by Tarah Scott
The boy cast the footman a glance, then said, “I will come with you.”
“Nae,” she said. “Someone must wait here to speak with my husband when he returns. That is your job, Matthew.”
He shook his head stubbornly. “That is a baby’s job. I am a man. Ye can leave word with Mr. Bingham. But I am going with you, my lady. It is not right that you should go without a man to protect you.”
Heaven save her from the men who wanted to protect her. “You will stay here, Matthew.”
But before she could say more, he shrugged. “I can get there on my own, just as I came here.”
“How did you come here?” she asked.
“I have a horse. I took her to your stables. But I can have her saddled in two minutes. A horse is much faster than a carriage, and I know a shortcut.”
Anne sighed. “Then I suppose you will come with me. However, you will do exactly as I say.”
He shrugged. The footman helped her into the carriage, then Matthew leapt inside and settled on the seat opposite her.
When the carriage was two blocks from the earl’s estate, she had the driver stop. Of course, despite her commands, Matthew insisted on coming. James, also, refused to allow her to walk alone in the dark, and they left the footman with the carriage while they set out.
They reached the east wall that Matthew had climbed over to cut across Chesterfield’s lawn. When they turned the street corner, Anne said, “James, I know this is an odd request, but I’m asking that you wait outside the gate while I continue on. I’ll be safe enough once we’re on the earl’s estate.”
He nodded, but she knew he wondered what she was up to. At least, with Matthew present, James wouldn’t think she was meeting another gentleman.
They reached the wrought iron gate, which stood open. James remained at the entrance. Anne pulled her cloak tighter about her as she and Matthew kept walking. A dim light shown in a ground floor window at the front of the house, which Anne guessed to be a parlor. Another light flickered in a third-floor window. That, she estimated to be the earl’s bed chambers. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn. More soft line shone in two windows on the top floor where the servants would be.
They hurried around the drive on the right side of the house, then slowed. This side of the house was completely dark, except for a meager light that flickered against closed drapes in a fourth story window.
“That’s the window,” James whispered.
Anne’s heart began to pound. Was his story really true? On the carriage ride, she’d considered half a dozen explanations for his story, not the least of which, that he knew just enough of current events to have fabricated the tale. She had to admit, his story contained some strange coincidences. Rose claimed to have been kidnapped just about the time she met Kennedy. But what could her meeting and marriage to Kennedy have to do with his sister? And how could someone claim to be kidnapped while still living in their home? It wouldn’t really be called kidnapping. But a woman could be held prisoner in her own home.
Now that they were here, she had no idea how she would go about proving the truth, one way or the other. She scanned the wall for a door. There would be some sort of entrance on the side of the house. Of course, that door would be locked. She spotted a door farther down the side of the building, and hurried forward. As expected, it was locked.
It was only ten-thirty. Despite the light in the earl’s room, he would likely be asleep. Jacqueline, too, was probably abed. Most of the servants would take advantage of the quiet and would retire to their rooms or go to bed, for they would have to rise early to complete their morning duties. Still, a few servants might be in the kitchen working or socializing.
When they turned the corner of the building she saw another door, this one smaller than the last. The other door they’d seen, while a side entrance, was clearly for visitors. This door, however, was a rear servants’ entrance. She tried the knob and was surprised when it turned. Slowly, she inched the door open. Enough moonlight illuminated the room for her to recognize some sort of pantry. On a shelf to the left, sat several tapers and a tinder box. This entrance was in use.
Anne entered and lit a candle, then faced Matthew and whispered, “Remain here.”
“I cannae let you go alone, my lady. I am responsible for you.”
“Do you disobey your mother like this?” she asked in frustration.
“I never knew my mother,” he said. “She died when I was little. It’s just me and my father.”
That explained much. She should have had the footman carry Matthew back to the house and tie him to a chair, but she hadn’t thought of it. Anne turned and he followed as she crept forward and entered a modest kitchen. This section of the mansion clearly was intended for someone who might want to live away from the main part of the house. She located service stairs immediately to the right and they climbed to the fourth floor. Anne halted at sight of the tiny sliver of light shining into the pitch black hallway from beneath a door up ahead.
Her heart began to pound. What should she do? If Lady Rose was in the room—and if her warden was with her—how would she help the girl? Should she return home and wait for Kennedy? Should she rouse someone in the house, the earl or his wife?
She looked at Matthew, who nodded toward the light. Anne nodded acknowledgement and they crept to the door. She knocked lightly. Silence followed. With a deep breath, she grasped the knob and slowly twisted it. To her surprise, the knob turned. Why would they leave the door unlocked if they were keeping the girl prisoner? If Rose had lied—or if Matthew had lied—then she was making a huge mistake by being here.
Her hand shook, but she forced calm and eased the door open. First, she caught sight of a table and two chairs that sat before a hearth wherein a low fire burned. A tea pot and two cups sat on the table, along with a sugar bowl and cream. No one cried out, and Anne stepped into the room. To the left, sat a fourposter bed. A young woman lay in the bed, the blankets pulled up beneath her arms.
“Excuse me,” Anne called, but the girl didn’t reply.
Anne whispered to Matthew, “This is a lady’s room. You remain here while I wake her.”
Thankfully, he nodded agreement this time. She crossed to the bed and drew a sharp breath at sight of the bruise on the girl’s cheek. Matthew hadn’t lied. Anne set her taper on the nightstand, then grasped the girl’s shoulder and gently shook her.
The girl’s eyes fluttered open and her brow knit. “Rebecca?” The word was slurred, as if she had ingested laudanum.
Anger shot through Anne. Here was the reason they hadn’t locked the door. The girl couldn’t stand, much less escape.
“I am Kennedy’s wife,” Anne said.
Her frown deepened. “Kennedy? Is he here?” A tear slid down the side of her face.
Anne’s heart constricted. “Can you tell me what has happened?”
Rose squeezed her eyes closed and more tears fell.
“Are you being held against your will?”
Her eyes shot open. “Rebecca will return and she will be angry.”
“Shh, I am here,” Anne soothed. “You have nothing to fear.” Anne wasn’t at all certain that was true.
Rose began to whimper.
“Matthew,” Anne called, “bring me a cup of that tea on the table.”
While he did as she ordered, Anne pulled the covers back, swung Rose’s legs off the side of the bed and pulled her into a sitting position. Matthew appeared with the tea.
“I’ll hold her upright while you get her to drink the tea,” Anne said.
He complied, and they forced half the tea down her throat before Rose twisted her head aside.
“Come on, love,” Anne coaxed, “drink more.”
They got another couple of good swallows into her with the rest dribbling down her chin. Anne had no idea how much laudanum this Rebecca had given her, but she gave thanks that wasn’t enough for the girl to be unconscious. She had seen people given enough laudanum that they didn’t wake fo
r twelve hours.
Anne grasped Rose’s chin, forcing the girl to look at her. “Can you walk?”
Her brow knit as if she were trying to understand Anne’s words.
“Do you want to leave this place?” Anne asked.
Understanding lit her clouded eyes and she nodded.
“Good.” Anne whipped off her cloak and swung it around Rose’s shoulders, then fastened the clasp. “Come on, let’s see if you can stand.”
Anne pulled her to her feet. Rose swayed. Anne feared she would topple back onto the bed. Matthew grasped her arm and steadied her. The lad had been more right than Anne realized. She needed his help—Rose needed him. She was thankful when he slipped an arm around Rose’s waist and took most of her weight. Anne picked up the taper and they walked with her across the room and out into the hall. How would they get her down the stairs without all of them falling and breaking their necks?
Anne came to an abrupt halt at the sound of approaching footfalls behind them. She twisted and looked over her shoulder. Light flickered around the bend up ahead and a woman rounded the corner in the next instant. She took three steps before seeing them, then shrieked and tossed her candle aside as she raced toward them.
Anne faced forward. They were too far from the stairs to have any chance of outrunning her. “Matthew, can you get Rose safely down the stairs?”
“Aye, my lady. I am very strong.”
Anne prayed he was. “Get her down the stairs and out to James—quick.
“I cannot leave you, my lady,” he said.
Anne released Rose and Matthew hugged her closer. “You must save the lady,” she hissed. “I can take care of myself. She is just a woman.” Anne whirled.
Their attacker might be just a woman, but she was a woman racing toward them as if the devil nipped at her heels—a women who stood a head taller than her.
Candle in hand, Anne walked quickly toward her. An instant later, she was within ten feet of the woman and stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Halt, madam. I am Viscountess Buchanan, the Earl of Buchanan’s daughter-in-law.”
The woman stopped so quickly she stumbled forward two paces before catching herself.
“What are you doing with my husband’s sister?” Anne demanded.
The woman’s eyes flicked past her and came back her face. “You are not supposed to be here.” She started forward as if to hurry past Anne’s left side, but Anne slid into her path.
The woman halted. “Out of my way,” she growled.
“My husband will not be pleased that you mistreated his sister, Rebecca,” Anne said.
Fear flickered in her eyes, then was followed by fury. Anne noted the subtle change in her stance and realized the woman was about to charge. Rebecca lunged. Anne whipped aside and stuck out her foot as she hurtled past. Rebecca stumbled, hands out, and crashed into the wall. She dropped to the carpet and lay motionless.
Anne retreated two paces, heart pounding, knees so weak she feared they would give out. Bootfalls echoed from the direction Rebecca had come. Anne whirled and raced down the hallway in the opposite direction. She reached the stairs and was forced to slow in the pitch darkness. A hand on each wall of the narrow staircase, she forced herself to slow, and prayed her legs wouldn’t give out.
At the bottom, she gave thanks that Matthew and Rose were nowhere to be seen, then hurried through the kitchen pantry and out into the cool night. She pumped her legs faster and reached the front of the house in seconds. She nearly cried, at sight of Matthew and Rose passing through the wrought-iron gate where James stood.
A moment later, Anne reached the wrought-iron gate then turned and nearly collided with Matthew. “Dear Lord,” she burst out. “What are you doing here?”
“James is assisting Lady Rose,” Matthew said. “I couldnae leave you there alone.”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a run.
A shout went up somewhere near the house. They sprinted around the corner. Anne thought her lungs would burst, but she kept going. They reached the carriage. She didn’t wait for help, but grasped the door and jumped inside and onto the seat beside Rose.
“Hurry, James, we must go now.”
Matthew leapt inside, pulling the door closed behind him.
Anne pulled Rose close as the carriage tilted left, then jolted into motion hard enough for to have to grab onto the handle. Rose cried into Anne’s bodice and Anne willed herself not to burst into tears herself.
Chapter Eleven
Kennedy guided his horse up the drive to Chesterfield, with John riding alongside. They continued around the east side of the house to the rear, and Kennedy brought the animal to a halt at sight of the open servants’ entrance. He leapt from the saddle and raced inside. He knew this part of the house like the back of his hand. When his mother had been alive, they often entertained guests here. After her death, Kennedy spent many a day in the deserted rooms.
Kennedy spotted the tapers and tinderbox on the pantry shelf, and cursed.
A shadow filled the doorway. “Someone is using this entrance,” John said.
Kennedy’s gut clenched. Rose is here.
He forced back the compulsion to race up the darkened stairs. He was no longer fifteen. The narrow staircase was pitch black at night and he was sure to break his fool neck.
He lit a candle, and said to John, “Come on,” then hurried from the pantry into the kitchen and took the stairs to the right.
They reached the fourth floor. Light spilled from an open door halfway down the hallway. He blew out the candle, tossed it aside, and raced toward the open door. He and John burst inside the room to find a man sitting on the mattress beside a woman.
“Rose,” Kennedy growled, and took two steps toward the man before strong fingers seized his arm and yanked him back.
“That is not Rose,” John said.
For an instant, Kennedy didn’t understand, then he whipped his head around and looked at the couple. The man stood, staring at them. The woman was not Rose.
Not Rose. Where was his sister?
Kennedy yanked free of John and said to the man, “Where is my sister?”
He shook his head. “I dinnae know. I returned to find Rebecca unconscious in the hallway.”
Kennedy rounded the bed, then took the woman by the shoulders. Her head lolled to the side. He shook her.
“Leave her be!” the man shouted.
Kennedy yanked his gaze onto the man and he backed up two steps. Kennedy looked back at the woman and she shook her again.
John appeared at his side. “Here, maybe this will help.” He tossed water from a pitcher onto the woman’s face.
She sputtered and shook her head. Her eyes snapped open. Her gaze met Kennedy’s and her eyes widened.
“Where is my sister?” he demanded.
She looked at the man.
Kennedy gave her a hard shake. “Where is Lady Rose?”
“A woman took her.”
Panic muddled his thoughts. “A woman? What woman? Where did she take her?”
“She-she said she was Lady Buchanan.”
“Lady Buchanan?” he repeated. “Jacqueline?”
“N-nae,” the woman stuttered. “Viscountess Buchanan, Lady Rose’s sister-in-law.”
“Anne?” Had he heard correctly? “My wife was here?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You are Viscount Buchanan?” She shrank away from him.
He released her and straightened. “You are certain it was Viscountess Buchanan who was here?”
She nodded vigorously. “She had a lad with her. She tripped me and I hit the wall.” The woman turned her head to the side and showed him the bruise forming on her forehead.
Kennedy could hardly credit it. He looked at John. “What the bloody hell was my wife doing here?”
John shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
Kennedy looked at the man. “Who are you?”
“Angus Dunning. I bring food to Rebecca while she is tending to th
e young lady.”
“What you mean ‘tending to the young lady’?”
“Her father didn’t want to put her into an insane asylum,” Rebecca said. “So, he paid me to care for her here. He said it was better than the insane asylum,” she quickly added. “He is very kind.”
“Kind?” Kennedy snarled. “We shall see if that defense holds up in court.” He looked at John. “I must return home. Will you keep them here until I return?”
“Here, now,” Angus said. “There’s no call to treat us like criminals. We were paid to take care of the young lady for her father. Rebecca and I can leave anytime we like.”
John flashed white teeth. “You are free to try, lad.”
Kennedy glimpsed the man’s wide eyes an instant before he whirled and strode from the room.
Kennedy reached home half an hour later and leapt off his horse almost before the beast stopped. He bounded up the steps and banged the knocker until the door was yanked open.
“Whoever you are—” Bingham broke off. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I didn’t realize—”
Kennedy pushed past him. “Where is my wife?”
“In the Burgundy guest chamber, sir, with Lady Rose.”
“My sister is here?” he said in a harsh whisper.
Bingham nodded. “Aye,” he replied, but Kennedy was already racing up the stairs.
He burst into the Burgundy guest chambers to find Anne standing with her mother and sister while the doctor sat on the bed, blocking view of his patient.
Kennedy took a step forward. “Rose?”
The doctor stood, and Rose cried, “Kennedy!”
Kennedy drew a sharp breath. His sister sat propped up in bed, her left cheek, yellowed with a bruise. He strode across the room to the bed, fell to his knees and pulled her to him. She threw her arms around his neck and he buried his face in her neck and wept.
* * *
Anne felt Kennedy’s eyes on her for the dozenth time as she and Matthew related their tale, but she kept her gaze on her hands clasped in her lap. Louisa sat between her and her mother on the divan in the drawing room, for Louisa refused to be sent to bed. Kennedy sat in the chair to the left, as Matthew continued his story.