A Lady of Talent (23 page)

“I saw how they were—laughing and flirting with one another—and I did nothing.”

“Do not be so hard on yourself. Barbara is a beautiful woman and a natural-born coquette. She would act that way toward any admiring gentleman, whether she was planning to elope with him or not. And Neville would play the admiring gallant to any beautiful, fashionable woman, no matter who she was.”

This bracing observation drew a reluctant nod from Cecilia. “Perhaps. But I still think that I am right and that we must do what we can to stop them, and quickly.”

The earl was silent for so long that she could not help looking up at him curiously, only to discover him gazing down at her intently with the oddest glow in his dark eyes.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly. We will go after them, and we will rescue them from their own stupidity, but not before I tell you, Cecilia how very sorry I am about your father. How sorry I am that I did not save him from himself. How sorry I am that I allowed demons of my own past to ruin your future. I should have realized that in ignoring your father’s plight I was punishing my own for not being strong enough to resist the lure of the gaming table. I told myself that it was different with your father—that he courted his own destruction while mine was too blind, too ignorant even to recognize that his was coming. There is nothing I can say, nothing I can do to make that up to you, Cecilia, but that does not mean that I will ever stop trying to do so.

“And now,” he reached down to take one of her clenched hands in his and raise it to his lips, “having suffered for my moral cowardice toward your father, you have come to do your best to save my honor and the honor of my fiancée. I do not know that I deserve such consideration from you, but I bless you for having given it to me.” And turning her hand over in his, he pressed his lips into her palm.

Again Cecilia felt as though an electric shock had run through her, and life once again seemed to flow back in to her veins. How well he understood her! How quickly he seemed to know, without her even voicing it, that it was her concern for his happiness, not Neville and Barbara’s, that had driven her back on her vow never to speak to him again. How acutely he sensed what it must be costing her to do so. He not only recognized it, but he was generous enough to appreciate it and accept her help. The least she could do was to accept in the same generous spirit his explanation of what had occurred with her father. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“And now, my own personal Bow Street Runner, having solved the mystery of my fiancée’s and your brother’s trips to the country, do you have any suggestions as to where the two of them might possibly be headed in such a precipitate manner?”

“Gretna Green?”

He shook his head. “Far too uncomfortable. Barbara would never attempt such a journey without trunks full of clothes, carriages full of servants, and outriders to smooth her path the entire way.”

“The ailing aunt?”

“Far too unfashionable. The aunt, her dead mother’s sister, was married to a village shopkeeper and sired numerous offspring before giving in to the numerous ailments that keep them all dancing attendance on her—a retribution she undoubtedly exacts for having successfully succeeded in shepherding six sickly and demanding infants safely into adulthood. She lives in some obscure village miles from any good-sized metropolis or even a main road. No, it is highly unlikely that Barbara considered going there even for a moment. It must be somewhere else, but where?”

“The livery stable!”

“Where?”

“No. I mean that Neville must have used the carriage from the livery stable. Undoubtedly they will be able to tell us at least the general direction in which he was headed.”

“Clever girl. Let us go there at once.”

It was one thing, however to identify a possible source of information, and quite another to elicit that information without giving rise to suspicions that would inevitably lead to further gossip.

It was Sebastian who solved this problem by sauntering in to the stable and in his most toplofty manner observed disdainfully to his companion, “Clearly there is nothing here for us in this establishment.”

“Now see here, governor, you have no call to speak that way. This here is a first-rate stable here, this is,” one of the grooms replied, taking instant exception to Sebastian’s disapproval.

“How can it be when I see only hacks, and no post-horses capable of making it as far as Kensington, much less Weybridge or Barnet.”

“And that shows how much you know, my dear sir. Why not an hour and a half ago we dispatched a most well-appointed coach and four to Hounslow and they should be there in well under the usual time.”

“And all that will not do me any good, will it now, my man—for what earthly good to me is a coach and four bound for Hounslow when I need one for Barnet?” And turning on his heel, Sebastian walked briskly back towards Cecilia.

“They are headed to Hounslow,” he told her cheerfully, “which means that we should not have too much difficulty catching up to them, especially if we have some idea of their ultimate destination.”

“Oh, we know that well enough now,” she responded grimly. “Shelburne Hall. Neville is headed to Shelburne. Of course! What a ninny I am. I should have thought of that before. He will prevail upon the vicar there to marry them. After all, the living is at Neville’s disposal, even though we have rented it to tenants. The vicar, who has known him since he was a boy, would be a fool to risk upsetting him, even if he wanted to. But he would not. The Reverend Dr. Cuthbert Adams is the world’s most trusting creature. It would simply never occur to him to question anything Neville might ask for.”

“Then it is to Shelburne I must go, if you but give me the directions.”

“We
will go.”

“Now see here, my girl, it is not that I do not appreciate your concern, and I thank you for establishing the fugitives’ whereabouts—which you have done with admirable dispatch—but when it comes to pursuing them, sheer brawn and very little brain is required—sheer brawn and a great deal of speed, which is why I am planning to go after them in my curricle.”

“And I plan to accompany you.”

“It will be excessively uncomfortable. I shall be driving rather fast, and I do not intend to stop.”

“Are there banditti?”

“Are there what?”

“Banditti. Nothing the English roads have to offer can possibly compare to the hopeless tracks that pass for roads in Italy. I am more than accustomed to enduring extended journeys on those roads, and then there is the constant fear of being held up by banditti. So you see, riding in a well-sprung curricle along the Oxford-London road with no threat of banditti does not sound even remotely uncomfortable to me. I promise I will not distract you by talking. Besides, when we catch up to them, my presence will insure that no whisper of scandal is associated with your fiancée’s reputation.”

Sebastian knew when he was beaten, even without seeing the determined glint in her eye. “Very well then, I shall call for you in Golden Square in half an hour’s time. Will you be ready by then?”

They had been walking as they had been talking, and by now they had reached Cecilia’s own doorstep. “Of course I shall be ready. I am not such a poor creature that a journey into Oxfordshire, even in a curricle, gives me pause.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

There were others, however, for whom a journey into Oxfordshire, especially in a hired carriage, was the epitome of discomfort. Barbara Wyatt was not used to ill-sprung chaises whose windows rattled, or horses whose pace was a bare six miles an hour even on the flat. “Really, Neville, you should have tried another stable. Surely there is at least one establishment in London capable of producing a decent coach and four.”

“But my dear, you found this very vehicle to be quite adequate on what, I believe you called our
delightful drive
to Lady Hambleden’s Venetian breakfast in Richmond.”

“Then we were not trying to cover miles upon miles of road. At the rate we are going, it will take us an age to reach Shelburne, and I am already quite shaken to pieces.”

“Relax, my dear. Respite is in sight. We are just coming to the posting house at Hounslow now. Do bear in mind, however, that you are my sister.”

“Yes, Neville.” Placated by the thought of a comfortable chair and a restorative meal, Barbara shot him a saucy smile as he helped her down from the carriage.

But the posting house was not to her liking, for the host, though hospitable enough, was not agog with the same admiration that the postboys and the coachman had been. Nor did she find the food anything but barely edible. The soup was cold, the mutton tough, and Barbara very much feared that the fish was not fresh.

Gritting his teeth, Neville took it all in stride, excusing her ill humor as the natural enough result of nerves. After all, it was not every day that a gently bred young lady eloped with a penniless man, marquess though he might be. Taking a deep breath, he smiled encouragingly at her as he rose to escort her back to their carriage. “Never mind, my dear. What is the discomfort of one small journey when you have the rest of a lifetime to be treated like a queen by your most humble servant?”

This brought forth a smile at least. “I do not mean to complain. It is just that I am not accustomed to having to travel in this way.”

“No. Nor will you ever have to again, I promise. Now come along, my dear.”

“May we not walk in the garden a little while? The air is so deliciously fresh after the stuffiness of the carriage, and I quite ache with having to sit so cramped for so long.”

Neville gave her his arm with a flourish and led her toward the hostelry’s remarkably fine rose garden, then around the fish pond at the back, until at last she declared herself fit to travel again.

But the horses they had procured at this latest stop were even slower than the previous team, and they lumbered along, making very poor time until they reached the next stop some two hours later.

Meanwhile, Sebastian and Cecilia, burdened by neither a heavy traveling carriage nor livery-stable horses, not to mention the need for fresh air, made excellent time. They rolled into the inn yard at Hounslow not more than an hour after Barbara and Neville had departed, a piece of information unwittingly supplied by the host in response to Sebastian’s offhand comment about the quietness of the hostelry.

“Oh no, my lord, it’s been a steady stream of business we have had all day long. Why just an hour or so ago a young man and his sister on their way to Oxfordshire dined here—even stopped to admire my wife’s roses, they did. And very fine roses they are, I must admit.”

“Thus the power of the disparaging remark,” Sebastian observed climbing back into the curricle. “The respondent is so ardent in his own defense that he never has the least recollection of having furnished any information at all—whereas a direct question would affront him to the point that he would wonder what business it was of mine to ask it.”

“I shall have to remember never to defend myself against your criticisms, lest I find myself divulging valuable information that I do not wish to have known.”

He laughed. “Ah no, you are far too clever for that.” He cracked his whip over the team’s ears, and they left the inn-yard at a brisk pace, which they maintained for the entire next leg of the journey, Sebastian having tipped the ostler handsomely in order to get the very best horses the stable had to offer.

News of Neville and Barbara’s recent departure greeted them at the next inn, and Sebastian reported somewhat reluctantly to his companion that they were definitely gaining on the pair in front of them. “Which is a great pity because I cannot think when I have enjoyed a journey more, or driven with a more accommodating partner than you have been.”

The smile that accompanied this accolade turned Cecilia’s bones to water as she fought the self-conscious blush that rose to her cheeks despite her best efforts to hide it.

“But then, you are accustomed to long, uncomfortable journeys. Tell me, do you miss Italy as much as you father did?”

“Oh yes, very much.” Cecilia could not help giving him credit for not avoiding the vexing subject of her father, and for trying to prove to her that he had not only played cards with him, but had taken the time to learn something about the man as well. “The very air is magical there, warm and filled with the scent of flowers and fruit blossoms. And the ocean—you have never seen a more lovely shade of blue. There is music everywhere, and one cannot help but be inspired by the surrounding beauty. The warmth of the sunshine affects everyone. Many people say that the Neapolitans are lazy, but I think it is simply that they know how to take pleasure in life.”

“You make it sound so magical that I long to see it for myself. Now that Europe has been freed from the grip of the Corsican monster, I am anxious to see all those places I have only read about. Before the war, I was too busy studying, and then trying to rebuild the family estate, but now ... now I should like very much to travel and explore the world.”

His voice trailed off and Cecilia knew he was thinking, as she was, that a wife who considered the London Season to be the very pinnacle of happiness—not to mention a wife who was accustomed to spending her days in comfort surrounded by every luxury that money could buy—was hardly likely to share this dream with him.

She was saved, however, from having to make a reply by an unexpected gust of wind and a sudden darkening of the sky, as a cloud loomed ominously ahead of them.

“I am rather afraid that your traveler’s mettle is about to be put to the test,” Sebastian had barely time to remark before the first heavy drops of rain spattered around them.

For the next few minutes, he was preoccupied with managing his team, that took exception to the passing shower, but it was over as quickly as it had come. By the time he had tightened his grip on the reins and focused all his attention on the road ahead of them, the sun had reappeared.

It was enough, however, to give them both a good wetting, and Cecilia’s sarsenet pelisse clung to her uncomfortably. “My poor girl, you must be soaked through. Here, take this.” Pulling the team to a halt, Sebastian secured the reins, stripped off his coat, and wrapped it tenderly around Cecilia’s shoulders.