Amanda Scott (19 page)

Her own feelings with regard to Fate were quite different. She didn’t influence, she tempted. She had been warned time and time again, had she not, that she had only to care deeply for someone to lose him. Or her. The fact had been proven over and over again, all her life. And now, it was Timothy who would suffer. What if he were already dead? What if whoever had been threatening him—the thorn, the medication—what if that person had bashed him over the head and left his body under a rock somewhere? She shuddered deeply at the thought, and tears leapt to her eyes. Without thought, she dug her heel into her horse’s flank, and the steed lengthened his pace. Only when she felt the first tear, chilly in the wind created by the horse’s increased speed, spilling down her cheek, did her astonishment at the fact that she was crying—she, who rarely did such a pointless thing—cause her to realize what she was doing. She pulled up again in time to hear Trimby’s indignant shout behind her.

“Sorry,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m afraid I was wool-gathering.” There was no response, and she slowed even more to allow the groom to catch up with her. “I said I was sorry, Trimby. Did you hear me?”

“Aye.”

“I suppose you don’t approve of my rushing to the hall like this,” she said with a sigh. After all, he had been at the manor long enough to expect some sort of explanation from her, servant or not. “I’m dreadfully worried about Sir Timothy, Trimby.”

“Aye.” It was little more than a grunt.

“He could be lying injured somewhere. He might even be dead.” Her voice faltered on the last words, and she cleared her throat hastily, determined not to let her fears overcome the strong hold she kept over her emotions. “It is very worrisome,” she added in a firmer tone.

“He b’ain’t dead, miss.”

“How do you know?”

“A cause that lad most allus lands on ’is feet, ’e does. Summat ’appened, certain sure, if ’e’s gorn and missed ’is supper, but I gie ye odds, ’e ain’t stuck ’is spoon in the wall.”

She sighed. “I won’t take the wager, because I wouldn’t want to win, but I certainly hope you’ve got the right of it.”

He grunted. A moment later the darkness ahead thinned. They were nearly out of the woods. As soon as she could see the road clearly, Margaret increased her speed again, and this time the groom made no protest, urging his own mount to keep pace with hers. Fifteen minutes later they reached the hall, and Margaret slid to the ground without awaiting assistance.

“Wait here, Trimby. I’m just fetching his lordship. I won’t be long,” she said quickly as she tossed him her reins. Without waiting for a response she turned and hurried up to the entryway, lifting the knocker and banging it as hard as she could. The door was practically thrown open, and Puddephatt stood looking at her in amazement.

“What’s wrong, Miss Margaret?”

“Where’s his lordship, Pudd? I need him.”

“Here,” Abberley said, coming out of the bookroom with Kingsted right behind him. The earl strode forward, his expression anxious. “What is it, Marget?”

Suppressing a strong urge to fling herself into those strong arms and weep out her worries on that broad shoulder, she clenched her fists, driving sharp fingernails into her palms, then pressing her sore palms against her skirt. “It’s Timothy, sir. He’s still gone. I think something has happened.”

“Why didn’t you just send one of the grooms for me?”

“Because I didn’t know if you would take a message like that seriously,” she said, knowing even as she admitted it that she had been wrong. His expression told her more than words would have done. “I guess I needed to do something,” she said more calmly. “Just sending someone wouldn’t have answered the purpose, and I knew Aunt Celeste would stop me—forcibly, if necessary—from setting out in search of him myself.”

“Good gad, Miss Caldecourt,” exclaimed Kingsted. “I certainly hope she would have stopped you from doing anything so foolish. Not the thing for a gently nurtured female, not the thing at all. Men’s work, searching is. Just you leave it to us.”

“No, my lord, I cannot do that,” she said firmly, not daring to let her gaze clash with Abberley’s but meaning her words for him as well. “I must help look for him.”

“No.” The word came from the earl. Just the one word, quietly spoken, but she reacted to it as though he had shot a quiverful of arguments at her.

“You cannot stop me, Adam,” she said, her temper rising quickly. “If you will not take me with you, I shall simply look for him on my own. There is no way I shall meekly turn about and ride home to wait. I’m worried sick. I need to do something constructive.”

“Talk some sense into her, Adam,” Kingsted said, shaking his head. “I’ll just change into my boots and get my gloves and whip.”

“Get a duffel coat, too, John. If it hasn’t already turned nippy, it will. And ask my man to give you one for me, too, if you will. I don’t need to change, and I think my gloves and whip are still in the bookroom, where I left them earlier.” Like Kingsted, he had not changed from his buckskins for dinner, but unlike his lordship, he had kept his boots on. The other man was wearing comfortable slippers instead. Clearly, they had stood on no ceremony at dinner, Margaret thought, as the earl, a firm hand to her elbow, guided her into the bookroom.

“Fetch your things, by all means,” she told him, “but do not think to talk me out of taking part in the search. You know it will be useless, sir,” she added, smiling crookedly at him. “I haven’t changed all that much.”

He had turned to face her, his eyes narrowed, his expression grim, but at these words a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Someone ought to have beaten you the first time you followed us after having been ordered to remain at home,” he said, only half-teasingly.

“As I recall, Papa did,” she retorted. “I cannot recall, however, that the treatment proved efficacious.”

“Stubborn little brat,” he said.

She glared at him, daring him to continue to dispute her right to accompany them, and he met the look head-on, holding her gaze for a long moment. At first it was merely a challenge. She would not look away. For a brief second, she remembered childhood again and was determined now as then to outstare him. But suddenly she felt something else, something quite unexpected, something she could not understand. In that moment she wanted to look away and could not. His gaze held her, pinned her in place, and she felt vulnerable as she had never felt vulnerable before. She could
feel
his look, feel it as though he actually touched her. And he touched her all over, although his eyes were stationary, unmoving. She could feel caressing fingers everywhere, and they were like firebrands, for they set her aflame. The heat coursed through her, and she drew a quick breath, her lips parting involuntarily. Without thought, feeling drawn but not knowing whether it was by her own will or his, she took a step toward him.

The look in his eyes softened. He opened his arms to her, and she took another step toward him.

Kingsted’s voice came to them from the stairs as from another world. “I say, Adam, should we send word to some of your tenants to help with the search? Perhaps you ought to rout out your bailiff.”

Margaret had stiffened the moment she realized they were no longer to be alone. Abberley let his arms fall to his sides and stepped to a nearby table where his whip rested next to a pair of wash-leather gloves. “Time to go,” he said gently.

“You’ll take me?” She felt curiously weak.

His smile was one-sided. “Can’t see that you’ve left me much choice in the matter. You were very quick,” he added, looking beyond her shoulder at Kingsted, who came into the room just then.

“Must have set a record,” his lordship replied, tossing him a heavy duffel coat. He was wearing a similar one. “These will scarcely set a fashion, old boy,” he said.

“You’ll survive. Did you think to send someone to saddle our horses?”

“I did that, m’lord,” Puddephatt said, coming into the bookroom behind Kingsted. “I also took the liberty of sending one of the lads round to the farms. The tenants’ll be wanting to help, and the more we get out, the quicker the lad’ll be found, I’m thinking.”

“Thank you, Pudd. Did you think to tell them all to meet in one place? It won’t do to have them scattered all over the downs all night, not knowing whether the boy’s been found.”

“Aye, sir. Told them to come here to meet wi’ Mr. Clayton first. That way, those that don’t have suitable mounts can get them, and they can all ride to the manor together to find out what’s what.”

“You did well, man,” said the earl, causing Puddephatt to color up to his ears in gratification. Abberley grinned at him, then turned back to the others. “Shall we go?”

They rode out a few moments later, and Margaret, who had expected Abberley to head toward the chalk hills, saw the thick beech wood ahead and was dismayed and angry to discover that he meant to ride to the manor instead.

“We’re just wasting time,” she cried as they slowed their horses.

“Not at all,” he retorted. “I’m not so daft that I intend to ride into the hills without knowing how many men are looking for the boy and where they’re looking. There must be order to a search, Marget, or the boy could be ten feet from the house and never be found. If your Farley’s half the man I think he is, he’ll have everything under control. Timothy may even have been found already.”

“You mean to leave me at home, after all,” she muttered.

“Of course he does,” said Kingsted in surprise. “Told you before, a search is no place for a lady.”

Margaret ignored him, watching the earl, wishing she could see more than the shape of him, but having the distinct feeling, nevertheless, that he was annoyed with her. When he spoke seconds later, his tone confirmed that fact.

“I gave you my word, Margaret. There is one thing, however.”

“What?” She held her breath, wondering what conditions he would make.

“You won’t go haring off by yourself. You’ll stay with me.

She released the breath. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly. Then a moment later she said, “Adam?”

“What?”

“I apologize for doubting you. I know your word is good.”

“He’s daft,” opined Kingsted before Abberley could speak. “You ain’t seriously meaning to take Miss Caldecourt along, are you, Adam?”

“I am.” Was she mistaken, or was there a smile in his voice?

“But she’ll only get in the way! Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but you will. And we could search much more efficiently if we don’t have to be looking over our shoulders every moment to be sure you haven’t fallen behind.”

“More likely we’ll be hard-pressed to keep up with her,” Abberley told him, and this time there could be no mistaking the laughter in his voice.

Margaret chuckled.

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much, my girl,” the earl promptly warned her, and there was not a trace of laughter now. “I meant what I said before, and you’d be well advised to remember it, for if you flout my orders this time, you’ll answer to me, and you’ll find that
my
methods of dealing with disobedience are most efficacious.”

A chill raced up her spine. She knew he meant precisely what he said, and she had no urge to demand to know what he would do to her if she disobeyed him.

“That’s the dandy,” approved Kingsted.

“Put a sock in it,” recommended Abberley.

They finished the ride in silence, arriving at the manor stableyard to find a number of men carrying lighted torches, just about to ride out. Farley stood in the midst of them, feet spread, hands on hips, bellowing orders. The men on horseback surrounding him made a path for Margaret and the two gentlemen.

Abberley spoke to Farley. “There are others coming. I take it you’ve had no word of the boy.”

“Nay, m’lord. An we find him, we’ll light a signal fire in the west barley field. Some of the lads are preparing it now. That field’s new-plowed and visible from the downs and the hills. Not everyone’ll be able to see the blaze, o’ course, but we’ll fire three rounds of shot as well. One way or t’other, we’ll get word out when he’s found.”

“Good man. His lordship and I will ride with Miss Margaret toward the hills. Have you sent others that way yet?”

“One group, five men. They’ve torches. You’ll see ’em.”

Abberley wasted no more time. Taking an unlit torch from one of the men, he led the way out of the yard and followed the back road, skirting the woods and riding across open fields. They made good time. Stars blazed overhead in a clear sky, but the light was even better some fifteen minutes later when the moon began to rise above the eastern horizon. Before long Margaret realized that unless they rode into woods again, they would have little need for the torch the earl carried, for the moon was past the third quarter and bright enough to light their way. In fact, she decided, it was as well it lay behind them, for to have ridden into its light might have caused difficulties, it was so bright.

In the brighter light, the earl increased their speed, but Margaret had no difficulty keeping pace with him. Nor did Kingsted. She could see that he was grinning, enjoying the wild ride, and she realized that if she were honest, she was enjoying it, too. If only Timothy were safe. The thought sobered her.

“How long will it take us?” she shouted to Abberley.

“Another twenty minutes, this pace,” he shouted back. “There are several chalk pits below the spring line. We’ll check them before we ride any farther into the hills.”

The thought of the chalk pits sent cold rivers of fear washing through her, and her stomach lurched as her imagination presented her with a picture of Timothy lying crushed by his fall at the bottom of one, hidden from view by overhanging shrubbery. She swallowed carefully, fearing to disgrace herself. Abberley would scarcely thank her for getting sick, and Lord John would no doubt then believe his disinclination to bring her along fully justified. The nausea passed, but not the fear. Before the twenty minutes had passed, her shoulders began to ache and she realized that her fear had caused tension in them, stiffening them. At the same time, she became conscious of pain in her lower lip and released it, licking the indentations made by her teeth. The way they were riding, she realized, she was lucky she hadn’t bitten it clear through. Forcing herself to relax, she concentrated on the landscape ahead, trying to remember where even one of the chalk pits Abberley had mentioned was located.