Virginia Henley (37 page)

Peter’s lips curled. “My brother, the reformer. No thanks, your lordship. I’m engaged at Almack’s tonight, dancing attendance on Lady Edwina Farnsworth-Peniston, heiress to Peniston Railway. And you thought I wasted all my time whoring and gambling.”

When Peter left, Mark was convinced his brother had no further interest in Diana. His day stretched ahead of him endlessly. Other than tailing Richard Davenport, no brilliant ideas occurred to him. He had been convinced her guardians knew of her whereabouts. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure. What if Diana had simply decided to leave? She was a feisty young beauty who could assuredly survive until she came of age. Then she’d come sailing back, scoop up her inheritance, and thumb her nose at the world.

The ache in his heart was almost unendurable. He ruthlessly ignored it and picked up the morning
Times.
His eye
caught the write-up of an archaeological find. Some massive stone walls, thought to be Roman in origin, had been discovered beneath the cellars of Bush Lane, off Cannon Street. He went immediately to investigate. Many of his friends from the London Archaeological Society were there. It was one of the most exciting finds ever discovered.

But Mark found that, without Diana to share it with, the whole afternoon felt flat and almost pointless. The earl stayed in London three more days. He followed Richard Davenport each and every time he set foot outside Grosvenor Square. The solicitor visited his law office during the day and a Mayfair brothel in the evening. Finally, Mark Hardwick accepted the hard fact that Davenport would not lead him to Diana. On the fourth day, with all hope gone, the earl returned to Bath.

Diana lay on the cot, her eyes fixed on the high barred window. Freedom, it was almost as necessary as air. The idle hours crawled by sluggishly, making the days interminable and the nights endless. She thought dully that if she hadn’t been mad when she arrived, she may well be raving mad before she ever got to leave.

Diana begged her attendants for some sort of work, hoping she would be taken to the kitchens or elsewhere, but they ignored her pleas. She asked for something to read, but it was like talking to the walls and she was wearied of doing that. She began to live inside her own mind, until it became realer than her actual surroundings. Often she was back with Marcus in Aquae Sulis, but more frequently she daydreamed of Mark and the lovely Georgian town of Bath.

Diana had no idea how long she had been confined. At one point she made marks on the wall with her spoon, until it occurred to her that she was veritably sticking her spoon in the wall. Because they dosed her food, she ate very little. She became thin and pale and listless, but deep down she clung on to hope. Without hope she feared she would die.

Mark would come. She loved him more now than she ever had before. He was her dream lover; he would be her salvation. She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, floating from dream to dream, from caress to kiss, always longing to awaken and find herself safe in his powerful arms. But it never, ever happened that way.

Diana had fallen into a trancelike state, and then suddenly, one day, she began to vomit. When she was still vomiting on the third day in a row, her attendants informed Dr. Bognor.

He was alarmed. The drugs they were putting in her food to sedate her must have been poisoning her system. He had seen it before in small women. He ordered all dosing be stopped immediately. Bognor knew her guardians would care little about the girl’s death, but he would have to answer to the Wiltshire County Board of Councillors and the coroner.

Gradually, Diana’s stomach settled down until she vomited only occasionally. She could tell that they had stopped drugging her food and her appetite increased. Though she was no longer getting sick, she was still assailed by nausea each morning and a dreaded suspicion began to gnaw at her.

Mark Hardwick’s answer to worry and frustration was work. As the Earl of Bath, he headed the Bathonian Corporation, which was made up of the mayor and aldermen as well as attorneys, physicians, brewers, vintners, saddlers, and shopkeepers. They had hired a surveyor, Thomas Baldwin, to draw up plans to clear a congested area for better access and build five new streets. The plans called for an appropriately named Union Street to join the upper and lower town by demolishing the Bear Inn. The plans also included a proposal to rebuild the Great Pump Room.

Mark Hardwick gave final approval to the plans and loaned the corporation twenty-five thousand pounds to get the work started. Now all he had to do was persuade Bath’s wealthy patrons and patronesses that
city bonds
were a safe investment. His days were filled with business, but his nights were filled with emptiness. The hours stretched out endlessly, keeping pace with his sleeplessness.

His magnificent Elizabethan bedchamber, where a queen had once slept, now only evoked the memory of one woman, Lady Diana Davenport. Just as flowers left some of their fragrance in the hand that bestowed them, Diana had left a trace of herself upon the very air he breathed. His thoughts were filled with her; his memories only went as far back as the day he’d met her.

In the darkness he fantasized about her, and when Morpheus did lure him to sleep, his dreams were wildly erotic. Mark searched his mind relentlessly for someone to question, for someplace to investigate, for something he had overlooked. He knew he was becoming obsessive, but until he found her, he would know no peace.

Diana, too, had come to focus all thought upon one thing. She knew she must have been confined for more than a month, for every instinct told her that she was with child. She lived in dread of the day one of her attendants discovered her secret. It had nothing to do with the shame that was heaped upon a female who bore a child out of wedlock. If she had not been incarcerated, she would have rejoiced that she was bearing Mark’s child. But every instinct told her that if the doctor discovered her condition, her baby would be in danger.

They would never allow her to keep it, and indeed, even she herself did not want her child living in a madhouse. But the fear that they would separate her from her baby and give it away terrified her. But even worse than that was the fear that the evil Dr. Bognor might give her a drug to rid her of the baby in order to save them all a great deal of trouble.

The Earl of Bath pored over his account books all morning. He had a man of business who dealt with the clerical side of the quarries and the barges that transported his beautiful stone to Bristol, but he kept a strict tally of expenses and profits, even though he found it a tedious business.

By the time he had finished, he felt caged and knew he needed a physical outlet for his excess energy. He saddled his favorite stallion, Trajan, and rode out across his lands. Mark was amazed to see that spring had arrived. He had
been too preoccupied with his own dark thoughts to even notice. He felt at odds with the season. How callous that life went merrily on; that winter ended and spring brought its promise of renewal.

He moved off toward the river, drawn by a stand of copper beeches that had come into leaf. He dismounted and looked about him at the beauty of this particular spot. There was something deeply, disturbingly familiar about his surroundings. What was it he almost remembered?

His eye caught sight of an unusual object sticking up out of the soft earth of the riverbank. When he bent to examine it, his pulses speeded up. It looked like a Roman artifact, one of those writing tablets they often buried. He used his fingers to dig it out from the ancient roots of the tree. Most of the wood had rotted away, but the lead was intact.

Mark brushed away the clinging soil and clearly saw the name
Marcus.
His heart began to pound as he made out other words. It definitely said
Aquae Sulis,
followed by the word
laved. Yes, by God, it says
Diana
followed by the date
A.D.
61.

As he held the mud-encrusted tablet in his hands he knew with a certainty he and Diana had buried it together. It had happened one glorious afternoon when they had made love, here by the river. The pain in his heart became almost unendurable.

He clenched his fists as a renewed surge of determination flooded through him. Centuries ago they had loved each other and he swore a vow that they would be lovers again.

“Hold on, Diana, I’ll come for you,” he whispered with reborn hope in his heart.

When he arrived back at the hall, Mr. Burke informed the earl that he had a visitor who had been waiting in the library for over an hour. When Mark recognized Mr. Dear-den, a shop owner, he assumed he had come regarding corporation business.

“Good afternoon, my lord. Yesterday, I had a woman come into my antique shop with a half-Caesar gold coin.”

“My God, man, was she young, blond?” the earl demanded.

“Ah, you are as excited as I was when I examined it and decided it was authentic.”

“Yes, yes. The woman. Who is she? Where does she live? I must speak with her.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, your lordship. She was a tall, well-made woman, certainly not young, but not old either. I offered her a hundred pounds, thinking she would take my arm up to my elbow for such a sum, but she was reluctant to part with the artifact. I then told her I might possibly be able to give her more after I’d consulted with a client who had a keen interest in such things.” Dearden coughed. “That was you, of course, though I was careful not to mention you by name.”

“You let her get away?” the earl demanded.

“She indicated she might be back, your lordship,” he offered lamely. “I’m very sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have bothered you until I had something definite to offer.”

“No, no! You did exactly the right thing by coming to me.” Mark ran his hand through his black hair in frustration. Disappointment followed on the heels of elation, but it was the first lead he’d had in over a month, and tenacious as a terrier, he wasn’t about to accept defeat.

“If she returns, I must know who she is. Send for me immediately or follow her yourself if necessary. The woman’s whereabouts are a thousandfold more important than securing the half-coin. I appreciate this, Mr. Dearden. You will be well paid for your services to me.”

Mark Hardwick rode into Bath immediately to make the rounds of all the antique shops. Perhaps one of them had offered more than Dearden and learned the identity of the woman. Every shopkeeper he questioned replied in the negative except one. He told the Earl of Bath that the woman walked out when he offered her fifty guineas. He
had no idea who she was. The earl told every dealer that he was offering a reward for the woman’s identity and to inform him immediately if anyone came in offering to sell a half-Caesar coin.

A week went by, during which he heard nothing further. The earl could not sit idle. He again made the rounds of the coaching inns, since it was possible the woman lived out of town. Bath antique shops were famous for their Roman artifacts and that was what had drawn the woman. The drivers had many female passengers, but they could not recall any who had asked about antique shops.

Deep down, Mark felt that if he was patient, someone would see the woman again. The trouble was that patience wasn’t one of his virtues. His hopes were dimming hourly, when suddenly Fate smiled upon him.

A strange woman came to Hardwick Hall and asked if it was possible to speak with the Earl of Bath. Mr. Burke led her to the cheery breakfast room, where large windows let in the sunlight and purple crocus and paper white narcissus bulbs bloomed in earthen pots on the windowsills, and then left to summon his master.

Mark Hardwick took a deep breath before he went in to her. Though he had the inclination to put his pistol to the woman’s head, he knew intimidation would get him nowhere at this point.

“Good morning, Mrs.…” His eyebrows raised in question.

“My name is of no matter, my lord. I was told you collected Roman artifacts.” “Indeed I do, madam.”

“I know someone who has a Roman coin for sale, or I should say a half-coin. I believe it bears the head of Caesar.”

Mark’s heart soared. With studied nonchalance his fingers drew forth his own half-coin from about his neck. “Is it anything like this?”

The woman looked startled. “Why, yes it is.”

“Well, as you can see, I already have one and unfortunately have no need of another. However, there’s an antique dealer in town who might give you as much as a hundred pounds for one of those medallions.”

The expectant lines of the woman’s face fell in disappointment. She had just walked four miles for nothing and would now have to return the same four miles into town, where she had left her sister safeguarding the treasure.

“Order the coach! The one without the crest,” Mark directed Mr. Burke the moment the door closed behind the woman. The Earl of Bath had no idea what lay ahead of him, but he was prepared for any eventuality. He went to his safe and took out money, then he opened a leather case and removed a pair of onyx-handled pistols. Now he realized why he had chosen black over ivory or silver. They looked so much more menacing. Black carried its own deadly authority. He chose a black cloak rather than a greatcoat, thankful that the winter chill had left the air.

When the closed carriage thundered past the woman who had visited the hall, Mark was amazed that she had already covered over two miles on foot. She was athletically built and he wondered curiously what she did for a living. She reminded him of a bath attendant.

His first stop was Dearden’s Antique Shop. The earl explained that the woman who had the half-coin for sale had paid him a visit and that he told her he wasn’t interested.

“I’m certain she’ll be back for the hundred pounds you offered her.” He counted out two hundred pounds and gave them to Dearden. “The other hundred is for your trouble.”

The Earl of Bath told his driver to wait for him at the Angel in Westgate Street, then he crossed the street and went into the tobacconist shop. He had no idea how long he would have to keep watch. The rich aroma of tobacco leaves permeated the air and he couldn’t resist selecting a mixture and having it rolled into cheroots. When the cigars were ready and the woman still had not put in an appearance,
he schooled himself to patience and pondered a selection of cigar cases.

To his surprise, he saw two women who were almost identical approach the antique shop. By the time he had selected a cigar case and paid for his purchases, the sisters were leaving the shop. He watched them walk downhill toward the lower town, then he strolled across the street and retrieved Diana’s coin.

He followed the pair, keeping quite a distance between them and himself, knowing two women together would be difficult to lose. They went into a pastry shop and came out with a large box.

Already spending their ill-gotten gains,
he thought cynically.

He watched them head straight for the Christopher Inn in High Street and knew they were going there to catch one of the coaches. A hundred questions came to mind. Was Diana staying with friends outside Bath? Had she asked the women to sell the coin for her because she had no money? The answers came back a resounding NO. Marcus had given it to her. It was the only thing she had been able to bring back with her. Mark knew it was so precious to her she would never voluntarily part with it.

He walked over to the Angel, two streets away, and told his coachman to go over to the Christopher and find out the women’s destination. The coachman came back with the information that they bought tickets to Chippenham. Mark swore. He had no jurisdiction outside Somerset.

“Coach doesn’t leave until five o’clock. There the two of ’em sit eatin’ cream cakes, fer gawd’s sake!”

“Might as well order some food; we might not get dinner tonight.”

“Pint of bitter, sir? Survilliance is thirsty work.”

When the coach left Bath, the sun was setting and they were able to stay well back. They had crossed the county
border from Somerset into Wiltshire by twilight, but by the time they reached Chippenham at seven o’clock, it was full dark.

Mark Hardwick sat up on the box beside his driver. They followed the two women from the coaching inn for perhaps half a mile. The sisters were obviously nervous as they walked swiftly along the dark road for they looked over their shoulders a couple of times when they heard the coach and horses behind them.

The women turned into the long driveway of what looked like a Georgian mansion. Mark spoke very low to his driver. “When we turn in the driveway, they will start to run. They are carrying a hundred pounds and will think they are being robbed. I want to talk to both of them inside the coach. You catch the one on the right.”

The sisters, who thought they were safe this close to their destination, found out otherwise. They were strong women, who fought their assailants hard, but the Earl of Bath soon subdued his quarry, then helped his driver hustle her sister inside the coach. When Mark lit a carriage lamp, the woman who had been to Hardwick Hall gasped, “It’s the Earl of Bath!”