by Regina Scott
The great eating room, they called this. He wasn’t sure what anyone was expected to eat. So far only drink had been flowing. There was no dining table in sight, but this room had more crimson draperies than Matthew had ever seen. The great swags, fringed in gold at least a foot long, encircled the room and ran three deep over the windows. The walls, where they could be seen around the huge paintings, were covered in the same crimson-patterned fabric. Each chair lined up down the middle of the room and the sofas along each wall were upholstered in crimson, with fanciful gold arms, backs, and feet. About the only things that weren’t gold or crimson were the thick, light blue carpet at his feet and the massive crystal chandelier that fell from the center medallion of the ceiling. Which was also plastered in gold.
Great waste of money, they ought to call it.
None of the other gentlemen seemed to mind. Conversation was growing louder, laughter more frequent, faces more florid. He’d requested water and sipped sparingly. In truth, when he finished a fight he often felt as if he’d fallen into a hole, weariness and aches wrapping around him. Today it was more than that. He could not forget the anguish on Charlotte’s face as she’d left the match. He might have beaten Harding, but he might have lost her.
A servant hurried up and spoke to one of the lords closer to His Highness. The dark-haired fellow turned to the prince.
“Your Highness, Lord Kendall is without and requesting a word with Sir Matthew.”
The prince chortled. “Even the opposition seeks to congratulate my champion. Allow him to enter.”
Two more footmen—liveried in crimson, of course—strode to open the double doors on one side of the chamber. Most gazes swung that way. Standing in the entrance was Lord Kendall, head high, mustache neat, face its usual solemn mask.
Charlotte was at his side.
“Who’s that?” the prince demanded, squinting.
“I believe that’s Lord Worthington’s sister,” one of his cronies supplied.
“Can’t be,” the prince maintained. “She’s a clever thing. You won’t find her with this lot.”
Matthew was on his feet, but careful to keep from turning his back on the prince. “My lord, Miss Worthington.”
Charlotte moved down the room so quickly the marquess had to scramble to keep up. Her gaze, however, was on the prince. She stopped beside Matthew and dipped a curtsey.
“Your Highness, please forgive this intrusion. Sir Matthew is urgently needed.”
Foreboding dropped like a stone into his gut. He had to clamp his lips together to keep from demanding to know what had happened.
The prince waved a hand. “He is urgently needed here as well. Haven’t you heard? My champion was victorious.”
That raised another round of “here, here,” and “jolly good fellow” with goblets raised and drained.
“Anyone with any sense would have expected as much,” Charlotte allowed when the noise finally quieted again. “And because he is your champion, I know you will allow him to rise to the occasion now and be the hero his family needs.”
His family? Despite his reservations, Matthew took a step. Charlotte shook her head once. Warning him. Was he always to skate on such thin ice in Society?
“Hero, eh?” the prince mused.
“Certainly a hero,” Charlotte maintained. “The man who saved our gracious prince’s life, who triumphed over his enemies, who added a note to the legacy that is our noble prince’s birthright.”
“Doing it too brown,” Matthew said out of the corner of his mouth.
The prince didn’t look any more impressed.
Lord Kendall glanced between Matthew and Charlotte, then faced the prince. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I cautioned Miss Worthington that this approach would do no good. You are known as the Prince of Pleasure, after all. We’ll leave you to your little party.”
“Little party? Little party!” The prince rose from his seat, and all voices went silent. Every gaze latched onto Lord Kendall, some rueful, some sad, most gleeful. Boxing wasn’t the only blood sport in the prince’s court, it seemed.
“I will have you know, sirrah,” His Highness thundered, “that my champion is everything Miss Worthington made him out to be—a hero, a knight of the realm. His valor, honor, and loyalty are unassailable. I can only question yours.”
Lord Kendall bowed. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
The prince flipped up his velvet coattails and plopped back into his chair. “Out, Kendall. I do not want to see your face. Miss Worthington, you may borrow Sir Matthew, but I expect a good report of his next heroic deed.”
Matthew bowed. “Once more you honor me, Your Highness.”
The three of them backed from the room.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said to Lord Kendall as the doors closed on voices rising yet again. “You risked much for us.”
“Anything for Miss Bateman and her family,” Lord Kendall assured her. Indeed, for the first time, Matthew caught a hint of a smile from the fellow, as if his performance pleased him.
Matthew turned to Charlotte. “What’s this all about? Were you just trying to rescue me from that, or is something truly wrong?”
Charlotte lay a hand on his arm, the touch both buoying and sinking his spirits. “Very wrong. Tuny is missing, and we fear Mrs. Bateman is to blame.”
This room held less crimson, the draperies only falling from the tall windows on their left, but he felt as if they squeezed the very air from the long antechamber. “She’s still in London?”
“Ivy knows her location,” Charlotte promised. “This way.”
In short order, they were seated in the marquess’s carriage and headed toward the outskirts of London, while Charlotte explained the situation.
“You were right to fetch me,” Matthew told her when she finished. “Mrs. Bateman raised Petunia from a babe. She considers her a daughter. And she knows I’d pay for her return.”
Lord Kendall shifted on the padded leather seat. “Surely you don’t imply kidnapping.”
“Surely he does,” Charlotte told him.
Ivy hunched in on herself. Why? His sister was everything kind and good, but surely even she couldn’t justify the behavior of the woman who had made her life so difficult. Then again, perhaps her gentle heart couldn’t admit the truth about their wicked stepmother.
Matthew was glad when the carriage rolled into the coaching yard of an inn and stopped.
“Stay here,” he said, throwing open the door. “I’ll be back.”
“You’re not going without me,” Charlotte said, gathering her skirts to follow.
Matthew blocked her exit. “You may not like what you hear.”
Her face was pale, but her grey eyes were as hard as iron. “If Petunia is here, she’ll need someone to look out for her while you deal with Mrs. Bateman.”
He couldn’t argue that. “Come on then, but stay behind me.”
He thought she might protest further, but she slipped into his shadow and they set out.
The inn was darkly paneled, with low ceilings. Matthew felt as if they’d entered a cave. A chubby fellow swathed in a white apron hurried up to them, but he took one look at Matthew’s battered face and started shaking his head. “We don’t take kindly to fights here, my lad.”
“Then tell me where Mrs. Bateman is staying, and you’ll have no trouble from me,” Matthew promised.
Again he shook his shaggy head. “Why should I trouble a customer?”
Charlotte stepped around Matthew. “Please, sir. A young girl’s life may be at stake.”
He looked Charlotte up and down, then straightened. “Room 12. Up the stairs and to your left. Be careful. She’s already taken her ire out on two of the maids.”
Charlotte shuddered.
Matthew led the way up the narrow stairs, footsteps sounding unnaturally loud. He located the room along the white-plastered corridor and opened the door before Charlotte could knock.
Mrs. Bateman was seated by the fire, shoes off and
stockinged toes pointed toward the warmth. She tipped her chin at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Petunia?” Matthew demanded, striding into the room.
She shrugged. “How should I know?”
He pulled up beside her chair. “Don’t tell me you’re innocent.”
She shifted on the seat. “All right. I tried for a visit. You were out beating up another poor fellow, so I thought, what’s the harm in trying? I saw her leave the house with that monster of a dog.” She hitched her shawl closer. “He tried to take a bite out of me. You should put him down.”
“I’ll reward him for his trouble,” Matthew said. “After you tell me what you did with Tuny.”
“Nothing. Brat wanted no more to do with me. That’s your fault. Poisoning her mind. And you.” She pointed at Charlotte in the doorway. “Putting ideas in her head.”
“I will ask you one more time,” Matthew gritted out, “and then I will call the constable. Where is Petunia?”
She glanced between the two of them, face turning ashen. “You really don’t know? She ran off with the dog when I tried to take her with me. I thought she’d gone home. If she’s really missing, you must find her!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte wasn’t sure she could believe Matthew’s stepmother, but the woman was right about one thing. They had to find Petunia. London had never been a kind place for a girl on her own. Charlotte was just thankful the summer days were long. They still had hours before night fell.
“Where’s Tuny?” Ivy begged when Matthew handed Charlotte into the coach in the innyard.
“Not here,” Charlotte explained. “Mrs. Bateman claims your sister ran off when she attempted to convince Petunia to come with her.”
Ivy’s face fell. “Then we drove all this way for nothing.”
Lord Kendall’s hand covered hers a moment before withdrawing.
“Not necessarily,” Matthew said as he and Charlotte took their seats. “We know she isn’t here, and she was last seen not far from the house.” He turned to Lord Kendall. “My lord, would you return us home?”
“Of course,” Lord Kendall said. He called to his coachman, and the carriage set out once more.
Charlotte’s mind was busy. “We’ll need help. Miss Thorn would be glad to assist, I’m sure, and Worth, Lydia, and their staff.”
Matthew’s mouth quirked. “Building an army, are you?”
“Whatever it takes,” Charlotte told him.
“You may count on my assistance as well,” Lord Kendall put in. “My staff in London is small, but they are at your disposal.”
Ivy smiled her gratitude.
The plan agreed, Matthew and Ivy alighted at the house. Charlotte waited only long enough to confirm that Petunia hadn’t returned, then directed Lord Kendall’s coachman to Clarendon Square. As she had suspected, her brother and his wife were glad to help. Worth had declined the prince’s offer to celebrate Matthew’s victory.
“Though we are short-staffed at present,” her energetic sister-in-law confirmed. “Most of our servants aren’t back yet from the holiday we gave them following the wedding. We only returned last night, and then Worth heard about this fight and there you are.”
Charlotte assigned them to the streets to the north of Covent Garden and advised them where to check in every hour.
“Your organization is impressive,” Lord Kendall said as they headed down the square to Meredith’s townhouse.
“Most women who manage a household could do as well,” Charlotte said. “Look at Ivy.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
Meredith was eager to help, enlisting her servants and one other.
“We’ll bring Fortune,” she said, securing a leash to the jeweled collar on cat’s neck. “Rufus may well catch her scent and pull Miss Petunia right to us.”
Charlotte agreed. She assigned Miss Thorn’s staff to the streets to the west of Covent Garden, then told them where to check in. She took her benefactress and Fortune into the carriage with Lord Kendall.
His face was neutral as he regarded the cat. Fortune stared back at him, copper-colored eyes unblinking.
“Miss Thorn,” Charlotte said, “may I introduce Lord Kendall? He is a friend of Miss Bateman’s who kindly agreed to assist us.”
Meredith inclined her head. “My lord.”
He nodded in return. “Miss Thorn. I’ve heard your name associated with the Duchess of Wey, Countess of Carrolton, and Lady Worthington. A matchmaker, I believe.”
Meredith smiled. “Something of that sort.” She glanced down at the grey-haired cat. “And this is Fortune. Fortune, say good-day to Lord Kendall.” She eased her hold.
Fortune regarded his lordship a moment more, then turned her back and began washing one white-tipped paw.
Charlotte wasn’t sure why, but disappointment bit at her. Meredith looked more disapproving, mouth tightening and raven brows dipping.
“The cut direct,” Lord Kendall mused. “I must beg her pardon.”
“Perhaps,” Meredith said, transferring her frown to her pet.
He directed his driver to his home. Charlotte wasn’t surprised to find a tall white-fronted townhouse with black shutters and wrought-iron trim, as traditional and upright as its owner. Lord Kendall went into the house and returned with two footmen and a groom, who climbed up at the back and top of the coach for the trip to the Bateman home.
Ivy must have been watching for them, for she hurried out as they pulled up.
Charlotte lowered the window. “Has she been found?”
“No,” Ivy said, pausing to catch her breath. “Matthew, Daisy, and Betsy searched around the house again and could find no trace. Mr. Winthrop says he hasn’t seen her or Rufus.”
Charlotte nodded. “Very well then. You and Daisy go with Lord Kendall and his staff and search the streets to the south. Miss Thorn and I will go with Matthew to the eastern quarter. We have teams canvasing the north and west. We will all report back at the top of every hour. We will find her.”
They regrouped and set out, Fortune scampering along on the leash. Every few minutes she shrugged or rubbed her face against Meredith’s lavender skirts as if protesting the confinement. Matthew looked just as uncomfortable. His eyes were narrowed and focused, as if he faced an opponent greater than Lord Harding. Against the pallor of his skin, his bruises blazed a path of color. Charlotte hurt for him.
And she began to fear for Petunia. The girl was clever and spry. If she had not found her way home, something must be wrong.
Matthew called her name every few feet, to the annoyance of those on the street. One look his way was generally enough to send them hurrying about their business. Meredith kept bending over Fortune and murmuring low, as if asking the cat’s advice. Fortune stayed close, gaze darting about as if she wasn’t sure of her surroundings.
Neither was Charlotte. They had gone through the piazza, wandered around most of the closer streets, and crossed Drury Lane with all its traffic. The lorries, horses, and carriages pressed close together, moving faster than safety dictated. She shuddered to think of Petunia and Rufus navigating that busy thoroughfare. Now the houses and shops were packed so tightly that no sunlight trickled onto the street between. The sound of traffic faded, until all that could be heard was a shout of a man in anger, the cry of a lonely babe.
How frightened Petunia must be. Charlotte was frightened for her. She caught herself edging closer to Matthew. He took her hand, held it tight, and the darkness eased.
“Fortune?” Meredith asked.
The cat had stopped before an alley, back arching. Her hiss of warning echoed in the still darkness.
Not as loud as the bay of the hound in answer.
“Keep the cat back,” Matthew advised before dropping Charlotte’s hand and barging into the shaded crevice. “Petunia!” he shouted. “Tuny!”
“M-M-Matty?”
The stuttering voice pierced Charlotte’s heart, and she paced Matthew as he broke into
a run.
In the dubious shelter of a boarded-up doorway, Petunia sat on the crumbling brick stoop with Rufus leaning heavily against her dirty skirts. The hound rose and ambled to meet Matthew, tail wagging. Matthew took his collar and led him back to Petunia.
Tears streaked through the dust on the girl’s face as he knelt beside her. “Oh, Matty, you found us.”
Charlotte wanted to reach out, gather her close, but she knew it wasn’t her place. She watched as Matthew brushed the hair off his sister’s forehead.
“What happened, Sweet Pea?” he murmured.
She sniffed. “I was taking Rufus for a walk when I spotted a hired coach following us. Daisy says they look for girls to steal and sell to Scotland.”
Charlotte made a note to speak to Daisy.
“I started walking faster, and the coach stopped, and there was Mrs. Bateman.” She sniffed again. “She wanted me to come with her, but I knew you wouldn’t like that, Matty. And I want to stay with you. So, I ran away from her. Rufus liked running so well he didn’t want to stop. He got away from me. When I finally caught him, I wasn’t sure where I was. And I fell along the way.”
She twitched her skirts aside to reveal a knee purple and swollen. “It hurts something awful to walk. I’m sorry, Matty.”
He gathered her close. “You have no reason to apologize, Sweet Pea. You did what you could to keep you and Rufus safe. I’m proud of you. Now, let’s get you home and cleaned up.” He lifted her against his chest.
Petunia rested her head against his shoulder. “I knew you’d come, Matty. You always take care of us.”
Tears burned Charlotte’s eyes as Matthew carried his sister past her, Rufus’ leash trailing from the girl’s fingers. He walked slowly enough that the old dog could keep pace. When Charlotte didn’t follow immediately, he stopped and waited until she joined them, his smile relieved and thankful.