Imposter Bride (36 page)

“Captain.”

Someone nudged his shoulder.

“Captain Ramsay.”

Ian blinked and scrambled to straighten his position
in the chair. How had he come to fall asleep? How long had he been
dozing in this chair? He couldn’t believe he’d been so rude as to
fall asleep in the presence of a lady during tea.

“Captain?”

Ramsay glanced around, amazed to see the drapery
drawn against the winter evening chill, the fire roaring, and
scores of candles flickering in the parlor. When he’d entered this
room for tea, the sky had just been going gray over the tops of the
trees. His eyes finally came into full focus, and he was surprised
to discover Puckett standing near his left elbow.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

Puckett nodded. “Lady Auliffe told me you were in
here.”

“How long have I been asleep? What hour is it?”

“Seven, sir.”

“Good God.” Ramsay ran a hand over his hair and
stood up, his muscles stiff and his back sore from the awkward
position he’d assumed in the chair for the past three hours.

“There you are,” the lady of the house called as she
swept through the doorway. She wore a light green silk that set off
her snowy hair. “Did you have a nice nap, my boy?”

Ian flushed. “Yes, thank you.”

“You barely took a sip of tea and you were out.” She
snapped her fingers. “Just like that!”

Embarrassed at falling asleep in her house, and
still a bit groggy, he looked across the room to the footman he
could see out in the hall.

“Would you please ask William to bring my hat and
coat?”

Lady Auliffe arched her back. “You aren’t
leaving!”

“I’ve imposed too much as it is.” He swept her a
small bow.

“Not at all. And I won’t have you riding any more
this evening!” Lady Auliffe took his elbow, as if to hold him in
the room. “You need a decent supper and some rest to prepare
yourself for the morning.”

“I don’t wish to put you out, ma’am.”

“Put me out? Pish!” She leveled her gaze on his
assistant. “And you, too, Mr. Puckett. You must stay for supper,
and then fetch the captain’s things and yours as well. It’s silly
for you to be staying in an uncomfortable inn when I have all this
room.”

Ian sighed. If the truth were told, he had no desire
to mount a horse again and face the bone-chilling winter wind. He
didn’t know how much sleep he would get, though, as the events of
the last few days and concern for the upcoming duel ran maddeningly
unbidden through his head. But he could pace the floor as easily at
the Auliffe estate as he could in the drafty inn.

“Good.” Lady Auliffe took his silence for an
agreement. “It’s settled then.” She released his elbow. “Supper is
at eight. If you would like an aperitif, please help yourself to
anything you fancy in the drawing room.”

He caught Lady Auliffe inspecting the side of his
face.

“I believe you could use a stiff brandy, my boy,”
Lady Auliffe observed, her voice laced with her peculiar mix of
acid and kindness.

He looked down at her. “I believe I could.”

“Go ahead without me,” she advised. “I have some
last minute details to attend to.” She flowed to the doorway and
turned, always regal. “But I shall join you shortly,
gentlemen.”

“Thank you,” Ramsay said. He tried to swallow a
yawn, but had to smother it with his hand. Even as sleepy as he
was, however, he noticed Puckett had become agitated, as if the
thought of lingering at the country estate caused him distress.

Ian strolled to the drawing room with Puckett in his
wake. As soon as Ian had poured the brandy and given the snifter to
Puckett, his assistant looked over his shoulder as if assuring
himself that no one else was about, and then turned back to his
master.

“I don’t know how much she knows,” he began, jerking
his head backward to indicate the mistress of the house, and
keeping his voice low.

“Practically everything.” Ramsay raised his glass.
“Why?”

“Well, I heard a strange tale at the tavern and came
straightaway to tell you. But I didn’t know how much her ladyship
knew of things.”

“What are you talking about, Puckett?”

“Well, I was having a meat pie and reading the paper
when I overheard a conversation.”

“Yes?”

“Apparently a local tinker has been spreading a
rumor about the return of the MacMarrie.”

Ian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand
up.

“A tinker?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t ask any questions. Didn’t want
to draw attention to myself.”

“Understandable.”

“So I sat there and listened. From what I could
tell, this tinker saw someone or found someone wearing the
MacMarrie tartan.”

“Who in the world would that be?”

Puckett nodded. “I know. I couldn’t figure who it
might be either.”

“And?”

“Well, it turned out to be some woman.”

The hairs on Ian’s arms stood up as well this time,
and he heard a faint ringing in his ears. “Go on, Puckett, for
God’s sake!”

Puckett took a sip of his brandy. “I don’t know how
to say this, captain, without causing you too much
concern—especially on the eve of your duel.”

“What, man!”

“The person that was found? She was floating in the
waters of Lake Lemond.”

“Sophie—” Ramsay set his glass down, completely
distracted, and would have bolted for the door, except for
Puckett’s firm grasp upon his forearm.

“Sir!” Puckett exclaimed. “Wait!”

Ramsay turned to him, his vision barely focusing on
his small assistant.

“You don’t know it’s her! You don’t know if she’s
alive or dead!”

“It’s got to be Sophie!”

“But we don’t know where she is!”

“I’ll find her!” Ramsay yanked out of Puckett’s
grip. “I must! I have to know!”

“And spend the rest of the night tearing across
hell’s half acre?” Puckett grabbed him again. “And then fight a
duel when you can’t see straight? ‘Twould be madness!”

“She might be alive!”

“She might be!” Puckett retorted fiercely. “And if
you duel in your present condition, tomorrow you’ll be lying in a
pool of your own blood! Then where will you be?”

Ramsay couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see
straight. The ringing in his ears had turned into a roar, and his
heart galloped in his chest as if he’d just run a mile.

“Sir, pardon my bluntness, but you look like you’re
half dead as it is. Don’t make it any worse for yourself
tomorrow.”

“What would you have me do, Puckett?” he growled.
“Stand by when my very soul is on fire?”

“No,” came a steady voice from the doorway.

Ian heard the telltale rustle of silk as Mary
Auliffe walked toward him.

“Let Mr. Puckett investigate. He can find Sophie,
and probably easier than you could—what with your looks giving you
away to every local. You’d have a parade following you before
long.”

Ramsay swallowed and stared at her, hearing her
attempt at lightheartedness, but unable to respond to it in
kind.

“But I can’t just stand aside and do nothing!”

“Yes, you can,” Lady Auliffe retorted. “You will
allow Mr. Puckett to do his job, while you make yourself fit for
the morning. It will do neither of you any good, if she’s alive and
you are dead.”

“Yes.” Puckett stepped closer. “Allow me to find
her, captain. I won’t rest until I do, you can be sure of it.”

“I don’t doubt that, Puckett.” Ramsay sighed and
looked down at him. “You’ve had a soft spot for that girl all
along.”

Puckett blushed but tried to blink it away.

“All right.” Ramsay sank to a chair, his energy
suddenly and completely dissipated. “Go find her, Puckett, and
bring her back, no matter what state she’s in.”

“Right.”

“But don’t bring her here if she is alive. Not until
the duel has been fought. If Edward is the victor—and God help us
if that should occur—she will be in grave danger.”

“I understand.”

“If that should be the case, you must take her to
Boston, Puckett, where she will be safe. Set her up in my house
there, and make certain she is cared for. I will draw up a paper
tonight, giving her part of my estate upon the event of my
death.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary Auliffe
nodding, a small smile of approval on her lips.

“But, sir,” Puckett protested, “you’re a crack
shot—”

“And fate is unpredictable, Puckett.” Ramsay ran a
hand over his hair. “When you locate Sophie, tell her that I have
evidence that will prove Edward Metcalf is the murderer. And that
she need fear no more. Now go. Find her.”

“Right, sir.” Puckett turned to his hostess. “Thank
you, your ladyship, for your hospitality.”

“Tut!” She waved him off. “And don’t forget to fetch
your things and the captain’s upon your return.”

“Right.” Puckett hurried to the doorway of the
drawing room and then pivoted.

“If I don’t see you by morning, sir—”

Ramsay looked up.

“I mean to say, good luck, sir.”

“Thank you, Puckett.”

Puckett’s face contorted into an unfamiliar
expression, and it was only until after his assistant had
disappeared from view that Ramsay realized he had actually
smiled.

“You too, Puckett,” he murmured to himself. “You,
too.”

“Ye’ve got a visitor,” the tinker, called, stepping
onto the rear stairs of the caravan. The vehicle shook with the
shift of her weight, and Sophie struggled to sit up. Jane Glenn
ambled down the center aisle, scowling. “And rather a late comer,
if ye ask me.”

“What time is it?”

“Just after midnight.”

“And who is there?”

“A man, says he knows you.”

“A man?” Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. A visitor
could be anyone: Constable Keener, Edward Metcalf, or Ian Ramsay.
“Did he tell you who he was?”

“The name Puckett mean anything to you?”

Puckett? That was the name of Ian’s assistant. She
felt a small wave of relief and sat all the way up, not nearly as
sore as she had been earlier that morning.

“Ye ken the name, lass?”

“Yes. I know him.”

“Ye want to see him?” Jane Glenn had become very
protective of Sophie over the course of the day, and even now
blocked the path from Sophie’s bed to the door of the caravan.
“Dinna have to, ye know. If someone means you harm—”

“It will be all right, Mrs. Glenn. Truly.”

“Shall I send him in? Or ye wish t’ give him a
message?”

“I can get up.”

“Fie! You’re in no condition to move.” The tinker
waved her off. “Bide your time, lass. I’ll bring the man in.”

Sophie hastily stuffed some stray hairs under her
borrowed mobcap and pulled the covers up to the front of her night
rail as she listened to Jane Glenn delivering instructions to
Puckett, probably warning him of bodily injury should he molest her
charge in any way. Then the caravan swayed again, much less
precipitously this time, as Puckett climbed up to see her. He
walked forward, carefully inspecting his cramped surrounds, but
when he caught sight of Sophie on the bed at the end of the
vehicle, his worried face broke into a huge grin.

“Miss Hinds—I mean Vernet! It
is
you!” he
exclaimed. “The Lord be praised!”

He skittered forward, the tails of his coat
flapping, and grabbed both of her hands, quite forgetting himself
and his usual reserved manner. He raised her hands as if to invite
her to dance, and beamed down at her. “‘Tis a veritable miracle!
Look at you! Look at you!”

“Mr. Puckett,” she replied, gently trying to slip
her hands from his ecstatic grasp.

“We thought you were dead! Everyone thinks you are
dead!”

“All the better for me.” She managed to disengage
from his hands, and pulled the covers higher, unnerved by his
display of delight and not sure why he was paying her a visit.

“What happened? How did you manage to survive?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Puckett. I don’t remember much
after jumping.”

“And you didn’t drown. Astounding!”

“I must have lost consciousness until Mrs. Glenn
saved me. She claims the currents kept me afloat.”

“My God! ‘Twas a miracle that you even survived the
fall! You live a charmed life, Miss Vernet, indeed you do!”

“Do I?” Sophie didn’t agree with the man. Out of no
doing on her part, she had lost both parents at a young age, had
come to England as a mistreated servant, had been accused of
thievery and murder, used as a pawn by a revenge-hungry man, almost
forced into a marriage of convenience to a fortune-hunter, and then
had jumped to her death to avoid public execution. She led a
charmed life? Hardly.

“Actually, Mr. Puckett, I wish for the so-called
charmed life of Sophie Vernet to come to an end.”

“What do you mean?”

“I intend to start over, Mr. Puckett. No more Sophie
Vernet. No more Katherine Hinds. And with nothing to do with any of
you!”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Have I not suffered enough? And for other people’s
shortcomings? For other people’s cowardice and crime? I have done
nothing wrong, Mr. Puckett, but try to get on with things, to do
decent work, to earn my keep. And look where it got me!”

“I’ll admit, you did have a streak of—”

“Bad luck? I had no choice but to take my own life,
sir!”

The door opened at the end of the caravan. “Is
everything all right, lass?” Jane Glenn called.

With a flush, Sophie realized she must have been
shouting. “Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Glenn.”

“Dinna strain yourself now, lass. Ye’re still
weak.”

“I won’t.”

The door closed quietly and Sophie turned back to
address Puckett, whose grin had faded to an expression of dark
consternation. “Why should I desire to return to such a life, Mr.
Puckett?”

“Because everything has changed!”