on Warwick’s face as he had gazed across the carriage at Maggie.
“If they ever return I will see to it they’re never again left unprotected,” Lord Carrington said.
Isn’t this what Warwick had hoped for? To be able to return to London and promised safety? Randolph shook his head. “Nasty business.”
“Yes, it is,” Lord Carrington said, “but there is a glimmer of hope.”
Harry spun toward him. “They’re alive?”
“I believe they might be,” Lord Carrington said gravely. “I’ve just come from Newgate Prison where I spoke to a band of miscreants who confessed to trying to abduct the countess the night she went to Almack's. I don’t have the name of the man who hired them, but I’m told he was dressed as a gentlemen and spoke with a French accent.”
“What do you mean tried to abduct the countess?” Harry asked. “Was she able to escape?”
