An Unlikely Duchess (24 page)

“The man was well paid,” he said, “to throw us off the scent.”

Josephine regarded him with open mouth.

“I am afraid Burgess and your brother fell into the trap,” he said. “They went tearing off north. We will head south when you are ready.”

“Ready?” Josephine’s voice was almost a squeak. “Why are we standing here talking?”

His right sleeve might bulge out of shape forever after, the duke reflected as he drove his curricle along the highway a few minutes later. Josephine Middleton had taken her usual fistful of its fabric in order to steady herself. She was staring intently ahead of them as if she expected to see Porterhouse tooling along just down the road. Mitford only hoped they could come up with him some time that night.

Before the girl was ravished.

“How did you find out the truth?” Josephine asked, looking at him with sudden suspicion.

“By persistent questioning,” he said. “I suspected the truth.”

“Did you knock the ostler down?” she asked. “Or did you pay him?”

“I questioned him,” Mitford said.

“Oh.” The duke could feel her eyes on his profile for a long and silent moment. “You paid him, did you not?”

“There are some people,” he said, “with whom money talks far faster than anything else, including a fist. If one uses a fist, you see, sometimes one has to revive the victim before he can talk.”

“And now I am even more deeply in your debt,” she said, to voice aggrieved. “How much did you pay him?”

“It is not at all the thing to ask a gentleman such a question,” he said.

Josephine stared at him. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said. “How much did you pay him?”

He took his eyes off the road long enough to level a look at to. “Are the members of your family used to such language and such demands from you, Miss Middleton?” he asked. “Do you always bully people into giving you your own way? I am not accustomed to being spoken to in just that way, and I have no intention of answering your demand. The sum I paid the ostler was between him and me. It need not concern you at all.”

“I begin to think you are worse than Papa and Grandpapa,” she said, fixing her eyes on the road ahead and lifting her chin to a stubborn angle.

“I begin to hope that I am,” he said. “And if you wave to these rowdy dandies on the roof of the stage, I shall throttle you, ma’am.”

“Oh!” Josephine was so outraged that she scarcely noticed the whoops of appreciation and the whistles and catcalls from the passing vehicle. “I will do whatever I wish, sir. The next time a stage passes, I shall stand up and wave both arms. See if I don’t.”

The duke forebore to comment.

“Will we never come up to them?” Josephine asked after a few minutes of stony silence. “Sukey will be so very frightened.”

“Porterhouse will doubtless think himself safe and will not be in a mad dash,” Mitford said. He reached across and covered her free hand with his gloved one for a brief moment. “We will come up with him tonight even if we have to drive on into the darkness. We will save your sister, never fear.”

“I just want one chance to get my hands on him,” Josephine said. “One chance, that’s all.”

The Duke of Mitford opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. There was really no point whatsoever in fighting premature battles.

***

No more than a couple of hours later, the ostler at the Swan, who was congratulating himself on having made more in one day than he earned at his job in one year emerged from a stall to find a vaguely familiar looking bald-headed giant bearing down on him. One fearful glance beyond his approaching figure showed the ostler an equally familiar carriage with two grim gentlemen descending from it.

He turned to smile cheerfully at the giant and made a valiant effort to keep his knees from knocking together.

“Forgetting yer directions, are you lad?” Sam asked, not breaking his stride as he lifted the grinning ostler by the lapels of his coat and proceeded on his way into the stall with him. “don’t know yer left ’and from yer right? Or up from down? Or inside from outside? Or north from south?”

The ostler, his grin frozen to his face, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground, found silence his best defense.

“Let’s arsk the question again,” Sam said, “for sake of clarity, us ‘aving misunderstood yer the first time around p’raps. Which way did ’e go, lad?”

The lad, who was fifty if he was a day, swallowed with great difficulty. “I said south,” he said with a squeak.

“Ah.” Sam lowered him so that the tips of his toes scraped tantalizingly against the ground. “It’s on account of the ’ardness of my ’earing, then, lad, that we went the wrong way. No matter, then. All is well.”

“I wondered,” the ostler said, “when I saw you turn north after I had distinctly said south.”

“Did yer?” Sam said, lowering a relieved ostler all the way to the ground. “Just out of curiosity, lad...” He leaned down and suddenly the whole world turned upside down for the luckless ostler. His head dangled the same few inches from the ground as his feet had done a minute before. He could only hope, if he was rational enough to hope any such thing, that Sam had a firm grasp on his ankles.

Sam did. He shook his victim so that his head did not once bump against the ground. There was a metallic shower.

“Ah,” Sam said, retaining his hold on the ostler’s heels and staring downward. “I used to ’ave a job like yers, lad, only farther south. It didn’t pay as well down there. Not near as well. Pick up yer earnings now before someone comes and steals them. “

He lowered the ostler gently down onto his head and released his hold of him. The man was scrambling around gathering up gold coins when Sir Thomas Burgess and Bartholomew Middleton appeared in the doorway.

“I don’t suppose you need any help, Sam, do you?” Sir Thomas asked, looking inside with some interest.

“Not at all, sir,” Sam said. “We was mistook, as we thought, sir. The lad said south. Just funny that it sounded like north.”

“Perhaps he needs a lesson in elocution,’’ Bartholomew said grimly. “I am in just the mood to give it personally if you would care to stand back, Sam.”

“Nothing I would like better, sir,” Sam said. “But we ’as better things to do, beggin’ yer pardon, sir. The little lady will be frightened. And she will be sick if ’e ’as been driving ’er through all the potholes.”

“You are right,” Bartholomew said, allowing himself one regretful look at the ostler before hurrying back to the carriage.

Sir Thomas looked down at the man, who was still searching for one lost coin. “Has anyone else been inquiring after that same carriage?” he asked. “And think carefully before deciding to feed me a lie. There will be no money for your answer, by the way.”

The ostler dared one glance at Sam. “A gent in a curricle,” he said. “With a lady. They went after them, sir. South, that is.”

“The, ah, gent paid well, then, did he?” Sir Thomas said before turning away.

Sam finally lifted his foot away from the missing coin. “I might be back for yer job, lad,” he said, “if it pays this well.”

***

Although the journey to the Great North Road was all of seven miles long, Susanna did not suspect the truth until they reached the Swan Inn. Even the fact that Mr. Porterhouse was very reluctant to stop on the two occasions when she felt too bilious to continue did not seem totally strange to her. He was anxious to take her to her sister before Jo could take it into her head to move on again.

But Susanna recognized the Swan Inn when she peered through the curtains, which had been drawn across the windows for some mysterious reason. It was the place where she and Bart had met Sir Thomas Burgess and been informed that Jo was on her way to Deerview Park.

Was this the way to Mr. Hennessy’s house?

“You must not look out through the window,” Mr. Porterhouse said, taking the curtain from her hand and replacing it across the window. “There are those, ma’am, who would think it not quite the thing for you to be traveling without a maid. I must have a care to your reputation.”

“But when will I see Jo?” she asked.

“Soon,” he said as he made to descend from the carriage. “You must stay here, Miss Middleton. You must not show yourself.”

Susanna stayed though she would dearly have liked to descend for a few minutes and a few breaths of fresh air. And indeed, she wished to descend for another reason. She was beginning to feel uneasy. She would have liked to ask someone where Mr. Hennessy lived.

But whom would she ask? She was but eighteen years of age and had done no extensive traveling during her life. She would not know whom to ask or quite what to say. And it was true that anyone of fashion who might be staying at the inn would probably be outraged to see that she was alone without chaperone or maid.

“But where are we going?” she asked Mr. Porterhouse when they were on their way again. She could not see out through the window, but she was sure they were on their way south, along the road she had traveled with Bart.

He reached across the carriage and squeezed her hand. Susanna edged away from him. “I will take care of you,” he said. “You must not be afraid.”

“Not be afraid?” she said. But Susanna was not the girl to say the obvious or to beg and grovel when she knew both to be useless. “Ah, now I understand.”

“Do you?” he asked with a half smile.

“I feel sick,” Susanna announced, a hand over her mouth.

Mr. Porterhouse swore—something he had not done on the two previous occasions—as he leaned forward to knock on the panel for his coachman to stop.

“I am afraid,” Mr. Porterhouse said when he bundled her inside again after scarcely half a minute outside, “that that will be the last stop, ma’am. You must control your impulses.”

Susanna retched miserably—and dryly—against a large handkerchief for the rest of the afternoon and evening, and for part of the night until the coachman came to the door to declare that there was not a glimmer of moonlight and that he was not going to risk his neck by going one yard farther that night. He had stopped outside a cozy looking inn.

“Well,” Mr. Porterhouse said, “pursuit is doubtless half a day or more behind us by now. We can spare a few hours.” He looked across at Susanna. “You are my wife, ma’am. I will expect you to behave accordingly. If you do not, you will doubtless scandalize the good people of the house, and I will be forced to discipline you as any self-respecting husband would discipline a wayward wife." He smiled.

Susanna lifted her chin and descended the steps of the carriage without assistance, pointedly ignoring his outstretched hand. She entered the inn quietly and ascended without a murmur to the room to which Mr. Porterhouse escorted her.

“Ah," he said, closing the door quietly behind him, “we will deal well together, I see."

“Lay one finger on me,” Susanna said, turning to face him with calm expression and hands clasped quietly before her, “and I shall scream the roof down, sir. You may explain the noise, if you wish, as that of your wayward wife, and you may beat me into submission. But for all that, I believe you will be the laughingstock in this inn."

Mr. Porterhouse grinned slowly. “Very well," he said. “You will have your way for now. I can wait, ma’am. I can be patient."

“And now," Susanna said, “I wish to refresh myself and sleep. You will leave the room, if you please. You will, of course, lock me in, but you will not enter until it is time to leave in the morning. If you do, I shall scream the roof down. Good night.”

Mr. Porterhouse looked at her appreciatively, and chuckled. “Good night, ma’am," he said. “Sleep well.”

***

It was very late. And the night was as dark as it was possible for a night to be. The Duke of Mitford had reduced the speed of his curricle a few hours before and was leaning forward in his seat as if the position could help his eyes to penetrate the darkness ahead. Josephine was clutching one of the capes of his coat and clinging firmly to the rail at her other side.

“But you must not stop,” she had said several tunes since darkness had fallen, though the duke had not once suggested that they should.

“There is another inn ahead,” he said now. They had traveled in silence for an hour and more, all his attention being needed for the task of driving his curricle. “Perhaps we will have better fortune there. If they have not seen him, then I am afraid it must mean that he has taken another road again.”

“Then we will go back and find it,” Josephine said. “But we will not stop. Promise me we will not stop.”

“We will not stop,” Mitford said grimly. “We will not stop until we have found them.”

“Will we be too late?” she asked. But her words whipped up her wrath again. She did not wait for an answer. “Oh, the wretch. Just wait until I have my hands on him. If he has harmed one hair of Sukey’s head, I will kill him. I will kill him anyway.”

“Get down for a moment,” the duke said when he drew his curricle into the yard before the inn. “You will need to stretch your legs. I am afraid you have been up here for hours. You must be very weary.”

Her legs buckled under her for a moment when he lifted her down to the cobbles, but he kept a firm hold of her waist to steady her, and she kept her hands on his shoulders.

“You are cold,” he said. “Go inside and warm yourself. It seems that no one is in a hurry to offer us services out here. I shall go in search of a groom who can perhaps tell me if a blue and yellow carriage has passed this way.”

“Do so,” Josephine said. “But none of your ten-minute stops, if you please, sir. Two will do quite nicely.” She strode off in the direction of the door that led into the taproom.

The room was in semi-darkness, the customers having all betaken themselves to bed an hour or more before. Only one candle burned, though there was an additional glow from the fire in the hearth. And only one gentleman remained. He was slumped in a chair that had been pulled close to the fire. His feet were crossed on the hearth before him. His head was dropped forward in sleep.

Josephine stood quietly in the doorway staring at him. Then she looked about her. It was true that no one seemed eager for their business at this hour of the night. There was no sign of a landlord or barmaid or any other servant. Not that that mattered in the least.