Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals)

by Janice Preston

  He waited until their food had been served in the parlour of the Bell before broaching the subject that was on his mind. Ever since they entered the inn, and he had seen Thea properly, by the light of the lamps, he had been plagued with the mystery of where he had seen her before, dressed as a lad.

  ‘You were sitting in the corner, nursing a tankard of ale, and you did not join in the conversation once. When I got up to leave, you had already gone.’

  ‘That should prove I can pass unnoticed.’

  Thea, sitting across the table from Vernon, kept her attention on her plate of stew. She had been subdued—withdrawn, even—ever since they had come downstairs: speaking only when spoken to directly, reluctant to hold a decent conversation. And he thought he knew why.

  He shifted in his seat as his body reacted to the memory of that haircut. He’d had no choice but to trim her hair after she had left it such a raggedy mass, but he had not anticipated the...intimacy...of doing so: the soft, heavy curls between his fingers, her tightly closed eyes and her full lips—so near, so tempting, so inviting—the sound of her breathing, loud in the hush of the bedchamber...

  He’d wager Thea had been as affected by the unexpected sensuality of that haircut as he had been. But now...this silence...it was hard to stand. It gave him too much time to think.

  He could always tease her again, provoke her until her eyes flashed with fury and her temper flared. But teasing, too, felt perilous... He could not rid his mind of the knowledge that, under that male costume, was a flesh-and-blood woman and teasing between a man and a woman could so easily turn into something...more.

  He would keep this businesslike. ‘Do you not wish to decide our plans for tomorrow? To discuss how we might trace Daniel?’

  Her head jerked up, her eyes huge.

  ‘Of course I wish to discuss him.’

  The pain in that husky voice of hers did strange things to him. It was not pity, although he did feel sympathy for her, but, strangely, following his earlier thoughts, it did not provoke the urge to tease but the opposite. It brought forth the desire to comfort and to protect—a feeling he had only thus far in his life felt in relation to the members of his own family. Why did he feel such responsibility for her? It had been her decision to come along, after he had particularly told her to wait at home for news. It was her decision to dress—quite outrageously—in a youth’s clothing and to chop her hair off in that barbarous way. She was, as she had pointed out, an adult capable of making her own decisions.

  Was it merely the fact she was a female? He huffed a silent laugh, imagining her fury if he was unwise enough to voice that particular thought aloud.

  ‘We should speak to the innkeeper about Daniel and ask whether he can recall him visiting this inn,’ Thea went on.

  ‘I have already spoken to him,’ Vernon said. ‘Whilst you were washing.’

  He’d had to get out of his room, after she had blithely informed him she would change into clean clothing for the meal. His imagination had run riot—he could not help but wonder what she had done with her breasts. There was no sign of them, but he distinctly recalled them from earlier that day, in that sunset dress of hers. She must have strapped them down and he had begun to wonder if that hurt, and then he had fantasised about soothing the pain and plumping them up again...and he’d had to remove himself from her vicinity before his rakish tendencies overcame his good sense and he attempted to turn fantasy into reality.

  Good God...she’s not even my type, yet I was fantasising about her like a sex-starved lad.

  ‘I gave my shirt to Mrs Topping to try to remove the bloodstain and to mend the rip,’ he said, ‘and I spoke to Topping then.’

  She waved a dismissive hand at his explanation. ‘What did Topping have to say?’

  ‘Nothing. He cannot remember a man of Daniel’s description; he did not know his name and he has never heard of Henry Mannington or of Willingdale.’

  ‘Hmph. Well, at least you obtained the information more speedily this time than you did in the Nag’s Head,’ she said.

  Cheeky little...

  Vernon resisted the impulse to reach across the table and cuff Thea’s ear. This masquerade was doing strange things to his head. One minute, he found it impossible not to think of the female body hidden beneath those clothes and the next he had almost treated her exactly as he might treat the impertinence of any young lad. He quaffed a quantity of ale, giving his temper time to subside.

  ‘I am not certain what you expected this afternoon,’ he said, capturing her gaze as he leaned across the table towards her, ‘but—’

  ‘I do not understand why you could not simply ask the questions and leave. You did so at the other inns you stopped at. You did not remain at any of those above ten minutes. We could be at that hotel in Birmingham by now if you had not been so...so...intent upon playing a part at the Nag’s Head. This is not a play, my lord. It is real life. There could be a life at stake...’ Her voice choked and she cleared her throat.

  Vernon sat back, frowning. ‘If you will allow me to explain.’

  She shot him a smile of apology. ‘Now I have angered you. I apologise. I did not mean to sound ungrateful.’

  ‘I am not angry. I see why you reached such a conclusion, but I did not act in the way I did for my own amusement, but in order that I might learn the truth and not be fobbed off with shrugged shoulders and denials.

  ‘Those men in the Nag’s Head are not stupid. They knew I was an outsider, so it was of no use me pretending otherwise. I acted the part of a gentleman down on his luck...my atrocious gambling habit, don’t you know.’ He grinned at her and was rewarded by a faint smile in return. ‘Such a man will always find a welcome in such public houses, but it takes time to build a rapport and it is necessary to earn a man’s trust before asking questions. Had I gone in and immediately bombarded them with questions, they would have feigned ignorance even if Daniel was in the next room. Do not forget, those men know your brother. They would see it as protecting him. Taking time as I did may have been frustrating for you, but at least I left the place with some information.

  ‘I did not need to behave with the same circumspection at the other inns because, as far as I am aware, Daniel is not a regular customer there.’

  ‘But why bother to make enquiries at every single inn between Stourbridge and Birmingham? You are wasting time.’

  ‘I disagree. We may now know that R.H. means the Royal Hotel, but that does not mean the answers we seek will fall into our laps the minute we walk through the door. We still need to know what or who Willingdale is and we need to know how Henry Mannington is connected with Daniel’s disappearance. What we do know is that Daniel made this same journey twice a day for several days in succession. I take the view that, as we are passing, it is worth our while asking the pertinent questions. We do not want to be forced to retrace our steps, do we?’

  She bit into her lower lip. Vernon averted his gaze and fixed it on his plate as his pulse kicked. This escapade might prove intolerable if they did not discover the truth about Daniel quickly.

  ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I had not thought it through. I am sorry.’

  ‘There is no need to keep apologising.’ Vernon indicated her plate. She had barely touched her food. ‘Are you not going to eat?’

  She pushed the plate from her. ‘I find I have little appetite. It has been the same ever since Daniel disappeared.’

  The dining room was empty apart from the two of them, the other guests having dined earlier. He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. It felt so tiny. The bones fragile. Again, the urge to protect welled up and he closed his fingers gently around hers.

  ‘It is of no use to tell you not to worry, I know, but I promise we will find the truth. You must not starve yourself, though. Tomorrow will be a long and trying day and you cannot risk fallin
g ill. You will need energy and strength. Even if you have no appetite, try to eat something. I have never known any lad who would not clear that plateful and ask for more so, if you wish to maintain your charade, please try to eat some more.’

  Her eyes searched his. They were huge, luminous pools and he felt himself being drawn into their depths. He wrenched his gaze from hers and withdrew his hand.

  ‘We will find out what has happened to Daniel and, God willing, we will find him safe and well,’ he said, scraping back his chair. ‘In the meantime, I shall go out to the stables and check on our horses and see if the grooms can recall seeing Daniel or his horse.’ He smiled at her, adding, ‘I never met a groom yet who paid more attention to a rider than his horse.’

  He was rewarded with a fleeting smile and the sight of Thea pulling her plate back in front of her and picking up her spoon. Vernon quashed his guilt at leaving the table whilst Thea still ate. These were exceptional circumstances and, besides, if he did not soon put some distance between them, he did not think he could resist sweeping her into his arms and just holding her. Comforting her. And that he could not risk. He needed a dose of fresh air and some uncomplicated, masculine company, even if that was only the ostlers in a country inn.

  Out the back of the inn, all was quiet. Vernon opened the door to the stable to be greeted by the contented sound of horses munching hay. He breathed deep of the soothing, familiar smell of horses, leather, saddle soap and hay. A man holding aloft a lantern emerged from a door at the far end of the row of stalls.

  ‘Is aught amiss, sir?’

  ‘No. I have come to check our horses are settled, that is all.’

  They chatted easily about horses for a while, before Vernon said, ‘I believe a friend of mine has stopped here several times. He rides a light grey gelding, about sixteen hands high. Name of Bullet.’

  The groom smiled around a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

  ‘I remember him, sir. Good strong-boned piece of ’ossflesh. He’s called in here a few times—on his way to and from Birmingham.’ He leaned closer to Vernon, and lowered his voice, ‘One of the wenches here’s a bit...you know, sir, a bit generous, shall we say?’ He winked knowingly. ‘The gent took to calling in to visit with her, if you see what I mean. Janey, she’s called, if you’ve an interest in that direction yerself, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Vernon had no such interest in Janey, but he would speak to her for she might hold a vital clue. His pulse quickened. He would find her after he’d finished with the groom. ‘Can you remember the last time you saw him?’

  The groom cocked his jaw, frowning. ‘Lemme see. Last Thursday, it were. Ayuh, that was it. Thursday morning. I remembers, you see, ’cause that’s the day the carrier calls in.’

  Thursday. That was the day Daniel failed to return home.

  ‘He did not call in on his way home that evening?’

  ‘Not as I recall, sir.’

  ‘Do you know a man called Henry Mannington?’

  The groom shook his head.

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.’

  Vernon slipped the man a coin. The groom took it and tucked it away with a nod of thanks.

  ‘One last question—does the name Willingdale mean anything to you?’

  ‘No, sir. Never heard of it.’

  Vernon crossed the yard to the inn, choosing to enter through the rear door. As luck would have it, as he followed the passage that led to the dining room, Janey was approaching him from the direction of the stairs. Vernon continued towards her and halted just past the closed dining room door. He wondered if Thea was still inside.

  ‘Janey,’ he said, as the maid came closer.

  She smiled and her hips appeared to take on a life of their own, undulating in a silent come hither. She did not halt until her breasts—squeezed by her corset into bulging mounds above her neckline—were a bare inch from his chest.

  ‘Can I offer you anything, sir?’ Her tongue played with her top lip.

  ‘Information, if you please.’ He kept his tone brisk, careful to offer her no encouragement. He had no wish to wake in the night to find her willing body slipping between his sheets. ‘I understand you are...er...acquainted with a friend of mine, Daniel Markham?’

  ‘Danny?’ She pouted. ‘He promised to bring me a present, but he never came.’

  ‘When was this?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Last Thursday. He was going into Birmingham as usual, and he promised to br—’

  ‘To bring you a present. Yes, yes, so you said.’

  Vernon reached into his pocket and extracted a coin. A brief glance confirmed it was a crown—more than he intended, but the girl’s eyes lit at the sight of it so, with a mental shrug, he pressed it into her palm. If it kept her sweet enough to answer his questions, it was worth it.

  Too late, he registered the sound of the door opening behind him. As Janey ostentatiously slid the coin into the deep cleft between her breasts, Thea stalked past with a muttered ‘Good night, Uncle.’

  Vernon suppressed his sigh, knowing what she must think.

  ‘That,’ he said to Janey, more harshly than he intended to, ‘is for information only. Is that clear?’

  Her lips thinned.

  Great. Now I have two affronted females to pacify.

  He clasped Janey’s arm and steered her into the dining room.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ she said, twisting her arm free from his grip. ‘Mrs Topping will be after me and I can’t afford to lose my job.’

  ‘Then answer my questions quickly and she will never notice you are gone.’

  Damn it! Why did Thea have to come out at that precise moment? With an effort, Vernon tore his thoughts from Thea and back to solving the mystery of Daniel’s disappearance.

  ‘Did Daniel tell you why he went into Birmingham every day?’

  Janey’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you want to know? Is he in trouble?’

  Vernon held out his hand, palm up. ‘You took my money—you answer my questions. If you won’t, you can return it now.’

  A flush coloured her cheeks. ‘I only know he was searching for someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Are you him?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Are you this Henry he was so angry with?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Promise?’ Her voice trembled. ‘I don’t want nothing to do with him. Promise you’re not him?’

  ‘I promise. I am a friend of Daniel’s and of his family. I want to find him to help him. Now, think, Janey, did Daniel say why he was angry with Henry?’

  ‘It were about money, that’s all I know. He saw him at a sale and he followed him, but he lost him. He were fumin’ when he called in on his way home. Fumin’.’

  ‘You knew Daniel before that day? How long have you known him?’

  She shrugged. ‘Couple of years. He took to calling in when he went into town, maybe three or four times a year. Until that day. He went up to Birmingham every day after that, looking for this Henry, asking questions about him.’

  ‘Did he tell you what he found out?’

  ‘Some,’ she said. ‘’e found out where Henry stayed when he went to town—some hotel.’

  The Royal Hotel! I’d bet my life on it!

  ‘So he said he would go back every day until either he saw Henry again or until he found out where he lived and that when he tracked him down he was going to kill him.’

  ‘Kill him?’

  Janey nodded. ‘He shook with anger when he talked about him. Said he couldn’t talk ’bout it to no one but me. That’s why he was going to bring me a present, ’cause I’m a good listener, I am.’ She sniffed, her eyes welling with tears. ‘But he never came back. Five days it’s been.’

  Vernon patted her shoulder. ‘Thank you for your help, Janey. Off y
ou go now, or Mrs Topping will be after you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Janey reached for the door handle, then hesitated. ‘I hope you find him, sir. I hope he’s not hurt. I was angry at him, thinking he’d lied to me, but now... I just hope he’s all right.’

  ‘I hope so, too,’ Vernon said as he followed the maid from the room.

  Janey disappeared towards the rear of the inn and Vernon stood irresolute in the passageway, eyeing the staircase leading to the floor above. He felt drained. His ribs were sore and his temper felt as though it balanced on a knife’s edge.

  And up there was Thea. In the adjoining room. Smelling of roses. And...annoyed with him all over again.

  He could not face attempting to explain how what she had seen transpire between himself and Janey was entirely innocent. With a huff of impatience, he spun on his heel and headed for the taproom. It was too early for bed, anyway. He needed time to sift through all he had learned.

  And he needed a drink.

  Chapter Eight

  Vernon woke the next morning with a thundering headache.

  He’d spent a restless night and when he finally slept it was to dream fitfully of men lurking in the shadows who, as they emerged into the light, metamorphosed into women, who rubbed around him as he stood frozen to the spot, only for their fingers to sprout claws that raked him, time and time again. He startled awake more than once, sweating, his heart racing.

  A little quiet reflection as the dawn light fingered through a gap between the curtains did nothing to ease his troubled mind for, even if what had awoken him was only a dream, the underlying worry that plagued him was very real: he was responsible for Dorothea Markham and for her safety. And he had no way of knowing what dangers might lurk ahead of them.

  He finally awoke with the conviction that, somehow, he must persuade Thea to return to her parents and to leave him to search on alone for her brother. She would not be easily persuaded. Never had he come across a more stubborn female. Even the women in his family—always ready to challenge a man’s authority—were not as tricky to handle. Further consideration, however, set him wondering if that was because they were primarily Leo’s responsibility, as head of the family. Vernon had always—their whole lives—been second in command. It was the lot of younger brothers.