Patrica Rice (22 page)

Dillian stood beside him, waiting patiently until he returned the child to her. Then she gave him a quizzical look. “Is it Blanche or Fiona who has you so befuddled?”

Michael looked at her blankly as he transferred his niece into her arms.

Then he smiled. “Your daughter, my lady, completely befuddles me. I find it amazing that so charming a child could come from such demanding, obstreperous parents. If you will excuse me, it’s time I nail a certain female to a wall.”

Dillian’s laughter followed him as he wandered down the hall. Michael located Fiona in the front sitting room. She’d tied her thick auburn tresses into some kind of knot on top of her head, but she still looked little more than the urchin he remembered.

“Gavin said you came to him. I take it this is a recent development?”

She gave his rumpled appearance a cursory look. “I take it you came at breakneck pace at his call?”

“He sent a messenger saying Lady Blanche had gone missing. He did not mention finding you. I’ve been on the road for three days, so I’m not best pleased at exchanging pleasantries. Let’s get on with it. Why did you seek Gavin?”

“Because I was about to be discovered and had no other choice,” she replied. “I don’t know your Gavin and didn’t know whether to trust him. I’m not in the habit of trusting bloody English aristocrats.”

“He’s not English. He’s American. And he’s on our side. You can trust him. Now will you please hurry and tell me what brought you here? I have to head off an angry duke.”

Fiona’s eyes flared wider at this news. “There’s a conspiracy by radical leaders to blow up the heads of British government. A dinner party at the Duke of Anglesey’s was mentioned. I trust your Lady Blanche has removed herself from his presence?”

Michael clenched his fists against this confirmation of his suspicions. “Not unless a small army can keep her away.”

Fiona smiled grimly. “Then find that army. Eamon O’Connor is the best gunpowder expert this side of Napoleon’s finest. He was trained by the French, and he’s in London now.”

Michael would have preferred not to hear that. He would have preferred it even more if he hadn’t turned to see the Duke of Anglesey standing in the hall right behind him.

Michael was in no humor to appease an angry duke. He’d left Blanche in a fury and probably headed straight for London into the arms of an explosives expert. He scowled and waited for the first round of attack.

“Where the bloody hell is Blanche?” Neville demanded.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Michael shrugged. “Visiting friends in Wiltshire, last I heard. If I were you, I would find some way of keeping her there. Of course, if I were you, I wouldn’t have a band of radicals hot on my heels.”

“I’m not afraid of a bunch of sniveling cowards who hide in dirty back streets and mutter imprecations to keep themselves warm,” the duke declared. “I just don’t want them anywhere near Blanche.”

Blind, deaf, and dumb, these bloody nobles. Michael closed his weary eyes and leaned against the doorjamb, knowing Fiona had left through the back the instant the duke had appeared. “Is Your Grace aware that Lady Blanche owns mills in the north that are currently targets of attack by radicals? And I suspect, if the mills are targeted, then so must be the mines and whatever. And it is your laws that permit the conditions leading to this unrest.”

“We’ve already instructed authorities to read the Riot Act and send out the yeomanry if these rabble rousers cause any more trouble,” the duke said coldly.

Michael flinched and rubbed his eyes. “Then you are personally responsible for any danger the lady is in. Go away and leave me alone.”

Neville grabbed Michael’s coat lapels and jerked him upward. “Where is she?”

They were evenly matched in height and weight, but Neville played fair by rules Michael had never bothered learning. He caught the duke’s wrists and twisted. Neville yelped and released his grip.

Dusting his lapels back in place, Michael answered, “She attempted to stop a riot in Manchester. Ask her solicitor. And if you insist on remaining, then keep Fiona from escaping. I’ve better to do than stand here arguing.”

As he departed, Michael didn’t remind him it would take an army to stop Lady Blanche from coming to London. He would take care of that on his own.

* * *

“What do you mean you are in his lordship’s employ and your orders are to take me to Dorset? I do not wish to go to Dorset. I wish to go to London. I order you to turn around and go back.” Blanche balled her hands into gloved fists of frustration as the carriage driver held his cap and scratched his head. She had rid herself of her companion at Wiltshire. To her dismay, she had discovered that Michael had absconded with what remained of the coins she’d removed from her hems, and she must rely on the carriage driver for her accommodations.

“His lordship might change his mind about hiring me if I were to do that, my lady,” he answered in dismay. “And I’ve a new wife who wants me to take a permanent position. I promised his lordship I would see you safe in Dorset.”

“I will hire you!” Blanche declared. “You may name your position. I can find you a cottage at Anglesey. You will never worry about money again. Just take me to London now!”

The driver looked dubious. “If it’s all the same to you, my lady, I’d rather take the gentleman’s word and live in London. Dorset is naught but another two days journey. Once I see you safe there, you may do as you wish. I don’t have my orders for more than that.”

“The gentleman hasn’t a ha’penny to his name!” Blanche nearly screamed in frustration. “Those are my coins he paid you with. He does not own horse nor carriage or even a roof over his head! You are much better off in my employ.” They’d already spent five days of miserable back roads traveling to Wiltshire. Another two days and Michael could be on his way to America for all she knew.

The driver still didn’t look convinced. Few wives had funds of their own. Even fewer held land or the power to dispense employment, and he thought her Michael’s wife. She understood his dilemma.

That didn’t mean she would make it easier for him. Throwing up her hands in anger, Blanche picked up her traveling skirts and started marching down the road toward the crossroads leading to London.

“My lady! You cannot go afoot. It will take you more than two days that way, and you’ll be beset with thieves and the like. Let me take you to Dorset. Then we’ll go to London if you choose.” The driver hurried after her, leaving the groom holding the carriage horses.

“I...don’t...want...to...go...to...Dorset,” she muttered between clenched teeth, kicking up the dust of the road as she increased her pace. She knew she behaved like a fool. She couldn’t possibly walk unmolested to London. She had no money. Her shoes were paper thin. But she couldn’t let Michael win this battle.

“I’ll drive the horses faster,” the driver suggested helpfully. “The days are longer. We’ll travel till dark. We’ll make Dorset in one day. Then we may turn and go to London.”

“We have all of Wiltshire to cross! And then we’re even farther from London than now. If we hurry from here, we can be in London in two or three days. If we go to Dorset, it will be nearly a week before we’re there. And if the rains start, it will be longer. Did he give you enough coins to last that long?”

She’d caught him on that one, Blanche noted.

“If your ladyship could explain to his lordship...” the driver answered hesitantly.

Heady with triumph, Blanche nodded her head grandly and turned back toward the carriage. “I will explain it all. And you will have your position as I promised. Just take us back as quickly as we can go.”

Her triumph lasted only as far as the next posting inn, where fresh horses were mysteriously not available suitable for a lady and her coach. It took her until the next morning to bribe the innkeeper with promised money to let her use horses that had come in the evening before.

When the same thing happened again at the next inn, Blanche remembered that Michael had friends in low places all across the country. But she had acquaintances in high places. She ordered the driver to take her to the country estate of the nearest one. She would put an end to this nonsense.

* * *

Fiona sat idly in the window seat, petting a long-haired white kitten while staring out at the London street below and listening to the argument in the parlor. The two gentlemen O’Toole had summoned did not seem to like him very much, but she judged them less harmful than the terrible duke. So she listened for anything that might mean danger to her family and wondered if she would ever see them again.

“His Grace has explained all this,” Michael said with unusual impatience. “There have been threats to blow up he duke’s dinner party. We must keep Lady Blanche out of town until we find the terrorists.”

The idle juggler Fiona had first met had disappeared behind this angry gentleman. She liked the entertainer better, but the gentleman was very good at commanding his troops. Of course, when his troops consisted of dimwits like these, he had some right for impatience.

“It still ain’t right,” Lord Allendale insisted, stretching his gangly legs and staring at his polished boot tops. “We can’t just kidnap a lady like that. She’ll not ever forgive us.”

“Benington,” Michael appealed to the shorter, fatter young lord, “Explain it to him, please. She counts you among her loyal friends and has always relied on your discretion.”

Fiona smiled to herself as Benington gave the same reply he’d repeated in any number of different ways throughout the morning. “I still don’t see how we can hold her against her will. She’ll flay us alive, she will.”

Michael flung his hands up in frustration. “Then stay and patrol Elton Alley while I stop her. If you cannot control a puny female, you should be ashamed to call yourselves men.”

“Gentlemen,” Allendale replied huffily. “We’re gentlemen. And gentlemen don’t kidnap ladies.”

“But I’ll be damned if I’ll let you near her,” Benington added. “We’ll take our sisters along and stop her. But we can’t hold her long. Blanche don’t like our sisters by half.”

From her window seat, Fiona asked with curiosity, “Who does she like?”

“Lady Effingham,” both young lords answered in chorus.

Michael and Fiona exchanged glances. Without another word to his troops, Michael left the room in the direction of the nursery and Dillian.

It took bribery, persuasion, coercion, and a modicum of blackmail to pry Dillian from her husband’s side when it looked as if Gavin meant to endanger himself in the search for the radical leaders and attend the duke’s dinner. But with Gavin’s full approval, Michael accomplished it.

Benington and Allendale would lead Lady Blanche to Anglesey, and Dillian would keep her there in some manner or another. Michael didn’t want to learn the details. Blanche would be angrier than a nest of hornets when she found she’d been tricked. He just couldn’t take that into consideration. He had to keep her safe until he’d found the conspirators.

That they existed, Michael had no doubts. Even with their recently won representation in parliament, the Irish had no power, and they still despised English authority. If the radical English labor leaders came from farmers and industrial workers, they didn’t have the military experience to carry on a real war. But the rebellious Irish had invented the pastime. And then there were the unemployed soldiers from Napoleon’s wars...

Later that night, Michael rubbed his eyes wearily as he stared out over the dark London street.

“Will you find them in time?” Fiona asked softly from behind him.

“Neville has an entire army at his disposal. They’ll find the bastards. I don’t like to think what will happen when they do.”

Fiona was silent, and Michael knew her thoughts traveled the same path.

In a country where a child could be hung for stealing a loaf of bread, treason of this immensity would result in swift and hideous punishment. Michael couldn’t condone violence, but he couldn’t exactly blame the radicals for their desperation either.

“Eamon used to push me in my swing when I was a lass,” Fiona said quietly. “When they took his da’s lands for taxes, he had no choice but to go into the army. The English army didn’t want him. The French welcomed him with open arms.”

“Is he kin of yours?” Michael asked. He knew somewhere behind Fiona’s sorrow lay family of some sort, but she remained close-mouthed about them.

“Of the mind, perhaps. Not of blood. Could we not spirit them away somehow?”

“Neville’s setting a trap. If they come anywhere near the townhouse before his dinner, they’re dead men. I suppose they deserve death for thinking to take the lives of others. I just can’t accept either alternative.”

“Do ye love Lady Blanche?”

Michael swung around. “What has that to do with anything?”

She shrugged. She had donned boy’s clothes again as if taunting them with her ability to disappear the instant they did something not to her liking. So far, she had only disappeared as far as the nursery. Michael didn’t know how much longer that situation would last.

“The lady is not likely to approve if you side with the radicals,” Fiona suggested.

“I’m not on the side of anyone who would harm a lady,” Michael growled, feeling as irascible as Gavin usually behaved. “And Lady Blanche is more on the side of the radicals than her cousin. They do her grave injustice.”

Fiona nodded understandingly. “I believe that, but Eamon and his friends will not. And that does not help all the others. The lady cannot change the laws.”

Crossing his arms, Michael leaned his shoulders against the wall and stared at his nemesis. “So what are we discussing here?”

She faded into the shadows, out of the lamp light. “I can take you to their leaders. You can tell them their plot’s come undone. But you must make them believe they can do nothing further. They have more plans than London has streets. It will not be easy.”

Michael thought of Blanche somewhere between here and London. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d last seen her. Wishing he could hold her just once more, Michael sighed and pushed away from the wall. “All right. What do we have to do?”