“The incident followed on several rather intense…confrontations, I suppose one might say, between us. Emotional scenes are not commonly part of my life. That Victoria was the cause of the mishap abraded further.”
Having polished off the meats, Summerton moved on to the cheese. “Ahh, the ever-so-charming Lady Merton.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “A lovely troublemaker, that woman. Your mother speaks favourably of her, which right there warns a man to be very cautious in any involvement with the fair lady.” He looked pointedly at Halcombe. “I pray you have none, my friend. She is not to be trusted.”
Halcombe refuted it with a flick of his fingers. “So I learned years ago, and I have had as little to do with her as possible. Unfortunately the lady was a neighbor and, as such, it was difficult to avoid her entirely.”
Summerton’s cheese-laden knife halted halfway to his mouth. “Was a neighbor? Has she moved then? I’d heard Merton’s heir gave her leave to use Merton House indefinitely.” He grinned. “A generous gesture! The man’s no fool and obviously wanted her out of his hair.”
“Lady Merton has decided to travel for her health,” Halcombe said dryly. “She felt the neighborhood disagreed with her constitution.”
Summerton’s brows climbed. “Did she indeed? Do I see your hand in this?”
Halcombe’s smile faded. “I had no choice, Colin. She was insanely determined on a liaison with me and her behavior toward Frances was absolutely unacceptable.” He straightened, leaned forward, and picked up his beer. “My wife believed Victoria was my mistress during the early part of our marriage,” he said after several fortifying gulps, avoiding Summerton’s eyes.
“You will never make me believe such a thing,” the viscount said mildly, dropping his knife on the empty plate. He narrowed his eyes. “This is why Frances stayed in Portugal without contacting you?”
“There were other reasons but, mainly, yes.”
Summerton finished his beer and leaned back. “You said, when last we spoke, that Frances’ failure to contact you for so long was what disturbed you the most. Now all appears to be resolved. What has changed?” His mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Forgive me! I know this is none of my affair. You should tell me to go to the devil—and take my insatiable curiosity along with me.”
Halcombe snorted. “You are worse than a cat, with your penchant for nosing in corners better left dark. In this case, however, an objective ear is welcome. Especially concerning the business my wife has established.” He smiled at Colin’s startled expression. “On, yes, Frances has restarted—or continued, one might say—her father’s rare book trade. I don’t mind telling you that it has been a rather difficult pill to swallow, but I am becoming accustomed to the idea—which is good, since Frances is loath to give it up.” He gave Colin some of the background on the book trading. Then, selecting his words with care, for some of what had passed between he and Frances was very private, he told him of the overheard conversation and the misconception that resulted from it.
“In all honesty, I may never totally understand Frances’ feelings or believe it adequate justification for her actions.” An irritable grunt escaped him. “Hell and damnation, Colin. How can any man fathom a woman’s feelings? But I know what I want, and since it includes my wife, the past had to become just that.”
“It is not always possible to bury some hurts, but it seems you have put this one behind you. And why not? Life is too uncertain to dwell on might-have-beens,” Summerton commented. His expression went from concerned to curious. “My inquisitive nose is quivering again. You claimed in your letter to have the answer to one of my so-called mysteries.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much—just that I have the name of your anonymous informer,” Halcombe said with a casual shrug. While Frances planned to provide the viscount with all the details later, she had agreed to give Richard the satisfaction of confounding his friend in the interim.
“What?” Summerton straightened abruptly and leaned closer, his hands gripping the ends of the armrests. “Who? How?”
The stunned expression on the man’s face was tremendously enjoyable. “It so happens I am acquainted with her. Very well acquainted, in fact,” he said, smiling broadly. Halcombe could almost see the thoughts darting around in Summerton’s head, and it was an effort to hold back his laughter. Colin saw him struggling, and his face registered disbelief as he came to the one possible conclusion suggested by Halcombe’s remark.
“Frances? Frances is my correspondent? How the devil…?” He stopped and considered this a moment. His eyes were sharp, speculative. “The books… she must have…it has to be tied to the books. I want to know how she did it. If I could tap into her network…” He stopped and pursed his lips. “You are not going to tell me anything further, I can see.”
Halcombe chuckled, and rose. “That pleasure belongs to Frances, I think. I don’t know many details in any case. We dine at six, so you will have your answers in just a few short hours. Until then, why don’t I have Benson show you to your room?” He halted. “It is good to see you, Colin. With luck, we can settle this other matter quickly and enjoy a real visit.”
Summerton’s smile held little optimism. “Luck is always welcome. Let us hope we do not need much of it.”
***
Thunderstorms kept the men from riding to the coast the following morning. Resigned to the delay, and also to being housebound, Halcombe and Summerton decided to help Frances in her quest to find the hidden rooms. Since much of the time was spent with the gentlemen suggesting absurdly impossible places and telling even more ridiculous tales to explain them, they stayed in good spirits despite the rain. Flora was permitted to run along the corridors while they tapped on panels and fiddled with deeply carved mouldings.
This kind of light-hearted play was new to both Halcombe and Frances, and they participated with great enthusiasm. The air of enchantment carried over into the early hours of the afternoon. Although Frances had discarded her sling and the bruises had slowly begun to fade, Halcombe was still adamant that she allow for a period of tranquility, which he hoped would lead to a short sleep. Knowing his wife’s reluctance to follow anyone’s advice but her own, he had agreed to join her, even if only in a supervisory capacity. It was a role that seemed to suit them both just fine.
“I told you it was a mistake to wheedle me into overseeing your prescribed nap.” Propped up on one elbow, Richard tickled her bare breasts with a length of her hair.
“Umm, so you did.” Frances put one arm behind her and stretched like a waking cat, her body shifting until she had a leg between his. “A nice mistake, don’t you think?” She rubbed her foot along his calf.
“How can a mistake be nice? A mistake is something committed in error.” He pressed his legs together to halt her creeping progress toward his inner thigh.
“Oh, I had no idea this might be regarded as an error,” she purred, folding her hand around his swelling member.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief. He leaned closer and brushed his lips over hers. “You know very well I meant that not sleeping is a mistake.” He rained kisses on her face until she was giggling helplessly.
“You are very bad,” she chided when she caught her breath. “Now I’ve lost my place and shall have to start over.” She groped for him, a sly smile on her face.
He halted her wandering hand and slid his fingers down her taut stomach to her swelling sex. She was wet and ready. “I believe I may have found a starting place of my own,” he said softly.
He entered her without hesitation, his strokes slow and measured, until she twisted beneath him and lifted her hips.
“I believe you have,” she gasped. She wrapped her legs around him, matching him thrust for thrust, and together they spiraled along a joyful river of fiery sensation until they both cried out with release.
She held him close afterward, as she always did, ignoring his protest that he was too heavy for her.
“No, I like it.”
Whe
n the thunder of their heartbeats had eased, he rolled onto his side, Frances still secure in his arms. “Now will you take a nap?” he asked, quizzical amusement in his voice. He felt her smile against his chest.
“If you wish.”
“I do wish.” But she was already drifting into sleep. He pulled a quilt over them, content to lay there quietly with her warm and safe beside him. This new Frances continued to surprise and delight. She was funny, sweet, and affectionate. And, by God, she was his. Despite all the pain and sorrow she had caused him, he had never stopped loving her—of that he had no doubt. But that love had grown into so much more. Frances was somehow able to touch the very center of his being. She was the heart of him and Richard knew that he would keep her. How could he not?
Chapter Thirty-eight
In the end, it was amazingly easy. Paul Jensen laid the sleeping child in the wagon bed beside the barely-conscious nursemaid. He contemplated the kitten mewing plaintively near his feet and after some thought, he decided to bring it along. The scrawny thing might aid in keeping Lady Flora entertained. He tucked the creature next to her and stretched the canvas cover from side-to-side. Satisfied that all was well hidden, Jensen donned a wide-brimmed felt hat, pulled it low on his forehead, and then climbed onto the seat and picked up the reins.
Dressed as he was in farmers’ overalls and a worn, shapeless jacket, no one would give him a second glance. The horse between the shafts was an unremarkable, commonplace animal, similar to those found on virtually every farm in the area. He planned to abandon both horse and wagon in exchange for a closed carriage once he was halfway to his destination.
The plodding pace was nerve-wracking. Anything more would attract attention, however, and he forced his clenched jaw apart. A long drive lay ahead as he would not be able to increase their speed until they were a safe distance from the estate. Two or three hours on this bone-jarring vehicle was trauma enough for his teeth without grinding them to stubs.
The minor deluge from the recent storms had worked to his advantage, taking many of Lord Halcombe’s men from the immediate vicinity of the manor house. Steady observation over several days had given Jensen a general idea about the habits of the staff. He knew that in good weather Lady Flora and her nursemaid spent an hour or so in a secluded garden. He had merely propped open the gate and the noisy kitten had brought the child scampering straight to him. The nursemaid had been in fast pursuit and after a gentle tap on the head to daze her, he swiftly bound her mouth with a scarf and had her rolled into a blanket before Lady Flora so much as noticed.
She was a trusting little girl, accepting his offer of fresh milk for both her and the kitten without demur. But she had, of course, seen him previously. The laudanum-laced beverage acted quickly on her small body. The amount had been difficult to judge, since he really had no desire to do her, or the nursemaid, any real harm. He was, after all, not a heartless man—just a desperate one. Her parents had what he wanted. Now he had what they wanted. It would be a simple, even exchange.
Jensen settled in for a long, tedious drive and turned his mind to the ransom note. It was written, but the all-important time of delivery had yet to be determined.
***
Flooding in some of the fields and outbuildings required the earl’s immediate attention, so the morning was well advanced before Halcombe and Summerton felt free to ride to the coast. It was a later start than they’d planned, but after some debate, they decided to seek accommodations in the village near Clifftop and return the following day.
Frances wanted to go with them. She had not been to Clifftop since her return and was as interested in finding out more about this mysterious stranger as Richard and Colin were. They had finally told her of it, although by then Frances’ suspicions were aroused. Given the combination of this surprise visit from Summerton, Richard’s meeting with Thomas, and the news that Richard and Colin planned an expedition to Clifftop, she could hardly think otherwise.
Frances felt the protective instinct men folk seemed to feel toward women was often misplaced. The notion was at the forefront of her mind and she continued to muse about it after her daily meeting with Rose and Mrs. Hinks. While very different in background and personality, they were both a fitting example of the strength and fortitude that many women possessed. Her diminutive housekeeper had grown up in a poor fishing village and gone into service while still a child herself. When given the opportunity, she had avidly learned to read, write and painstakingly modify her thick country accent over the years in hopes of improving her station.
Cook, on the other hand, had been born here on the estate and then attended the school Halcombe sponsored for the children of his tenants. She had risen from kitchen maid to head cook through hard work, creativity, and her devotion to the study of cookery. She was a veritable expert in the kitchen, and consistently prepared the most delicious meals. Mrs. Hinks had amassed an impressive collection of recipe books over her lifetime. Frances made a note to search out more for her.
Gracious, her mind was wandering today! When she had only meant to remind herself that she had responsibilities here and was unable to hare off at a moment’s notice. Frances huffed and opened her account book. Her plans for the afternoon were all very laudable but, truthfully, it came down to the fact that she did not ride well enough to make the trip without being a hindrance. They could all go another time, she vowed, and they would take Flora with them.
“Frances, where is Flora? We are ready to leave and I wanted to say good-bye.”
The earl entered the parlour, his expression more puzzled than impatient, although Frances knew he was anxious to go.
She frowned and looked at her watch. “Flora must be upstairs with Nancy. They were outdoors earlier, but they don’t usually stay out this long.” She stood and walked calmly around her desk, but her throat began to swell with fear. Don’t panic. They are playing some kind of game in one of the empty rooms. “I’ll look for them. Will you send someone to make sure they have not lingered in the garden or perhaps gone to the stables?” Despite her suggestion, Frances knew that Nancy would never take Flora to the stables alone. They would not have ventured into the older parts of the house, either. Unless Flora had run off and they were accidently locked in somewhere…which you know is unlikely.
“I will go myself,” Halcombe said. “Benson can start with the house.” He touched her shoulder. “They are probably playing somewhere they should not and will turn up covered with dust and exhausted.”
Frances nodded but she was not fooled by the even tenor of his voice—not when concern furrowed his brow. He hurried out, and she heard him give the butler instructions to have the staff start a systematic search.
She went first to the nursery suite, even though Halcombe had been there just minutes ago. Knowing she was being foolish, Frances looked in every chest and every wardrobe. She even checked under both Nancy’s bed and Flora’s cot, and then rushed to the door and caught the attention of one of the maids scurrying along the corridor.
“Ruby, please find Susan and have her come here at once.” The under housemaid was Nancy’s friend and, at times, she helped her keep an eye on Flora.
Susan rushed toward Frances a few minutes later, red-faced and panting. “My lady? Benson told me to look in the attics, but Nancy would never take Lady Flora up there. Surely, she would not!”
“I agree. Susan, you know Nancy better than any of the other maids. Please look around her room to see if a shawl or jacket is missing.”
“Yes, my lady.” Susan dashed through the playroom to Nancy’s small bedchamber. Frances waited in the doorway. While she was almost certain the shawl Nancy commonly wore was not in her room, perhaps it was in the laundry or mending basket and she had worn something else.
“Her shawl is not there, my lady. If memory serves, I think Lady Flora had her blue jumper on when they went out this morning.” She paused, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. “But I don’t see the jumper, either. They must be outdoo
rs.”
“Yes, I expect that’s so,” Frances said. “But do continue looking through the house, just in case.” She lifted her skirt and darted down the stairs, her pace dangerously fast given the uneven treads. Summerton was in the entry talking to Benson. Alerted by her rapid steps, he moved to the bottom of the stairway to meet her.
“You will be of no help to anyone if you break your neck.” He took a firm grip on her arm. “No one has seen them in the house since they went into the garden this morning and the staff has combed through every room.” He led her to the front door. “Richard wants you to join him.”
The earl was at the garden gate with several of the men. Frances ran to him and clutched his arm.
“What is it? Tell me! The river?”The normally placid waterway that flowed alongside their property was now swollen with the recent rains.
“No! The river is a good half-mile away. I trust Nancy implicitly—she would not allow our daughter to stray that far. But even if she and Flora did attempt something so foolish, someone would have seen them.”
Frances was almost paralyzed with terror and she forced a calming breath into her lungs. Her skin felt too small for her body. It stretched over the surface of her bones, painful and tight.
“What, then? They just wandered off?” Her voice sounded empty, hollow.
He gripped her shoulders, his face a grim mask. “We believe someone has taken them.”
The words roared in her ears and she swayed. “Taken them? But why? What reason…?” A shudder coursed through her and she pressed her hands to her face, willing it to subside. She had to do better than this. Breathe, Frances, breathe. In and out… in and out. Her breath finally steadied, and she lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I will not fail you again.” She clung to him with renewed urgency. “Tell me, please, why you believe this to be true.”
A Love Laid Bare Page 29