by Rue Allyn
If he had, he would have rejected my permission to postpone our wedding, would never have gone to war, and never gotten himself killed. “Well, he has no responsibility now. Thus, you are relieved of your promise as his surrogate.”
“He died in the service of his country, and his last words were of you. You can hardly fault him for being concerned for the future of the woman he loved.”
But she could fault Jennings for leaving her alone to deal with people of Richard’s present stamp. People who would rather assume the worst out of prejudice than inquire as to the truth. He was no more interested in the truth than anyone else. Like the rest of society, he sought only an excuse to condemn her. “This conversation is at an end, Captain. I bid you good night.”
She turned and swept out of the common room only to find him behind her. She ignored him until they got to the door of her chamber.
“I said good night.”
“Yes, but first you must give me your key.”
“I will not.”
“Do not fear for what little honor you have left. I have more respect for myself than to accost any woman, let alone one who would betray her fiancé for a rake.”
“Think what you like.” She turned and opened the door. He blocked it with his big body. She wasn’t about to let him bait her further, nor would she permit him to imprison her.
“You will understand that I must make certain you are here in the morning.”
“I understand that you do not trust me. I will give the key to the maid, and you may have her watched.”
He eyed her coldly. “Very well.”
He waited while she called for the maid, explained that the door must be locked from the outside to prevent her sleepwalking during the night, and asked the girl to bring fresh water and soap.
Richard stepped back as the girl descended the stairs. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Not very likely. I’ll be gone before you lift an eyelid. She did not care if Richard had the maid watched or not. She would have the key back the moment the girl brought the soap and water. Why had he agreed to have a servant hold the key? Did he want her to escape? But that made no sense.
One thing was clear: he suspected her of something. But what? He couldn’t possibly know about René’s dangerous folly. She’d been a pattern card since retiring to Stonegreave. If Richard imagined her guilty of some crime, she could not allow it to matter. Nor could she allow him to control her movements. She must rescue René and get back to Stonegreave with no one the wiser.
Chapter Four
April 3, 1814 on the outskirts of Brighton
“Yer curricle’s ready, Captain,” the innkeeper greeted Richard as he descended the stairs early the next morning.
“Thank you.” He pressed a number of guineas into the man’s hand. “Have you seen my tiger about?”
“Here, Capt’n.”
“Axe, please go up and retrieve Miss Twitchenholm’s bags. Let her know that we must leave shortly if we wish to make the quays before high tide.”
“Yes, sir.” The man sped up the stairs
Brows raised, the innkeeper looked up from stowing the guineas in a pouch beneath his apron.
“Now that the rain has ceased for a bit, and since the quays are less than an hour’s distance, I convinced our governess that traveling in an open carriage with an escort is safer and less costly than dealing with hired hacks and coachmen who have no loyalty to their passenger.” Richard focused on donning his gloves. He did not owe the innkeeper any explanation, but he wanted to do what he could to preserve the duchess’s reputation if her part in this escapade ever came out. Though why I should care is beyond explanation. No doubt it was that one moment of confusion that cracked her noble façade at the mention of Jennings’s message. Only a fool gave credit to a fleeting expression. She was probably passing wind.
And if she was the French agent he sought? Well, committing treason would give her a great deal more to worry about than a ruined reputation.
“Captain, Captain, she ain’t there.” Axe hurtled down the stairs.
Richard’s head snapped up. “What do you mean she’s not there?”
“Just what I said, sir.”
“Go to the stables. Find out when she left, and, if possible, her destination.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Thought there was som’ing havey-cavey about her. Glad I got her money afore I let her the room, or she’da probly skipped out on paying. Definitely not the honest, reliable sort.”
“While that is possible, I’m sure some other explanation is more likely.” Richard frowned. Why did he bother defending her to an innkeeper who would never encounter her again and had no means of connecting her with the Duchess of Stonegreave?
“If you say so, sir.” The innkeeper bowed and walked away.
Alone in the entry, Richard formed a fist to hold disappointment at bay. Don’t be a fool. He’d expected her to try escape. And she still might succeed. She could be innocent of any crime greater than poor judgment. But he didn’t think so. Innocence did not require a disguise or lies about who and what she was.
What madness possessed him to imagine she might be honest and more humane than her reputation painted her, he did not know. He’d learned his lessons about women of rank and privilege at his mother’s knee. The entire species was suspect, and Marielle was a prime example. She’d engaged herself to the highest ranking, richest candidate, then encouraged him to go to war so she could entertain herself with a French lover. No doubt they’d planned for her to spy on her husband’s connections if he survived the war. Assuming she was guilty—and how could she be innocent?—she deserved to hang for her treachery. Only if she failed to appear at the quay would he believe her innocent of spying.
Richard headed for his curricle, leapt aboard, and gathered the reins of his matched bays. “Axe!” The man came racing. “Climb up and tell me what you’ve discovered. We’ve got to catch up with that woman before she can sail for France.”
As Axe confirmed Marielle’s destination, Richard guided the team from the inn yard, and soon they flew down the Brighton road. Thank heaven for today’s lack of rain. The road was still heavy with mud and dotted with puddles, but he cared not. That woman had to be stopped.
He might not know the name of the vessel she intended to board, but he’d wager she was looking to board a fishing vessel or cargo ship eager to take advantage of renewed trade with France. Probably the same vessel on which he hoped to book passage. Passenger packets would not resume crossings for two or three more weeks. They had government inspections and other regulations to pass. Marielle would be in a hurry. She could bribe the captain of a cargo vessel to use his quarters and be comfortable for the eight-hour trip.
She’d not want to draw attention, and a lone woman on the docks would definitely do that. She was clever and would no doubt find someone to negotiate for her while she waited at a posting house. All he had to do was figure out which one. He’d start with those closest to the harbor.
He arrived quayside a scant three quarters of an hour after leaving the inn. The tide would turn soon. He had very little time to find his quarry and sent Axe off to purchase passage on the only ship departing on this morning’s tide, with orders to inquire about other people seeking passage, especially a woman. They arranged for the care of the curricle and horses at the sign of the Dolphin. Separating from Axe, Richard set off on foot. He had no luck finding anyone who had met Miss Twitchenholm or anyone resembling her. Finding French troops on a battlefield was a far easier task.
Less than an hour later, tired, dusty, and discouraged, he met Axe where he waited at the quay in front of a cargo ship. Queries at ten acceptable inns reasonably close by had revealed no sign of the duchess or her hired carriage. He would have been better served boarding the ship and searching it. The likelihood that she’d arrived before him was miniscule. Nonetheless, he had to consider the possibility.
What if she was not bound for France? Nonsense, she co
uld have no other reason for being in Brighton at present. He was out of time and must pursue his mission to intercept the missive intended for Malveux.
“While you wait for my return, make inquiries about our errant governess at the coastal villages nearby. Send word to Le Havre if you find her. This should be sufficient to keep you and the horses and persuade anyone reluctant to speak of seeing Miss Twitchenholm.” Richard handed the man a heavy coin purse.
Axe weighed the purse and nodded. “Aye, Cap’n. I’ll search high and low. Have a right good journey.”
Richard nodded, then boarded the ship. Where could she be? Had she been accosted on the road? No, he would have seen some evidence of that, since they traveled the same path. Could she have taken some other route? Gone to some other town where she could catch a vessel? The only place he could think of was a fishing village several miles down the coast. So few ships stopped there, she could not be certain of being able to board one today. He’d feel the fool if he went haring off, missed the cargo vessel’s departure, and allowed her to escape. The most likely explanation was that he’d passed her on the road, and she’d not yet arrived at the quays. Still, the woman was as uncooperative as they came. He wouldn’t put it past her to delay her trip simply to throw him of the track, despite any orders to the contrary from Malveux. And there was still the slim possibility that the jade was not involved in spying at all.
The mate stationed at the top of the plank challenged Richard for his papers. Richard provided them, using his military rank to back up a claim of urgency to see the captain. Sadly, the ship’s captain was no help. He knew of no single woman like the one described who boarded his ship. He had only one other passenger, an elderly widow in a hurry to fetch her wounded son home from the war.
Richard determined to watch her carefully when she left the ship. Marielle might have changed disguises.
“What’s the possibility that one of your crew helped hide a stowaway?”
“All of ’em know better if they wants t’ keep their jobs. Besides we’re packed to the gills with no room for a mouse, let alone a stowaway.”
“I mean no insult, but do you mind if I search the ship?”
“No offense taken, but I’ll not miss the tide. Since we’re about to cast off, I’ll not have anyone able to show you around.”
“I’ll be fine on my own. If the unlikely happens and I find anyone, I can simply return with them as soon as we reach France.” If Marielle had, indeed, missed this ship, it would be just as well to lay in wait for her in Le Havre as in Brighton. Even if she were not the spy he believed her to be, he must go to France anyway in search of the true agent.
• • •
Mari walked out from the captain’s cabin, prepared to take some air on the deck. She rounded the corner and halted, then backstepped until she stood deep in the shadow of the structure. Where had he come from? She watched Captain Campion converse with the ship’s captain. Damnation. She’d been confident that leaving the inn before dawn, abandoning her carriage more than a mile from the wharf, and walking to the quay in the company of her coachman would put Campion off the scent. She’d even changed her appearance, wearing widow’s weeds with a hat and veil that shielded her features. Her coachman arranged her passage, and no one took notice when she boarded the cargo ship. Widows and families in mourning on their way to France would soon be all too common a sight.
She’d paid the coachman extra to act the part of a brother escorting his sister onto the ship and making certain she was securely settled. She’d hoped to be free of any disguise once the ship sailed. However, with that dratted man on board, she would be forced to maintain not only her false persona but to remain in her quarters for the entire journey. She hadn’t fooled him at all as a governess. No doubt some small detail would expose her widow’s disguise as well.
She would lie down and nap. Lord knew she needed the rest after the events of the last twenty-four hours. If she slept, the voyage would be over before she knew it. At all costs, she must avoid Campion at the docks and escape Le Havre without his notice. But how?
As she contemplated her options, the ship’s captain left off his conversation with Campion and gave orders to weigh anchor. Richard shifted, gazing out to sea before walking toward the forward hold. Did he intend to search the ship? What if he knocked on her door and insisted on seeing the widow? Marielle retreated to her small room and paced its length.
What had brought him to her inn last night? What interest could he possibly have in her movements? Of a certainty, the antipathy she’d felt toward him on their meeting at Stonegreave was mutual. He’d changed so much from the carefree friend who had gone to war with Jennings. War had coarsened him, removing all the empathy and joy he possessed seven years ago. She wept inside with disappointment. She’d been without friends for so long. But wishing for the past was a futile exercise. She had to deal with life the way it was now.
You don’t think he might simply be interested in preserving the safety and security of a woman traveling alone? No, had that been his purpose he would not have hinted so broadly at scandal and would have expressed concern for her. His “invitation” to dine had bordered on rude.
The last thing she needed was someone who knew her discovering why she went to France or talking about her traveling without an escort. If René succeeded or his plans to murder Napoleon were exposed, the scandal attached to the Duchy of Stonegreave might never die down. It would be known as the Duchy of Infamy despite its long and honorable history.
René might already be at Fontainebleau. He would have difficulty gaining access to Napoleon, which hopefully would allow her time to arrive before he could ruin his life and turn a monster into a martyr. But every moment she spent evading Richard gave René opportunity to carry out his plan.
With the ship under way, she ceased her fruitless pacing, removed her veil, and reclined on the narrow cot. The rocking of the ship lulled her to sleep. She woke to the noise of pounding on her door.
“Mrs. Bowen,” said a crewman’s voice, “your carriage awaits you just beyond the dock. I’ll send your baggage down, so you may depart as soon as you are ready.”
A carriage? Her eyes popped open. She expected to arrange her own carriage. Has Campion somehow discovered me again?
“Just a moment.” She rose, donned her hat and veil, then went to open the door. “There must be a mistake; I expected no carriage to be waiting.”
“Beg pardon, ma’am, but the captain arranged it while the cargo was unloaded. He also got you cleared through customs. You bein’ a widow and all, he wanted to save you as much trouble as possible.”
Mari smiled behind her veil. “How very kind of the captain. Please thank him for me. Tell the driver I’ll be ready in a few minutes.” And how very convenient, for she would not have to explain why her papers were written for Miss Twitchenholm. Even better, a private carriage ready at the dock would help her evade Campion, who would be looking for a lone woman. One either booking a seat on the mail or arranging for her own vehicle. She bustled about the cabin, gathering her things. She would have to remember to write to the cargo company and praise the captain and crew for their kindness.
The crewman escorted her down the gangway and pointed out the equipage where her solitary bag was being loaded. She’d moved three steps in that direction when a strong, muscled arm circled her waist and swung her around. She landed solidly against an equally muscled chest covered in crisp white linen. Her nose buried in the ruffles that adorned the linen below an elegantly tied cravat. Funny, she did not recall Campion wearing ruffled shirts. In her experience, his dress was as severe as his personality had become. But who else would accost her in such a manner?
“Mon amour, you’ve finally come back to me.”
She knew that voice, and it was not Campion’s. Malveux.
Her breath stopped. If she could kill him in that moment, she would gladly wield the knife.
A finger beneath her chin lifted her gaze to the me
lting brown glance that had shadowed her days for the past three years.
“Kiss me, sweet Marielle. I’ve missed you so.” His head bent.
She turned her face aside, and his lips settled square on her cheek then nibbled their way up to her ear. Her skin crawled. She squirmed but could not break his hold. She inhaled and opened her mouth to scream.
“Were I you, I would make every effort to appear delighted to see me, else your aunt’s health might suffer, or perhaps that of your so careless cousin.”
She ceased her struggles. “You couldn’t. And even if you could, you wouldn’t dare. I’d have you hunted down like the murdering dog you are.”
“So brave, so aggressive in defense of those you care for. So very different from the carefree young woman I once knew. But still deluded that you might have great control over your life. C’est dommage.”
She felt his smile against her face. His grip loosened, and he lifted his head, locking his gaze with hers. His eyes glittered. “Of course I dare. I dared three years ago, and it was you not I who suffered the consequences of my failure. Now I dare to accost an English duchess in public in broad daylight. But then no one here knows you are a duchess, do they. Shall I tell them?”
She shook her head and swallowed. She preferred no further scandal, but that was nothing compared to his threats against her family. “No, thank you.”
“Then smile like you are happy to see me and take my arm. Walk with me along the quay.”
She gave a slow nod. This man had made a disaster of her life and, under the guise of a duel, murdered her father. Malveux had the power to do worse. Forcing a broad smile, she took the arm he offered. “You threaten my aunt and cousin, yet you are here and could not possibly lay a finger on them.”
“I’ve had loyal men employed at your estate for more than three years. I also have each of you followed, receiving daily reports by pigeon post. How do you think I knew you would be here even before you stepped off that ship? Who do you think planted the idea of murdering Napoleon in René’s empty head?”