She smiled sweetly. “You haven’t met my horse, Jessie. It’s light enough outside for a walk to the stables after dinner. May I show her to you?”
“Really Erina, that horse of yours…” Her father clamped his lips, no doubt fearing she’d present as an unattractive horsey female to Sir Ambrose, as if being too tall wasn’t bad enough.
Harry looked startled but recovered quickly. “But of course. Look forward to it.”
Chapter Five
Jack hunched his shoulders as icy water dripped down the back of his neck from the trees arching over the road. With a few miles to go, the journey to Ivywood Hall was proving unpleasant but thankfully uneventful. Rain drizzled on and off as the well-sprung coach ploughed through potholes filled with muddy water. No highwaymen or any other person foolish enough to be abroad on such a night, had thus far appeared to confront them.
While he rode behind the coach, he considered his plans. It seemed that his services would not be required for more than a day at most. Apparently, Lady Butterstone’s brother was expected. He could well arrive before nightfall. Whatever lay behind the attack on Lord Butterstone, it was none of Jack’s business, and he was eager to get back on the road. Jack didn’t want to become enmeshed in their grief. He was escaping London to contend with his own.
The night sky lightened to a violet gray as they entered the elaborate gates of the Hall. Ahead of him, the carriage lamps faded with the first signs of dawn along a road as straight as an arrow, surrounded by acres of lawns and fine trees. Highlighted against the sky, stood a tall, elongated shape: Ivywood Hall.
The Hall revealed itself as they approached, pale stone tinged with pink by the rising sun, perfectly symmetrical, immense, and grand, and not unlike Stamford, his father’s ducal seat. Braziers burned along the front and candlelight still flickered in the long windows. From beneath the towering portico, a short darkly clad figure emerged to greet them.
The coach pulled up onto the carriage circle before the house. With a pat on Arion’s neck, Jack dismounted. Bone-weary, he imagined the occupants of the coach were no better. A fair-haired footman yawning behind a hand, had joined the butler, and came forward to put down the steps.
Lady Ashley descended first, dressed in a fur trimmed pelisse and hat. “Thank you for seeing us safely home, Captain Ryder. My mother and I felt a little easier knowing you were there.”
Jack removed his hat. Bowed. “You’re welcome, my lady.”
While the footman assisted her mother, Lady Ashley addressed the butler. “We bear the most dreadful news, Billings. I shall explain inside.”
Billings watched the despairing Lady Butterstone leave the empty coach. “I expected you home hours ago, my lady,” he said. “The trunks, the maids and his lordship’s valet have arrived.” Billings glanced anxiously at Jack.
“This gentleman is Captain Ryder,” Lady Ashley said. “He has kindly escorted us home. He requires food and a bed. Would you see to it?”
“Yes, milady.” Beside the youthful broad-shouldered footman, Billings looked aged and somewhat confused. “Sir, the stable groom will see to your horse.”
“Thank you but I prefer to do it.”
Billings nodded and assisted his teary-eyed mistress into the house to learn the worst.
Lady Ashley’s finely boned face was pinched with strain and sorrow. After watching her enter the house, stiff-backed and determined, Jack smoothed his hair, replaced his hat, and walked Arion along the gravel drive in the same direction the coach had taken. His thoughts turned to breakfast, hoping for eggs and bacon and a pile of toast; kippers maybe, plus good strong coffee. Something to set him up for the road ahead. A few hours’ sleep beforehand would be welcome.
The crunch of a vehicle’s wheels on the gravel carriageway awakened Jack. It was past noon; the sun was low on the horizon sinking into the west. Raised voices brought him to the window of the bedroom assigned to him. A coach stood before the house while footmen and grooms scurried around.
Jack dressed quickly and went into the corridor. Below him, in the marble-tiled entry hall, a group of people gathered around Lady Ashley. He remained where he was at the bannister not wishing to intrude if Lady Butterworth’s brother had arrived.
Lady Ashley raised her head. Saw him. One glance at her anguished face and he ran down the stairs.
~~~
In the stables, Harry stroked the sleek neck of Erina’s bay, Jessie. “Nice mare. Now, why are we here?”
In the feeble light cast by the lantern, she couldn’t read his expression. But it didn’t matter. She’d made up her mind. “I wanted to tell you what I’ve decided. Thought I should although I don’t really owe you anything.”
He folded his arms. “I am agog with excitement. What plan have you in store for us?”
“Not us. Me.”
“Oh?”
“I plan to travel across the country, riding Jessie.”
Harry stared at her. “You are joking of course.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve considered it most carefully. I am an excellent rider. I shall dress as a man.”
“Of all the mad schemes!” He scowled. “Congratulations. I’m difficult to shock, but you have achieved it.”
“I planned to go by stage, but I’m rather short of money.” She hadn’t expected him to be pleased but this forceful reaction surprised her. “I am of age. And it really doesn’t concern you. You can go home with a clear conscience knowing you did your best.”
Harry raked his fingers through his hair. “So, I’m to go happily home, with the knowledge that you will be ravished and murdered in a day or so? Is that your opinion of me?”
“I think you’re a very nice man,” she said coolly. “But apart from our fathers’ putting their heads together, you have nothing to do with my life or what I choose to do with it.”
Harry folded his arms and leaned back against the stable door. “May I ask your destination? Just as a matter of interest?”
“Ireland.”
“Jack’s on his way there. What’s the attraction of Ireland?”
“My mother’s family live just outside Dublin.”
“How long since you’ve seen them?”
She turned away to stroke Jessie’s smooth head which was thrust over the top of the stable door. “I’ve never met them.”
“Ho!”
“What does ‘ho’ mean, precisely.”
“That my suspicions are proved correct. This is a madcap scheme, Erina. And you know it.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t see why.”
“You should write to them. Perhaps someone will come to England to visit you.”
“I don’t have time to,” she snapped. “And you know that full well.”
“I see.” Harry moved away from the door. “If you stay, you will be forced into marriage. With me. The very worst thing that can happen to a lady.”
Erina raised her hand. “Harry, that’s not true. I like you, I do. But I don’t love you.” She frowned. “And you don’t love me.”
“Please don’t tell me what I feel or don’t feel.”
He stalked the length of the stables and back. “Before I leave here tomorrow, will you promise me not to go off on this dangerous expedition? We can discuss it again when we meet in London.”
“We have only a matter of days. And once I’m in London without my horse, I’ll be stuck.”
She stepped closer to try to coax him onside. Placed a hand on his claret silk waistcoat. Beneath it his chest felt muscular and strong. Somehow, she’d never thought of him that way. Hastily, she withdrew her hand. “Will you help me?”
“Help you? Good Lord, Erina, what are you asking of me?”
“To defy your father and mine, Harry.”
“Contrary to what you obviously believe, I am no longer ruled by my father. But he has his heart set on this union. I am fond of him and hate to disappoint him. He has wanted me to settle down for some time. Says he might turn up his toes without seeing hi
s first grandchild.” Harry paused. “If we just give it time, I’m sure he’ll relent…” He raised an eyebrow. “Help you to do what, exactly?”
“Come with me. At least see me onto the boat at Holyhead. I’ll be fine from there.”
“Apart from everything else, you truly believe I would ride all the way to Holyhead?” he spluttered. “I’d rather travel on the back of a hay wagon.”
Might he be relenting? It would be so much easier if he took her there. And riding did raise some difficulties. “You must own a vehicle of some kind. Can’t you hire one? It won’t raise eyebrows if we’re two men traveling together.”
“Ha! You think you’d make a convincing man?”
“I’ll cut my hair.”
“You wouldn’t look like a man if you shaved your head and dressed in a subaltern’s uniform.”
“Why? I’m tall enough.”
“Your…” He waved a vague hand. “Figure.”
Erina looked down at her bosom. She had been cursed with a rather large one. “I shall use binding. Honestly, you are merely throwing excuses in my way. Women dressed as men in Shakespeare’s works. In Twelfth Night, it worked perfectly well for Viola.”
He sighed. “That was a play. This is real life.”
“Very well, don’t come with me. Remain here to please your father. I shall go alone.”
“No, you won’t, damn it.” He threw up his hands. “It so happens that I own a curricle. But I insist you dress normally. You can be my sister.”
She tried to hide her glee. “We don’t look alike.”
“Cousin then.” He attacked his hair again, which just flopped neatly back into place. “My God, what am I agreeing to?”
“Too late to renege,” she said silkily. “You’ve given your word.”
“I intend to send a letter to my father somewhere along the route. To set his mind at rest.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “How thoughtful.”
She reddened and looked away.
“You know what will occur to them, don’t you?” he said.
“What?”
“An elopement.”
Pleased, she nodded. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
His brown eyes narrowed slightly as they studied hers. “Is it?”
“They won’t worry. Father will think I’ve done it to save him the expense of a wedding.”
He tapped a booted foot and sighed. “All right. We’ll depart from London on Thursday. I’ll contact you on Wednesday to make the final arrangements.”
Erina’s heart began to bang joyfully. “Oh good. This is exciting, isn’t it, Harry?”
Harry scowled. “I said you’d exhaust me if we married. How right was I? And we’re not even man and wife. I don’t know about you, Lady Erina, but I’m going to bed.”
Erina watched him stomp away into the darkness. Then she squealed and performed a few steps of an Irish reel while Jessie watched her with soft brown eyes. She must write to Cathleen once it was all arranged.
Chapter Six
In the entry hall, Lady Ashley left the servants and came to Jack’s side. “It’s my Uncle George, Lord Caindale. He has been kidnapped on his way here.”
Her eyes were blank with shock. She wrung her hands as her desperate attempt to remain calm deserted her. Against his better judgement, Jack took her arm and drew her farther away from the huddle of servants. “We need to talk. Perhaps you can see to the staff first?”
She spun around and sent her uncle’s groom and coachman on their way to the stables. Billings sent the footmen to the kitchen with an order for them to be fed and for tea and sandwiches to be brought to the salon.
“I must go up to my mother.”
“Billings can see to Lady Butterstone for a few minutes. I want you to tell me all that you know. Then I’ll question Caindale’s servants. If something can be done, I’ll need to act fast.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” With a shuddering breath, she went and spoke quietly to Billings.
She returned to him as the butler climbed the staircase, with the gait of a man going to the scaffold. “Please come into the salon.” She led Jack through a doorway.
He followed her into an elegantly furnished room with walls decorated in panels of blue silk framed in gold leaf. Dainty sofas with mahogany legs faced each other across a low table. Jack took one and sat opposite Lady Ashley. Cramped, he attempted to find a comfortable spot on the straight-backed and thinly padded sofa covered in blue damask.
Lady Ashley watched him get settled. “We have just returned from Paris. When my father was sent there on a diplomatic mission, it was expected we’d remain for only a brief period, but we stayed for a year.”
“What kept him in France?”
She shrugged, exasperated. “Neither I nor my mother know. We women are not told anything of importance.”
“Could these attacks have something to do with his work there?”
“It seems unlikely. Why wait until he reached England?”
Jack wondered about that but said nothing. He expected the facts would come to light, eventually. Whoever was behind this could have more in store.
A footman brought the tea tray with a plate piled with ham and cress sandwiches and another with small cakes. Enough to feed at least six. Lady Ashley picked up the teapot, but it wobbled in her nervous hands, and she put it down again.
He leaned forward and took it upon himself to pour the tea. She didn’t demur. The ornate silver teapot was quite heavy. He placed a gold-rimmed cup and saucer before her then poured one for himself and stirred in a lump of sugar.
Jack sat back, the delicate china cup almost lost in his hand. Not his favorite beverage but he drank, poured another, then placed several of the small triangular sandwiches on his plate. He popped a whole one in his mouth. Tiny but delicious. “What did your uncle’s servants tell you?”
“Apparently, the carriage was held up in a woodland area a few miles from Dunstable.”
He selected another sandwich. “One man acted alone?”
“Yes. With a spare horse. He led my uncle away at gunpoint.”
“And you have no idea who this man might be?”
She shook her head.
“Then he did not intend to kill your uncle.” Not straight away at least. Jack searched Lady Ashley’s sensitive, intelligent face. If she had any knowledge or suspicions, she wasn’t about to reveal them to him. She was studying him closely too, no doubt wondering whether to trust him. He was not dressed as a gentleman. “We came through Dunstable last night. It’s about fifteen miles from here,” he said. “I’ll ride over there and inquire at the taverns. See if I can learn anything.”
She closed her eyes, wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Captain Ryder. We’ll expect you back for dinner.”
Jack put down his cup and saucer. “Please relay my regrets to your mother.”
“I will. But you’ve missed luncheon. Do you care for a meal before you leave?”
“No time, I’m afraid.”
She spread out a clean napkin, wrapped the cakes and sandwiches in it. “A man of your size… you must have a hearty appetite.”
Smiling his thanks, he took the welcome bundle from her.
They walked to the door.
She was tall, but her willowy figure made her appear delicate. He suffered a moment of deep concern for her. A challenging time lay ahead until this matter was dealt with.
He took his leave and made his way to the stables where there was nothing new to be gleaned from either the distraught groom, or the coachman. The carriage had been held up on the road through the forest, about five miles from the town. No other vehicles, or people, were within sight. Lord Caindale had ordered the groom to put down his gun. His lordship went willingly, having said there was no need for bloodshed. Then the two men rode away into the trees, with the kidnaper holding the reins of his lordship’s horse.
Arion was fresh and pulled at the reins, so Jack let th
e horse have his head as they galloped along the Holyhead Road toward Dunstable, the cool breeze in his face. The busy toll road led all the way through Wales to Holyhead. He’d already encountered a coach and six, a wagon, and a gentleman driving a curricle. A straggling line of merchants, tinkers and assorted folk trudged along the side of it. The kidnaper must have had knowledge of the area to pick a spot that was unlikely to be overlooked, with a good chance of escape into the dense woodland afterward. If he didn’t live in the area, he would have to do a reconnaissance and might have visited the Dunstable coaching inn or the tavern. He’d worn a scarf over his face again, so the description given by Lord Caindale’s servants had tallied with the Butterstone’s and proved to be of little help, except to show that the same man was probably behind both attacks.
But what prompted such violent acts? Odd indeed to shoot a marquess down in cold blood, then take nothing from him. Then kidnap another lord of the realm. There seemed more than vengeance behind it. Would the truth die with Butterstone, and possibly Caindale? Despite Lady Ashley’s doubts, Jack was inclined to think this had something to do with France. The marquess had been on a diplomatic mission of some kind. Jack knew little of the man. He seldom attended soirées or balls, but he had often dined with his father, who out of some desire to see his son a respected member of society, sought to keep him up with the intrigues in George’s court and the current politics. Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something he might have dismissed as gossip. Maybe it would come to him while he slept. Happened sometimes. Although most of his dreams were made up of disturbing and violent images from the war.
We’ll expect you for dinner. Lady Ashley’s words pushed their way into his thoughts. Had she begun to depend on him? Something he’d tried to avoid. And now, not only was he compelled to oblige, he found himself caught up in the mystery. Not surprising to want to help ladies in distress, any man would heed the call. But that was where the matter must end. A marquess’ daughter was off limits to a bastard. Jack recalled her flowery perfume when they’d entered the salon together, and how her slender hands had trembled. In her mid-twenties, he wondered why she hadn’t married.
Captain Jack Ryder -The Duke's Bastard: Regency Sons Page 4