by Regina Darcy
“Not just engaged, Summersby—at the church! The girl was to arrive by carriage, of course. You know the Parsonville estate, good family, very private owing to some sickness on the part of the mother. The daughter is practically a recluse from nursing her mother.”
“I don’t believe I’m acquainted with the family.”
“The Earl is a member of Parliament, very diligent in his duty, but not one to entertain or go about town. The daughter is never seen, didn’t come out, and is a mystery, or was until Lathan had an engagement ball which appeased his creditors, as it’s known that there’s no heir and Lady Georgette—the Earl’s daughter—will inherit everything. The wedding was announced and the date set. Lathan and the Earl went to the church and waited.” Henry’s eyes sparkled. “You’ll never guess.”
“As you referred to her as the lost bride, I already have guessed. She ran off with the butler.”
“No, of course not,” Henry said, perturbed at not being taken seriously. “But she did run off. Hasn’t been seen since she left the house in the carriage. The carriage was returned to the place of hire with no sign of distress or damage. But,” Henry leaned closer. “Lady Georgette has not been seen nor found.”
“Indeed. And what does the aggrieved bridegroom say?”
“He’s furious. Threatening to sue; he’s convinced that she ran off rather than marry him.”
“So she should do if she were aware of what a scoundrel he is.” James signalled a servant to refill his glass. “But why, if she agreed to the marriage, should he think she ran off?”
“Apparently—so I hear—she was reluctant to marry at first and her father, the Earl, practically forced her to it. She gave way and agreed. Seemed, from what everyone who saw her at the ball says, to be amenable. But she must have been playing a shrewd game of her own. Went along with everything, dressed for the wedding, got into the carriage, and from there, no one knows.”
“Does anyone suspect the carriage driver?”
“Why should they?” Henry asked with a frown. “He’s nowhere to be found, so the assumption is that she paid him off.”
“Wise girl,” James said. “Lathan is unfit to marry.”
“Oh, but there’s more.”
“How much more can there be? I should think all of this quite enough.”
“It seems,” Henry said, leaning closer so that he would not be overheard, “that the Viscount is having a bit of a fling with a young lady—I use the term with some reluctance—who is a bosom friend of Lady Georgette.”
James paused in the act of cutting a morsel of meat.
“And the name of this bosom friend?”
“That, I don’t know and neither does anyone. It would seem that Lathan is keeping her a secret. But bits and pieces of the tale have come out.”
“Acquaint me with the facts again? Lady Georgette was believed to be agreeable to the marriage, except that she originally wasn’t, or perhaps never was but pretended to be, whilst her friend was the mistress of her fiancé? I say, that’s rather swinish, is it not?”
“It is indeed,” Henry nodded.
“And what now?”
“This is only what I hear, mind you, and from some unsavoury sources at that,” Henry said in a voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s said that Lathan was planning to marry his mistress.”
“He can hardly marry an Earl’s daughter and a mistress as well,” James noted. “The Church of England frowns on that sort of thing, I believe.”
“Of course it does. But that’s what’s got people wondering how he intended to pull off such a scheme.”
“Let the wife rusticate in the country while he and the faux wife jaunt about the Continent, I suppose, on the inheritance of the Earl’s daughter?”
“The Earl isn’t dead,” Henry said. “There’s no inheritance yet. Just a generous dowry which now, of course, is denied to Lathan.”
James busied himself with cutting another bite of the venison, which was delicious.
“I suppose the Earl has set about finding his daughter. Got the Bow Street Runners on it, that sort of thing?”
“There’s no trace of her,” Henry said. “It’s as if she simply vanished. You can see why the betting is so intense. Where is Lady Georgette? When will she be found? How can she have made her escape so effectively? Does she intend to be found?”
“Doubtless she will be found, hiding at the Parsonville country estate.”
“The Earl has already sent servants there. No one has seen her of late. I gather that the Earl is only in the countryside when Parliament is not in session anyway.”
“Relatives?”
“None.”
“No relatives? How extraordinary.”
“Yes, well, they live very quietly anyway, and the girl is devoted to her mother. But if she were forced into marriage, she may have felt that she could not remain in London.”
“This bit about the mistress . . . is that widely known?”
“It wasn’t known until the wedding fell apart. Now the Viscount is dodging creditors and his ambitious mistress, so it is said, is irate because—she’s not of his station, you see; respectable enough, at least in her background, but no title, at least that’s what I’m told—she had her greedy eyes set upon the peerage.”
“She could hardly become the Viscountess if there were a previous claimant to the title.”
Henry gave an owlish stare. “Yes, that’s what makes all of this so devilish interesting, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“James, only think. If she were promised marriage, then the first wife must be done away with, mustn’t she?”
James grew serious. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he asked sharply.
“Of course I do,” Henry said. “Lathan needed the money. His mistress wanted the money. The Earl’s daughter has the money. It ought to be quite apparent.”
“That’s a serious charge.”
“You know yourself that Lathan comes of bad stock. The father is disinherited for siring bastards all over England. The Lathan estate is nearly bankrupt for the cost of maintaining the illegitimate offsprings and their mothers. Lathan lives high. He needed an heiress. The Earl wanted his daughter to marry and he didn’t look too deeply into Lathan’s circumstances.”
“Perhaps the daughter did?”
“That’s the reckoning. She checked the blighter out and went along with the wedding plans up until it was time to go to the church.”
“Does the Earl know?”
“He’s busy looking for his daughter. I doubt that he’s spending his days investigating the disappointed bridegroom.”
“How very intriguing. More?” James asked, noticing his friend’s empty glass.
James declined Henry’s invitation to go to the theatre that night and instead chose to return home. What he had learned was remarkable; it seemed that he was served with a convincing alibi, as the belief in London was that Lady Georgette herself had eluded matrimony of her own volition.
“Mrs Thomas,” he said, summoning the housekeeper to his study. “How does our guest?”
“She’s not eating much, Your Grace.”
“She’s not got much on her as it is,” James observed. “I don’t wish her to wither.”
“Your Grace, are you sure that you’ve done the right thing? You know that I would never question you, but this is a most unusual sort of behaviour.”
“Mrs Thomas, today I have learned some information which will convince the household that I have saved Lady Georgette from a terrible fate. In short, from murder.”
Mrs Thomas’ eyes widened.
“Murder? Whatever can you mean?”
James was not above embellishing what was already an outlandish story to demonstrate that what seemed to be a kidnapping was, in fact, a rescue.
When he had finished, Mrs Thomas was quite overcome, to the point that she begged leave to sit down in his presence.
“Monstrous!”
�
��Quite,” James agreed soberly.
“However did you learn of such a villainous plot?”
“I have my sources. I could not allow an innocent young woman to be victimized in so vile a fashion. So what choice did I have? I must rely on the household staff to maintain silence on the subject.”
“No one will say anything, I’ll see to it. To think that there are such people in England! Does Her Ladyship know?”
“No, alas. Poor girl, she is quite innocent and believes the best of all.”
“How will you reveal the truth to her milord?”
“I shall procure undeniable proof of Lathan’s duplicity. It will take time. In the meantime, Lady Georgette must remain here, where she is safe.”
This was now more than a matter of collecting on a debt through Montgomery Kent’s readiness for a wager. This was altogether more serious entirely.
“Certainly, Your Grace. Have you told Miss Wright?”
“You are the head of the household staff, Mrs Thomas. Naturally, I have come to you first.”
Mrs Thomas was flattered by this declaration.
“Shall I tell her, Your Grace?”
“Would you? It’s the sort of news that may come better from another of her sex and I believe that Miss Wright is a woman of sense and discretion.”
“Yes, she seems to be. I shall tell her as soon as I can. She has her meals with us; not one to give herself airs, Miss Wright isn’t. I’ll let her know and then I shall inform the rest of the staff so that we may all be more vigilant.”
“Very good, Mrs Thomas. I knew I could count on you. If you notice anyone about the grounds, alert me. The Viscount may have spies out searching for his missing bride.”
“He hasn’t so far, Your Grace. We’d have noticed strangers about.”
“I count on you, as always, Mrs Thomas.”
“To be sure, Your Grace. You know we won’t fail you. Or the young lady, poor girl. Such a vile world it is, and it is always the innocent and helpless who suffer.”
James thought of Lady Georgette’s retaliatory slap. Innocent she might be. Helpless, she was not. But even a woman of spirit could be vanquished by murder.
SIX
After being held captive for less than a week, Georgette was convinced of several things. Being held prisoner in a gilded cage did not make the cage any more welcome. It did not matter; that she was well fed and cared for;
that her suite housed a piano so that she was free to enjoy music;
that there was a small library with a well-chosen diversity of reading material;
that the view from the balcony afforded her a magnificent perspective on a lovely panorama of a Mayfair manor which incorporated a splendid garden upon the grounds or that Miss Wright was an intelligent, diligent lady’s maid who was as comfortable styling her mistress’ hair as she was discussing Shelley’s poetry.
She was also convinced, though she seemed to be the only person in the household who was aware of the fact, that her captor must be entirely mad.
Who else would for no apparent reason, kidnap a woman on her way to marry a man? That her captor claimed that the Viscount owed him an unbelievable amount of money was not to be given credence. No one could possibly owe such a sum. She knew the Viscount to be innocent of the accusation.
She was, furthermore, convinced but confused by the realisation that she was genteelly incarcerated by the most attractive man she had ever seen.
It did not matter that her acquaintance with London males was decidedly limited. Her captor—was a tall man of sinew, with dark hair that ignored the conventions of sartorial fashion and was unruly and tousled as a matter of course, as if he had abandoned any effort to subdue it. He had green eyes, darker than her own, but much more alluring, she thought, as if they held a treasure chest of engaging secrets in their depths.
Unused though she was to male attention, it had not escaped her notice that the man was aware of her in a manner that made her particularly cognisant of the fact that she was female, not unattractive, and not immune to his charm.
She resented this; it felt as if she were weak and susceptible, with no more strength of character than a foolish girl in a Gothic novel. How dare he look at her in such a manner? And why, when he did so, did she find herself falling under the enchantment of his piercing green eyes and all-consuming gaze?
There was a sudden knock at her door, which startled her out of her reverie.
“Yes?” she responded.
She knew who it was. He came every day around this time, while Miss Wright was taking tea with the household servants.
“May I enter?” he asked, as he always did.
She wondered what he would say or do should she deny him entrance. She had considered it, but then, for reasons she chose not to explore, had decided not to follow through on the impulse.
“It is your home,” she replied, as she always did.
“But you are my guest,” he answered upon opening the door.
“I am a prisoner, not a guest.”
“I hope that I am treating you as a guest.”
“Guests are permitted to leave.”
He smiled. “But if I am performing my duties as a host,” he said winningly, “why should a guest want to leave?”
“Surely your guests depart at some point?”
“Do you play chess?”
The sudden change of topic caught her off guard. She lowered her gazed and noticed then that he had brought with him a carved wooden box.
“Yes,” she answered, startled by his question. “My father and I played often while we—when my mother first fell ill. We spent much of our days playing chess.”
“Excellent. I’ll set up the board, shall I? I generally play with my steward, but he refuses to win and I am tired of playing a sham. I trust . . . ” his green eyes swept over her with that curious, exciting blend of boldness and fascination that she found irresistible. “I trust that you shall not suffer from any such compunction.”
“I shall delight in beating you,” she returned.
“Ah, so I thought. Excellent. We will play on the balcony. It’s a pleasant day and I believe we shall elude rain, at least for the time being.”
Georgette smiled, despite herself. She was a very good chess player and was looking forward to taking down her captor a peg or two.
Several hours later, she was forced to concede that even though she was good, her captor might just be better.
“I should like to walk in the garden,” she said as she eyed his bishop with avid scrutiny.
“I should be delighted to escort you,” he said, wondering if she saw that taking his bishop would ultimately put her queen in peril.
She saw it, and instead took his knight.
“Why will you not let me walk there alone?”
“I should be a shameful host did I fail to attend you. My gardens are rather splendid, I must say, and I should enjoy showing them to you.” He moved his bishop, lest she take a fancy to the nimble cleric.
“Why are you keeping me here?”
“Are you ill-used here? Do you lack for comfort?”
“That is not the issue. I should be married by now. I should be meeting my husband’s family.”
“Why should you be eager to meet in-laws? Generally, I believe that married people do all in their power to avoid the families of their husbands or wives. Very tiresome, the acquired relatives.”
“Do you have acquired relatives?”
“Me, no, certainly not. I’m not married. Did you . . . ” he paused, his hand on his rook. “Did you always want to be married?”
“That is none of your business.”
“It’s a simple question and merits a simple answer. Either you dreamed of a husband who would carry you away, or you did not. Did you so long to leave your father and mother that you were overcome by the blandishments of the Viscount?”
“There were no blandishments,” she replied hotly, defending the man to whom she was to have been wed.
“He was entirely honourable in all his actions. And no, I was not eager to leave my home. I have cared for my mother for seven years since her malaise when I was sixteen.”
“So you are three-and-twenty, and thus far, you have evaded Cupid’s arrows. Until the Viscount?”
She captured his bishop with a triumphant air. The Duke realised that he had been so intent upon what she would say that he had failed to protect his chess piece adequately. She was a very good opponent. He needed to keep that in mind.
The next day, Georgette prevailed upon Miss Wright to ask for permission for them to walk in the gardens.
“It is very tedious for me to be cooped up in these rooms,” she said.
Miss Wright was sympathetic. She did not question the Duke’s admonition that Lady Georgette must be kept inside for her own protection, particularly after Mrs Thomas revealed the truth about Viscount Lathan.
She privately thought that it would do no harm to allow the captive young woman a bit of freedom. It was not for her to decide, however.
The Duke asked her to enter as she knocked on his study.
“Lady Georgette would like to walk in the garden, Your Grace.”
“I have offered to escort her.”
“I do not believe she wishes to be escorted by you,” Miss Wright replied candidly.
The Duke lifted his gaze, then nodded. “Perhaps not,” he conceded, “but as I have explained to Mrs Thomas and she to you and the rest of the staff, I do not wish to see Lady Georgette placed in peril. She is unaware of the dangers which she faces.”
“Have you told her as much Your Grace?”
“I have told her that Viscount Lathan’s character is not what she believes it to be.”
“She requires proof; that is to her credit, is it not?”
“Proof is hard to come by.”
“Would a walk in the garden be so ominous?”
“I cannot guarantee her safety if she is outside of my control,” he said.
“She eats very little. She spends much of her time on the balcony, desirous neither of company nor diversion. I fear that she will fall into a decline.”
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “She is far too spirited for that,” he told Miss Wright, mindful of how vigorously Lady Georgette had pursued her intention of defeating him at chess just the previous day.
