An Unlikely Duchess (22 page)

And what were she and Bart doing at Lord Parleigh’s home? Were they doing any good at all? They were no closer to finding Jo than they had been when they set out from home—how many days ago? It seemed very likely that she had continued north with the mysterious Mr. Villiers.

Would they ever see their sister alive again? And even if they did, what would be the extent of her ruin? Not that Susanna cared about that at all—she just wanted Jo back. But she dared not think of how her sister’s life might have been ruined by the experiences of the past week.

And what about Mr. Porterhouse? They had no proof whatsoever that he had had anything to do with Jo’s disappearance, though of course Sam had told them that he had been at that inn the same night as Jo and Mr. Villiers. There was even less proof that Mr. Porterhouse had stolen any of Jo’s jewels. For all she and Bart knew, all of the family jewels might be lying safely at home.

So how could Bart confront Mr. Porterhouse, as he intended to do that day? He could just be starting some dreadful scandal.

Surely they should not be wasting their time at Deerview Park. They should be on their way in pursuit of Jo, though how they could do that when they did not know what direction to take, Susanna did not know. She wished there were someone to talk to, someone who could give wise and calm advice. Bart was too caught up in the emotion of the moment. Bart always had been thoroughly easy-going except when he felt the family honor was in some jeopardy. There was Sir Thomas Burgess, of course. He was a kind gentleman; she liked him exceedingly. But she had already said more to him than she strictly ought. He was, after all, a virtual stranger.

And then, of course, she must not forget the strange appearance of the Duke of Mitford on the scene. Was it pure coincidence? Or was there some connection to Jo? But why would he pursue her when he had never set eyes on her? And why was he so different from the way Mr. Porterhouse had described him?

She was going to develop a headache, Susanna thought, if she did not get some fresh air again. Eighteen years of living in the country with a close and loving family and with a very few neighbors had really not prepared her well at all for solving such knotty problems.

It was as she walked along the terrace before the house and stepped off it onto the lawn that led to the stable block that she ran almost literally into Mr. Porterhouse, who was coming from the side of the house. He smiled at her and set down a bag at his feet.

“All alone, Miss Middleton?” he asked. “What has happened to the gallantry of the other gentlemen?”

“I am just taking the air for a few minutes, sir,” she said in some confusion. She had never felt comfortable with Mr. Porterhouse. But she realized in all honesty that it was perhaps his perfect good looks and his fashionable air that overawed her.

“Ah, you are not alone,” he said, smiling beyond her shoulder and making a bow. “Lady Dorothy? You are back from your ride? I am sorry I had to leave you so abruptly.”

Lady Dorothy Brough joined them at the edge of the terrace. She had changed from her riding clothes into a day dress. She held a shawl about her shoulders.

“Don’t mention it, Humphrey,” she said. “Is his grace staying for lunch?”

“I have not seen him," Mr. Porterhouse said. “Is he here?”

“He called earlier,” Susanna said. “He was looking for you, sir. But that was some time ago.”

“We passed him a short while ago,” Lady Dorothy said, “on the driveway. He was with the lady you introduced us to. Mrs.—I cannot recall her name. It looked to me altogether as if they had an assignation. Certainly, he drew her behind the trees when they heard us approach. Are you quite sure she is a lady, Humphrey?”

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Porterhouse said, “quite sure, Lady Dorothy. You must be cold with just that thin shawl. I would hate to see you take a chill.”

“Yes,” she said, “I am going back inside directly. I hope he returns for luncheon, though, don’t you? Life can become tedious in the country when one sees the same faces day after day. Would you not agree with me, Miss Middleton?”

Susanna flushed. “I have always lived in the country, ma’am,” she said. She turned back to the house with Lady Dorothy, but Mr. Porterhouse caught at her arm.

“If you will forgive me for saying so, Miss Middleton,” he said, “you seem to have lost some of the glow of high spirits that I always noticed in you when I had the pleasure of your acquaintance at Rutland Park. May I be of any service to you? Or is it presumptuous of me to ask?”

Susanna bit her lip. “It is nothing,” she said.

He frowned. “Why is it,” he said almost to himself, “that you make nothing seem like a great deal of something? Is it your sister? Are you worried about her?”

“What do you know of my sister?” she asked warily.

He hesitated. “I was surprised—indeed, quite shocked, ma’am,” he said, “to discover when I left my cousins, the Winthrops, and was making my return to London that Miss Middleton was staying at the same inn. But she was neither alone nor traveling under her own name. Am I distressing you?”

“She did not leave home with you, then?” Susanna asked.

He looked at her in some astonishment. “With me?” he said. “Miss Middleton leave home with me, ma’am? But why would she do such a thing?”

“I thought...” Susanna said and swallowed.

“I was worried,” he said, “especially when I heard the next morning that the two of them had turned north. I thought they must be eloping. I followed them. I am afraid I had no right to do so. Your family’s business is none of my concern. But your father had been kind to me, you see.”

Susanna stared at him with large blue eyes.

“Did you come in pursuit of her?” he asked. “You and your brother?”

“Yes,” she said.

“It was fortunate that Lord Parleigh is an acquaintance of mine,” he said, “and that I was able to come here, so close to where she is. But I must confess that since I arrived back from my aunt’s yesterday and found you and your brother here, I have not known what to do. For to betray your sister is perhaps the wrong thing to do. But I cannot bear to see your distress.”

Susanna’s eyes widened still further. “You know where she is?” she asked.

He nodded and gnawed at his top lip with his teeth. “She is staying with old friends,” he said. “The Hennessys.”

Susanna stared at him. “Caroline Hennessy?” she said.

“I believe that is the daughter’s name, yes,” he said. “They live a few miles away. And now already I feel that I could bite my tongue out. Your brother’s anger will be a terrible thing, I feel sure. I would not wish such an ending on Miss Middleton’s romance, indiscreet as it undoubtedly is.”

“Jo is just a few miles away?” she said.

He moved a step closer to her. “Perhaps it would help if you went to her, ma’am,” he said. “Perhaps she would realize the foolhardiness of her behavior if she were to see you.”

“Oh, yes,” Susanna said, tears springing to her eyes.

“Perhaps you should see her before your brother knows of her whereabouts,” he said.

“Bart would be very angry with her,” she said.

“Let me take you to her, then, ma’am,” he said. “It will be a load off my mind to know that she has been restored to one member of her family at least. Perhaps she will consent to your sending for your brother and all will be well after all.”

“You will take me to her now?” Susanna asked. “And miss your luncheon, sir?”

“How could I eat,” he said, “after having seen the tears in your eyes? I am only sorry that I could not force myself to speak up sooner. Come, ma’am, some of the grooms have gone for their own luncheon, I have observed. But no matter. I shall hitch my horses to my carriage myself if my coachman is not in the stables, and we will be on our way without further ado.”

He took her by the elbow and picked up his bag before hurrying her across the grass to the stables.

The blue and yellow carriage was making its way down the driveway ten minutes later, the curtains lowered over the windows.

Susanna, seated inside it, sat tensely watching her hands as they twisted and clutched each other in her lap. She was not thinking about possible travel sickness but about her sister and what she would say to her when she saw her again. But she knew she would not say anything at first. She would throw herself into Jo’s arms and forgive her everything.

And Mr. Porterhouse sat beside her, a slight smile on his lips. So he had been right. Or partly so. It seemed that the Duke of Mitford and Miss Middleton, alias Mrs. Villiers, were indeed in league against him, and doubtless that giant of a rogue, Villiers, too. But they had not been clever enough for him. It had been too careless of them to hold a meeting on the driveway while they awaited him. Too careless of them to allow themselves to be seen. And too careless to allow their groom to go for luncheon before his departure.

Doubtless the lady would be mystified and somewhat alarmed to find that his carriage swept past without waiting to take her up.

But he had a prize that was almost as valuable. It was doubtless true that Miss Susanna Middleton’s dowry was not as large as her elder sister’s. But she was, after all, Cheamley’s daughter and Rutland’s granddaughter. They would pay a goodly sum to see her safely married and ruin averted. And he still had the jewels, for what they were worth.

Besides, he thought, examining the profile of the girl beside him, the younger sister was more lovely than the elder. Yes, his first experience with theft and abduction was not turning out too disastrously after all.

Sir Thomas Burgess, standing at the window of his dressing room, watched the golden-haired beauty cross the lawn toward the stables with Porterhouse. And the latter, he noted with a frown, was carrying a bag.

He stood a long time in the window until the carriage appeared, driven by Porterhouse’s coachman. The curtains were drawn across the windows, he could see even from a distance. The carriage turned toward the driveway and disappeared from sight.

Sir Thomas continued to frown and stare after it for a few minutes longer.

***

“If you must know,” the Duke of Mitford was saying to Josephine, “I plan to offer him money for the return of your jewels. It is the type of persuasion he will understand. I do not doubt that the whole thing can be settled without any fuss or violence whatsoever."

“What?" Josephine knelt up on the bed and watched her companion pace the floor of their bedchamber. They had retired there when Caroline had been borne off to her mother’s dressing room so that her maid could add new flounces to the ball dress she planned to wear the following night. “You plan to offer him money for what is not his? I will not hear of any such thing.”

The duke scratched his head and turned to look at her. “I suppose,” he said, “that you think a few firm and fierce words will have the man cringing and rushing to relinquish his treasure, I suppose you still believe that he was going to take you to the jewels before I was unkind enough to drag you home.”

“I do," she said. “He must realize that the game is up, after all. It must have been a nasty shock to him yesterday to find that I had caught up to him.”

“I am quite sure he was shaking in his boots all night long,” the duke said, “if he wore them all night long, that is. If you will pardon me for saying so, ma’am, I would point out that you seem to know very little of the world.”

“And perhaps you know too much,” she said. “Paying for the return of stolen property, indeed. You would merely encourage him in future thefts. Besides, however would I repay you? I have already told you that I am in debt for the next month. And it will take me several more months to repay you for what you have already spent on my behalf. I certainly have no intention of paying for my own jewels, sir.”

“And I have no intention of asking you to do so,” he said. “All I ask is a little common sense.”

“Well.” Josephine climbed down from the bed and came to stand in front of him, her hands on her hips. “I see you are intent on insulting me, sir. And of course you have me at a disadvantage for you have been kind enough to give up a week of your time to affairs that are none of your concern. And you have been willing to allow me to get deep in debt to you. But for all that, it is ungentlemanly of you to insult me. And really, you know, I did not need you. I could have managed quite well on my own when I discovered the theft. You offered your services. I did not ask for them.”

“What in the name of all that is wonderful were you doing at that inn, anyway?” the duke asked. He had almost never lost his temper. There had never been any need. But he was losing it now. “But I don’t know why I need to ask. You were willing to accept my protection when you did not know one single thing about me. And you were willing to drive off with Porterhouse this morning when he had spun you such an unlikely story that a child would have seen through it. Why do I need to ask your reason for coming away with him in the first place?”

“And why did you come with me?” she asked, her eyes blazing back at him. “You did not know me, either. And you were on your way somewhere else—to some poor lady who is probably still looking for you. Though I would tell her if I could that she has had a fortunate escape, for you are just like all the other men and have to have your own way. Why did you come to the salon with Caroline and me after luncheon? Could you not see that she wanted to be alone with me for a while so that we could talk as we used to do? Did you have to act like a jailer?”

“I dare not let you out of my sight,” he said, exasperated. “If I do, you will doubtless go tearing off again and get yourself kidnapped or ravished. I have to keep you within my sight.”

“And why should you care anyway?” she asked. “What is it to you if any of those things happen to me? You will be well rid of me. You will be able to go about your own business again.”

“So I will,” he said. “How very pleasant that sounds. It seems to me that until a week or so ago life was tranquil and sane. Perhaps what I think I remember was but a dream. Perhaps life has always been this mad. But I think not. I think life used to be different.”

“Oooh,” she said, her nostrils flaring, “don’t let me stop you from going back to your life then, sir. Go back by all means. I shall do quite well where I am, and I shall get my jewels besides. I do not need you or your domineering ways. Or your insults or your sneering.”