Marry in Scarlet

by Anne Gracie

  Theoretically his wife was all those things. Except for these . . . feelings.

  The warm weight of her rested against his chest.

  He’d imagined his planned convenient marriage as a cheese sandwich kind of thing. Bland, and would do a satisfactory job.

  Instead he’d ended up with a luscious trifle. And with every taste he only wanted more.

  He glanced down at the crescent of lashes lying dark against her skin, the tumbled curls, the soft, responsive mouth.

  It would be all right, he told himself. He could manage this . . . this whatever it was. Control, that was the thing. Self-discipline. He had a job to do with this missing boy. That should distract him.

  After an hour, she stirred and sat up. “I’ve been asleep,” she said in surprise. “I never sleep in carriages.”

  “You haven’t exactly had a lot of sleep in the last few days,” Hart said, and then because his mind—and body—went straight to the reason why she’d had so little sleep, he pulled out a portable chess set. He was fond of chess, and often whiled away a journey playing one hand against the other.

  He held up the chess set. “Do you play?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll teach you.”

  An hour later, with much laughter, it was agreed that there were two kinds of chess players; one who thought several moves ahead and always had a long-range plan, and the other who reacted in the moment and wasn’t at all interested in thinking ahead for possibilities.

  “There is a third kind,” she said after he’d shared this insight with her. “Or possibly it is a subset of the second kind—the chess player who never thinks ahead except to decide that she has absolutely no interest in chess.”

  He laughed. “What about cards?” So they played cards the rest of the way.

  Chapter Twenty

  Prepare yourself for something dreadful.

  —JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

  Lakeside Cottage was a few miles beyond the village of Quainton. It was late afternoon as they drove up the graveled drive The house was much bigger than George had expected; it wasn’t anything she’d call a cottage. Dukes had a different standard of cottageness, it seemed.

  It was a large brick, double-story building with several chimneys and a line of dormer windows set into the attic. To one side stood several substantial outbuildings, one of which George presumed would be the stables.

  The house stood in a large—she wouldn’t call it a garden so much as a plain expanse of lawn. There were no flowers or shrubs or trees, and to her eyes it looked quite bare. George preferred a proper garden, with trees and flowers. But it was well maintained, all very neat and tidy with a high, well-clipped hedge on three sides.

  Finn leapt down first and went off to sniff for rabbits and other intruders and claim his territory. George paused in the doorway of the carriage and scanned the surrounding area visible over the top of the hedge. It was quite an isolated location, with only a few scattered cottages in the distance—her kind of cottage, not the duke’s. A small lake lay a short distance away, fringed on one side with willows.

  She could see what Hart meant by Where would Phillip go?

  A groom came around from the side of the house and a middle-aged couple emerged from the front door and hurried down the steps.

  “Your grace?” the woman said. “Oh, we’re so glad you’ve come. We don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, so sorry—” She broke off, sobbing.

  “There’s news?” Hart asked sharply. By his tone of voice he feared the worst.

  “Nope,” the man said. “Bin no sight nor sound of the lad at all.” He went around to the back of the carriage to help unload the luggage. Finn sniffed him interestedly.

  “No ransom demand received yet?” Hart asked.

  The woman—who turned out to be Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper—shook her head. “Nothing of that sort at all, your grace.”

  Wiping her face with her apron Mrs. Harris led them inside. Hart asked to speak to the tutor, but he was out searching for Phillip. Apparently he’d gone out searching every day since Phillip went missing.

  Hart then assembled all the servants in the sitting room and questioned them closely about the last time they’d seen Phillip and where they thought he might be. Had they searched the house and outbuildings thoroughly? Even the attics? The cellars?

  Yes, of course, but there was no sign of him.

  Had anything upsetting or out-of-the-way occurred before he went missing?

  No, everything had been quite normal. Which made it all so very worrying.

  George sat, watching and listening and trying to understand what had happened. They all seemed quite distressed about Phillip, and every single one of the servants stressed over and over, what a good, quiet, well-behaved little boy Phillip was.

  George distrusted “good, quiet and well-behaved.” In her opinion, it wasn’t a natural state for a small boy.

  Hart then instituted a search of his own and, aided by George and the servants, he personally examined every nook and cranny of the big house and every corner of the outbuildings.

  George was most unimpressed with the stables. Oh, they were clean and well-kept, but there was only an elderly horse and a gig. Where was the pony for Phillip? A growing boy needed a horse. Apart from Finn, there were no dogs to be seen either.

  “Well, that’s that,” Hart said when the search was concluded. He sent the servants back to their duties. “No sign of him. He can’t be hiding.”

  “You don’t know that yet,” George said. “You’ve only searched the buildings.”

  Seeing his confusion, she explained. “He could be hiding beneath a haystack, or in the hedgerows—there are all kinds of nooks outside where people can hide. In all weathers.” She smiled at his amazement. “Finn and I will look for them in the morning.”

  “How do you know to look in these kinds of places?”

  “You had a big house with attics and storerooms and hidden closets. I didn’t. Where do you think I disappeared to when I needed to be alone?”

  “Alone?” He raised a brow.

  “With my dog, of course, and sometimes my horse, though Sultan wasn’t as easy to hide.”

  He looked shocked. “By yourself, outside? In all weathers?”

  She gave a huff of amusement. “I’m no delicate flower, you know.”

  “I’m beginning to see that. And appreciate it.”

  George felt a warm glow inside. To be appreciated for knowing how to hide in hedgerows and haystacks—it was the last thing she would have expected from the duke.

  A short time later the tutor, Jephcott, bustled in, looking flustered and spouting apologies and excuses for his absence when they arrived. A fastidiously dressed man in his late middle years, he became visibly distressed when Hart began to question him, clearly fearing to be blamed for the boy’s disappearance.

  “I assure you, your grace, that I took the greatest of care of the boy. Phillip is a delicate little fellow, prone to catch every illness that’s going around, but he means well, and works hard and does his best to please. I cannot imagine what dreadful thing caused him to disappear. I promise you, he was only out of my sight for a bare few minutes.”

  “What time did you first notice he was gone?” Hart asked.

  Jephcott frowned in pained recollection. “I can’t be sure. It was late afternoon—before teatime certainly. He’d finished his Latin declensions, and I gave him an hour or two free time to play. But I was watching him from the terrace.”

  Dozing on the terrace, more like, George thought.

  “Where did you think he went?”

  “To the lake—he likes to dangle a fishing line in. He never catches anything, of course.”

  “Could he have fallen in?”

  “It was the first thing I thought of, but we checked an
d there was no sign that he’d been there. His fishing rods were undisturbed and the small rowing boat he occasionally takes out was moored as usual—of course he’s not allowed to fish or take the boat out alone, and he’s a very responsible and obedient boy.”

  George was feeling more and more sorry for the child. To be so responsible and obedient at not quite seven years old. It wasn’t natural. She wasn’t sure what Latin declensions were, but they sounded horrid. And with no proper garden, no horse and no dog, what was there for a small boy to do?

  Hart dismissed the tutor and sent for drinks to be brought in, brandy for himself and a sherry for George.

  “I’ll investigate that lake first thing in the morning.” Hart’s face was very grim. “That fellow is not the right kind of tutor for a small boy. I should have interviewed him myself for the position. His references were excellent, but now I’ve met him, I can see he’s too old and fussy for a young boy.”

  George was a little shocked that he’d appointed the tutor sight unseen, but she knew now that Hart’s first priority had been the reorganization of and restoration of the estate Phillip was to inherit, which at the time was a much bigger problem—and who was to say that was wrong? But Hart was clearly blaming himself for whatever had happened to Phillip.

  “It’s not your fault,” she began.

  Hart cut her off with a sharp gesture. “The boy is my responsibility.”

  Dinner was served then, and a very quiet meal it was too. They went up to bed. George wore one of the lovely nightdresses from Miss Chance, but to her surprise, Hart barely seemed to notice. He pulled on a nightshirt and climbed into bed without a word.

  She slipped in beside him. “We have to think positively,” she said softly.

  He grunted and rolled over, his back to her. Obviously there was to be no lovemaking tonight. He was too worried about Phillip.

  “Good night, Hart.” She lay down and closed her eyes, then turned and slipped her arms around him.

  He rolled over to face her, his eyes somber in the shadows. “I’m sorry, I just can’t help thinking about that little boy.”

  “I know. Me too.” She smoothed his forehead. “Just get some sleep and let us hope that things look better in the morning.”

  He kissed her, and curved himself around her, holding her in his arms until at long last they both fell asleep.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning the news was even worse. Mrs. Harris brought it in with the breakfast. She stood there, waiting in the doorway, looking worried until Hart beckoned her in. “What is it, Mrs. Harris?”

  She bobbed an anxious curtsey. “Begging your pardon, your graces, but one of the daily girls says she heard that another little boy has gone missing, a local lad, Danny Glover.”

  “What? Two small boys missing?”

  Mrs. Harris grimaced. “It’s just gossip at this stage, your grace, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  Hart nodded. He surely did.

  Jephcott followed her into the breakfast room. “But it’s not the same thing, your grace, it can’t be. This Danny Glover is just a poor boy, rough and ignorant—there’s no question of a ransom for such as he.” He shook his head, perplexed. “Not that a ransom note has come for Phillip yet, but I’m sure it will. It must.”

  Hart pushed his breakfast aside. “How long has that boy been missing?”

  Mrs. Harris twisted her apron in fretful hands. “Nobody’s sure—he’s the kind of lad that runs wild. His parents don’t show much interest in him. Possibly two or three days.”

  Jephcott said soothingly, “This cannot be anything to do with Phillip, your grace. Count on it, that other boy will have just run off somewhere, as such boys are wont to do.” But not, according to him, a boy like Phillip.

  One boy from a wealthy family might be taken for ransom, but a second boy of the same age, and from a poor family? That could not be coincidence.

  Hart rose from the table. He wasn’t going to say anything at this stage—they were all worried enough. “I’ll check the lake first, then I’ll speak to the parents of this Danny Glover.”

  “I’ll come with you,” George said.

  Hart turned to the housekeeper. “Send for the groom, if you please. I want him to hire some horses for her grace and me to ride. The best available.”

  As they walked to the lake, accompanied by the tutor and a manservant, and with Finn lolloping on ahead, George took Hart’s arm and said in a low voice, “Do you think we might be dealing with the kind of man who preys on small boys?”

  He glanced at her. Trust his wife to voice the unthinkable, the very thing he’d been considering but hadn’t said aloud for fear of upsetting the ladies.

  “It’s possible. But let’s check the lake first. It’s just as possible that two small boys could get into trouble together.”

  “Let us hope so.” She hugged his arm as they walked along, and it occurred to him he didn’t have to moderate his pace for her. Those long, lovely legs . . .

  They found the lake and, as reported, the fishing gear and the little dinghy looked neat and undisturbed. Hart and George walked all around the lake, examining the mud at the lake’s edge, but the only marks were the tracks of birds and of one large, exuberant wolfhound. There were no small human footprints.

  When they returned to the house, they found two horses waiting for them, decent enough hacks but nothing special, George said. And then she laughed. “Have you noticed the saddles, Hart?”

  It took him a moment to realize that there was no sidesaddle for his wife. “Dammit, they should have known—”

  “It’s all right, I have my breeches and my divided skirt upstairs,” George assured him. “And I’m not particularly fond of sidesaddles, so this suits me better.” And she ran up the stairs to change.

  * * *

  * * *

  Danny Glover’s parents lived in a cottage a couple of miles away. It was part of a small farm where cattle and sheep grazed together. Hens scattered as Hart and George approached on horseback, and from the smell, there was a pigsty nearby.

  A woman answered the door. Not wanting the fuss that would no doubt accompany an unexpected call by a duke and duchess, Hart introduced himself as merely Hartley, guardian of Phillip Wooldridge of Lakeside Cottage. Mrs. Glover immediately turned to a small boy about five years old, saying, “Peter, run and fetch your da’. Tell him gentry come calling.” The boy ran off. He was clean and neatly dressed; he didn’t look like the brother of a “rough, ignorant, wild boy.”

  Mrs. Glover hesitated, then nervously invited them in. She ushered them into a painfully neat parlor, saying her husband wouldn’t be long. “Better he talk to you.” She then left them to wait, a breach of country hospitality that surprised them.

  “Perhaps she’d feel more comfortable talking to you,” Hart murmured.

  George shook her head. “I don’t think she’s shy. Maybe her husband doesn’t like her talking to strangers. I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble. Let’s see what he says first.”

  They didn’t have long to wait. Glover arrived about ten minutes later, a heavy, thickset man. He entered, wiping his hands. “Well, what’s this about, then?”

  Hart came straight to the point. “We heard a rumor that your son Danny is missing.”

  “So?” Glover said indifferently. “What business is it of yourn?”

  A little taken aback, Hart explained that his ward, Phillip, was also missing.

  Glover shrugged. “Nothing to do with me.”

  “How can you say that?” George burst out. “Danny is your son.”

  Glover’s expression showed he didn’t approve of being questioned by a woman. He said to Hart, “I’m not the boy’s father, just his stepfather by a wife who died a few years back. Danny’s not my blood, not my responsibility.”

  Hart hung
on to his temper. “When did you first notice Danny was missing?”

  Glover shrugged. “Coupla days. Give or take.”

  George said, “Do you know where he might have gone? His friends, for instance? Would he know Phillip?”

  Glover gave her a sour look. “He’d better not. Danny’s got no friends. This is a working farm—he has work to do. There’s no time for gadding about with friends, especially not with the sons of the gentry. Now is that all? I got more work than ever now that he’s run off.” He rose.

  “Run off?” Hart said. “Where would he go?”

  Glover lifted an indifferent shoulder. “No idea, lazy little bastard.”

  “Is Danny’s natural father alive?” George asked. It was a good question, Hart thought. With a stepfather like this, an unhappy boy might look for a better alternative.

  Glover’s answer was a contemptuous snort.

  Hart said, “Does Danny know who his natural father is? Do you?”

  It was an impertinent question. Glover gave him a long, hard look. Hart met his gaze squarely, making it clear he was not moving until he had the answers he needed. Glover’s lip curled. “She were a housemaid got with child by one of the gentry, over east.” He waved a hand in that direction. “He offered this farm to any man willing to marry her. So I married her to give her bastard a name.”

  “Surely it was to get yourself a farm,” George pointed out sweetly.

  He scowled at her. “And then the stupid cow up and died and left me with her whelp to raise.” He hitched up his breeches and added belligerently, “I got me a proper wife now, and children of my own, so if that young cur has run off and gotten hisself into trouble, he’s no get of mine and I wash my hands of him.”

  “You realize he’s the second young boy who’s disappeared in the last week,” Hart said.