June Calvin (19 page)

Chapter 20

The next morning, having slept very little during the night, Deborah awoke later than usual. Surprised Betty had not aroused her, she dressed herself. She tucked the product of her night’s labors into a reticule and entered Jennifer’s room, only to find it empty. On her pillow was a note.

Mother:

I have kept my word not to go alone. Betty agreed, reluctantly, to accompany me. I make no secret of my destination. I go to convince my love to elope with me before my cruel uncle sells me to the highest bidder. If you love me, you won’t try to stop me.

Jennifer

With a little cry Deborah turned and, clutching the letter to her bosom, fled downstairs and out the front door, heedless of the lack of a maid. She arrived at the Duke of Harwood’s home scarcely a quarter of an hour later. Timmons solemnly put her in the gold salon and asked her to wait.

In a few moments Harwood was with her, his brow wrinkled with concern. “Deborah! I was expecting you.” He stepped forward and took her hands. “You are as pale as a ghost.”

“Is Jennifer here?”

“She is, safe and well.”

“Where . . .”

“Having breakfast just now. Will you join us?”

Eating was the last thing on Deborah’s mind, but she desperately wanted to assure herself her daughter was not already winging her way toward Gretna Green. She nodded and took his arm as he led her to the breakfast room. There she found Jennifer, rosy with happiness, chatting cozily with John.

The sight of those roses fading from her daughter’s cheeks as she turned to her mother rekindled the anger that had kept Deborah up half the night. “Please finish your meal,” she urged the three. “I feel like the uninvited guest at the wedding. I shall go back to the drawing room to wait.” She turned on her heels and left.

Ignoring her instructions, the other three followed her, abandoning their plates. Once they were settled, Deborah gave John a piercing look. “I believe you have something to say to me, Mr. Warner.”

The vertical frown line between John’s eyebrows deepened. “I realize you can’t give your permission, so I hadn’t thought . . .”

“But I can, and I will!”

At Jennifer’s gasp, Deborah spread her hands, revealing three sealed packets of parchment. “I spent a great deal of time last night thinking about what you said, Jennifer, and growing progressively more angry as I thought.”

“I am so very sorry, Mother. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. But I still cannot . . .”

“Please, hear me out. I was not—am not—angry with you, nor with Mr. Warner. I am angry with myself, mostly. You spoke the truth last night. I have been a coward. All during my married life I put up with your father’s brutality rather than risk a public scandal by insisting on a separation. I should have taken you and fled, not let him tyrannize you as he did me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mother. Grandfather wouldn’t help you. He talked you out of it.”

“True, but others would have helped. My Grandfather Knollbridge was still alive then. He would have stood by me. No, I lacked courage, just as you said. And I still do. But now I am tired of cringing before my brother-in-law. I am tired of letting the fear of what others may say ruin my life. I am through, forever, with being the pawn of any man.”

She turned to the duke. “I believe you told me you are holding the letter Vincent wrote to me, ordering me to permit Lord Morton to pay his addresses to Jennifer?”

The duke nodded. “It is safely locked away.”

“I have something here I wish you to lock away with it. It is the promissory note that Vincent took from Morton in exchange for that letter.”

Deborah bowed her head a moment. “Before you agree, I should warn you it is stolen. I purloined it from Vincent’s desk. I hope you can forgive me, sir, but I intend to engage in a little blackmail. You see, Vincent cares about three things: money, his reputation, and his children’s future. I intend to show him that he cannot force Jennifer to marry where she does not wish to, without injuring himself in all three regards.”

Since the duke did not shrink from her at this announcement, Deborah held one of the three packets out to him. He took it, an approving smile enlivening his features.

“These other two packets are copies of the originals, with a detailed account of some of my late husband’s activities, things which Vincent either does not know or prefers to forget. All of them were immoral, and one or two items in this account are, I believe, hanging offences.

“You cannot hang a dead man, more’s the pity. But the
ton
will be scandalized by them, and will find it easy to believe Vincent is cut from the same cloth, once they read the documents pertaining to his sale of my daughter. One copy will go to my solicitor, with instructions to make it public if I so direct him, or if anything happens to me. The other I intend to take to Vincent now. He will read of his brother’s deeds in black-and-white, with no quavering voice nor weak feminine tears to distract him from the disgusting story.”

“Oh, Mama!”

“You see, Jennifer, it infuriates me to think that you should be deprived of your fortune, and your husband of his rightful career, in which he can benefit so many, because of Vincent’s greed and snobbery. I shall see that it doesn’t happen. So promise me you will give no more thought to eloping.”

Jennifer slid her hand into John’s. “We promise, don’t we, John?”

“Of course.” John’s craggy face creased in a delighted grin. “But Lady Cornwall, I would like to ask that you permit Jennifer to remain here with us. I think any underhanded tricks might be harder for Vincent to pull with Jennifer in the duke’s household.”

Deborah looked questioningly at the duke, who nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I will feel braver for knowing she is protected, though I think by the time I have finished with Vincent, he will be prepared to escort her down the aisle of St. George’s to give her as your bride with all due ceremony!”

“Brava!” The admiring, adoring look the duke gave her warmed Deborah to her toes. “Shall I go with you to beard the lion in his den?”

“No, I thank you, but I have things to say to him that can be said only in private. I owe Vincent at least the chance to keep this scandal sealed. Will you see that my solicitor receives this document?”

“Gladly.” The duke took the packet from her, tucking it and the first one into an inner pocket of his morning coat. Then he caught up her hands to bring them to his lips for a kiss that seemed scorching even through her gloves.

Deborah drew back as if he had dropped live coals on her. “Then I shall go without further delay to confront him. I shall return as soon as I know his response.”

Eyes dark with pain at her obvious rejection, the duke escorted Deborah to his front door. “I wish . . .”

She lifted troubled brown eyes to meet his charcoal gaze. “Say no more, Justin. I must stand on my own two feet, now and in the future.”

He bowed and let her go, motioning a footman to escort her.
If she is not back within the hour, I will follow her
, the duke promised himself as he returned to the drawing room, to find the young lovers in an intimate embrace. Sighing, he hesitated between separating them and returning to his abandoned breakfast. Suddenly, Sarah’s maid hurtled in the door.

“Oh, Your Grace. ’Tis terrible. You must stop them. I did not know what to do.” And she burst out crying.

Harwood grabbed the weeping maid and shook her sternly. “Stop this useless weeping, Mary. What has happened. Where is Sarah? I thought she was still abed.”

“No, Your Grace. She was up early and wanting to walk. You know how she likes to walk and walk when she is upset. She refused even to wait for a footman. I tried to get her to, I really did!”

“Yes, of course you did. Where . . .”

“We was in Hyde Park, walking along the carriageway. She walks so fast I can’t keep up, you know. I was a block behind, half running. Never did understand how her short legs could move so fast and—”

“Have done, Mary. What has happened to Sarah.” The duke grasped the maid’s fluttering hands in a painfully tight grip.

“Well, a young man drove up to her, the one with the matched greys, you know.”

“No, I . . .”

“Lord Alexander’s greys, they was, only isn’t he blond? I thought this man had dark hair. Could have been that Mr. Fortesque. Anyway, she got up next to him and waved to me, and then he turned the curricle and left the park instead of proceeding around the carriageway as he should have. She looked back over her shoulder at me and called out something but I couldn’t hear her. I waited and waited, but they didn’t come back.”

The duke’s expression was grave. “How long did you wait?”

“Not having a watch . . .”

“When did you leave the house?”

“ ’Twas early, sir. Around eight.”

The duke consulted the watch tucked into his vest pocket. “It’s ten now. Would you say you waited an hour?”

“Not quite that long, I don’t think, sir. We had been walking quite awhile before this happened.”

Fighting panic, the duke thought quickly. “John, you heard? Sarah has left. Eloped, or been abducted. Probably by Meade, damn him. You have his address, haven’t you?”

John was already up and moving. “In my office. I understood Meade was going to India.”

The duke and Jennifer trailed after John as he hastened to his office. “So did I. ’Twas why Sarah was so blue-deviled, I’m sure. Apparently, he’s changed his mind. Though it’s just barely possible it was Fortesque. But why would he abduct her when I had made it clear I would look favorably on an offer from him?”

“Can’t understand it myself, sir,” John responded, rifling through his papers. “Jennifer?”

She shook her head. “Sarah hasn’t been confiding in me much lately. She seems lost in thought much of the time.”

John handed the duke a piece of paper. Harwood tucked the address into his vest pocket. “You wait here, in case they come back. I’m going to Meade and Fortesque’s lodgings, see if I can at least determine whom I am chasing.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have your valet pack a carpetbag for you, shall I, and ready your carriage?”

“No, I’ll ride Tuppence instead. I can catch up to them on a good saddle horse, no matter how fast those greys are.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but disappeared toward the servants’ quarters, through which he could proceed directly to the mews.

***

Alexander looked around their living quarters with disgust. He had returned after a farewell visit to his family, to complete his packing. He found his flat in disarray, Henry’s belongings thrown about as if someone had gone through them one by one. Cushions were tossed from chairs, drawers were standing open, and heavy chests were thrust away from the wall.

“Mason,” he called, hoping to question their servant, but received no answer. He was picking his way through the mess to check on his own room when he heard a violent pounding at the front door. He reversed directions and opened it, astonished to find that the Duke of Harwood, looking like Zeus about to launch a thunderbolt, stood glaring at him.

“You! Where is my daughter!”

“Something has happened to Sarah? Come in, sir.”

The duke entered, taking in the chaos around him. The signs of a struggle struck terror in his heart. Suddenly he lunged forward, grasping Meade about the throat. “Where is Sarah? If you’ve harmed one hair of her head, I’ll kill you.”

Alexander wrenched free, no easy task, for the duke was a powerfully built man. “I haven’t seen Sarah in upwards of two weeks, sir. Please tell me what’s happened, and why you suspect me of involvement.”

A silent, impassioned study of Alexander’s concerned features convinced the duke. “She went for a walk early this morning in Hyde Park. She got into a curricle and left. Her maid thought it was with you. She recognized your team.”

“Mary?”

“Yes, Mary,” the duke snapped impatiently.

“Mary accompanied us one morning when I was driving Henry’s team of greys.”

Bewildered, the duke rubbed his furrowed brow. “Why would Henry Fortesque have abducted my daughter? They both know I would have countenanced the match.”

Alexander’s nostrils flared. “Oh, yes, you made it quite clear whom you would and would not permit to court your daughter!”

The duke growled, “You are too easily discouraged, young man. I asked Sarah only to go slow while I had some reports to your detriment investigated. At the first sign of hesitation on her part you turned elsewhere.”

“Not true, sir. I had it from your own lips that you wouldn’t consider an untitled country squire of little fortune for your daughter, and since that is my fate if I remain in England . . .”

“Had it from my lips?”

“At the opera. You were informing Arnold Lanscombe of how you ended Sarah’s understanding with her country swain.”

“Oh!” Understanding dawned in the duke’s eyes. “I was trying to keep her from being mortified in front of her friends because she had been jilted.”

Alex shook his head. “I thought sure you knew I was listening, that your words were meant for me.”

Harwood gestured impatiently. “This is not finding Sarah. Do you think Fortesque has eloped with her?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Alex surveyed the mess in the flat. “It looks to me as if some of Fort’s havey-cavey financial dealings have brought the duns down on him.”

He bent and picked up a bloodstained shirt. “And playing rough, too.”

Comprehension dawned. “So Fortesque’s financial house was not as well in order as I was told.”

“I’m guessing he’s mortgaged every dime he can hope to inherit from his father, probably with the cent-per-centers. They must have become impatient.”

“Then he clearly feared I would find out his financial situation and refuse him permission to marry Sarah. I must go after her.” The duke turned on his heel.

“Do you . . . do you think she went willingly, sir?”

Harwood turned around and saw the pain and fear in the young man’s eyes. “I don’t think so, but she has not confided in me as much as she was wont to do.”

“May I go with you, sir?”

The duke hesitated.