A Lady's Prerogative

by Annabelle Anders

Chapter Twenty-Two

  Garrett changed into traveling clothes, the ones he’d worn only a few days ago when he’d arrived. He allowed himself just a moment to glance around the chamber before closing the door behind him.

  The room itself haunted him with her image. Too much had occurred in such a short time.

  He placed his hat on his head and stared at his boots. He’d thought his attire would be proper for mingling with the aristocracy in the country. How wrong he had been.

  He’d sent Marcus to make his apologies to Lady Ravensdale. He must attend to urgent business, he’d informed Marcus. They would be leaving presently.

  Using the back stairs, he’d avoid making any explanations to other guests. This tactic worked until he reached the stables, but damned if it just wasn’t his day.

  Another party readied for departure as well. The earl’s stable hands were busy, not only assisting Garrett’s men with his carriage and mount, but assisting Farley, Trident, Lockley, and Danbury.

  Stone watched the activity warily. Most likely assuring himself of their departure.

  He did not appear pleased with the world in general. “So it is true, then, you are cutting your holiday short?”

  “I am.” Garrett pushed aside any resentment he held for the earl and grasped Stone’s outstretched hand. He’d always been a good friend. “Duty calls at Maple Hall.”

  Danbury stepped forward to join them. “Hawthorne, good to see you,” he said, as though the meeting the previous night had never occurred. “I see you are taking advantage of the full moon as well.” He gestured toward the young marquis. “Lockley and I are returning to London.”

  Garrett was more concerned with the other two’s destination. “What of Farley and Trident?”

  “Farley mentioned a house party up north. From what I gather, they’ve a few days’ ride.”

  “Danbury and Lockley are heading your direction, Hawthorne, “Stone interjected. “The three of you ought to travel together as far as Reading. Safer for the lot of you.”

  “I’ll be riding alongside my baggage coach,” Garrett said. “They’d make better time without me.” He did not wish for company.

  Danbury brightened, however. “We’ll hold back with you, Hawthorne. Spencer, here, is correct. Much safer.”

  Danbury looked exhausted. Dark shadows encircled his eyes, and his mouth was pinched. Keeping company with villains had taken its toll.

  “Very well,” Garrett acquiesced. Safety in numbers couldn’t hurt.

  The various travelers mounted their horses while Garrett’s driver checked the harness on the baggage coach. Ravensdale had given Marcus a gelding of his own. It was a very generous going-away present.

  Already mounted, Trident and Farley made particular nuisances of themselves. They allowed their horses to dance about recklessly, while they smiled and wished Danbury, Lockley, and even himself safe and happy travels. Feeling uneasy at their feigned graciousness, Garrett felt relief when they finally departed. They were annoying, but most likely harmless.

  Other matters beleaguered his thoughts.

  What was she doing now? Was she sitting beside Monfort? Perhaps locating a crack in his icy demeanor?

  He warred with his imagination.

  It would do him good to remove himself from Raven’s Park—even though it felt he was leaving something very important behind.

  They had good light for travel, a full moon illuminating the sometimes rutted and gnarled road. Such conditions quickened the journey. Just before dawn, Garrett and his entourage turned south on a road near Reading while Danbury and Lockley continued to London. They’d ridden mostly in a comfortable silence, except for a few periods of spontaneous conversation.

  Danbury had enlisted Garrett’s assistance in dissuading Lockley from associating with Trident and particularly Farley any longer. Garrett didn’t offer much but agreed on several points, especially when Lockley made it known that Farley expected him to pay off several of his own gambling debts.

  The young Lockley had been too easily ensnared in the older gentlemen’s sophisticated lifestyle. Having just come of age, without his father in town as a calming influence, he’d allowed matters to get out of hand quickly.

  Garrett hoped the younger man appreciated Danbury’s efforts to remove him from such unfortunate connections.

  Once on the less travelled, unmaintained southbound road, their pace slowed significantly. Arriving long after sunup, the weary travelers were sleep deprived and fatigued when they finally drove into the park of the once-grand estate.

  Ominous skies hovered, so Garrett instructed his driver to bring the baggage carriage around to the dower house. This way the artwork could be unloaded without delay and stored before the rain came.

  In his care, the treasured artwork left by his mother would be protected. Thunder resounded in the distance, and black clouds gathered on the horizon.

  The last family member to have dwelt in the dower house had been his grandmother, on his father’s side. She’d died before Garrett was born. The dower house, a two-story brick Tudor built a few hundred yards behind the charred manor, was the only habitable structure available.

  Although the house suffered from considerable neglect, the current caretakers, Mr. and Mrs. Hampden, had managed to keep the main rooms in reasonable repair. Garrett had ordered the main suite to be put to rights when he’d been here earlier, one short week ago. He hoped to find progress well underway. Marcus would need a room as well. Although many of the servants had abandoned the estate following the fire, some old retainers remained, whether from loyalty or lack of accommodations elsewhere, Garrett did not know.

  A few stable lads were on hand and took control of the tired horses while Marcus and the outriders unloaded the crates. Handing Rumble over for a good rubdown, Garrett himself walked over to unstrap the half-empty trunk from the back ledge of the carriage. Best get the lot of it inside. Feeling the wind gathering strength, he figured the storm would arrive within minutes.

  Marcus oversaw the outriders as they carefully pulled one of the crates from the coach. He looked exhausted but was determined to please his new employer. Garrett appreciated the young man’s loyalty. He smiled to himself, thinking again of how he’d found himself in company with the eager valet. It seemed he could not go a moment without some thought or other of Lady Natalie Spencer coming to mind. He hoped this phenomenon would diminish with time.

  As he went to loosen the strap, which he’d tied himself the previous afternoon, a twinge of foreboding crept over him. The knot was not the one he’d tied. And the trunk had since been locked as well.

  When he’d loaded it, he’d purposely left it unlocked.

  Garrett painstakingly unknotted the gnarled bundle of rope and then went to remove the trunk itself to the ground. Expecting it to be only slightly heavier than the container alone, as it had been when he’d loaded it, he grunted when it strained his muscles. What the devil?

  “Marcus!” he shouted. What had been added to the trunk? Thoughts of Farley lurking about with a smug grin taunted Garret. It would be just like the louse to pilfer something from the Spencers and plant it on him. It was the sort of thing that little weasel would do.

  Marcus rushed over and went to grab one of the handles of the trunk. “I thought there wasn’t much in this one, my lord,” he said as they both heaved the trunk off the platform.

  “Careful, now,” Garrett said, in case the unknown contents were breakable. He could not for the life of him imagine anything of his own that would have added such weight to the trunk. “You did not store your belongings in here, by chance, did you, Marcus?” That would be an acceptable explanation. But he hoped not. He’d ordered none of these items be touched by anybody. Marcus would need to be admonished.

  But Marcus shook his head vigorously. “No, my lord.”

  They set the trunk on the ground, and Garrett regarded it skeptically. He did not possess any key that might unlock it, so the catch would have to be broken. Ey
eballing the dark clouds nearly upon them, he reached back down to grasp one of the handles. “Let’s get everything inside for now. Then see if you can locate a crowbar or hammer—something to break the lock.”

  As they hefted the trunk to carry it inside, Garrett was again perplexed by what the devil could be stored within. The damn thing must weigh ten stone more than it had when he’d carried it before.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The heavens broke loose just as the stable hands carried the last of the crates into the foyer of the dower house. Garrett had just brushed the dust and dirt off his hands and turned to head upstairs when Marcus found him.

  “I’m having a bath prepared for you, my lord,” Marcus said. Entering the foyer, he surveyed the various crates. “And I’ve a crowbar sitting on that trunk. Can’t imagine what could be inside it. Would you like my assistance before I go up?”

  In the midst of the rush to get everything inside, Garrett had forgotten about the dratted thing. “No, I’ll take care of it. You settle in upstairs. I’ll be there momentarily.”

  Remembering they’d put the trunk in the parlor, just off the foyer, Garrett slipped around a few crates and entered the room. He was exhausted and reluctant to discover whatever problem would surely be found inside.

  A crowbar balanced on the lid.

  Taking a deep breath, Garrett wedged the bar under the lock and pried off the fastener holding it in place. Setting the bar on the floor, he then reached out and lifted the lid.

  It took a moment to process the contents. His mind did not wish to accept the reality of what his eyes saw. And yet, the startling image of tangled hair and bloodied white linen was very real. Patches of blood marred the material. The tangled hair was blonde. A sticky mass of dried blood had congealed in the woman’s hair.

  The hair was blonde!

  “Oh, dear God, no.” Falling to his knees, Garrett reached inside and touched her back. No response. Frantic, he pushed the tangled hair aside and found the tender skin of her neck.

  It felt warm.

  His fingers searched until he located a pulse, weak and fluttery, but a pulse nonetheless. It had been strong and even not a day earlier, when he’d pressed his lips against it.

  “Marcus! Mrs. Hampden!” he bellowed hoarsely. “Send for a doctor at once! Immediately!” He bent over and wedged his hands and arms beneath her. “Oh, my darling,” he whispered. “What has happened to you?” His lungs constricted. His eyes stung.

  He could not bear to think how she came to be inside the trunk. Locked inside! The outer rim of his vision turned red with anger at the thought.

  But his hands and voice remained tender.

  She’d been trapped. Perspiration dampened her gown as well as the soft hair around her face. She must have been terrified!

  Taking exquisite care, Garrett wedged his hands beneath her. Reaching under her knees and back, he then lifted her out of the confined space.

  As he stood, Marcus appeared in the doorway. His countenance revealed both horror and concern. “Oh my God! Natalie? What’s she doing in there?” he gasped, rushing forward to assist Garrett in laying her on the settee.

  “Has a doctor been sent for?” Garrett ignored the question as he propped a small pillow under Natalie’s head and knelt. She did not stir.

  Marcus looked pale but nodded. “Mr. Harris left for the stable as soon as you cried out. He’s taken a carriage so they can bring the doctor.” Then Marcus, too, knelt alongside Natalie’s inert form. “How in God’s name did this happen?”

  Garrett shook his head. “The gash on her head must have been violent…so much blood.” The head wound appeared to be the only source of the vast quantities. Garrett forced himself to think clearly. If he focused on her pale face and shallow breaths, he would drive himself mad. Something must be done until the doctor could be fetched!

  “Have Mrs. Harris bring washcloths and towels to my suite. I’m going to clean the wound and make her more comfortable. With this nuisance of a storm, who knows how long it will take the doctor to arrive?”

  Garett was already cradling Natalie once again. He would not have her laid out in the parlor as if…no…he mentally shoved the thought aside. She would be all right. She would be well. She must.

  Carrying her upstairs, he noticed her gown was torn and her knees chafed. Good God, how long had she been cramped in there? The last time he’d seen her she’d been fleeing from him out of the woods.

  And then he’d overheard her defending him in her father’s study.

  But why? How?

  When he’d first placed her on the settee, her face had been flushed. Now she’d gone pale, her lips colorless. Tamping down his fear, he entered his suite and positioned her on one side of the tall, canopied bed. The counterpane and sheets were already drawn back. Garrett rolled her onto her side, so he could examine the wound on her head more closely.

  Mrs. Hampden entered the room just as he turned to get a washcloth. Upon seeing Natalie in her torn and bloodied nightdress, the housekeeper’s brows rose questioningly, and she scowled at Garrett. “You might be the master, my lord, but I’ll not take part in anything criminal. We put up with enough of that from your father. I hoped things would be different around here now.” Nonetheless, the woman placed a towel over the pillow while Garrett wet a washcloth and set to cleaning the wound. And then, apparently realizing that Garrett would not be demanding treatment for the patient if he’d committed the crime in the first place, the middle-aged woman sighed. “What happened to the poor girl?”

  Parting Natalie’s hair and smoothing it away from the gash, Garrett swallowed hard. “I wish I knew, Mrs. Hampden. She managed to get herself trapped in one of the trunks we traveled with last night.” The cut was still inclined to bleed. “Do you have something we can put on this? Some honey or ointment?”

  “On the table, my lord. But let me do it. And I’ll get her in a clean gown, too. It isn’t proper for you to be here right now.” Mrs. Hampden touched the fine material of Natalie’s nightgown. Trimmed in a delicate lace, the neckline had tiny flowers embroidered along the edge. Garrett remembered her wearing it the first night he’d stayed at Raven’s Park, when she’d invaded his bedchamber.

  “Her being a proper lady, I imagine her reputation will be in ruins after this business.”

  Garrett did not want to leave Natalie alone, but he stepped toward the door. Mrs. Hampden’s assessment astutely described the situation. “Please call for me if, when, she awakens. I’ll be downstairs to receive the doctor.

  Garrett stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him. He meant to head downstairs but instead found himself bent over, his hands on his knees as though he’d taken a blow to the stomach. Terrified, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and took in a few gulping breaths.

  Somehow this was his own fault! He didn’t know how, or why, but he ought to have protected her. He’d suspected something awry but, with his emotions in such a tailspin, had ignored it.

  When Farley’d acted so strangely, Garrett ought to have trusted his instincts. He should have unloaded and inspected the contents of the baggage then. He should have sent a maid inside to check on her.

  He should have gone to her to say goodbye.

  That was it. If he’d taken the time, ignored his inappropriate feelings, and taken proper leave of her, her absence would have been discovered right away. None of this would have happened. Imagining such an ordeal as she’d gone through, trapped in that damned trunk, Garrett felt sick. She must have been terrified.

  Thank God it was not airtight! That had been his fear when he’d first touched her. If she did not make it…If she were to die…

  But no, Garrett forced himself to stand again. He could not allow himself to dwell on things that were not going to happen. He must remain calm.

  He must notify her family immediately. The earl and countess were most likely panic stricken. Rushing downstairs, he located parchment and a pen, but then paused. What t
o say? How did he tell a man he’d unknowingly kidnapped his only daughter and her condition was yet unknown? Damn! He’d best wait until the doctor gave them a prognosis.

  Garrett walked to the window and peered out into the storm. Where was the damned physician? He cursed the roads. He cursed the rain. He cursed Farley, if it was, in fact his doing.

  But most of all, he cursed himself for remaining at Raven’s Park in the first place.

  With a light knock on the open door, Marcus hesitated before entering. “Did she awaken yet, my lord?”

  Garrett turned to the boy who’d known Natalie for most of her life. “Not yet.” His voice choked. Not knowing her condition would take its toll on both of them.

  Walking over to a tall cabinet, Garrett retrieved a decanter of brandy and poured a splash into a short glass tumbler. He handed it to Marcus. “Drink up. It’s been a long night and a hellish morning.” Garrett would not drink. He must keep his wits about him. “She must have been terrified.” He stared out the window again.

  “I thought, for a moment, she was dead,” Marcus admitted. “But she is breathing. She will be all right?” He wanted assurances from Garrett—assurances Garrett didn’t have.

  “I think so,” he answered. “God, I hope so.” And then, he voiced his earlier thoughts. “I need to notify Ravensdale.” His gaze fell on the blank parchment. “I shall wait until we have news from the doctor, though, before sending out a courier.”

  “The countess will be beside herself with worry. What will they think? That she has been kidnapped?” Then, glancing at Garrett with startled eyes, the newly hired valet seemed to comprehend that his new employer might be in a good deal of trouble.

  “First my father and now his degenerate of a son, eh?” Cynicism laced his voice. He did not wish to consider what Lord Ravensdale’s response would be. Garrett would focus all his energy on Natalie’s recovery. “Where is that damned doctor? Did they have to travel all the way to London, for God’s sake?”

  Marcus dropped into the nearest chair. “Mr. Hampden said the doctor lived in the village south of here. Most likely, they are delayed by the rain.” And then, exhaustion obvious in the slump of his shoulders, Marcus addressed Garrett again. “Is there anything I can do, my lord?”