by Jilian Rouge
It did no good to dwell on regrets from the past, and Rafe had to remind himself that he could only concentrate on his present, where he could do his damnedest not to repeat such mistakes. He was secure in the knowledge that his future could only be colored by the choices he made now, tempered by the wisdom and lessons he had learned along the way.
Sighing, he sipped from his champagne flute, the fizzy bubbles doing little to console him from the fact that not all was well. A hand tapped him on his left shoulder while he was in mid-swallow, and he turned to see Dendridge standing next to him once he had lowered his glass. The man, while in handsome evening clothes, gave off a persona of charm and gentlemanly leisure, but Rafe knew him to be more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing type of person.
Looking him dead in the eye, Rafe said dryly, “I can’t imagine Alex would have invited you, all things considered.”
Dendridge smiled. “He didn’t, but I had business that brought me up this way concerning the both of you. Urgent business.”
Rafe sighed, “You know I have no patience when it comes to you, Dendridge. What is it that you want?”
Raising his brows in feigned hurt, Dendridge slapped a hand over his heart and said, “Captain Griffiths, I am offended by your assumption that I only ever want something when it comes to you or Lord Merrick.”
“Come now,” Rafe scoffed, “do you expect me to believe that nothing you do is out of the goodness of your heart? Our past dealings with each other tell me otherwise.”
“Tut, tut. To show you I bear you no ill will, I have something that will set your mind at ease. Or rather certain someones. And yes, I did pluralize that on purpose.” Gesturing behind him, he waved over at a trio of young men, also in evening clothes, and beckoned them near.
Once they fell just behind Dendridge, Dendridge explained, “Captain Griffiths, may I introduce to you the Hargreeves? Joseph, Forest, and Spencer are all under my employ, and as you can see, are strapping young lads, hired for their strength as well as for their quick thinking. They have a story they would like to share that I believe will interest you greatly.”
Rafe remained silent, awaiting this supposed interesting story. The oldest of the three cleared his throat, and introduced himself, “My name is Joseph, sir, and I had heard your tale of kidnapping and rescue from Mr. Dendridge. It’s also no secret that you’ve been determined to take down slaver ships, given your own endured hardship on one of them.”
Rafe quirked one brow as Joseph hurriedly explained, “It’s also no secret that you’ve been hunting for the man responsible, a man with a crescent-shaped scar. My brothers and I have had an encounter with him only a week past.”
“What? Where did this happen? Is he on English shores?” Rafe fired rapidly. He found himself momentarily thankful for Dendridge’s interference in his life and wanted nothing more than to hear the entire story.
“The three of us were involved in a, um, clandestine trade on a private beach not far from Plymouth Dock. But I had Forest and Spencer hiding in the rocks, as the agreement was to come alone with the goods we had, um, for sale.” Rafe took Joseph’s confession to mean that the three brothers had been involved in the illegal sale of smuggled goods.
Continuing, Joseph admitted, “I was also to come unarmed, but that stipulation did not carry over to my brothers. The transaction itself made me uneasy, as our buyer and his three companions were more interested in me than they were with the goods I had to show him. Their leader asked me odd questions about me, my family, if they knew what I was doing behind their backs, if I had any known illnesses or disease. The one time he turned to laugh with his companions at a jest I had made, I noticed right away the crescent scar near his temple.
“Next thing I knew, one of them clubbed me with a baton, but my brothers had been ready with their pistols and fired at them the moment I went down. While I wasn’t out cold, I thought I had heard one of them call him Burton or Blueburn, telling him that they were done risking their lives for a paltry sum as they made good their escape. My brothers are both crackshots and had clipped at least two of them as they ran.”
Dendridge smiled at Rafe once more as he said, “You see? Out of the goodness of my heart, I allowed my men to share with you their own harrowing story of an almost-kidnapping. If it weren’t for the other two, poor Joseph here would have surely been set aboard a slaver’s ship just as you had. But my men aren’t the only ones who have been preyed upon. There have been reports of other missing men and women up and down the southwest coast of England’s shores.”
Rafe paled at that admission. His contact from the British Navy had told him that his quarry had run aground back to his original hunting grounds--the very place where he himself had been taken: Plymouth Docks. It couldn’t be borne that he had been too slow to take down this monster who profited from human suffering.
Before he could ask for more information, Alex swept by with Lady Rumina, giving him a quizzical look as he observed who he was with. Rafe knew Alex bore no love for Dendridge, given the many times their business had clashed with the other, but he could no more explain what he had just learned while in the middle of a ball. That information was best shared in private.
Rafe listened with half an ear as Alex declared the news of his engagement to Lady Rumina, but he had already expected their union would happen sooner than later. Not when he knew his friend had always carried a torch for some unknown woman but didn’t divulge who. Spying Georgie across the room, he watched as she sighed at the romance of the couple’s engagement, her elation for her friend evident on her face. Remembering how his own engagement to Georgie had transpired, he regretfully wished he had been able to give her a happier memory to look back on.
Catching her eye, Rafe offered her a salute to which she responded mildly with one corner of her mouth perked, her one, adorable dimple making an appearance. Rafe had always been charmed by that dimple, having been treated to its materialization since childhood during the most candid of moments. Then, much later, he had been the happy recipient of its emergence while indulging themselves to the fullest in their marriage bed. He promised himself that he would know that happy feeling with her once again, to have her smile genuinely at him once more.
Before he could make his way to her side, her brother, Ernest, reappeared at her shoulder, and whispered into her ear. She nodded once, then Ernest turned to exit the ballroom. Once again, Georgie flicked her eyes up to his, giving him a look he couldn’t quite decipher from the distance that yawned between them. He made a step in her direction, but she gave him her back as she turned to follow after her brother.
Pushing gently past the people who stood in his way, he lost precious seconds in his pursuit of her and quickly lost sight of her. Once outside the ballroom, he found no evidence of Georgie or her brother in the dimly lit hallway. Not knowing where she could have gone, he assumed that maybe she adjourned to her rooms to prepare for their journey back to Peverill Green, and thus, Lyonscar.
Making his way to the upper floor, he heard Alex’s voice coming from the direction of the library. Although he was eager to follow after his wife, he thought it was only right to take leave of his host first, before hieing himself back home. Changing directions, he made a beeline for the library, and found himself close on the heels of Mr. Christian Stanhope, a cousin of Alex’s.
Mr. Stanhope merely acknowledged Rafe’s presence with a brief nod at him over his shoulder before he surged through the library doors. Together, they entered the room the same instant they both absorbed the shocking scene before them. Miss Amelia Stanhope held a pistol on Alex, who was trying to shield his newly-minted fiancée behind him.
With eyes widened in shock, Christian burst out, “Amelia! What do you think you’re doing? Holding our cousin at gunpoint? You’ll be lucky if you won’t be clapped in irons for threatening a member of the peerage, or worse!”
In a shaky voice and tears falling freely, Amelia explained, “But I am doing this for you! Can’t you see th
at I want you to be happy?” At Christian’s look of disbelief and horror, Amelia visibly wilted and lowered the pistol, the answer to her question apparent on his face. Rue and Alex exhaled loudly in relief, releasing the tense breath they had been holding.
Smiling weakly, Amelia addressed Christian, “It was my hope that I would be content to seeing to your happiness, brother. That what made you happy would be enough for me. But now, I must do what I must. Tell Mother that I love her.”
Guessing her intent and with a loud cry, Christian sprang into action at the last second, just as Amelia was about to turn the pistol onto herself. Horrified, Rue could do no more than watch as Christian sped towards his sister. A step behind, both Alex and Rafe jumped into the fray, ready to help wrestle the deadly weapon away from a very distraught Amelia.
With all three men descending upon Amelia, Rue watched in terror as they tackled the poor woman into jostling the pistol’s position safely away from her temple. The pistol discharged its lone bullet harmlessly into the plaster wall behind Rue, causing her to scream and jump at the sound of the explosion. The force of being knocked off balance caused Amelia to lose her grip on the pistol, and it fell to the floor with a clatter, sliding across the wooden floor.
Christian, Alex, and Rafe tumbled in a heap atop the slight Amelia, but neither of them accounted for the low table behind her and didn’t think to shield her head as they fell. Alex recalled hearing a cracking sound as they crashed to the floor, thinking the table had sustained damage from their collision with the floor and surrounding furniture.
Groaning, Alex got up achily from the floor and helped up his friend Rafe, only to find Christian utter an anguished wail. Alex heard Rue gasp loudly before he glanced down at the prone figure that was Amelia. Her eyes, though wide open, no longer contained that spark of life, and her face now forever frozen with an expression of surprise. It was obvious that the back of her skull had connected with the blunt edge of the table leg which now sported smears of blood. Below Amelia herself, a large pool of blood haloed her head in a grisly sight, and Christian cradled her body close, softly weeping over her.
Alex softly asked Rafe, “Without making a fuss, please find Alistair and tell him to quietly call Aunt Aida and my mother in here. Explain to him what has happened if you must, but the idea is to refrain from causing a panic amongst our guests.”
Rafe looked at him dubiously but said nothing and ran off to find the Ravenscroft butler. It would have been easier to stop the tides than to stem the flow of gossip that would likely ensue after this, he thought. Hurriedly making his way back towards the ballroom, he found Alistair hovering just outside the ballroom doors, having just finished assisting a couple out the front door.
“Alistair,” he called in his best captain-of-the-ship voice. “May I have a word with you?” At Alistair’s nod, Rafe ate up the distance between them in a few strides and commenced to relay the necessary story in hushed whispers.
If Alistair was shocked by what Rafe had revealed, Alistair’s rigorous training as a butler did not allow even an imperceptible cringe at the news. Instead, the rock-steady butler informed him, “I will fetch Lady Edith and Mrs. Stanhope at once. If you will, please see that you enjoy yourself for the remainder of the evening.” And with a smooth turn and quick feet, Alistair hurried back into the ballroom to search for the aforementioned ladies, all the while keeping his back ramrod straight and his gait even.
His duty done, Rafe returned back onto his original path to the upper floors and towards the guest rooms, but he didn’t know which one belonged to Georgie. A chambermaid appeared from around a corner, and Rafe stopped her to ask, “Excuse me, but could you tell me which room belongs to Lady Georgina Montagu?”
“Oh!” the chambermaid started in surprise. “I am, or was, her chambermaid. This room was hers until she had packed her trunks early this morning and had them sent down before the ball this evening. I believe she had mentioned she was leaving for home early tonight with her brother.”
“Damn!” he cursed, as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then roughly apologized to the chambermaid who frowned deeply at his outburst. She tutted at him before rushing down the stairs, clearly offended.
Musing to himself, he guessed that the Montagus must have had a carriage waiting outside while the ball was still in full swing, intent on leaving without any one the wiser. Least of all, him. He supposed he would have to follow shortly, since the note Georgie handed to him had mentioned he was needed at Lyonscar in two days. If he left the ball now, he could make it home with time enough to have that talk with Georgie before the reading of the wills. Suddenly, a feeling of urgency crept up his spine at the thought of her; a feeling that demanded he set things straight between them before they meet with his father’s solicitor. He couldn’t stave off the niggling feeling that if he didn’t, things between the two of them might not work favorably for his purposes.
Without further delay, Rafe sped towards his own rooms, acting solely on the impulse of getting home to Lyonscar. Only, it was unfortunate that he hadn’t been able to relay to Alex that he would be leaving within the hour. And since he had only packed a small sack of his belongings, it would be a short while before he started on the road to Peverill Green and finally to the home he hadn’t seen in five long years.
Soon enough, he was packed and ready to leave. Eager to fly home as fast as a team of horses could take him, Rafe hastily wrote a note meant for Alex, apologizing for his sudden departure and for ‘borrowing’ one of his carriages and horses for the journey. For his sake, speed was of utmost importance at this moment, as he was anxious to get to Georgie, to get home. He couldn’t understand why, but he felt like his future rode heavily on the amount of time it would take to get there; the longer he dallied, the further his planned future with her would be out of reach.
It had taken some time to convince a groom to allow him to borrow a carriage, complete with a driver and two horses, but he quit the stables in record time with all three. On the road, Rafe had the time to give in to his inward ranting, aimed toward his runaway wife. But then, on the positive side, Rafe thought errantly, What homecoming would be complete without my wife there to welcome me home?
8
Lyonscar Castle, Two Days Later
While in her usual room in Lyonscar, sitting at her escritoire, Georgie couldn’t quite focus on the letter she was trying to compose, a letter meant for Rue. Her lack of focus was mostly due to the fact that Rafe filled her thoughts, apart from her determined effort to not think of him overmuch. While it had been a simple enough thing to evade Rafe at the Earl of Merrick’s ball, Georgie couldn’t help but feel badly about leaving him without a word.
On the other hand, if he had known she had planned to leave at the height of the Merrick ball, he probably would have suggested they travel together. And she couldn’t possibly endure being in such close quarters as the same carriage with him for two days. Not when he wreaked such havoc on her heart just by looking at her. And especially not when he had no place in her plans for her own future.
She could have also just as easily left him a note with the butler, but there hadn’t been time in the midst of the preparations she had made for her departure. That day of the ball, her neglected correspondence had kept her busy: a few notes to clients whose commissioned works were complete and awaiting delivery from her studio in Lyonscar and a few other letters contracting a new mutual agreement on a future painting.
Although Lionel had been made aware of her secret side hobby, it was fortunate that the old duke had respected her privacy when it came to her studio. And so, she had been able to paint her risqué portraits without causing scandal. Neither had she given cause for her in-laws to be scandalized by her work since she painted them from initial sketches she had drawn from one sitting with the subject at a discretionary location. She let her imagination and creativity do the rest.
She would have gone straight to her studio to properly pack the newest painti
ngs, but guilt prompted her to attempt a letter meant for Rue as soon as she reached her room. She felt badly for leaving Rue abruptly without a word, especially when her friend had been kind enough to provide a much-needed distraction in the way of a country ball. If Rue knew just how complicated her life suddenly had become, she was sure that Rue would understand her need to leave without telling anyone. That is, once she actually penned her a decent note that explained everything, including her history with Rafe. Once she involved Rafe in her explanation, she was doubly sure that Rue would understand her need for a hasty exit.
One look at her ormolu clock told her that it was almost time to meet with the duke’s solicitor in the library. Jotting down the necessary bits of information on the page before her, Georgie finally signed her letter at the bottom, sanded the ink, and folded the note once the ink was dry. Taking the note with her, she made her way downstairs towards the library, but not before encountering the longtime Lyonscar butler, Godwin.
“Ah, Godwin,” she greeted him in front of the library doors. “Would you see that this note is sent to Lady Rumina Abelard in Anthropshire please?”
