Carriage? Take her? They were talking about her there was no doubt. Jane backed toward the door, her heart in her throat. She had stumbled upon something terrible. Something terrifying. It was all she could do to not scream though she felt the sound, trapped in her throat, only waiting to be set free.
“Deuced bad weather…”
“Good. None will follow.”
Jane backed carefully toward the door. She would run…fetch the earl. He must know that there were terrible people were within his house. Terrible people who planned…she could not finish the thought. Oh surely, this was not happening!
She knew she should not have borrowed Lady Amelia’s jewels. She should have been demure and herself! Those feathers! Those terrible feathers! She longed to wrench the mask from her face and cast it away, but they would know then that she had been here. Oh why had she chosen something so gaudy, so ostentatious for her costume? And the jewels! What had seemed a good idea, to draw the attention of an eligible man seemed so foolish now.
Biting her lip so hard it bled, Jane whirled to go, her hands already seeking for the doorknob and finding it with relief. Only the door opened under her questing hand and the man that entered was one she recognized. The pirate stood in the doorway, as startled by Jane’s unexpected presence as she was by his. She was flooded with fear. She opened her mouth to speak, to beg him to take her to the earl that they might resolve this whole matter. But instead he grabbed her arm roughly, jerking her with him into the room, and shutting the door behind him.
“Here, now gentlemen, we have a spy in our midst,” he called out as he dragged Jane into the light. “It looks as if our prey has come to us!”
31
Lord Keegain had found Fitzwilliam, but now he turned away from the man in agitation, pacing the corridor.
“I do not believe that you have the right of it,” Lord Keegain insisted.
“Or perhaps I do, and you simply do not care to listen?” Fitzwilliam retorted. He followed Keegain, speaking through his ridiculous mask which made all of his words blurred and muted. “Set aside any… outside influence at all. Your problem, old boy, is that you have found someone that you desire more than…” he looked around uncomfortably. “Well, more than your betrothed.” It seemed near impossible to say even that much. “That tells me, and should tell you, that you are not certain of your chosen bride.”
“But I barely know her.”
“Lady Margret? You have known her your entire life.”
“Not Margret….”
Fitzwilliam caught at his arm. “Quietly, old boy,” Fitz said through the mask. “Remember, we are not discussing just any man. In point of fact, we are discussing you.” He took a breath and tried to clarify. “She matters to you. Another woman matters to you so much so that you could forget you are already engaged.”
Fitzwilliam turned to face Keegain, his tone for once solemn and serious, “An engagement, I might add, that has already many tongues set to wagging, wondering if you refuse to set a date because you simply do not wish to marry the lady.”
His words hit the mark a little keener than the earl expected, but to agree would be to give credence to something he was not quite ready to accept. Keegain shook his head, he needed to justify his feeling, so that he might lie to himself a little bit longer. “I do not follow.”
“Of course you do,” Fitzwilliam said with no small amount of patience. “Do not be dense, man. I cannot wait to return home. I cannot wait to speak again with my beloved, to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her within my arms. If I could not touch her I would content myself to just sit across a table and gaze upon her.”
Unbidden the thought of Jane seated across the breakfast table came to him.
Fitz continued. “We set a date as soon as the banns could be announced, because I am anxious for her to be my wife. I long to take her into my home, my family, my bed.”
“Ah, but you are blessed,” Keegain said bitterly.
“And you are engaged.” Fitzwilliam countered. “These two states do not have to be mutually exclusive. You can be wed and happy, my friend.”
Keegain shook his head. “That is the exception, not the rule amongst the ton. Most do not marry for love.”
“Do you not think you could be that exception?” Fitz implored him.
The music swelled and swallowed Keegain’s reply. He turned back toward the dancers, staring at them without seeing them. The music rose in a crescendo and he had to wait until the music evened out again, that he might speak without shouting. The moment gave him time to think. “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Let us even say I agree with you. That still leaves me in an awkward situation.”
“However awkward, is better than the alternative, would you not say?”
“I gave my word to Lady Margret. If I break it…” He let the statement hang.
“No doubt her father will bring a lawsuit against you,” Fitz finished. “Make no mistake, this will cost you, Keegain.”
Keegain shuddered. Yes, Fitzwilliam’s was right. Margret’s father would probably sue him for breach of promise. And he would be right to do so. When a couple was engaged as long as himself and Margret, they were as good as married. At least, certain assumptions were made as to the lady’s virtue. Other suitors would be wary. Margret would have to wait a nearly year before accepting another offer, just to prove she was not with child. Even then tongues would wag. Many would not think her pure, no matter that it was the truth. No matter how honorable he was, or she, it would not stop the talk.
“I truly have made a mess of things, Fitz.” He muttered. “This is awful.”
“Still better than a life time of regret,” Fitz pressed.
Lord Keegain considered the utter indifference he felt towards Margret, interspaced with moments of annoyance and pure disgust. How had it come to that? And then, there was Jane…
“You are thinking loudly,” Fitz said and Keegain sighed.
“I realized within these past weeks that my thoughts are on someone else. Not my intended bride and frankly, Fitz, I want what you have.” Lord Keegain added that last under his breath.
The words came hard but with considerable relief. His friend was right. He did not love Lady Margret. He was entering a loveless marriage for the sake of what, wealth? He had enough of that. Power? He had his title and his estates; Margret’s family was powerful, but her lineage would have done little to raise his position.
Was it just a matter of honor then? His word and his father’s deathbed wish? Keegain’s father made him promise to marry well and he had so wished the families to be joined. His sentiments mirrored those of Margret’s mother. So Keegain had contacted Margret’s father. The man had agreed.
Keegain had known Margret from childhood, introductions were not thought to be necessary. However, it was also true that no one had consulted Margret, merely telling her the news when the declarations were made, and she was roundly congratulated for her engagement. She was so young. They both were. That was the year she had been sent to finishing school. She came home to a betrothed. It was possible that she did not love him. Probable even. Did she long for more as well?
“It is not the way things are done,” Keegain lamented.
“True.” Fitzwilliam nodded and then smiled.
The earl thought he now understood that smile. “No, not for you, Fitz. You would wed on your own terms. Tell me, my friend, how did you do so?”
“In defiance of convention?” Fitz scratched his chin. “I suppose it was easier that my parents are no longer with us, but I am sure my mother would have loved Mary. Though for you, my friend, you must know that your mother wants you to be happy? And there must be some advantage to lineage. What nattering the Ton goes through should have little enough effect in your case. But truth be told, the Ton has not been overly kind to either of us. Still, they do not matter. I simply did as I wished. You may do the same. Your father is gone, Keegain,” Fitz said softly. “He would want you to be happy. Above all, he would w
ant that for his son.”
“Margret’s father shall be livid.”
“Yes, but in the end, the man wants her happiness too. Speak with her, Keegain. I would venture, that she is not pleased with this engagement either. You are an earl, and the title of countess shall be a hard loss, but Lady Margret knows you would make each other miserable. In fact, you are already well on your way toward that end.”
“Gentlemen,” Ted Reynolds approached them both from the direction of the door. Keegain looked at him and the entirety of the cloak and dagger plot came back to him in a rush. The earl stood ready as if some villain were to leap from behind a curtain.
Reynolds shook his head at Keegain’s unspoken question. “No, nothing has happened as of yet, but I do have a rather dreadful feeling... as though I’d overlooked something. I cannot place my finger on it now, but something is not right.”
“Have you seen any disturbance?” Fitz asked, but Reynolds again shook his head to the negative.
“There is not a single thing I can reveal; nothing I can point to, and I have just made the rounds, speaking to all my men,” Reynolds explained, “but if my instinct is correct, something is foul is afoot, and it seemed prudent to involve you gentlemen.”
Ted was experienced in these matters and there was much to be said for acting instinctively.
Lord Keegain stood a little straighter and scanned the crowd. The other two watched as his eyes searched over the revelers, but when he would have taken a chair to stand on, they both drew the line.
“I spoke to Lady Margret not ten minutes ago, and I see all of your sisters,” Reynolds said as he continued to scan the crowd, his shoulders tense.
Lord Keegain shook his head. “I do not see her!” Keegain protested. Panicked, he turned to his friends. “Fitz, she’s not here. Ted!”
He did not use her name. Not that he needed to do so for Fitz would understand without lengthy explanation. Reynolds, on the other hand, was confused.
Still, both men understood the need for discretion; there were still people near, drinking punch, talking as though the world itself were not ending. Conversations were going on about other Christmas parties happening during the twelve days of Christmas, and gifts and services to come. Some spoke of who would be seated next to whom at certain dinners as though such a thing were important.
Lord Keegain felt Fitzwilliam’s hand on his arm. The man’s voice in his ear was both urgent and assured. “Calm yourself man. I am sure there is a logical reason.”
“Be easy. I see Lady Margret,” Reynolds said, relief evident in his own stance.
“No, not Margret,” Keegain said.
“About whom are we speaking?” Reynolds looked from one man to the other in confusion.
“Miss Jane Bellevue.” Fitzwilliam said, with a stern glance toward Lord Keegain.
He understood despite seeing so little of Fitz’s eyes through the mask.
“I would not recognize her,” Reynolds said, but he craned his head to look all the same. “What is she dressed as?”
“The girl with the peacock feathered mask and fan.” Lord Keegain answered hurriedly, his eyes still scanning the crowd.
“Oh, yes, I did see her tonight, come to think of it. She entered the ball with your sister, Lady Charlotte.” Ted turned toward the crowd surveying it and shaking his head. “Still, she is not the sort to be taken, Keegain. I would not worry. Previously, the abductees have all been ladies of worth.”
“She is of worth to me.” The earl spat.
Reynolds turned back to Keegain confused by his sudden ire, and Fitz explained. “Keegain is enamored. He went to speak to the girl in her room as I stood guard.”
“You what?” Reynolds spun to Keegain. He looked for all the world as if he wanted to take a swing at the earl.
“The venerable Lord Keegain has slipped from his honorable perch,” Fitz teased.
“Margret was cruel to her,” the earl said miserably. “I wished to apologize. To assure her that we are not all so uncouth.”
“Uncouth?” Reynolds repeated in a low tone. “Lady Margret is your intended.”
“Not for long,” Fitz said gaily. “Chin up, old boy.” He patted Reynolds on the back. “You may have your chance.”
“Fitz.” Keegain hissed between his teeth, and his friend sensed his anger. With villains in the house there was no time for levity. “Not now!” Keegain admonished. He turned to Reynolds. “Could they have taken her?”
Reynold’s jaw was clenched.
“Ted?” Keegain pressed, urging the man to think.
It took Reynolds a moment to change from friend to the King’s man, but he made the switch. “I suppose they could have made a mistake, but I am sure she has come to no harm, Keegain. She is not worth...”
At Keegain’s glare, he corrected himself. “I mean to say, they are looking for heiresses. Her family is distantly related to a lesser peerage and not greatly wealthy to hear your sisters speak of it. Why would they take her?”
“Because it is a masked ball,” Keegain spat through clenched teeth. “No one can see who she is, and she wore a necklace of sapphires.” He realized now that the jewelry could not have been her own. Even peacock feathers were expensive. “The jewels must have been borrowed.”
His distress took up residence in his throat and roughened his tone. “Now that I think of it, they were far too expensive for her family to afford. They were a veritable cascade of diamonds and sapphires.” As Keegain described the set, the Duke of Ely joined their conversation.
“Amelia’s,” he said, recognizing the description. “She must have loaned them to her friend.”
“Blast it all,” Keegain swore, feeling all the more helpless.
“Steady on,” Fitzwilliam cautioned him. “Do not assume the worst. Miss Bellevue might have wandered off. Likely she’s in the ladies’ retiring room or returned to her own chamber.”
“That is true,” Reynolds said. “There are endless possibilities in a house this size.”
“I suppose you are right,” Keegain said to him, “but I have your uncertainty. You sensed something amiss.”
“I do,” Reynolds said. “My men shall keep watch on this crowd. I will go with you myself and search for the lady. Come. We shall find her.”
“I shall tell Amelia,” the duke said, “Perhaps she has seen her friend.”
Reynolds nodded unobtrusively to a young man who made his way through the dancers to his side. The three conferred with one another for a moment before Reynolds sent the young agent back to his station and the duke also parted company. The musicians were winding down between songs as the three of them slipped out of the ballroom and gathered near the door to Keegain’s study.
Keegain stripped off his mask and opened the door that he might toss it inside. “I will see if she has returned to her rooms.” He looked to Reynolds who raised a brow. “I know you cannot be too far from your men, and I thank you for your contribution. I suggest you look in these immediate rooms.”
The earl turned to his other friend. “Fitz, find Davies. He knows of the danger. If you would be so kind as to check with him. He will have the servants in hand. Find out if anyone saw Miss Bellevue or noticed something amiss. Someone may have entered through the kitchen although I believe Reynolds had a man stationed there.”
Reynolds nodded and then the men dispersed.
The earl turned quickly, heading for the stairs.
Jane was in danger. He could feel it.
32
Propriety be damned, Keegain thought. Miss Bellevue had not responded to his pounding on her door. First, thinking to ascertain that she was not dead, and then apologize for effrontery, he wrenched the door open and ran into the room calling her name.
The chamber was empty, save for a few odds and ends lying neatly folded. No sign of foul play, then. At first he wondered if the few things were all the luggage she brought. At first glance it was far sparser than the trunks with which his sisters would ever trave
l to another’s home.
The wind lashed ice against the window and looked to soon smash its way inside. From habit, he drew the heavy curtains closed against the storm.
Just to be sure, he looked under the bed and in the wardrobe. The dresses that hung there were pretty enough, but more sturdy than elegant. If the villains had taken Jane, what would they do when they found out that her father could ill-afford the handsome ransom they hoped for?
I shall pay it. He made the words a solemn vow. Propriety be damned. After all, she was his guest, was she not? He was responsible for her safety. It was rationalization at its best, and he chose to not examine it too closely. There were certainly more important matters at stake here. Wherever she was, she was not here.
He stood still for a moment to think. Rushing around in circles was not going to avail anyone of anything. The problem was, there was no other logical place for her to have gone.
It occurred to him that she might likely have already been found by one of the others. She might have stepped away from the dancing for a moment; for some air. She might have been in the retiring room. There were a dozen reasonable explanations, but somehow he knew the fiends had taken her.
The wind beat against the window as Keegain closed the door on the empty room. He hurried back downstairs to the entryway to see Fitzwilliam rush in from the kitchen area.
“She was not in her room,” Keegain said. “Did anyone see anything at all?”
“No. One of the footmen saw her earlier, but no one since.” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “You should see the chaos back there in the kitchen, Keegain. I never knew the amount of insanity that existed behind the scenes of a ball like this. White says no one came through the kitchens, but I doubt that anyone would have noticed an invasion of Huns through that calamitous mess.”
“Then where the devil…”
“Keegain,” Reynolds called. He came through the door from the ballroom, but he was not alone. As the music from the other room carried into the entrance, Reynolds led a distraught Lady Margret by the wrist. Keegain never remembered Reynolds laying a hand on Margret. He doubted she would have allowed it, but now Reynolds seemed quite in command of the situation.
Winning Lady Jane: A Christmas Regency Romance (Ladies of Bath Book 0) Page 19
