How had she gotten herself into such a predicament?
The worst part was that Torrington had warned her against spying on Abercorn, had implored her to give up her daring determination to ruin the duke. But Edith hadn’t listened. She’d been so focused on making right what had happened to Tilda and helping to prove Luci’s accusation correct, she hadn’t thought through the risks of her endeavor. Or what might happen if she were caught.
Which, from her current predicament, she had been.
However, did that mean Abercorn was guilty of pushing Tilda down the stairs on their wedding night?
If he’d taken her, then it was all the proof society needed to condemn him for his treacherous actions. If she’d live to prove his culpability was an entirely different matter—one Edith was determined not to dwell on.
She only need survive this—but how long would it be before someone noted her disappearance?
If Luci and Ophelia went to her parents after Edith failed to show for their meeting, would anyone have faith in the pair that something untoward had occurred? They’d cried foul once before, and no one had believed them. Would their words of concern be cast aside as quickly as their accusations against Abercorn?
Edith should have stood by Luci’s side on the night Tilda died. Shouted as loudly as she could about Abercorn and his involvement—she wouldn’t be here now if she had.
She replayed her afternoon with Triston and her departure from the inn in frustration.
No one but Luci and Ophelia would know her disappearance had anything to do with the duke…except maybe Triston. She had to trust he would figure things out and come for her.
This was all her fault. It was maddening. If no one came for her, Edith had no one to blame but herself. There was no one to save her but herself, but how could she figure out her own rescue when she had no idea where she was being taken or how far she’d need to go to escape and find help.
The carriage slowed and turned sharply, causing Edith to slide and her head to slam against the side of the box.
“Ouch!” She instinctively moved her hand to her head, but was unable to reach the spot.
The carriage moved slower down a heavily rutted path. Branches scraped the side of the conveyance as if they passed through what must be a wooded area.
After what seemed like another hour of being tossed about like a helpless ragdoll, they stopped. The carriage shifted as the driver disembarked.
It was time…her abductor—most likely Abercorn or his servant—would remove her now. The time had come to figure out her course for escape. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she attempted to listen for approaching footsteps.
Edith pushed back toward the large split in the wood but could not see much beyond what the pool of light from the lamp showed her. A flat grassy area with a sliver of a modest house almost out of view.
Now that the horses’ hooves and carriage wheels had gone quiet, another sound could be heard.
She breathed in deeply, confirming that what she heard was correct—sure enough, the salt in the air was heavy with the breeze coming off the ocean. What she heard were waves slamming against a cliff.
She stilled for a moment when another thought struck her.
Abercorn had pushed Tilda down a flight of stairs with several witnesses within earshot and eyesight. There was nothing stopping him from pushing Edith off a cliff with no one the wiser. The duke was older than her father. Could she fight back and escape? Where would she go? From what she’d seen as they traveled after she woke, they hadn’t passed any villages or journeyed through any towns. She may need to walk for hours before finding help, and there was always the chance Abercorn or his driver would locate her.
The carriage door opened, and the springs on the conveyance barely squeaked when someone alighted.
Suddenly, frigid air reached every inch of her skin as the lid of the boot was lifted.
A masked face came into view as Edith tried to look past the man to identify where they’d taken her, beyond it being a coastal area.
“Sit up, m’lady,” an unfamiliar, gravelly voice commanded. “I be help’n ye out, but if’n ye try ta run or harm me, I’ll havta club ye again.” His eyes narrowed beneath his black mask. “Ye hear, or do I be need’n ta keep a close watch on ye?”
“I—I—I—“ Edith worked to string together a coherent response. She did not want to be hit again, and she most certainly didn’t want the man setting a hand on her. “I will not be any trouble…if only you will tell me why I’m here.”
The man slipped a hand under her elbow and assisted her to the ground.
Edith stilled her body’s natural response to pull away as revulsion overtook her.
In the several minutes it took to accomplish this feat with her hands bound, Edith noticed that a quaint cottage stood about a hundred feet from the carriage, yet she could not assess the house in detail because her eyes were drawn behind the building.
A sheer cliff dropped off another three hundred feet behind the cottage, the sea pounding relentlessly against the rocks as the waves splashed over and onto the area surrounding the house.
Her muscles tensed, and a scream ripped from her throat. Her captor snarled, cutting off her yell as she gasped for breath.
“Scream again, and I be forced ta cut yer tongue from yer mouth.” The man pulled the hood back over her head with a sharp tug, throwing her into complete darkness once more. But unlike before, Edith knew what surrounded her and where her fate lie—at the rocky, sea-soaked bottom of a cliff.
Would her death be slower than Tilda’s? Edith prayed the hand above took mercy on her and made her demise a swift one.
“Go on.” The man grasped her elbow and steered her toward…she was uncertain, but she prayed it was the cottage and not the cliff.
She hadn’t been given time to properly process her final moments: what she needed to think over, whom she would miss most, and who would worry about her. None of it truly mattered anyhow. She’d be gone—with little trace. She only prayed her friends, and her family, would not waste time searching for her because she would never be found at the bottom of a cliff. She’d be washed away within minutes.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of never seeing her parents again, leaving Luci and Ophelia wondering what had happened to her, and Triston…oh, blast it all, but she’d been affected by their kiss.
Her face moistened with shed tears. For once she was thankful for the hood that blocked her face from view as it soaked up the sign of her weakness.
Had this been Tilda’s final thought? Had she worried that her loved ones’ lives would be ruled by her death?
Edith walked as slowly as the man allowed, not ready to know her fate, and needing more time. She’d only, just that evening, had her first, proper kiss. It had been everything she’d imagined, though not with the type of man she’d always dreamed of.
Lord Torrington, Triston—she allowed herself a moment to repeat his name in her mind. He was arrogant and demanding with a likeness far more alluring than any poet could capture with words. He was Adonis to her, a creature famed to exist, but one which no man had bared witness to except in the pages of books. His chiseled jawline and broad shoulders fell within the dictates of myth, while his extreme height, thick legs, and solid frame were more suited to a warlord of centuries past. His touch had been gentle despite his size. His words soothing despite his deep tone.
Her foot caught on something, and she almost tumbled to the ground, but the man held her arm tightly and yanked her back before she fell completely.
“Wait here an’ don’t ye move.” Two knocks sounded, and Edith heard the door open. “Come on.”
She was pulled into the room and pushed down onto a chair. It was far better than the boot; however, the room had a deep chill and musty odor, as if the hearth hadn’t seen a fire in many years, and the floors hadn’t been cleared of dirt and dust in far longer. The floorboards creaked as the man stood in front of her and untied her w
rists. Instantly, Edith flexed and twisted her cramped hands, attempting to banish the numbness that had set in at some point in their journey.
Her freedom was short-lived, however, when he stepped behind her and snapped her arms behind the chair, tying them together there. The motion sent a jolt of pain from her bruised shoulder to her heart, increasing the throbbing to the point where colors once more danced before her closed eyelids.
Yet, relief flooded her. She’d been taken inside the cottage—a reprieve from death, at least for a short while.
“May I have something to drink?” Maybe if she kept the man talking, he would share something that would help her escape. Or, possibly, she could convince him to untie her and allow her to go free.
“M’lady.” The man groaned as he walked across the room. “She be secured, an’ won’t be cause’n any trouble for ye. If ye be certain ye don’t be need’n a fire, I will take me leave now.”
Edith’s head whipped from side to side, attempting to see through the hood over her head, but nothing was clear. She hadn’t realized someone else was in the room. Edith hadn’t detected any other movement or breathing; however, after the door had shut, she sat very still and listened more intently. The rustle of brocade, the tapping of a slipper on a wooden floor, and the smell of berries assaulted her.
Someone was in the room with her.
And it was a woman—not Abercorn, as Edith had anticipated.
There was no woman who had cause to harm Edith. An unexpected release of tension caused her to sag in the chair. This was a mistake, all of it a misunderstanding.
It was then Edith realized she’d planned to demand answers from the man before he did away with her. She needs must know, even if she were unable to pass on the information to Luci and Ophelia, if the duke was responsible for Tilda’s fall.
Edith held her tongue, determined not to be the first to break the silence. She could think of no logical reason for someone to bash her over the head and steal her away from London.
“What is your purpose with Abercorn?” The woman’s deep, sultry voice was calm, as if she were asking if Edith wanted cream in her afternoon tea or if she favored sheep’s wool or fox hair lining her coats. “How about Triston, Lord Torrington? Why does he keep sniffing about your skirts?”
Her relief was short-lived as a fresh wave of confusion and unease set her on edge. The rope keeping her hands bound cut into her skin when her body tensed.
Edith wracked her memories for a woman who had connection to both Abercorn and Triston, but the only two were Lady Prudence and Lady Chastity, and they were not the sort for mischief. Heavens, the pair rarely left the potted palms bordering ballrooms and shrank from view at other societal gatherings. They were most certainly not ones for kidnapping.
“What, do you not speak?” the woman purred.
A chair creaked, and Edith suspected her captor was coming toward her.
She pulled at her bound arms once more, but her bonds were tight to the point of sending excruciating pain up her arms whenever she moved. Her mind bounced between thoughts of being outnumbered by the servant and this woman—or if a better chance at survival hinged on her remaining silent or giving the woman what she wanted so desperately she’d kidnap a woman for it. Certainly, Edith could find out what the woman wanted and give it to her. A simple, rational conversation would bring this all to an end and have her back in London before too much damage had been done.
“Do not think to escape, Lady Edith.” The woman’s calm, cultured tone turned to a hiss. “I have no reservations about harming you.”
“What do you want?” Edith’s voice was muffled by the hood, but the woman’s cold laugh said she’d detected Edith’s renewed terror. “Lord Abercorn was married to my friend, and Lord Torrington and I are merely acquaintances.”
“Abercorn is not wed to your friend now,” she stated, her footsteps growing close—slow and deliberate. “But, still, you were meddling about his property a fortnight ago.”
Edith wanted to demand how the woman knew any of this.
“And I saw you keeping watch over both Abercorn and Triston at the Gunther’s ball.” Her captor’s footsteps halted, and Edith felt the woman’s breath upon her cheek.
She wanted to deny her interest in Triston at the Gunther’s ball. It was Abercorn—and Triston’s sisters’ safety—she’d been concerned with. While she’d been keeping a close eye on Abercorn, this woman had been watching her, along with Luci and Ophelia. Were they safe? Had they been taken, as well?
“And then you followed Triston from Hyde Park. Now, this does not appear to me to be the actions of mere acquaintances. Is my thinking faulty, Lady Edith?”
She flinched back at the woman’s seething rage.
Chapter 13
“Open the bloody door, Abercorn, you scoundrel!” Triston released another volley of fist pounds on the duke’s townhouse door, the journal still clenched tightly in his other hand. He should have heeded Edith’s warning about the man. He should have listened. He should have confronted Abercorn before now. “Open up before I tear this door from its hinges!”
“Mayhap he is not home?” Lady Ophelia whispered.
Triston turned sharply, immediately regretting his scowl when the woman flinched back as if burned.
Abercorn had to be home.
Edith had to be inside. This fiasco had to end now—this night—before anyone became the wiser about her disappearance. He pictured her the day they’d met, the sun reflecting off her golden crown as if she wore the halo of an angel—the image quickly transformed into Edith, hunch in a corner, stark terror etching her face as tears streamed down, falling one by one to the ground at her feet.
His temper flared red hot.
Triston took a step back, preparing to kick the latched door when hurried footsteps sounded from inside. The bolt was thrown, and the door pulled back a crack. No light shone from the dark foyer beyond.
The Abercorn butler’s familiar face peeked out at Triston. “Lord Torrington? My master is out and is not expected until the morrow.”
“Where is he?” Lucianna demanded from over Triston’s shoulder.
“He has been at Lord and Lady Frampton’s house party since yesterday.” The man pulled the door open farther, his alarm subsiding. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“You are certain the duke is not home?” Ophelia asked timidly.
“I am quite certain, miss.” The servant’s head bobbed with his words.
“Very well. We will not bother you further.” Triston pivoted and marched back toward his waiting carriage, the pair of ladies close behind. “Let us be off.”
He waved his arm for the women to regain their seats in the carriage.
“Where will we look next?” Ophelia stared at him, her face blank. “I cannot think of anyone who would seek to harm Edith, except Lord Abercorn…if he knew we were watching him closely.”
Something nagged at Triston. He flipped Edith’s journal open, but there were no new scribblings since he’d looked through it earlier in the evening. Turning back to the pages filled with notes on Abercorn—notes Triston hadn’t deemed important enough to read earlier—he scanned the page and Edith’s hurried words until he located the day he’d met her.
The day she’d fallen from the tree.
The day he’d gotten a rather impromptu look at her undergarments.
He thought back to that day. Edith had stated clearly she hadn’t been their snooping on him or his father, but Abercorn.
“Do you plan to sit here?” Lady Lucianna huffed, not bothering to truly look at the object he held. “We need to be searching for Edith, not sitting in your father’s drive while you…read a book.”
“It is Lady Edith’s journal,” he replied, not bothering to take his eyes off the page he scanned.
There it was. Abercorn appears to be entertaining a very naked, raven-haired woman in the top, right, east-facing window.
Triston leaned forward and stared up
at the noted window. The drapes were firmly pulled, but he assumed the room to be Lord Abercorn’s private quarters. Had this been what had startled her so greatly she’d tumbled from the tree?
He flipped to the final page about him—penned just that afternoon.
Lord Torrington is spotted with his sisters in the park, accompanied by the same dark-haired woman from Abercorn’s top window(?).
Abercorn and Esmee?
Triston’s heart plummeted to his feet. He was unaware the pair were familiar with one another, more than being passing acquaintances.
“M’lord!” Ames’s call came from the shadows of the Downshire townhouse. “M’lord. You are here. I do not know what happened. I was follow’n the miss as ye instructed—“
He pivoted toward his manservant and glared toward the shadows he waited in, his eyes narrowing to see the man. “Ames. What happened?”
“Who is he?” Lady Lucianna leaned out the open window, her eyes also focusing on Ames as he stepped out of the shadows.
“M’lord, I be try’n ta tell ye.” Ames cupped his shoulder, his other arm wrapped around his midsection. “I was follow’n the miss when she came ta ye father’s home. I thought it be strange, but then I seen ye mother—pardon—stepmother, lurk’n about the drive. Her maid load’n her travel’n coach.”
“Slow down. Breathe, my man or you are likely to expire before you can finish.”
The man took several deep breaths, eyeing Lady Lucianna, his reservations clear.
“Now speak!” she demanded.
“While I be watch’n the marchioness, the miss be watch’n ye neighbor’s home. Then someone bashed me across the back. I fell ta the ground, I did. That big rock over there”—he removed this hand from his shoulder long enough to point to the bounder placed close to Triston’s father’s townhouse—“I fell and hit that. Knocked me breath right out. When I gained me senses, m’lady, miss, and the coach be gone. Disappeared.”
Without another thought, Triston called to his driver, “Southend-by-Sea! Lady Downshire’s familial home on the cliffs. With haste!”
The Disappearance of Lady Edith (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 1) Page 10