Tangled Reins

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Tangled Reins Page 22

by Stephanie Laurens

‘You can take it from me that it will,’ responded Hazelmere gravely. Laughing at Ferdie’s outraged countenance, he clapped his cousin on the shoulder and went into his own house, leaving Ferdie to wander on to his lodgings.

  Some two hours later Fanshawe was attempting to tie his neckcloth in the latest fashion when the knocker on his door was plied with unusual insistence. With an oath he discarded his latest attempt and testily recommended his man, standing mute with an armload of fresh specimens, to see who on earth it was.

  A minute later, just as he was once again engrossed, the door opened.

  ‘Hartness, who on earth have you sent these to? They’re too floppy to do anything with!’

  Came an amused voice in reply, ‘A poor cobbler always blames his lathe.’

  He twisted around, ruining any chance he had of correctly tying his next attempt. ‘Oh, you’re back, are you?’

  ‘As you see,’ replied Hazelmere. ‘I’d said I would be, after all.’

  ‘Never know where you’ll be or not. Where’d you get to—just Leicestershire?’

  ‘Lauleigh, Darent Hall and Hazelmere,’ responded the Marquis.

  Fanshawe took a moment to work this out. ‘Thought that might be it,’ he said sagaciously. ‘Have you seen Dorothea yet?’

  ‘No. I thought that after my flying around the country I deserve Alvanley’s dinner. And Ferdie tells me they’re to attend a boring party tonight, so all should be safe until tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow. Good! Where’d you say Darent Hall was?’

  ‘Ah, lies the wind in that quarter?’

  ‘You’re not the only one who can suddenly decide for reasons unknown to get leg-shackled to a managing female!’ responded his lordship tartly.

  Laughing, Hazelmere said, ‘It’s in Northamptonshire, not far from Corby. Easy to find if you ask. Here! For the lord’s sake, let me tie that or Jeremy will be wondering what’s become of us! Stand still!’

  He rapidly tied his friend’s cravat, his long fingers creasing the stiff material into the required folds. ‘Right, done. Now let’s get going!’

  Fanshawe, admiring the finished product, mused, ‘Not bad.’

  Finding his coat thrown at his head, he laughed and, putting it on, joined Hazelmere on the stairs.

  Jeremy Alvanley had been in the habit of giving a dinner for his closest friends every year for six years. It had become an event in their calendar, a gentlemen-only gourmet affair with the best of the latest vintages to wash the delicacies down. All their set made every effort to attend, and the occasion usually proved highly entertaining. This year’s dinner was no exception. The conversation flowed as freely as the wine. Much of this consisted of regaling Hazelmere with the problems they had faced in looking after Miss Darent. All of them knew of the scene in the Park, but none of them could begin to imagine what had happened afterwards. However, they were well acquainted with Hazelmere and had therefore been surprised at Dorothea’s subsequent performance. Finding him in his normal benign mood, none of them was quite sure what to think. But, as he was obviously genuinely entertained by the stories of their difficulties, they took every opportunity to impress on him how arduous their labours had been.

  Though they did not know it, their stories confirmed for Hazelmere what Ferdie and later Fanshawe had told him: clearly Dorothea had taken charge, realising that, to some extent, they were acting under his direction. That she had succeeded in captivating them was apparent. He was amused to hear that the only sure way they found to escape her subtle questioning had been to invoke his name. That this had succeeded told him that she had known precisely what she was about in her handling of this group of gentlemen whom he would have described as among the most hardened to feminine wiles.

  During the evening Desborough paused by his chair to enlighten him regarding Edward Buchanan. The black brows drew together. Then he shrugged. ‘I might have expected him to make some such attempt. Thankfully, you were there.’ With a quick smile Desborough moved on.

  After dinner it was their custom to adjourn to White’s for the rest of the evening, or, more correctly, until the small hours of the next morning. By eleven o’clock they were deeply engrossed in play.

  Ferdie, Dorothea and Cecily arrived at Lady Rothwell’s punctually at eight, to find carriages waiting to convey them to a surprise party at Vauxhall. Neither Dorothea nor Ferdie was enthusiastic; Cecily was ecstatic. As it was virtually impossible to withdraw politely, Dorothea and the even more reluctant Ferdie were forced to accept the change with suitable grace.

  At the pleasure gardens Lady Rothwell had hired a booth facing the dancing area, gaily lit with festoons of coloured lanterns. The younger folk joined in the dancing, while Dorothea and Ferdie stayed in the booth, watching the passing scene. Lady Rothwell sat keeping a shrewd and motherly eye on all her young charges.

  Dorothea had heard that Hazelmere was expected to have returned that day. Speculation on their next meeting was consuming more and more of her time. Glancing at her pensive face, Ferdie recalled his cousin’s message. He could hardly deliver it in Lady Rothwell’s hearing. ‘Would you like to view the Fairy Fountain, Miss Darent?’

  Dorothea had no wish to view the Fairy Fountain but thought it odd that Ferdie should imagine she would. Then she caught the faintest inclination of his head, and, intrigued, agreed. Lady Rothwell made no demur to their projected stroll and Dorothea left the booth on Ferdie’s arm. Once out of sight and sound of her ladyship, she lost no time. ‘What is it you wish to tell me, Ferdie?’

  Thinking she had a bad habit of making it difficult to lead up to things by degrees, Ferdie answered baldly, ‘Met Hazelmere this afternoon. Gave me a message for you.’

  ‘Oh?’ she replied, bridling.

  Not liking the tone of that syllable and fast coming to the conclusion he should have told his high-handed cousin to deliver his own messages, Ferdie was forced to continue. ‘Said to tell you he would call on you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I see. What a pity I shall miss him! I do believe I have to visit some friends tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Told him so.’ Ferdie nodded sagely. Under Dorothea’s bemused gaze, he hurriedly explained, ‘Told him you would very likely be engaged.’

  ‘And?’

  Liking his role less and less, Ferdie took a deep breath and continued manfully, ‘He said to say you would do better to meet him in private rather than in public.’

  The undisguised threat left Dorothea speechless. Seeing her kindling eyes, Ferdie decided it was time to return to safer and more populated surroundings than the secluded walk they had entered. ‘Take you back to her ladyship,’ he volunteered.

  Seething, Dorothea allowed him to take her arm and they retraced their steps. She was incensed. More than that, she was furious! How dared he send such a command to her? However, as she strolled back to the booth by Ferdie’s side common sense reasserted itself. If her last meeting with Hazelmere was any guide, she would be wise to avoid provoking him further. The thought of refusing his suggested interview only to meet him next in the middle of a ballroom was enough to convince her to accede to his request.

  Shortly after Dorothea and Ferdie had left, Lady Rothwell was joined by Cecily, thoroughly enjoying herself, accompanied by Lord Rothwell. Noticing Cecily’s high colour, her ladyship sent her son for some ices from the pavilion. Cecily sat down beside her and was in the middle of a delighted description of the sights when they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  At her ladyship’s command, an individual in attire proclaiming the respectable gentleman’s gentleman entered the booth.

  ‘Lady Rothwell?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have an urgent message for Miss Cecily Darent.’ The man proffered a sealed letter.

  At a nod from Lady Rothwell, Cecily took it, broke the seal and spread open the single sheet. Reading it, she paled. Reaching the end, she sat down weakly in the chair, allowing her ladyship to remove the letter from suddenly nerveless fingers.

&n
bsp; ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Lady Rothwell, quickly perusing the missive. ‘My dear, I’m so sorry!’

  ‘I must go to him,’ said Cecily. ‘Where’s my cloak?’

  ‘Don’t you think you should wait for Dorothea and Ferdie?’

  ‘Oh, no! They might be half an hour or more! Surely there can be no impropriety? I must not delay. Oh, please, Lady Rothwell, please say I may go?’

  Her ladyship was not proof against Cecily’s huge pansy eyes. But it was with definite misgiving that she watched her disappear down the walk to the carriage gate in the company of Lord Fanshawe’s man.

  Ten minutes later Ferdie and Dorothea regained the booth. Lady Rothwell had sent her son away and was trying to rid herself of a strong suspicion that she had erred in allowing Cecily to leave. She looked up with relief.

  ‘Oh, Ferdie! I’m so glad to see you. And you too, my dear. Cecily received a most disturbing message and has gone off with Lord Fanshawe’s man.’

  Neither Ferdie nor Dorothea understood much of this, but, seeing the letter her ladyship was holding out, Ferdie took it.

  To Miss Cecily Darent,

  I am writing on behalf of Lord Fanshawe, who is currently in my surgery, having sustained serious wounds in a recent accident. His lordship is in a bad way and is asking for you. I am sending this note by the hand of his servant and I hope if he finds you you will allow this individual, who his lordship assures me is trustworthy, to escort you to his lordship’s side. I need hardly add that time is of the essence.

  Yours, et cetera,

  James Harten, Surgeon.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ said Dorothea.

  ‘Gammon!’ said Ferdie.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Dorothea.

  ‘This letter,’ he explained. ‘It’s a hoax.’

  ‘But how do you know?’ wailed Lady Rothwell.

  ‘Because I know it’s Alvanley’s dinner tonight and then they always go on to White’s. Every year, always the same. So wherever Tony is, Marc’s with him. Bound to be. And Marc would never allow this. You may not know, but I do. Devilishly starchy on some things, Hazelmere.’

  Dorothea, knowing this to be the truth, gave voice to her thoughts. ‘But if it is a hoax, to what purpose?’

  Ferdie realised they had all made a mistake in forgetting there were two Darent sisters. Dorothea and Lady Rothwell were obviously expecting him to answer. ‘Sorry to have to say this, but I’m afraid she’s been abducted.’

  ‘I knew there was something wrong,’ wailed her ladyship. ‘Oh, dear! Whatever shall I tell Hermione?’

  ‘Ferdie, what should we do?’ asked Dorothea, wasting no time in histrionics.

  Ferdie, whose brain could, under stress, perform quite creditably, paused for a moment. ‘Who else knew of this letter?’

  ‘No one,’ answered Lady Rothwell. ‘William was out getting ices at the time and I didn’t like to show it to him.’

  ‘Good. Dorothea and I will leave and return to Merion House. If any demand or message is sent, that’s where it’ll be. Lady Rothwell, you’ll have to tell everyone Dorothea was feeling unwell and that Cecily and I took her home.’

  Her ladyship, reviewing this plan, approved. ‘Yes, very well. And Dorothea, tell Hermione I’ll keep silent about this. I feel responsible for letting Cecily go and I dread to think what your grandmother will think of me, my dear.’

  Nodding, Dorothea murmured thanks and reassurances before she and Ferdie left for the carriages.

  In spite of the coachman’s best efforts, the journey to Cavendish Square took twenty tense minutes. Admitted to Merion House by a surprised Mellow, they found, as suspected, a recently delivered letter addressed to Dorothea. Lady Merion was attending a card party at Miss Berry’s and would not be home for hours.

  Ushering Dorothea into the drawing-room and shutting the door on Mellow, Ferdie nodded to the letter. ‘Best open it. Have to know what they want.’

  Dorothea broke the cheap seal and read the contents of the single sheet, Ferdie looking over her shoulder.

  My dear Miss Darent,

  I have your sister in safe keeping and if you wish to see her again you will do exactly as I say. You should immediately set out in your carriage and travel to the Castle Inn at Tadworth, south of Banstead. Do not bring anyone with you or nothing will come of your visit and your sister’s reputation will assuredly be lost. If you do not arrive before dawn I will be forced to conclude that you have informed the authorities and I will then have to flee the country, taking your sister with me. I am sure I can rely on your good sense. I remain,

  Your most obedient servant,

  Edward Buchanan, Esq.

  ‘Good God! The bounder!’ said Ferdie, disgust etching his fair face. ‘You can’t possibly go to that place.’ After a pause he added, ‘But someone’s going to have to.’

  Dorothea’s mind was racing. In a way, it was partly her fault that Cecily had been abducted. If only she had been more careful of her younger sister and not so absorbed with her own affairs. It was Cecily for whom they had come to London to find a husband. Maybe she could have been firmer with Edward Buchanan, though it was difficult to see how. Weighing up the possible courses of action available to her, she answered Ferdie at random. ‘Yes, but who? And how?’

  Ferdie had little doubt as to the who and how. ‘Best thing we can do is get hold of Hazelmere. Tony’ll be with him and they’ll know what to do. Sort of thing Marc’s good at.’

  Dorothea’s absent gaze abruptly fixed on Ferdie’s face. She had no difficulty understanding his comments. But inwardly she groaned. The memory of how affairs stood between herself and the Marquis, never far from mind, reeled into focus. After the way they had parted the last thing she needed was this. To meet him next with a calm request to extricate her sister, essentially her responsibility, from the clutches of one of her own importunate suitors was a prospect she could not face. ‘No, Ferdie,’ she said with calm decision. ‘There’s no need for Hazelmere or Fanshawe or anyone else to be involved.’

  Ferdie simply looked blank. Then stubborn. There ensued a totally unprofitable ten minutes of wrangling. Finally Dorothea suggested a compromise. ‘If you fetch Grandmama, then she can decide what to do.’

  Relieved, Ferdie headed for Miss Berry’s.

  * * *

  It was over an hour later that Mellow opened the door to his mistress. On reaching the Misses Berry’s trim little house, Ferdie had sent in a message that Dorothea was ill and consequently Lady Merion’s presence was required at Merion House. Instead of resulting in Lady Merion’s coming out, he had been summoned in. Lady Merion had been engaged in a thrilling rubber and had desired to know how desperately ill her granddaughter, last seen in rude health, had become. Under the amused gaze of what had seemed like half the ton, Ferdie had been forced to assure her ladyship that Dorothea’s state was not critical. With a smile her ladyship had settled down to finish her game.

  But now, as she surrendered her fur wrap, Lady Merion looked anything but complacent. A worried frown had settled over the sharp blue eyes as she led the way into the drawing-room. Ferdie followed and shut the door.

  ‘Where’s Dorothea?’ asked Lady Merion.

  Ferdie’s face was blank as he scanned the room, almost as if he expected to find Dorothea hiding in a corner. The pale blue eyes stopped when they reached the white square tucked into a corner of the mirror on the mantelpiece.

  Lady Merion, following his gaze, walked over and twitched the envelope free. It was addressed to her. She smoothed out the sheet. Then, one hand groping wildly, she sank into a chair. Under her powder she paled, but her voice when she spoke was firm. ‘Drat the girl! She’s gone off to get Cecily herself.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Precisely!’ Lady Merion read the note again. ‘A lot of gibberish about being responsible for the mess.’ She snorted. ‘Says she can handle Buchanan.’

  A pause developed, Ferdie, for once, too incensed to break it. Eventually Lady Merion spoke again. ‘
I’m not so sure she can handle that man. I think we should summon Hazelmere anyway. Dorothea seems set against it, but in the circumstances he should be told. It’s time she realised that, as she’s virtually affianced to him, she simply can’t go careering off about the countryside like this, let alone keep it hidden from him.’ The sharp blue eyes turned on Ferdie. ‘So how do we get hold of him?’

  Ferdie came to life. ‘Tonight it’s easy. You write a note and we’ll send it to him at White’s. One night of the year you can be sure he’s there.’

  Lady Merion nodded briskly and, going to the small escritoire, dashed off a note to Hazelmere.

  Ferdie, engaged in some hard thinking, looked up as she sealed it. ‘Don’t address it. I’ll do that.’

  Lady Merion raised her brows but relinquished her seat without comment. Picking up the pen, Ferdie frowned, then inscribed the front of the note with his cousin’s full title.

  Summoning Mellow, Ferdie put the note into his hands and instructed him to ensure its immediate delivery to White’s. No answer was expected. Together with Lady Merion, he settled down to wait.

  As Ferdie had predicted, both Lords Hazelmere and Fanshawe were at their accustomed positions in the gaming-room. Hazelmere was holding the bank, and the rest of the table was comprised of their friends, all making every effort to break the bank. They had been playing for a little over an hour and had just got pleasantly settled in.

  Hazelmere, dealing the next hand, was surprised to find an attendant at his elbow with a letter on a salver. Completing the deal, he picked up the letter and, glancing at the direction, used the silver-bladed knife to break the seal. He laid the missive on the table and returned his attention to his cards.

  He had immediately recognised Ferdie’s handwriting, but could not understand why his cousin should suddenly start to send letters to him under his full title. In fact, he could not understand why Ferdie would send him a letter at this time of night at all. Despite giving only half his mind to the game, he succeeded in concluding the first round and, while the other players were considering their next bids, he opened the letter.

 

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