Another Country (31 page)

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh, no? Why don’t I ask Taylor?”

“He wouldn’t...”

“Taylor!” Dearborn barked. “Come in here.”

The butler entered, bowing slightly in front of
Dearborn. “Yes, sir?”

“What did this chit hear? You were outside the door,
I know you were. Tell me what she knows.”

Taylor’s face was implacable but his eyes slid
briefly to Caroline before returning to rest on Dearborn. “I
couldn’t say, sir.”

“Oh, couldn’t you?” Dearborn snarled. “You’re here
on my sufferance.”

“What?” Caroline glanced between the men,
bewildered.

“Haven’t you realized?” Dearborn barked with
laughter. “Taylor’s mine. I put him here to keep an eye on your
uncle, and you as well. He’s done quite a good job of it too, I
might add. Told me when your uncle was getting cold feet, your
silly schoolgirl ideas about running away. Running away!” He
laughed again, leaning closer to her, his eyes full of menace. “Did
you not think I would find you? I’ll find you anywhere, my girl.
You and your uncle.”

Caroline turned to Taylor. She had thought him her
ally. “You betrayed me, didn’t you?” she whispered.

“There was nothing to betray,” Taylor said coolly,
and Caroline’s last remnant of hope disintegrated into ashes. She
had trusted Taylor to tell her if Ian came, if he had looked for
her. She knew now the butler would have said nothing. “He’s come,
hasn’t he?” she said. “And you sent him away.”

“I suppose you mean that fool doctor?” Dearborn
interjected. “I’ve kept my eye on him as well. You’re well rid of
him, my dear. What a shabby little fellow! He wouldn’t have brought
you anything.”

“And you would?” Caroline filled her voice with
scorn. “I can tell you, sir, I don’t want anything you could give
me!”

The slap Dearborn gave her made her eyes water and
her ears ring. Caroline held one hand to her cheek in shock.

“That wasn’t necessary, Dearborn,” her uncle said
nervously. Taylor remained impassive, unmoved.

“She needs to know her place. And I’m the one to
show it to her.”

At that moment Caroline could feel the bars of her
prison forming around her. If she gave in now, she would never be
free. Her life would be one of utmost despair, married to a man she
hated and could not even respect. A man who held no tender feeling
for her at all. A man who clearly had no conscience about abusing
her.

She took a step towards the door, in the pretense of
stumbling for balance. “What do you want of me?” she asked in a
low, trembling voice.

“Isn’t it obvious? Your social connections. It is
not,” Dearborn added with silky contempt, “as if I hold any regard
for your quaint charms, my dear.”

“Clearly. Well, sir, you see how badly I am placed.”
Caroline raised her chin. “There is little I can do, so I suppose
it suits me to heed your words and agree to marry you.”

Dearborn’s eyes narrowed, and even her uncle’s
obvious relief was tinged with suspicion.

“It’s that easy, is it?”

“What do you expect?” She held her hands out in
front of her. “I am a woman in a strange land with few recourses.
However...” Her own eyes narrowed, and Caroline hoped she was up to
playing this role. “If you want a willing wife, a pleasing one,
then you would do well to please me.” She held her breath, hoping
she’d guessed correctly that this brand of audacity would amuse
Matthew Dearborn.

There was a tense pause, and then he chuckled dryly.
“And how, you brazen chit, might I please you?”

“In all manner of things.” She smiled sweetly.
“There are dresses, of course, and I mean to be well outfitted with
jewels. You hardly want your wife to look a peasant, do you? And I
require my own carriage, of course.” She met his gaze coolly. “For
shopping, and the like. If you wish to enter society, sir, you must
be prepared to pay for it.” For a moment, she was afraid she’d gone
too far. She saw the latent rage in Dearborn’s eyes, but then he
shrugged expansively.

“As you wish.”

“I believe we were going to supper?” Caroline
queried. “I left my bonnet upstairs. It’s a pretty confection, the
latest fashion. I daresay people will notice it.” She raised her
eyebrows. “May I fetch it?”

Dearborn had had enough, and he shrugged
impatiently. “As you like! I care not for such fripperies, I assure
you.”

Caroline executed a quick curtsey before hurrying
out of the room. She knew Taylor was dogging her footsteps, and her
heart was beating so fast she felt she might choke on it.

What to do now? This was her only chance, surely.
She knew if she continued in the charade she’d constructed, she
would never escape.

She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, and turned
impatiently to the butler. “If you please, Taylor, I need a moment
alone!”

“My master would not like me to leave you,” Taylor
said with cold finality and Caroline felt a wave of dread ripple
over her. This was not going to be as easy as she thought.

“I think your master understands me better than you
do,” she snapped. “Have we not reached an agreement? I’m not likely
to go fleeing into the night, after all!” That was precisely her
plan, yet she forced herself to look at the butler
contemptuously.

“I think,” Taylor said quietly, “that perhaps I
understand madam better than Mr. Dearborn does.”

“You have a nerve!” Caroline exclaimed, and slammed
the door in his face. She paced her bedroom, wiping her palms on
the side of her dress. Her mind raced. Taylor was waiting on the
other side of the door; what could she do? There was nowhere to go,
nowhere to hide.

“Miss Caroline?” her maid looked up from the
dressing room in surprise. “Have you changed your mind about the
bonnet?”

Caroline glanced at the article on the dressing room
table. “Yes, I’ll wear it.” She would have to, now. She was just
reaching for it when she saw the servants’ door. It led to the back
hallway down to the kitchen, cleverly disguised as part of the
wall. She’d never had cause to use it, or even care of its
existence.

Now it might be her lifeline.

Taylor knocked on the door. “Miss Reid, you are
wanted downstairs. Now.”

“Talk,” Caroline whispered to her maid. “Talk now,
as if I am in the room.”

“But you are in the room--”

Caroline shook her head, opening the servants’ door
quietly. “A little faster, if you please!” she called out
querulously. “Mr. Dearborn is waiting.”

The maid looked confused, but after a moment’s
hesitation, answered dutifully. “Yes, Miss. I’ll hurry as much as I
can.”

Caroline nodded encouragingly, then tiptoed down the
steps. She’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when she heard
her bedroom door burst open, and Taylor demand, “Where is she?”

Caroline started to run. She flew past shocked a
shocked skivvy and boot boy to the backdoor, wrenching it open and
stumbling across the slick cobbles in just her evening slippers.
She had reached the street when the front door opened and she heard
Dearborn shout furiously.

“After her!”

“You know a man like that?” Rupert glanced sharply
at Ian. Dusk was falling outside the barren office, and Summers
stood in front of them, shifting from foot to foot with distinct
unease. “Who would that be?”

Ian shook his head slowly. “I think... I can’t be
sure of course...”

“Spit it out, man!” Rupert said impatiently, and
Henry placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“Careful now. We can’t be running helter-skelter
around the city, accusing people of forgeries!”

“We’re hardly doing that!”

Summers was backing slowly out of the room. “You
don’t need me then, gentlemen? I just came for a few papers. I’ll
be off...”

“Not quite so fast,” Rupert began, but Ian shook his
head.

“Let him be. It’s not him we’re after.”

“Who are we after, then?”

Ian took a deep breath. “Riddell.”

“Riddell?” Henry repeated, his voice filled with
surprise. Rupert’s glance was equally incredulous.

“You doubt me?” Ian said. Color flared in his
cheeks. “I told you, I know a man like that--”

“Riddell does not have a scar on one cheek!”

“No,” Ian returned with some heat, “but his butler
does.”

There was a moment of tense silence. Summers took
the opportunity to scamper from the room, the front door of the
office slamming with a hollow, echoing sound.

“Perhaps his butler bears a scar,” Henry began
carefully, “but that is hardly conclusive evidence--”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Ian demanded.

“Why would Riddell, a gentleman of good standing, be
involved in a forgery?” Rupert shook his head. “He has far too much
to lose.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Ian persisted. “What if
he’s in debt?”

“In debt? What with his holdings in Berwick and
Mull, not to mention one of the nicer townhouses here in Boston! If
he’s in debt, his creditors seem willing to overlook a good
deal.”

“Who knows what the situation is?” Ian said. “But
the truth is, his butler is the man Summers saw.”

“The butler looks like the man Summers saw,” Henry
corrected. “Ian, there is a difference.”

Ian shrugged in impatient frustration. “You were
willing to rush down here to the docks to pursue a slim lead, why
all this pussyfooting about now? Especially you, Rupert!” He shot
his friend a furious glance. “You were the most eager of us all to
pursue these criminals, yet now you shy away at the last gate!”

Both Henry and Rupert were silent. Rupert looked at
Ian with a strange compassion that made him uneasy. The papers blew
and rustled about their feet.

“Ian,” Rupert began quietly, “no one knows more than
I how deep your hatred of Riddell runs, and for good reason. I was
there when he swindled you out of Achlic Farm. I remember your
father, your sister Harriet, even Eleanor at the time. I know what
you all went through.”

“No, you don’t,” Ian returned in a voice so low
Rupert and Henry barely could hear it.

“Perhaps not the same as experiencing it myself,”
Rupert allowed, “and Lord knows, it would fit together neatly for
you if Riddell was guilty. Why, his lands might even be forfeit!
But it isn’t that simple, Ian. It can’t be.”

“You think I’m in this for revenge? To finally best
Riddell?” Ian looked at them both in disbelief. “I’m not such a
petty, little man that I would create a scandalbroth out of
nothing! That I would attempt to frame an innocent man!”

“No one is saying anything like that,” Henry
interjected hastily. “But surely you can see yourself how you might
want it to be true?”

“Want it? Yes, I do. I want to prove he’s a
criminal, because he was one eleven years ago and no one could lift
a finger against him. Now he’s got in too deep, and the law will
finally have him, I swear it!” Ian looked fiercely at the other
men. “This is not about revenge. It’s about justice.”

“Ian, you cannot run after Riddell based on the
report of a scar!” Henry’s voice was urgent. “It would create a
horrible scandal that your career as a doctor might never recover
from. Riddell may be new in this city, but he is titled and wealthy
and has no little influence. He could ruin your prospects
completely... ruin your life.”

“He did that once. He won’t do it again.” Ian lifted
his chin. “If you won’t accompany me, so be it. But I intend to
drive to Riddell’s house tonight, and confront him.”

“There are other ways!” Henry persisted. “Discreet
inquiries. I can have his butler followed...”

“There isn’t time. Don’t you realize? There is
Caroline to consider. If Riddell is involved in something criminal,
it’s only a matter of time before he drags her down with him.”

“Surely he wouldn’t...” Henry began.

Rupert shook his head grimly. “I know that man, and
he cares nothing for his own niece. Ian is right. If Riddell is
involved in something criminal--or dangerous--Caroline may be at
risk.”

“Then you’ll go with me?”

Rupert sighed heavily. “On one condition--that you
don’t knock down any doors in your anger! We can’t burst in
Riddell’s house as if we had a right to be there, Ian, and we can’t
bully him like a greasy little thief as this.” He jerked a thumb
towards the door Summers had recently scampered out of. “We need to
conduct ourselves as gentlemen.”

Ian drew himself up. “I intend to always conduct
myself as a gentleman,” he said.

The street in front of Riddells’ townhouse was
deserted. A chilly wind blew dead leaves down the darkened
street.

Ian marched resolutely up to the door and knocked.
After a few moments, the butler, Taylor, answered.

All three men stared silently at the long, thin scar
running delicately down one cheek. “Sir James is not at home,”
Taylor said shortly, but Ian just shook his head.

“I know he is. I saw the lamp in his study. Let me
in, Taylor. You won’t keep me out this time.”

“Ian...” Henry said in a low voice of warning. He
looked at Taylor uncomfortably.

“Oh, dash it, why should I bother with the niceties?
I know he’s in there, and I know what he is!” Ian shouldered past
Taylor. Rupert and Henry, exchanging uneasy glances, followed.

“I must insist you stop at once! This is a breach--”
Taylor broke off, for the three men were standing in the doorway of
Riddell’s study.

Riddell sat in a chair by the desk, his shoulders
slumped, his expression haggard. “I thought you might come,” he
said, his eyes on Ian. “When he told me someone was asking
questions...”

“Who told you?”

“Haven’t you worked that bit out yet?” Riddell’s
smile was cold and mirthless, but there was a new weariness in his
eyes, in the dejected set of his shoulders. “Or do you think I’m
working alone?”

“Sir James,” Taylor said softly, “think about what
you are saying.”