The Kidnapped Bride (28 page)

“I do not think my aunt would appreciate being likened to a fighting cock, sir,” Sarah said demurely.

“Then I must beg you won’t repeat it to her,” he replied with mock seriousness, “or to my mother either. I’d not wish my head given to either of them for washing, if you don’t mind.”

“Your mother would call you ‘Mr. Impertinence’ again, I daresay.”

“At the very least.” He paused, then asked gently, “Was Lady Hartley very severe with you, Countess?”

The moon was beginning to show its face above the stableyard, and Sarah fastened her gaze to it. “She said a great deal, of course. That was only to be expected, but it was not so bad as I had feared. I daresay I had exaggerated her temper in my imagination. There was one thing….” Her voice trailed off.

“Dare I ask you to confide in me?” Nicholas asked. He spoke quietly, still in that gentle tone, a little as though he thought her mood a fragile one.

“She said there are bets being laid in the London clubs as to whether or not I killed Darcy,” Sarah muttered tightly. Then she turned to him, her gaze an accusing one. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” he replied simply. “Reading through the betting books is not one of my favorite pastimes, and whether you choose to believe it or not, my last visit to London was not spent in the clubs at all. I think I had dinner at White’s one night, but that was all, and it was not a social evening. I was in Town only briefly, after all, and my time was consumed with your affairs, my own, and Darcy’s.”

“I see.” He was watching her carefully, and Sarah knew it was important to him that she believe what he was telling her. “Would you have told me had you heard of it, my lord?”

With a rueful smile, he shook his head. “Very likely not, and I was afraid you would ask. Truthfully, had I given the matter much thought, I think I might have deduced that such things would be happening. Gentlemen will bet on whatever strikes their fancy, you know, no matter how ridiculous. I should not have told you, because the information would have done you no good, would only have hurt you. One reason for keeping you here, Countess, was to protect you from the cruel things that thoughtless people are capable of saying. Your aunt clearly has no such protective feelings.”

“She feels that such scandal reflects upon her, my lord.”

“Well, of course she does,” he agreed sharply. “She is a woman to whom appearance is everything, I believe.”

“She prefers propriety to scandal, sir, as do you yourself. I should have expected you to defend her, but you seem to condemn instead.”

“Of course, I do,” Nicholas retorted. “Lady Hartley is a perfectly selfish woman. No one of sensibility can fail to discern it!”

Sarah hid a smile. This was surely a new Nicholas! But her aunt had a rare talent for putting up other people’s backs, so it shouldn’t be surprising that she had managed to set Nicholas against her. A few moments later, Dasher emerged from the library to inform his master that Lady Packwood had requested his immediate presence.

“It seems I shall have to present myself, Countess, but I refuse to deal with them alone. You must lend me your support.” He held out a hand to her, and she let him help her to her feet. Having done so much, she could scarcely object when he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her inside.

The following evening, Nicholas informed Miss Penistone in no uncertain terms that she was to present herself at dinner, that one evening of scratching for sustenance at Dower House was sufficient. She merely smiled at him and said that, of course, she would do as he requested, that she had only stayed away thinking it would be more comfortable for everyone else. It was Sarah who discovered that, rather than starving at Dower House, Penny had had an excellent meal in the housekeeper’s room with Cook and Dasher and Betsy. Had anyone asked what she thought about that, Sarah would have replied that no doubt Betsy had invited her, and Penny had merely taken the sensible course.

The Hartleys stayed only two more days, much to everyone’s relief. Lady Hartley said she would have liked to stay longer, but having already canceled several engagements and postponed their visit to Brighton, she felt it necessary now to return.

Once her aunt and uncle were safely away, Sarah immediately put her mind to the problem she found most pressing. Colin had said they would have to search out the mysterious Mr. Oakes, and she agreed with him but thought it would be a trifle dangerous, since Nicholas would undoubtedly disapprove of such doings. On the other hand, she remembered another suggestion of Colin’s, made some time ago and disparaged. Now, in view of her aunt’s information, any course seemed worth pursuing. She sent for Dasher.

“Dasher, I want to open the cellars,” she told him bluntly when he responded to her summons.

“Of course, my lady. I shall attend to it at once.” He turned on his heel, evidently thinking that was the end of it, but turned back when Sarah cleared her throat a little hesitantly. “Was there something more, my lady?”

“No, Dasher, that is all,” she replied, watching him closely. “I just … well, I rather expected you to ask why, or to say we must ask his lordship, or some such thing.”

“As to that, my lady, his lordship has already said that I am to regard your orders as his own, and I should never think to question his. If he were to ask me if I am arranging to open the Dower House cellars, I should have to tell him, of course. But I daresay it won’t occur to him to ask,” he added comfortably.

There was nothing in his expression to indicate curiosity, but then he had never shown any particular curiosity that Sarah could remember. Dasher merely went about his business, unflappably and efficiently. By mid-afternoon there were two workmen in the passageway of the Dower House kitchens, methodically and carefully chipping away at a wall of brick.

The following morning dawned cheerfully sunny, and the expedition to visit Nanny Bates could no longer be put off. Lady Packwood remarked caustically that she really ought to be packing her trunks to leave for the Continent, since poor Sir Percival had been kicking his heels quite long enough. Her loving spouse replied amiably that he had rather enjoyed Lord Hartley’s company and had not felt guilty about leaving her to her own devices, since she had the company of dear Sarah and Lady Hartley as well. She had nearly answered him with a snort before Nicholas laughingly bore her off to the forecourt, where a comfortable chaise was awaiting their pleasure. John Coachman was driving with Nicholas’s Timmy up as guard, and Nicholas had elected to ride in the coach with the others. He and Colin took the forward seats, leaving the more comfortable rear seat for the ladies.

It was a jolly enough drive, despite the deplorable state of the track across the Common and the not much better state of the London road. What with all the bouncing and jouncing and the difficulty of conversation, there was still much laughter and joking, until the carriage approached East End, when there was a noticeable change in Lady Packwood’s mood. She became quieter and more reserved, until finally she refrained from speaking altogether. Nicholas teased her, but to no avail, and Sarah was certain her ladyship’s color had faded away entirely by the time John Coachman drew his horses to a halt in front of a tiny thatch-roofed cottage on the western edge of the village.

There was a neat picket fence around an equally neat and colorful garden, and the gate neither squeaked nor creaked when Colin pushed it open for the ladies to pass through. Nicholas preceded them to the dark red front door and pounded upon it loudly enough to wake the dead, Sarah thought. Nevertheless, it was several moments before it opened.

A tiny gray-haired lady with sparkling blue eyes stood there, staring up at him in delight. “Master Nicky! How perfectly wonderful to see you again so soon!” Then her gaze shot past him and encountered the rest of his party, flickering quickly over Colin and Sarah and coming to rest upon Lady Packwood. “And your ladyship,” she added with an unmistakable, but indecipherable, gleam in her eye.

“Yes, indeed,” Nicholas said heartily. “I have brought Mama to pay you a call and the new Lady Moreland, Master Darcy’s widow, you know. And young Colin, of course. I daresay it’s been donkey’s years since you’ve laid eyes upon him, but he’s been at Harrow, and Lady Honoria and Bessling are on the Continent. Are we to come in, Nanny, or do you mean us to conduct this visit on the stoop?”

She stood aside. “Impertinent. Always was; always will be, I suppose. A shame, too, but I daresay it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

“Entirely too late,” Nicholas agreed as he ushered her to a comfortable chair near the crackling fire. A basket of knitting reposed on the floor beside it, and Nanny immediately picked up her work and carried on with it while she talked. It was a huge thing, knitted in all manner of gay colors, and Sarah finally decided it was meant to be a bedcover of some sort. Nanny never once glanced at the stuff in her lap, but her needles clicked away merrily, and she never seemed to drop a stitch or lose her place in the conversation.

They stayed quite half an hour, and by the end of that time, Nanny had discovered all there was worth knowing about Colin’s schooling, Darcy’s murder, and Lady Packwood’s marriage. Surprisingly, she seemed to approve of the latter. “I will say this for you, my lady. You choose your men well. That Packwood is very well thought of, they say. Plump in the pockets. Not that you need the money, of course, since I know my lord Moreland left you more than an independence. Still it shows good sense. You were a pea-goose in the old days. No saying but what you still are, but about some things you showed sense even then. Daresay you’ve matured a bit, too.”

Lady Packwood seemed nearly undone by such rare praise, and Sarah almost laughed aloud. Colin grinned but wiped it off his face immediately at a sign from his equally afflicted uncle. Sarah herself was let off lightly. Nanny saw nothing amiss in her having married Darcy, thus showing that she was either unaware of his more exasperating qualities or had chosen to ignore them. She merely assumed that Sarah was in distress at his untimely demise and, with what must have been rare tact, left her alone.

Everyone expressed relief once they were back in the coach, and Nicholas told John Coachman to whip them up. The return journey was whiled away by reminiscences of Nanny at Ash Park. The pace was necessarily slow, of course, and became slower yet once they had turned onto the rutted track. Sarah remembered the first time she had come this way, and an exchanged glance with Nicholas showed that he knew just what she was thinking. The coach had rumbled up a low, tree-topped hill and begun the downward journey, when suddenly there was an explosion, the unmistakable sound of additional hoofbeats, and the coach came to a rocking halt.

“Stand and deliver!” The voice that called out was a harsh one, but no more harsh than the eyes of the villain who rode up to the coach door and swung down from his horse.

At the first sharp sound, Nicholas had reached for the leather holster in the door of the chaise, but when he saw his mother reach at the same moment for her reticule, he paused. “Leave it, ma’am,” he ordered, returning his own hand to his lap. The door was yanked unceremoniously open. “Keep yer dabs where I kin see ’em, coves, ’n ever one’ll come outa this wiv a whole skin.”

T
HERE WERE TWO HIGHWAYMEN.
Both were masked and wore rough clothing, though the one who remained on his horse, his pistols leveled at John Coachman and Timmy, seemed to have a rather nattier appearance than his cohort.

The fellow who had pulled open the coach door now kicked the steps down and ordered them out into the road. His jaw rigid with anger, Nicholas descended first, then turned to assist his mother.

“Hold it there, me lord,” growled the villain. “Yer blockin’ me view. And raise yer fambles, if ye please.”

Nicholas obeyed, and Sarah and Lady Packwood, the former nervously and the latter indignantly clutching her reticule, alit from the coach. Colin followed, glancing uncertainly at his uncle.

“Got a barker, me lord? Wouldn’t want no trouble, ye know. Ladies present ’n all.”

“Inside,” Nicholas replied smoothly. “Leather holster in the side panel.” He smiled encouragingly at Colin.

“I’ll just have a look-see.” The rogue started to move toward the coach but stopped at a sharp whistle from his partner. He looked up inquiringly.

“Tie ’em first.” The words were muffled, the voice gruff, and Sarah looked up at him for the first time. He seemed to be taller than the other and not so broad across the shoulders. The shape of his face showed long and thin beneath the mask that covered it from the bridge of his nose to below his chin where it was tucked into a neatly tied neckcloth. On the other hand, his partner’s face was round and full, the jut of his nose not nearly so long and that of his chin not so square or so prominent as the horseman’s. The mask, in his case, was tucked into the collar of his dark jersey. Both men wore heavy duffel jackets and slouch hats pulled low over their foreheads.

As Sarah looked up at the horseman, she encountered a brief, chilly gaze from narrowed gray eyes before he turned his attention back to the men on the box. His partner tossed some leather thongs to Nicholas.

“You do the honors, me lord. The nipperkin first.”

Nicholas moved to tie Colin’s hands, and when the bandit’s gaze followed him, Lady Packwood took the opportunity to slip a step or two behind Sarah. Sarah watched the horseman, but he kept his eyes focused on John Coachman and Timmy.

“
Maman! Rien à faire!
” Nicholas kept his voice controlled, but the urgency in his tone was unmistakable. Sarah glanced quickly around at her ladyship, who was looking annoyed.

“’Ere, what’s this then! Ain’t the King’s English good enough? What did you say to her?”

“I merely told her not to worry,” Nicholas returned, his eye still warily upon Lady Packwood.

The bandit gave a derisive snort and altered his position so that he had a better view of her ladyship. “What did ’e say, me lady?”

Lady Packwood’s shrug was accompanied by a grimace of disgust. “He said to do nothing,” she replied tartly, holding out her reticule to him. “I daresay you will want this.”