Chasing the Heiress (10 page)

“But we don't have her. How will we find her if my men quit looking?

“Do as I say. We shall take care of the rest.”

Marner turned to leave, with Ox following behind.

“And Marner . . .” Georges paused, waiting until the man looked up into his eyes. “Do not return unless you have some information we can act upon.”

* * *

At Marner's hotel, the men were dismissed to their other duties. Only Ox accompanied Marner to his rooms.

“He's a bad one, that man. Worse I think than the first,” Ox spoke his thoughts aloud.

“But we have no other choices.” Marner waved his hand, dismissing Ox's concerns.

“He won't like that you didn't tell him everything,” Ox cautioned, looking out the window into the street to see if there were any sign that they had been followed.

“All they have to do is find her.” Marner poured himself a glass of claret, but ignored Ox. “Then we'll take over again from there.” He walked to his dressing table and began pulling impatiently at his cravat.

“Should we call the men back?” Ox helped himself to a glass, not of the claret, but of the sweeter port. “Or do you wish them to keep looking?”

“We'll spread the rumor as he wishes, but keep looking. If we find her, I don't have to pay his fee.”

“He strikes me as the kind of man who always gets his fee.” Ox rubbed his chin. “He won't like that.”

“I don't care what he likes. I need that girl back before she discovers that we read her a fake will.”

* * *

After Marner and his men left, Charters took off his costume as Georges and settled in to assess his situation. The revenues were coming in just as he and Flute had hoped. His alliances with the gangs in the hells of London and Manchester were growing stronger. He'd even infiltrated the working-class levelling movements to thwart or aid them when necessary. It would do him no good to encourage a collapse of the aristocracy on the lines of what had happened in France. Not just now. Not when he was about to become a very wealthy man.

The finder's fee for the runaway heiress would be very useful. But he still didn't trust that her cousin would allow him to manage things in his own way. He had few qualms about killing the girl, and even fewer about killing the cousin if he decided to try to wriggle out of their agreement.

The thieves of London were easier. They might try to double-cross you, but they understood completely the consequences if they were unsuccessful. And if enough people experienced the consequences, soon no one was interested in the double-cross.

He looked over the maps of rural London roads. He liked maps: they made the lines of his plans tangible. Fields to hide things in, towns to avoid unless necessary.

The heiress had escaped from a country estate in Shropshire. He put a pin in the map. The cousin believed she had taken the London road, and he had focused his efforts in the southeast for the first two days, before considering she might have gone initially in another direction. Marner had found nothing. He'd also insisted that she knew no one who would help her escape, that all of her clothes remained in her closet, and that she had taken no monies. Not all of those things could be true.

When Charters had heard through his networks that Lady Fairbourne had disappeared, he had sent a pair of men to the area to learn what they could. Though their efforts had been hampered somewhat by the traffic to and from Manchester for the rallies, his men still had taken only a day to discover something interesting

Two days after the heiress had escaped, a secondhand clothes merchant had traded two servant's dresses for a fine silk dress and a set of embroidered slippers. He put a pin in his map. The woman selling the dress had claimed that her mistress had made her a gift of it. Nothing unusual there. But then the servant had chosen two drab, ill-fitting dresses when others more attractive and better fitting were available. That was thirty miles away. He put a pin in the map. Thirty miles farther from London than her estate. If the cousin were correct, she should have been heading to London to see her solicitors. Her indolent cousin couldn't walk five miles in an afternoon, but a woman who grew up in the army could—and far more than five miles. Thirty in two days would have been easy on the roads, but still manageable off them. She would have known that her cousin wouldn't have considered it because it was the wrong direction. So, a diversion.

The next place close by where she could have caught a stage or found a ride was a stable and inn another ten miles away. Farther north, farther from London. But ten miles safer, in an unexpected direction. There were five inns on that road, all with coaches direct to London. He had men at each inn now, watching for a female servant traveling alone on her way to any station in the general direction of London.

He'd known when the cousin described her as a giddy young miss who didn't know her own mind that there was more to the story. No giddy miss would choose to go so far out of the way when alone and pursued on the roads. No, this miss had either friends helping her or a better head for strategy than her relative. He bet on the latter. If she had friends, then he would let the job go. No need to attract enemies when there was so little money in it.

He'd only agreed to the task because Marner owned a property that fit into his plans. If he didn't pay—and Charters was sure he wouldn't—Marner would be pressed to surrender a large unused plot of land with a well-forested private road, well-maintained but rarely traveled. The next best spot for Charters's purposes was forty miles south. He didn't want the money; he wanted the access. Others would call it blackmail, but either way, it served his other ends.

Chapter Seven

Looking out the window, Lucy heard the key turn in the lock. She flung herself to the fireplace, lifting the poker like a cricket bat. If it were Ox or one of the other men who had been searching for her, she could at least give herself a chance to run. She positioned herself behind the door, ready to strike.

The door opened a crack. “Lucy, girl?”

Lucy set the poker against the wall and stepped to where she could see Alice peering through a polite crack between the door and its frame. “Yes?”

“Ah, there you are. Ye are wanted in the sick lord's room.”

“Has his wound turned?” Her stomach twisted, and her throat grew tight. Lucy opened the door wider until she could see Alice holding a tray stacked with the remains of a meal. “He was mending when I left him.”

“No, la. He's ate a fine meal this morning.” She lifted the tray in confirmation. “Told me to send you to him.”

“Thank you. I'll go to him presently.”

Alice turned toward the staircase, but stopped briefly before descending. “I think he wished to speak to you without his relations present. He was alone when I left him.”

Lucy rushed the four steps to the washbasin, pouring water into the bowl to wash her face and hands.

It was foolish to be pleased. She brushed her hair into an unruly bun before she tucked its curls under her maid's bonnet. She looked at herself in the hand mirror, then smoothed her skirts with her hands.

She wished she had some other dress to wear, but the same grey-blue wool he'd seen every day would have to do. She'd never thought it a dour dress, just a workmanlike one, the kind of dress she imagined servants wore to avoid attention. Of the dresses at the used clothing seller's shop, she'd deliberated traded for the one most likely to make her look unattractive, even buying one that fit so ill that she had to bind her breasts to fit into the bodice and had to wear pads to fill out the waist and hips. She'd needed to change her shape as well as her station to avoid being recognized, but now she lamented that decision.

She thought longingly of the wardrobe of dresses at her great-aunt's house; she'd never been too attached to them, thinking them altogether too fine for an officer's daughter. But now, she wished she could wear just one beautiful gown for him before they parted.

If he was well, she could slip away this afternoon.

* * *

“I wish the Home Office had chosen someone else for this escort duty. Colin's been distant for months, and the events of recent days can't have helped.” Sophia sat opposite her fiancé, the duke, at a table in the small drawing room between their bedrooms, while Seth paced. The couple maintained the proprieties, but Seth was certain that only one of the beds had been slept in.

On the table lay a portfolio of parliamentary reports. The top one offered an assessment of which nobles were in line to inherit the throne in various petty Habsburg principalities in Europe. The Princess Marietta and her late husband appeared in a lesser branch of one of the genealogical trees.

“Walgrave underestimated the danger,” Aidan said with all the casual authority of a duke used to having his words accepted.

“Or he didn't tell Colin,” Seth objected “The fact that he gave
you
that report a week ago but not Colin suggests . . .”

“That
I
am a member of the House of Lords.” Aidan held the report up, then let it fall on the table. “Nothing in the report indicates any real danger. Yes, the prince was heir to a crown, but until some fairly recent deaths, he wasn't a near enough claimant for anyone to want him or his child dead. In fact, news of the closest heir's death only reached London
after
the attack on the princess.”

“Walgrave should be informed about the attack.” Seth refused the chair Aidan pushed out, preferring to pace to and from the fireplace.

“A letter should already be on his desk.” When Seth raised his own eyebrow, Aidan added, “There's a fast post from the town.”

“Whatever the Home Office knew or didn't know, Colin must feel the princess's death strongly.” Sophia looked up from her sketchpad, where she was finalizing a series of architectural drawings of the same room from different angles.

“Colin was to protect the child, and, despite the attack, the child is alive.” Aidan picked up one of the architectural drawings Sophia had finished and marked a change. “At this point, all that remains is for him to deliver the child to Prinny. I have ample men and resources to ensure that happens without any additional danger to Colin or the child.”

“I understand your fear for your brother, but taking responsibility for delivering the child isn't the best course of action.” Sophia laid her hand on his elbow.

“Sophie is right.” Seth picked up the succession report and scanned through its pages. “Colin will insist that he must see it through. But—don't glare at me, Aidan, until I finish—that doesn't mean we can't help. You can use your influence to get better information and protection from the Home Office. I can stay here and investigate to determine if the conspiracy drew its highwaymen from local stock.”

“Nell would likely welcome the trade,” Sophia suggested.

“Nell?” Aidan leaned forward assertively.

“The innkeeper's wife. The midwife.” Sophia looked into Aidan's eyes. “Quite charming, she reminds me of my Aunt Clara. But there's something about Lucy she hasn't been willing to tell me.”

“Let me confirm: you were talking to the
midwife
about the
scullery maid
?” Aidan shook his head in disbelief.

“Lucy might
work
here as a scullery maid, but I don't believe she
is
one. Something about her bearing, her knowledge, her willingness to oppose you.” Sophia picked up a new sheet of paper and began to sketch window curtains, followed by a series of designs for chairs.

“If she did grow up in the camps, then her father was an officer.” Seth looked over Sophia's shoulder, tapping one of the designs to show his preference. “Only four or five officers in each regiment were allowed to keep their families with them.”

“How long has she been working as a scullery maid?” Aidan asked.

“A bit more than a month,” Sophia answered, drawing a chaise longue with similar lines to the chair Seth liked.

“Then we need to find out who she is.” Aidan strode to the window and back. “The attack happened not far from here. Any survivors would have come to this inn. She might have been sent here to ensure the attack was successful.”

“That would have required knowing Colin's route well in advance of his even leaving London,” Sophia countered, still sketching. “Besides, Lucy never helped with the princess or the birth, only with Colin.”

Aidan raised one eyebrow in question.

“A new servant seemed suspicious to me as well,” Sophia conceded. “More importantly, with her knowledge of plants, she could have killed Colin a dozen ways. No one would have given much thought to the death of a stranger set upon by highwaymen. But she kept him alive. We should be rewarding her, not locking her in her room under threat of hanging.”

“Whoever she is, Colin's noticed her in a way that he hasn't noticed anything in months. Not his club, his friends, women. I don't even know if he's been to Hartshorn Hall.” Seth took the chair he had earlier refused. He leaned back, his arms behind his head.

“Perhaps Lucy might prove useful, then.” Sophia took a shallow bowl from her painting box.

“Even if she is part of the attack on the princess?” Aidan put his hand on Sophia's shoulder as she began to prepare her watercolors. “We know too little of her. I don't like it.”

“If she
is
part of the conspiracy, Colin might wish to keep her close, to find out the information she knows.” Seth took a pencil and changed the line of one of Sophia's chair legs.

“Then how about this? We stay for a fortnight to ensure Colin's recuperation, with my men guarding the inn as my retinue. Then, when Colin is well enough to travel, we'll send my men out on the roads ahead of him, while Sophia and I return to London to meet with Walgrave. Seth, you will remain here.” Aidan gathered up the reports, placed them in a leather portmanteau, and locked its clasp.

Seth rubbed his chin with this thumb and forefinger. “I can let it be known that I've stayed to investigate new agricultural methods and purchase goods for the estate. But I'd rather not meet Colin's highwaymen alone.”

“Aidan's men will be needed here and on the road, but I can send you some men from the estate,” Sophia offered.

“Perkins is a good man in a fight, if you can spare him. After him, Barkley and Tyrrell.”

“I'll send for them by the morning post coach.” Sophia took a piece of drawing paper and neatly split it in half to make a piece of stationery, then pushed aside her watercolors to write her note. “And Seth, see what you can discover about Lucy.”

“If that's even her name,” Aidan interjected, unhappily.

* * *

The corridor outside Colin's door was empty. Lucy could hear the voices of his relatives, animated but indistinct, from the drawing room beside her. She hurried past, having no wish to see any of them. It would make it too easy for them to recognize her if they saw her again.

The door to his room was shut, and she almost knocked. But she didn't wish to attract the notice of his family, and if he were sleeping, she didn't wish to wake him. She would rather sit beside him until he awoke on his own, but she couldn't wait for him to rise. She would need to find shelter before dark.

She looked down the hall. Finding no one watching her, she turned the knob, slipped into his room, and eased the door quietly closed behind her. She released the knob slowly to keep the catch from clicking as it returned to its place.

She leaned her back against the shut door and watched him. Illogically, she hoped both that she hadn't disturbed him and that he was already awake. No movement. She sat beside him.

His hair had fallen over one eye, and she lifted a hand to brush it to the side, but stopped. In a sickroom, such ministrations were a kindness; but alone in a bedroom, they were inappropriate and forward. Perhaps if his family were not in the drawing room across the hall or if she knew how deeply he was sleeping, she might risk it, but, as it was, she had to settle for being near him.

She would miss him. She would wonder if he were improving once she'd left. She wished it could be otherwise. He might be the one man still alive who could understand her nightmares. But she had lived too long with her secrets to let them go so easily. And she still had her obligation to her great-aunt to fulfill.

* * *

When Colin heard the knob turning, he reached for the loaded pistol he had hidden under the covers at his side. Aidan would have objected, saying he and Seth would be close enough to protect him, but Fletcher had seen the wisdom in such a precaution. The coachman nursed a grudge against the postilion who had hit him in the temple with the butt of a gun.

Colin's hand found the polished wood of the handle. He waited. He timed the click of the primer to match the click of the latch against the door frame.

But it was his Lucy, slipping into the room, her dull grey dress a salve to his spirit. He watched her through lidded eyes, making no movement to indicate he was awake. He didn't wish to underestimate the deviousness of his opponents, even if that meant that his ministering angel had come to kill him.

When she slipped quietly into a chair, the tension in his chest released. He hadn't wanted to believe she was part of whatever scheme Walgrave had gotten him caught up in, but he hadn't forgotten being fooled by Octavia either. Time and again, Lucy proved she was trustworthy.

“Ah, my sweet nurse.”

“You are awake.”

“Yes, and I have another proposition for you.” He opened his eyes and searched her face. “His Grace is insistent that I cannot leave here until I am well. I am equally insistent that I must discharge my obligation to deliver my friend's child safely to its relatives.”

“Could your brothers take on that task?” she asked, even though she knew he would say no. She understood his sense of duty.

“No, it's my responsibility. However, the duke will object less if I take along someone who knows about wounds and healing.” He paused and took her hand. “Come with me.”

“Which way are you going?”

“If I were to say that I'm obligated to keep our route secret, would you trust me?” He held his breath, waiting, hoping she would agree to his offer. He wasn't ready yet to say good-bye. “I can promise to return you here after our journey, and I can pay you well for your time.”

“However foolish it might make me, I do trust you. As for returning me here, I only stopped here on my way to somewhere else, and Nell gave me a temporary home.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “If I go with you and you aren't traveling in the direction I need . . . when we are done, will you take me where I need to go?”

He breathed again. He knew she had her own secrets, but she showed no interest in the route. Whatever she was hiding, it likely had nothing to do with Marietta's child. “Certainly, I can take you to your destination—unless you were planning to travel to India or the American states. That would be a bit far in return for the trip I have planned.”

She laughed, a light, honeyed sound that he wished to hear again, “I promise I won't take you outside of England.”

“England. Not Britain?”