A Wedding Wager (43 page)

“Oh, thank you, Bill, and thank Cook for me.” She
examined the contents of the tray, aware that she was actually quite hungry. A mushroom tart, bread, cheese, and a compote of apples and pears.

She took the tray and sat by the fire, her brain working overtime as she ate. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Sir George was planning this sudden journey up north with fast horses. With frequent changes and no stops of his own, he could be in the Potteries by tomorrow morning. But what was he going to do up there? The Suttons were not leaving London just yet.

She set aside the tray, leaned back in her chair, and for a moment forgot Abigail and the general in the heady prospect of a week’s freedom. She didn’t really need to open the house in the evenings at all, although the general would notice the lack of receipts soon enough on his return. But by then, maybe she would be free and clear.

A knock at the door hauled her out of her pleasant trancelike reverie. Flanagan came in with a letter on a tray. “This just arrived, Lady Serena. The young person said it was urgent.”

“Thank you, Flanagan.” She took the letter, recognizing the writing. Abigail had written her one or two breathless little notes in the past. But there had been nothing urgent about those. She slit the wafer with her thumbnail and opened the sheet.

Dear Lady Serena, please don’t think badly of me, but please … please … could you say that I came to see you at four o’clock and you invited me to spend the evening with you, and later please send a note to my mother saying that I
am not feeling well and you feel it would be better if I spend the night with you? I know this is a lot to ask, but
please
will you do this for me? ’Tis a matter of life and death. I will be everlastingly in your debt. Your grateful Abigail.

Sweet heaven, Serena thought. She glanced up at the clock on the mantel; it was just after two. After a moment’s reflection, she went to her secretaire and wrote a brief note to Abigail.
I won’t fail you. S.
She rang for Flanagan and asked him to have it delivered immediately. “Oh, and summon me a hackney, will you?”

“At once, Lady Serena.”

She put on her pelisse and hurried downstairs. The library door was still closed. Pulling on her gloves, she hurried to the street and climbed into the waiting hackney, telling the jarvey, “Stratton Street, please.”

If Sebastian wasn’t home, that would put the cat among the pigeons. She’d have to act on her own, and he would not like that one bit.

Peregrine was on the point of leaving the house when the doorknocker sounded. He opened the door and regarded the visitor in vague surprise. Sebastian had confided to his brother that for reasons of her own, Serena wouldn’t be moving under his roof for a few weeks. Perry had asked no questions. If Sebastian was content with the strange situation, then who was he to quibble? There was nothing ordinary about the marriage in the first place.

“Lady Serena Sullivan.” He greeted her with a bow. “Come in. I’m afraid your husband is not here, but if you’d like to wait by the fire…?” He moved to open the door to the parlor, then stopped, seeing the frown on Serena’s face. “Is something the matter, Serena?”

“Yes, in a word,” she said bluntly. “And the devil of if is that I promised Sebastian I wouldn’t do anything without letting him know, but if he’s not here, I’ll have to, and he won’t be happy about it.”

Peregrine wrinkled his brow. “Can
I
help? We do sometimes substitute for each other.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Thank you, but I don’t think it will serve on this occasion.
Damn.
” She drummed her fingers on the pier table beside her. “I wonder how long he’ll be.”

“We could try to find him?” Perry suggested. “I could hazard a guess about where he might be.”

Serena thought for only a moment before making up her mind. “Let’s go.” She turned back to the door.

“By all means,” Peregrine said amiably. “I suggest we try Whites first. If he’s not there someone may know where he is.” He offered Serena his arm.

They walked briskly to Whites coffee house. “I’ll just put my head around the door,” Peregrine said, adding apologetically, “You can’t really go in yourself.”

“No, that would never do,” Serena agreed drily. “I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll only be a minute.” Peregrine stepped into the noisy room, peering through the fog emanating as much from gentlemen’s pipes as from the smoking fire. He could see no sign of his twin, but a trio of gentlemen gathered at one of the long trestle tables called a greeting.

Peregrine pushed through the crowd towards them. “Anyone seen Sebastian?”

“He was in a while ago,” one of the men told him, “but I haven’t seen him since.”

“I think he said he was going to Albemarle Street for a bout with Maître Jerome,” one of his companions offered. “Something about a new pass with the épée.”

“My thanks. I’ll try him there.” Perry raised a hand
in farewell and threaded his way back outside, where Serena was pacing restlessly. “Albemarle Street,” he said, offering his arm again.

“What’s there?”

“Maître Albert’s fencing salon. He has a new assistant who’s a magician with the épée, I’ve heard. Apparently, Seb has gone for a lesson.”

A lesson that might stand him in good stead, Serena reflected grimly. “What’s the time, Perry?”

He looked at his fob watch on his waistcoat. “Close to three-thirty.”

Serena set her lips and quickened her step. If Sebastian was not at the fencing salon, then she would have to act alone, but she hadn’t any real idea what she could do alone. Maybe she would need to recruit Peregrine after all.

They reached Albemarle Street in ten minutes of swift walking. Peregrine held the door to Number 7 for her and followed her into the narrow hallway. He started immediately up the narrow flight of stairs, and Serena followed him. On the landing above, Peregrine opened the set of double doors, and Serena stepped into a long, mirror-lined room where two men in shirt sleeves and stockinged feet were fencing with foiled weapons.

Peregrine shushed her with an imperative hand just as she was about to speak, and she forced herself to wait as the tense exchange of passes continued, fascinated despite her anxiety at the skill of the two duelers. It seemed to her that Sebastian was every bit as accomplished as the
maître. But then the other man slipped his foil under his opponent’s, and Sebastian stepped back, raising his épée. “
Touché,
Maître. A masterly stroke.”

He glanced towards the door, and his expression changed, his eyes darkening. “Serena … what is it?” He crossed the room. “What’s happened … Perry?”

“I don’t know,” his twin said. “But your wife needed to see you urgently.”

“We don’t have much time, Sebastian.”

“To do what?” he asked quietly.

“Rescue Abigail, of course. What else would be so urgent that I’d have to chase all over town looking for you?” She heard the snap in her own voice and sighed. “Forgive me, I’m so worried, and time’s getting short.”

“Give me a minute.” Sebastian set aside his épée and sat down on the bench that ran the length of the salon to put on his boots, then reached for his coat. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, it’s all to do with the moleskin waistcoat,” Serena began.

“You’re talking in riddles,” Sebastian responded, a snap in his own voice. “Just give me the facts, or whatever it is you know or suspect.”

Serena nodded, accepting the rebuke as due. “There’s a man who wears a moleskin waistcoat whom the general uses for his least savory errands.” She gave a slightly bitter little laugh. “When you run a gambling house, there are quite a few of them.”

The brothers said nothing.

“He only ever comes to the house when there’s trouble in the offing. And he’s been in the house twice. Once yesterday, and he was there in the library with the general this morning when I left. I asked Flanagan to listen to as much as he could of what was said. They talked of a postchaise, fast horses, frequent changes … a journey, it would seem.”

“A reasonable conclusion,” Sebastian agreed.

“Then he told me he was going away for a few days … and then I had this note from Abigail.” She handed Sebastian the letter.

He read it, frowning. “So you think he’s intending to abduct Abigail?”

“Not without her consent,” Serena said. “Why else would she be planning to disappear and need me to lie for her? Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Up to a point, but why in the world would Abigail agree to such a plan? For God’s sake, she’s just announced her engagement to Jonas Wedgwood.”

“Blackmail,” she said succinctly. “’Tis a speciality of the general’s.”

Peregrine had no idea who Abigail was, but he understood blackmail. He glanced at his twin, who was rereading the letter in his hand. “Supposing you’re right, where would they go?”

“Flanagan said he heard Finchley Common mentioned, which seems to imply they’re going north … Gretna Green, perhaps?”

“We have a damsel in distress, it would seem,” Perry
murmured. “Had we better launch a hue and cry?”

Sebastian tapped his mouth with his fingertips, thinking. “Finchley Common,” he murmured. “And Abigail says she’ll need you to lie for her from four o’clock this afternoon. How long for a chaise to reach Finchley Common, d’you think, Perry?”

His twin frowned. “An hour and a half, perhaps.”

“Then we need to be in position by soon after five o’clock.”

“Doable.” Perry nodded.

“Position for
what
?” Serena demanded, feeling lost. She had sought help but perversely now felt as if she was being excluded.

“A hold-up.” Sebastian’s blue eyes were suddenly sparkling. For the first time, he could see his way to the end of this nightmare, to having his wife finally to himself.

“Oh.” Serena’s own eyes widened. “We stage a hold-up on the Common to rescue Abigail. What a clever idea.”

“There’s no
we
in this,” Sebastian said calmly.

“Oh, yes, there is. Abigail needs a chaperone. You may do all the pistol-waving, make-believe robbery if you wish, but I need to be there to escort her back home, to maintain the fiction. The truth must not come out.”

“Serena has a point there, Seb,” Perry put in.

Sebastian didn’t bother to argue. He said only, “As long as you promise not to get involved in anything with your stepfather, you may come.”

“My thanks, husband.” She dropped a mock curtsy, a flash in her eye, but he merely laughed and headed for the door, so she had no choice but to follow him meekly.

Outside, Sebastian consulted with Peregrine. “On horseback, we’ll do the journey much faster than a coach and horses, particularly through town. I doubt it’ll take us an hour. Do go to the mews and bring the mounts to the house. I’ll fetch weapons.”

“I’ll fetch my horse and meet you at Stratton Street,” Serena said. “Do you have masks? You can’t be an unmasked highwayman.”

“We’ve been to enough masked balls in our time to have quite a collection,” Peregrine said. “Never fear, Serena, we will look the part, I promise.”

“And so, I promise, will I. Believe me, I’ve made enough clandestine journeys in my time to know how to wear a disguise.” She hurried away before either of them could say anything more.

Sebastian shook his head. “I wouldn’t change one iota about her, but I don’t think I’m in for a quiet life.”

“I don’t doubt it. I’ll go to the mews.”

Under the promise of action, all Serena’s anxieties seemed to evaporate. As she ran up the steps to the front door, she noticed absently a strange horse tethered to the railings. Flanagan let her in, and she asked swiftly, “Has the general left yet?”

“Aye, m’lady … some twenty minutes past.”

She nodded. “Would you send to the mews for my horse? I’ll be down straightway.”

“Yes, m’lady, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” She stopped with one foot on the bottom stair.

“A Mr. Wedgwood, he said, ma’am. He wanted to wait, so I showed him into your parlor.”

This is going to complicate matters, Serena thought as she hurried up the stairs. She went into her parlor to find Jonas standing by the window, looking down into the street.

“This is an unexpected pleasure, Jonas,” she said, closing the door at her back. “But I’m afraid ’tis not really convenient at present. I have an urgent engagement.”

He turned towards her. “I understood Abigail was here with you. She wasn’t with you when you came down the street. Where is she?”

Serena sighed. It wasn’t four o’clock yet. Abigail’s note must have been found earlier than she’d expected. “What made you think she was with me?” she temporized.

“She left a note for her mother. I went to see how she was doing half an hour ago, because of the headache, you understand, and was told that she’d recovered sufficiently to come and visit you. So where is she?” He sounded a little belligerent, and Serena couldn’t really blame him. But how was she to get around this?

“I expect she’s on her way,” she offered.

“But you said you have an urgent engagement,” he persisted. “Lady Serena, I know when people are not telling me the truth. Something’s wrong, and I think you know what it is.”