Major Wyclyff's Campaign (A Lady's Lessons, Book 2)

by Lee, Jade

Percy stepped forward to perform some initial introductions, but he didn't have the chance. Mr. Sween turned to address Lady Agatha with a suddenly sad expression as he reached out and patted her hand.

  "Were you a particularly close friend of Lord Blakesly before his illness? He does so enjoy visits from the ladies he used to... um... pass time with."

  Lady Agatha frowned, clearly taking a moment to comprehend his words; then her eyes widened in shock. "No! Of course not! I have never met the man."

  "Ah," he said with sudden understanding as he turned to Sophia, clearly appreciating the charms exhibited so stunningly by her dress. "Then you must be—"

  "You are misinformed," cut in Sophia in her most freezing accents.

  Anthony could not help but smile. Though Miss Smyth and Percy seemed quite cordial to the man, doing all that was polite during an initial meeting, Sophia seemed decidedly on edge, perhaps a bit unsettled by Mr. Sween's overwhelming enthusiasm. Whatever the reason, Anthony could only applaud such good sense. He, of course, had disliked the man from the very start. But then, he was beginning to notice that he disliked a good many men who fawned over Sophia.

  Mr. Sween turned from one person to another, a slight frown of consternation on his face as he at last focused on Miss Smyth.

  "Have you come to visit Lord Blakesly?" His tone was tentative, clearly noting Percy's proprietary hold on his fiancee.

  Lydia dimpled up prettily. "I should adore meeting his lordship."

  Mr. Sween's frown deepened as his gaze searched each of the three ladies. "I am afraid I do not understand. His lordship, as a whole, does not get visits from, um, gentlemen. If the ladies are not particular friends—"

  "I am his friend, Mr. Sween," interrupted Kyle. "And I would like to see him directly."

  "Oh." The man blinked a moment as he stared at Lord Kyle. "Oh! Then these are your—"

  "My friends," Kyle answered congenially. Then, suddenly, he was smiling, his manner soothing as he began pushing forward toward the front of the house. "They wished to view some of Lord Blakesly's excellent art."

  He slipped past the fat man with the rest of the party trailing behind. Mr. Sween turned an alarming shade of purple before rushing forward to block their progress. "It is not here anymore, unfortunately," he said. "We were forced to remove it from Lord Blakesly's environment. The, uh, fits. You understand." Then he dropped his voice to a low whisper. "I am afraid Lord Blakesly is not at all well today. His mood is somewhat unpredictable."

  Kyle paused just before the threshold. "But, just a moment ago you said he would be happy to see the ladies."

  Mr. Sween shifted awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable. "Ah, well, you see, female companionship is something the younger Lord Blakesly allows his father. It makes him, er, it keeps him—"

  "More manageable?"

  Mr. Sween looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It eases his distraught mind. Gentlemen, on the other hand are..." His voice trailed away on an ominous note. "Please, perhaps you might come back another time?"

  Kyle appeared to consider, but Anthony snapped. He wanted this excursion over. Also, with one look at Sophia's face, he knew she would not be satisfied until she understood exactly what was going on in this dark old manor. It seemed clear, for her safety, his best option was to force the investigation now, when he was here to protect her.

  Stepping forward, he roughly pulled Mr. Sween to the side. "Are you suggesting, sir, that you and your staff are unable to protect us from Lord Blakesly's queer starts? Oh, dear, what will the young Lord Blakesly think? Has he hired men of so little competence?" He invested just enough derision in his voice for Mr. Sween to turn from a mottled red to a pale white.

  "Oh, no!" gasped Mr. Sween. "I am quite capable of handling one old man, sir."

  Anthony smiled. "Excellent. Then do bring us some tea and have his lordship brought to us directly." He paused, then added a sneer for effect. "After showing us to the front parlor, of course."

  There was nothing left for Sween to do but give them a sickly smile and do exactly as he was bid. "Yes, of course," he said, bowing slightly. "How remiss of me. Please, do come in." But his movements were slow and reluctant as he opened the front door.

  They followed in loose order, with Lord Kyle leading the way, the engaged couple next, then Lady Agatha and Lady Sophia. Anthony remained at the back, all his senses alert. It was an odd procession, and he was not used to this sort of anticipation when walking with ladies—an adrenaline rush very similar to that of battle. But then again, he was getting used to new experiences when accompanying Sophia.

  The front foyer was completely in keeping with the exterior decor. Although some measures had been taken for comfort, on the whole it was a bare and dark chamber. Even the wood flooring was dull and cheerless, to say nothing of the cold grate and faded furnishings.

  "As you can see, Lord Blakesly does not much worry about appearances," said Mr. Sween as he ushered them into a side parlor.

  "The older Blakesly? Or his son?" asked Lord Kyle.

  The butler did not answer as he busied himself with the ladies' wraps and hats. Meanwhile, Reginald tapped his foot impatiently. "Where is Lord Blakesly?"

  "Hmmm?" asked Mr. Sween, obviously stalling for time. "Oh, ah, as to that, I am afraid he is napping right now. He is not at all well, you understand. But I am sure he will be glad of your visit. Yes, in fact, I am persuaded he will be in alt over it." The man bowed deeply to Lord Kyle. "You have done a good deed today. Thank you so much for bringing such cheer, but I fear it will storm tonight and his lordship will be most upset if I detain you past the prudent time."

  Anthony stepped forward, his determination growing by the second. Clearly this man did not wish them around, and that made Anthony all the more curious as to what went on in this dark horror of a house. Still, he forced himself to smile at the obnoxious servant. "We have come all this way, Mr. Sween. Lord Kyle is a good friend of Lord Blakesly. I believe we will look about, wander around, so to speak, and hope that the man wakes before we leave."

  "But—"

  "Please be so good as to serve the ladies some tea."

  "But—"

  "Now." Anthony did not raise his voice. He knew he did not need to. The man was clearly a hired lackey, not used to defying orders. And indeed, after another perfunctory bow, Sween scurried away.

  "Well," said Lady Agatha after the man had disappeared, "this is most unsettling."

  Lord Kyle nodded. "I quite agree. Unfortunately, I must ask that we remain and, um, look about. If we scatter, then perhaps one of us could discover Lord Blakesly."

  Anthony stepped forward. "Surely you would not wish the ladies to simply wander around? They would be much happier here drinking tea." He did not add that the women would no doubt be much safer as well. Whatever was happening in this household was likely not something he thought Sophia ought to see.

  Before Lord Kyle could respond, Miss Smyth looked up. "Happier here? What nonsense! Why, we have come with the express purpose of assisting Lord Kyle with his mission."

  Sophia had been looking through a window at the back garden, and she spun around, her face pale. "You cannot be serious!"

  "To locate Lord Blakesly, my dear," said Lord Kyle smoothly. "That is all."

  "Oh!" whispered Sophia, her complexion slowly settling into a rosy blush. "Of course. How silly of me."

  Anthony narrowed his eyes. There was something going on in the room that he did not understand. Sophia had been nervous and edgy ever since she had descended the stairs in that dress. He had ascribed it to the unusual circumstance of having both himself and Lord Kyle together, but now he suspected something else was at work. Something with Sophia at the center. Something other than this mysterious business with Lord Blakesly.

  Before he could demand an answer, Sween returned with tea.

  "Excellent," exclaimed Lord Kyle, though the fare seemed particularly dismal. "We shall just wait now for Lord Blakesly to wake."

  "As you wish," said Mr.
Sween, and he bowed out of the room.

  Sophia reached for the tea service, apparently intent on serving, but Lord Kyle stopped her. "Good God, Sophia, pray let us not drink that. Come, it is time for us to search for Lord Blakesly. If any of you find him, bring him to this room directly." Then he turned to the engaged couple. "Percy, you and Miss Smyth take the main floor. Lady Agatha and I shall take the top. Sophia, please join the major, if you would, on the middle floor."

  "But—" Sophia's objection went unheeded as the others suddenly leapt to their feet, obviously eager to set about their tasks. All too soon the room emptied, leaving her staring wide-eyed at Anthony.

  He waited, his arms folded, for her to speak. She was not accomplished at subterfuge and would soon crack under his steady regard.

  Or so he thought. Instead, he saw her rally her mind, put on a dazzling smile, and raise her arm to him. "I believe it is time for us to stroll a-about."

  It was a marvelous performance. He might have thought his earlier judgment was in error, except for the fact that she stuttered on her last word. Clearly, something was in the wind.

  "Sophia, what are you doing? What is Lord Kyle's game?"

  She shrugged. "I have no idea, except for what you already know. He said he heard certain rumors and is intent on speaking directly with Lord Blakesly."

  She placed her hand on his arm, and he felt it tremble slightly. He covered it with his own, a fierce wave of protective instincts washing over him.

  "I do not like this," he said darkly.

  She gave him a nervous smile that in no way reassured him. "I believe the stairs are to the left."

  Anthony sighed. It was clear she had no desire to speak with him about anything of consequence. He could feel the tension in her body. Her movements were stiff as they climbed the stairs. He supposed she would explain when she chose, and not before. Sophia had always been stubborn.

  They reached the second floor landing in moments, only to view two rather long expanses of drab hallway—one to each side. They had no adornment at all. No tables. No famous art. Nothing except the occasional unlit wall sconce and the faded remains of stained and dirty wallpaper.

  "Do you know," whispered Sophia, "there used to be an enormous art collection here. Aunt Agatha told me it was the pride of the county. Now, look," she said as she waved at a particularly telling square stain on the wall. "It has all been removed."

  Anthony nodded grimly, already guessing what had occurred. "Come, let us begin this ridiculous search."

  He turned her down one hallway, but was stopped when she paused to address him. "Are you angry that we are here, Anthony? Can't you see that something dastardly is going on in this horrible place?"

  "Of course I can see that," he snapped. "Young Lord Blakesly has probably imprisoned his father, sold all the man's art for his expensive London lifestyles and is likely gleefully running through the rest of his inheritance."

  She nodded, as if they were agreed in their suspicions. "Then why do you object?"

  "I cannot see the sense of bringing females upon a rescue mission."

  "We are not all frail flowers," Sophia returned sternly. "Even Lydia shows uncommon sense at times. Besides," she reluctantly admitted, "Reginald would never truly endanger us. Lord Blakesly is likely on the third floor where he has gone with Aunt Agatha. They have the dangerous task. All we have to do is—" Suddenly, she cut off her words, a fiery blush heating her face.

  He studied her, his suspicions growing by the second, but she would not say anything. Even as he watched her, Sophia appeared to grab hold of herself, perhaps even steeling herself to some task.

  "Sophia?" he asked softly, a note of warning in his voice.

  "Come, Major," she said briskly. "We must search these rooms." She started off with obvious determination, leaving him no choice but to follow.

  They met no servants as they moved. They simply wandered down the second-floor hall, opening one door after another. Each room was a bedroom with covers over what few furnishings were inside. There was dust everywhere and, occasionally, the unmistakable signs of rodents.

  Anthony would have thought it a complete waste of time if not for Sophia's odd actions. At first, it was she who opened the doors with a force that belied her shaky hands. It was as though she steeled herself to thrust open each door. But as each room was revealed, she hesitated, then pulled back, suddenly unsure.

  "No one here," she would say quite unnecessarily. Then she would hastily pull the door shut and move on.

  After some five rooms, she could not manage it any longer and allowed him to perform the necessary task of opening doors while she hovered awkwardly behind him. The whole situation was bizarre, to say the least. He might have been amused, taking time to admire the way she filled out her gown, if not for her clear agitation.

  "Sophia—"

  "One last door on this side," she said, her voice unnaturally high.

  "Of course," he responded, mentally bowing to the inevitable. He had no doubt that everything would become clear if he could but wait patiently for it. But patience was hard to come by. Why would she pick now, of all times, when they were in search of a reputed madman, to act out some bizarre scheme? It was foolhardy. And yet, part of him relished it. Part of him was beginning to smile every time she started, becoming more skittish by the second.

  It was not gentlemanly of him to be so amused. But that was part of what he adored about her. She constantly surprised him. For a man who had thought he would never see anything new in life, Sophia was a joy he could never fully appreciate.

  And yet she was not his.

  With a groan, he turned to face the last door. "Shall I open it?" he asked. "Or would you care to?"

  "No. No, thank you. You go ahead." Then she shifted behind him, poised as if to either push him in or run for her life. He could not tell which.

  It did not matter. He was prepared for either eventuality. He leaned forward and turned the doorknob, though his attention was focused more on the woman behind him. To his complete surprise, the door did not open.

  Frowning, he twisted the doorknob with more force, only to have his initial thought confirmed. "It is locked."

  Behind him, he felt Sophia start with surprise. "Locked? Are you sure?"

  "Hello?" interrupted a soft, muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Is someone there?"

  Anthony looked at Sophia, wondering if she could have heard what he had.

  "Please, can you hear me?" it continued.

  "Yes," answered Sophia as she bent down to look through the keyhole. Her entire body went rigid with shock. "Oh, no," she gasped, pulling back to let Anthony see as well.

  Peering inside, he saw a petite brunette coming to the door. He caught a glimpse of a beautiful elfin face spoiled by an ugly bruise across her cheek. Then she was leaning into the door, speaking urgently.

  "I am a prisoner here," said the woman. "You must help me escape."

  Anthony thought to say a number of things. The soldier within him had dozens of questions for the woman, not the least of which was, why was she incarcerated in the first place? He had met madmen who appeared perfectly normal. Though he doubted it was true, he could not dismiss the possibility that this woman was imprisoned for entirely appropriate reasons.

  Sophia, apparently, had no such qualms. She pushed him aside as before, kneeling again at the keyhole.

  "The door is locked," Sophia called through the door. "Where is the key?"

  "Mr. Sween has it."

  An entirely different thought entered Anthony's mind. Could the search for Lord Blakesly be a ruse? Could it be that Kyle actually searched for this woman? That would explain a great deal. After all, the man could not openly admit that he was looking for a woman he had no relation to whatsoever, he would have to invent some other story.

  Whatever the truth, it was clear this lady had a good deal of the answers. So, with sudden resolve, he slipped a slim wire out of his pocket. "Let us see what we can do wi
thout a key."

  "Major!" Sophia exclaimed as he gently set her aside and began working on the lock. "I had not thought this part of the standard military education."

  He merely shrugged as he concentrated on his task. "You would be surprised at what one learns in the army."

  "Do not open that door!" boomed a voice from behind them.

  Anthony spun around, hiding the wire while cursing himself for letting his thoughts become distracted. He had been thinking so much of Sophia, he had let his guard slip. Now they were caught by Mr. Sween, and the man suddenly seemed to have grown a foot. Gone was his obsequious smile. He seemed taller, firmer, and a great deal more dangerous, especially since he was flanked by two large footmen.

  Anthony tensed, confident of his abilities to handle the two, plus the annoying Mr. Sween. Unfortunately, the last thing he wanted to do was fight three men in front of Sophia before knowing exactly what was going on. He first had to understand the precise nature of the situation. But before he could begin speaking, Sophia rounded on the butler.

  "Whatever can you mean in locking up this poor woman?"

  "She is Lord Blakesly's niece, and she is subject to the same fits as his lordship. I will ask you again to leave her alone. She is quite dangerous."

  "No, I am not!" cried the woman from within.

  "Nonsense," sputtered Sophia as Anthony gripped her arm, trying to quiet her through his touch alone. "I demand an explanation at once!"

  Clearly, she was not willing to be quieted. He tried a more direct approach with her, making sure his voice carried a note of warning that he hoped she would understand. "Perhaps he is right, Sophia," Anthony suggested smoothly. "She did seem a bit distraught to me."

  Sophia spun toward him "What?"

  "I think we had best leave the young lady to Mr. Sween's care," he continued calmly. "Really, Sophia, you cannot let madwomen run around. They may seem lucid, but in my experience, they can turn violent without a moment's notice."

  "But—"

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, stopping her words even as he began to move her away from the locked doorway. "Come along, Sophia," he said, as if she had not spoken. "Your tender emotions have quite overwhelmed you. Trust me in this. I am sure Mr. Sween would not have locked that door without a good reason. We must rely on his judgment." He turned to the man, doing his best to appear sincere. "You are caring properly for the woman, are you not?"