The Romantic (23 page)

“You are wrong there. It was my family’s, for ever allowing her to marry him. Without you, she would have been trapped in his power forever.” He held the draft lightly in his fingers. “Tell her that once she is settled I will arrange for a regular allowance. On second thought, I will go to her with you. I cannot bear the thought of her leaving us like this, without a word of parting.”

“She wants to move quickly. Invisibly. She cannot be anonymous if the Viscount Laclere accompanies her.”

“At least take my coach and six. If she wants to move quickly, that is as fast as it can be.”

“I have already arranged such transport, from another source. One whose coach does not bear a peer’s coat of arms.”

“Yes. Of course.” Laclere handed over the draft. “I am not accustomed to leaving important matters to others, as you know. There are few men I would trust with my sister’s safety. I know that your judgment is sound, however, and probably more sensible than mine would be under the circumstances.”

Julian wondered if Laclere would assume such sound and sensible judgment if he knew his faithful solicitor had slept with the sister in question.

He looked at his lifelong friend, and images poured out of the private corner of his mind. He saw Vergil as a youth, swinging his wooden sword while they played at the old keep … as a very young man, while they watched St. John pace off in a duel, and then together for the first time they saw a man die … as the new Viscount Laclere, hair blowing on the French coast, taking his own station in another duel, sabre in hand.

Vergil’s blue eyes looked deeply into his. “A bank draft for five hundred pounds is not very much under the circumstances.”

“There are other resources, and other payments of services rendered.”

“I suddenly have a feeling, Julian, that my world will lose more than the presence of a sister in the days ahead. If you intend what I think, it is too much to ask of a family solicitor and I will not have it. We will find another guardian to do this.”

“There is no other. It may be too much to ask of a solicitor, but not too much to expect of a friend.”

Laclere’s jaw tightened. “I have often thanked God for that friendship, but never more than at this moment.”

He accompanied Julian to the door. “How soon can I expect your return?”

Julian stepped across the threshold of the home that had always been open to him, and walked away from the only real family he had ever had.

“I do not know, Vergil.”

chapter
17

S
t. John s coach and six could make very good time when required. Two days later it rattled up the lane to Mrs. Kenworthy’s cottage.

Its owner was out in front, pruning back some rosebushes that lined the path. She unbent her body and watched the equipage roll to a stop. Julian hopped out.

“Impressive, Julian. You have done very well for yourself these last years. I had no idea.”

“It is not mine. I trust all is well here, and that the countess accommodated herself.”

“All is not well, I fear. Nor will you find the countess and her companion here. She departed almost immediately. The next morning. I discouraged her to no avail.”

Julian gazed at the cottage while his heart absorbed the blow. His brain did not accept it so quickly. Thunder rolled on the edges of his mind.

She had done it. Just walked away from everything.

From him.

She had come to him that last night knowing she would.

“Do not be too angry, Julian. I do not believe the choice was an easy one for her. She was very subdued the day she was here. Quite wistful, in fact.”

“She has no money. A few jewels and a few guineas, nothing more. She is unprotected.” Hell, she barely had enough for sea passage and food. She would arrive in America almost destitute.

Mrs. Kenworthy peered at him from under the rim of her straw hat. “She spoke of being safe forever. I think that she suspects that Cleo’s death was no suicide, as I do. I worry that she fears for her own life.”

Possibly. Probably. He should have known that she would see it all. He should not have tried to protect her from fear by hiding his own conclusions from her.

“She did not have to leave so quickly even so,” he said, holding his fury at bay with rational words. “She could have awaited my return.”

“She could have. However, it appears she did not want to.”

The storm broke and anger rained down on his other emotions.

No, she had not wanted to.

Well, he’d be damned before he let her go like this.

“I must leave you now, Mrs. Kenworthy. Thank you for your generosity and kindness. If anyone should arrive here asking after the countess, I beg that you pretend you have never met her.”

“That should not be hard, Julian. I am an eccentric old woman with a very bad memory.”

•••

The coach approached the inn in Blackburn in late afternoon. Julian had instructed the coachman to make all possible speed as he followed Pen’s path to the coast. His expectation that she was headed for Liverpool had been confirmed when he questioned the innkeeper at the stop she had made her first night in Skipton.

Now, as his coach entered the inn’s yard, he spied the hired coach that had taken them from Hampstead. His heart rose in triumph, but foreboding instantly quelled his relief.

She should have gotten farther than Blackburn by now. If she had stopped here the second night, she should be in Liverpool already. Perhaps she had thought better of her plan?

He entered the building and questioned the innkeeper.

“Mrs. Monley, who came in that carriage, is gone,” the innkeeper said. “The other is above, waiting the magistrate’s pleasure.”

“You mean her companion is still here? The lady departed on her own?”

“Slipped out, she did. Left the one above to face the law. Quite a drama we had here two nights ago. Not what one expects from women, let alone a lady of quality.”

“I must speak with the young woman.”

“Suit yourself. Chamber above, on the left.”

He took the stairs in haste and knocked at the chamber door.

It opened. When he saw Catherine, his breath left him for a moment.

Two large bruises marked her face. One had caused swelling that almost closed her right eye. Her careful posture suggested there had been other blows to her body.

She managed a distorted smile and gestured for him to enter the tiny chamber. “I knew you would come, sir. She thought you would not follow, but I knew differently. I have been waiting for you.”

“Tell me what happened.”

She eased herself down on a chair. “Glasbury’s men have been following. They caught me as I took a turn and then brought me here. They have abducted her. We were headed for Liverpool, but I do not think she is going there now.”

“And your bruises?”

Her blue eyes turned to crystals. “Don’t be worrying about me. If you explain to the innkeeper what has happened, the magistrate will let me be. You should be on your way soon, to find her.”

“Was she hurt as well?”

“Just me. When they said we were to go with them, I knew what it meant for her. So while we packed, I got hold of my pistol. I always load it with dry powder, every night. I thought the noise would bring help. Only they stopped me before I could shoot, and took her away. Still had time to pound me a bit, though. Now, you be going, sir. They have almost a two-day start on you.”

“I will not leave until I am assured that you will not suffer more for this. I will speak with the innkeeper, and wait for the magistrate if necessary.” He fished in his pockets and produced ten guineas. “Here are your wages, and something more for trying to protect her.”

She took the money and slid it into her valise.

“What will you do after you leave here?”

“I am going to Carlisle, to see my daughter. I will find
a way to get her alone, somehow. I wish I could have her with me forever, but just seeing her will help us both.”

Julian looked at this brave young woman who had taken a beating to try to save Penelope.

He excused himself, went back to the coach, and returned with more money.

“Take this, so that you can live for a while. It will also pay for your use of the carriage that brought us from London.”

She tucked the money away, wincing as she did so. “You go find her now, sir. I will handle the magistrate. As for these bruises, they won’t stop me. They never did before. Oh, there is something else you should know.”

“What is that?”

“She got hold of my pistol as they scuffled with me. She fired and hit one of them in the leg. That may have slowed them down some.”

Penelope eyed Mr. Jones, who eyed her back. They sat opposite each other in the small sitting room on the outskirts of Manchester. The only light in the chamber came from an iron candelabra that burned five tallow candles.

Muffled growls of pain penetrated the door that separated them from the kitchen. The surgeon who lived in this cottage was digging the pistol ball out of Mr. Henley’s thigh.

“He will be unable to travel,” she said. “It will keep bleeding if he is on a saddle. It may become corrupted.”

“Not my problem if it does. We have a job to do. He knows how it is.”

If her abductors had procured a carriage, they might
have gotten her back to the earl before this procedure was needed. But Mr. Jones had insisted they all ride horses, and that had only aggravated Mr. Henley’s wound. It had slowed them so much that they had not even made it out of Lancashire yet.

Mr. Jones did not appear at all disconcerted by his companion’s misery. No doubt he would insist that Mr. Henley get back on the horse come morning.

For all of his gleaming gaze, his attention was not really on her. She sensed that he listened for something. This man was always alert, always checking the road and fields, always on guard. She suspected this was not the first criminal act he had performed.

It was Mr. Jones who had beaten Catherine.

Seeing that, watching helplessly, had sent her reeling back into the old nightmare.

She was still afraid, but her wits had returned and she was no longer numb. A seething indignation had been brewing for most of the day.

A loud yell of pain rang from the kitchen.

“I trust you are being paid well, if this job may cost him a leg or his life.”

“Handsomely, thank you.”

“Have you been in Glasbury’s employment long?”

He did not answer.

“If you followed me, you guessed where I was staying when I left the inn at Grossington. You are familiar with those parts, then. You have been there before. You know why I was there, I think.”

His lids lowered.

She knew then that her suspicions were correct. This
was the man who had visited Mrs. Kenworthy claiming to be Julian’s agent.

This was the man who had killed Cleo.

Terror breathed on her nape. She had assumed they were taking her to the earl, but what if—

Mr. Jones suddenly shifted his gaze to the door. His body stiffened and his concentration sharpened.

She tried to hear what had raised his caution. The only sounds reaching her were the guttural moans from the kitchen.

“You did not answer me. Have you been to Grossing-ton before?”

“Be quiet.” He sat up straight, slightly cocking his head.

“And if I will not be quiet? What will you do? Do not forget that I am not a woman alone in this world. My brother is a viscount, and I also have powerful friends who will demand answers and an accounting if anything happens to me.”

“Be silent.”

He rose and took several steps toward the front of the house. He stood very still, listening, then moved the candles far from the window and lifted the curtain to peer into the darkness.

The kitchen door opened.

“Done here,” the surgeon announced. He was a young man with receding blond hair and a portly body. Fresh blood stained his apron. “He cannot ride. You can all stay here if you like. The sum is five pounds a night.”

Mr. Jones glanced back at the surgeon. “A hotel of the first rank you must have here.”

“If I am sought out in the dark by strangers, at my home, I know the value of my skill and silence.”

“Just patch him up. We are leaving.”

The surgeon retreated to the kitchen. Mr. Jones continued studying the dark outside the window. Making a decision, he snuffed out the candles, leaving the sitting room dark, too. After moving around a little, he opened the door.

His body formed a silhouette on the threshold. In the dim moonlight Pen could see that his right hand held a pistol.

He just stood there, waiting and looking.

With his back to her, as if she represented no danger at all while he held that gun.

Her indignation crackled. His certainty that fear would make her docile was suddenly the biggest insult she had ever received.

She quietly rose. She lifted the candelabra from the table.

She took four quick strides, raised the iron with both hands, and crashed it down on him.

He staggered forward but did not fall. Hunched like a wounded animal, he swerved around with a vicious hiss and raised the pistol.