Splendid (40 page)

“Sophie,” Emma cut off her sister-in-law's ramblings in a laughing voice. “You shall be the very first one I call upon.”

“Good. I look forward to it.” Sophie poured Emma a cup of tea. “Now then, how long are you going to stay? I imagine you're eager to get back to my brother now that you've solved your problem, but I really don't think you should set back tonight. It is getting rather late, and the rain doesn't seem to be letting up.”

Emma took a sip of her tea, letting it warm her throat. “Actually, I told Alex that I would be gone for a week.”

“Goodness, whatever for? You've only been married a month. Surely you don't want to be gone a week?”

“No,” Emma said with a small sigh. “But he did speak to me in the most awful condescending voice when I told him I was bored, and—”

“Say no more,” Sophie said, putting up her hand. “I know exactly what you're talking about. You needn't stay a week, but you might want to try to hold out for about four days. He needs to learn not to underestimate you.”

“Yes, I suppose, but…” Emma's voice trailed off as she glanced up at Sophie. All of the blood had rushed from her face, and she let her teacup clatter noisily in its saucer. “Sophie?” Emma questioned, twisting her head to follow Sophie's line of vision. An attractive man with warm brown eyes and sandy hair stood in the doorway.

“Oliver?” Sophie said in a whisper. “Oh, Oliver! I've missed you so!”

Emma blinked back an unexpected tear as she watched Sophie launch herself into her husband's arms. Keeping her eyes discreetly downcast, she waited while the couple kissed and hugged and told each other with words and looks how much they had been missed during the last few months.

“Sophie,” Oliver said finally, drawing back but refusing to let go of her hand. “Perhaps you should introduce me to your friend.”

Sophie laughed gaily. “Oh Oliver, you're never going to believe this, but Emma's not just my friend, she's my sister-in-law. Alex got married!”

Oliver's mouth fell open. “You're joking.”

Sophie shook her head, and Emma smiled sheepishly.

“Well, I'll be damned. Ashbourne got himself married. You must be quite a lady, your grace.”

“Oh please, call me Emma.”

“And American to boot,” he added, noting her accent.
Emma exchanged a few pleasantries with the Earl of Wilding, but much as the reunited couple tried to hide it, it was obvious that they wanted some time alone together. So, mumbling something about being desperately tired from the ride, Emma asked if she could have her supper sent up to her on a tray. Bidding the couple goodnight, she headed up to her room, stopping on the way at the library, where she made a beeline for the Shakespeare section and plucked
Hamlet
off the shelf.

The next morning, Emma once again donned her traveling dress, already freshly laundered and pressed. Sophie appeared at the breakfast table in her dressing gown, somewhat bleary-eyed but looking indescribably happy.

“Under the circumstances, I think I'll cut my visit short and go see my cousins for a few days,” Emma said.

“You don't have to do that,” Sophie said quickly, stifling a yawn.

Emma smiled knowingly. Sophie hadn't gotten very much sleep the night before. “No, believe me, I'd rather. You deserve some time alone with your husband and son. If you could just send a messenger to Alex with this note informing him of the change in plans, I'd appreciate it very much.”

“Oh, yes, certainly. But make sure that you don't go back before the four days are up. And if you can, you should try for five.”

Emma just smiled and ate her omelette.

Chapter 23

T
he skies had cleared considerably since the previous night, so Emma opened all of the carriage windows as she made her way to London. The trip passed quite quickly, for the Wilding estate was much closer to town than Westonbirt, and Sophie had generously lent Emma the copy of
Hamlet
that she had started to read the night before.

She became quite engrossed in the story, pausing only occasionally when the rhythmic
clip-clop
of the horses' hooves lulled her into a semidaze. “To build a hospital or not to build a hospital. That is the question,” she said aloud on one of those occasions, followed by: “That was really awful.”

It was shortly after noon when she reached London, and as they turned the final corner before reaching her cousins' home, Emma poked her head out the window excitedly. In the distance, she saw Belle descend the front steps of the Blydon mansion. A coachman helped her into a closed carriage.

“Oh Belle! Belle!” Emma called out, waving a handkerchief.

“I don't think she heard you, yer grace,” said Ames, one of Emma's grooms.

“I think you're right.” It was a long block, and Emma would have had to yell quite loudly to be heard over the clatter of the other carriages. She furrowed her brow. There had been something odd
about the way the coachman had helped Belle into the carriage. He had practically picked her up. Emma felt the first pangs of worry.

“Do you want to follow her?” Ames asked.

“Yes, I suppose—Oh!” Emma suddenly exclaimed, feeling much relieved. “I know where she's going. The Ladies' Literary Club. She goes every Wednesday afternoon. I went with her a few times. The meetings are held at Lady Stanton's home, which isn't very far away. Just follow that carriage, and I'll surprise her there.”

With a nod, Emma's coachman urged the carriage past the Blydon mansion and followed Belle through the streets of London. Emma sat back, watching through her window as elegant townhouses floated by.

“Wait a minute,” she said in a perplexed voice as they passed a familiar mansion. She poked her head back out the window to talk to Ames. “That was Lady Stanton's home.”

“Maybe yer cousin is doing something else today, yer grace. Maybe she's skipping the book meeting.”

“No,” Emma replied with an emphatic shake of her head. “She never, ever misses a meeting when she's in town.”

Ames shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want to keep following her?”

“Yes, yes,” Emma said distractedly. “Although now that I think of it, I didn't recognize that coachman. And he was handling her rather roughly. I suppose they could have hired a new one, but still, it's somewhat suspicious.”

“What are you saying, yer grace? Do you think someone is trying to kidnap yer cousin?”

Emma paled. “Ames,” she said sharply. “Move out of the way for a moment.” The groom sat
back, and Emma stretched further out the window, scrutinizing the carriage in front of her. “Oh, my God. That's not one of our carriages. We could have hired a new coachman, but bought a new carriage? I would have heard about it.”

Ames turned back around. “Don't you think yer cousin would have noticed the different carriage?”

“No. Her eyes aren't very good. All that reading, you know. But she refuses to get spectacles.” Emma gulped in fear. “Ames, whatever you do, do not let that carriage out of your sight!”

Emma sat back in the carriage and closed her eyes in anguish. There was something rotten in the city of London.

 

Meanwhile, back at Westonbirt, Alex was trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on his work. Norwood, the only servant who ever entered his study when it was occupied, brought a meal in on a tray.

“I'm not hungry, Norwood,” Alex grumbled.

The butler raised his brows and left the tray on a table anyway. Alex ignored the food and walked over to the window, gazing moodily out over the lawn. She really hadn't needed to leave. At least not for a week. He acknowledged that Sophie might know a little bit more than he did about what married women did to keep themselves busy, but it certainly wouldn't take Emma a week to learn.

Damn it, her place was with him. It had taken ages last night for the bed to warm up. He'd lain there alone, rubbing his feet against the sheets, hoping the friction would create some heat. He'd only ended up feeling sorry for himself. He wouldn't have felt so cold if Emma had been there next to him.

He'd known he would miss her, but he hadn't expected to miss her this much. Hell, she hadn't even been gone for twenty-four hours. But her presence seemed to float in the air. The scent of her pervaded their room, and everywhere he turned he saw some nook or corner that they had once used for clandestine kissing.

Alex sighed. It was going to be a long week.

Maybe he
should
go to London. His townhouse wasn't full of memories of Emma. He winced, remembering how he'd brutally rejected her there. Well, at least not good memories, and he could simply close off the small parlor. Besides, he was rather fond of the place, having lived there for the better part of ten years, and he supposed that he would have to sell it soon, as he and Emma would surely take over the Ashbourne mansion in Berkeley Square.

But he probably ought to consider what she had said about being bored. He supposed that he'd been less than sympathetic to her plight. He had never really thought about what it was that married women did with their time. And Emma wasn't the same as other married women, he thought with more than a touch of pride. Hell, she had practically run a business.

Maybe that was what she needed. He was nearly overwhelmed with paperwork and documents regarding his many lands and business concerns. Maybe he ought to turn over the estate management to Emma. She could certainly handle it. And his overseers were good men. They'd listen to Emma if Alex made it clear that she would be in charge from now on. He grinned, rather pleased with his plan.

His moments of self-congratulation were interrupted by a knock on the door. Norwood entered
at Alex's behest, carrying a small folded note on a silver platter. “A message has arrived for you, your grace. From your wife.”

Alex quickly crossed the room and snatched up the piece of paper.

Dearest Alex
,

 

Lord Wilding has returned rather unexpectedly from the Caribbean, and so I have decided to spend the remainder of the week visiting my cousins. I miss you desperately
.

 

All my love,

Emma

She missed him desperately? If she missed him so desperately, why didn't she turn around and come back home where she belonged?

Yes, he would definitely head to London. And while he was there, he might just drop in and visit the Blydons. And drag his wife back home. Well, maybe not. Emma wasn't exactly the type of woman one dragged anywhere. He could, however, bribe her back with the promise that she could begin managing most of his lands immediately. And if that failed, he could always seduce her.

Alex was out of the house and on his way to London within a half an hour.

 

Emma sat in the back of her carriage as it slowly wended its way out of London, nearly paralyzed with fear for her cousin's safety. As the streets grew less and less busy, they had to fall farther and farther back from the carriage carrying Belle. She didn't want anyone up ahead to grow suspi
cious, and even more importantly, her carriage bore the recognizable Ashbourne crest. Anyone who had taken the time and effort to kidnap Belle from her house would know of her connection to Alex and Emma.

It was Woodside. It had to be. Emma nearly shot out of her seat when the realization hit her. Woodside was mad for Belle. He'd been after her for a year, and he had told Emma that he planned to marry her. The fact that Belle did not return his affections did not seem to affect his plans whatsoever. “Good Lord,” Emma breathed. “He's going to force her.” She had no doubt that Woodside would drag Belle to the altar bound and gagged if necessary. She'd never met a man so obsessed with titles and bloodlines, and Belle's lineage was as good as it got. And even if she managed to avoid marrying him now, she'd still be ruined. If Woodside could sufficiently compromise Belle's reputation, then she'd
have
to marry him. It was either that or remain a spinster forever, because no gentleman would wed her if it was thought that Woodside had had her first.

Emma's stomach churned in fear and fury as they traveled further and further from London. Finally, Belle's carriage pulled off the main road and after about twenty more minutes of bumpy travel rolled into a medium-sized village called Harewood. As they slowed down to accommodate the busier village roads, Emma put her face near the open window. She had to keep a clear eye on the carriage up ahead.

“Don't get too close!” she hissed up at her coachman.

He nodded, drawing back slightly on the reins.

Up ahead, Belle's carriage stopped in front of The Hare and Hounds, a rustic inn and tavern.

“Stop right here!” Emma ordered. Without waiting for assistance, she jumped down from the carriage and watched the scene at the inn. Two burly men were unloading a large burlap bag.

“Oh my Lord!” Emma whispered. “They've put her in a sack!”

“She don't seem to be struggling much,” Ames said with a frown. “She may've been drugged.”

Emma took a deep breath, trying to gulp down her panic. There was no way she and her small band could overpower Belle's captors. Who knew what kind of weapons they held? Where was Alex when she needed him?

“All right, men,” Emma said urgently. “We're going to have to use our wits and devise a plan. Ames, can you ride?”

“Not very well, yer grace.”

Emma turned to Shipton, the other groom. “Can you?”

He shook his head.

Emma finally faced the coachman, an unnaturally skinny man with thinning brown hair. “Bottomley, please do not tell me that you cannot ride either.”

“I won't.”

“You won't what?”

“I won't tell you that. Been ridin' since I been walkin'.”

Emma gritted her teeth at Bottomley's ill-timed attempt at humor. “Listen to me, Bottomley. First I want you to find someplace to hitch up the carriage. Somewhere as far out of sight of The Hare and Hounds as possible. Then I want you to take one of the horses—whichever you think is swifter—and ride to Westonbirt. Ride as if your life depended on it. Ride as if
my
life depended on it because it very well may. When you get there, find the duke immediately and tell him what has
happened. We're going to need his help. Do you understand?”