‘Cheer up, Dotty,’ he said.
If anything was calculated to pull her free from the doldrums, it was him calling her Dotty. She barely glanced up, her eyes dull as she pulled her cap from her head and swiped her forearm across her glistening brow, in a gesture worthy of any young lad. Her cropped copper curls glinted momentarily in the bright sunshine before she replaced her cap, transforming her once again into Theo. Vernon had thought it would become progressively easier to think of her as the youth she portrayed, but it became harder by the day.
‘What reason is there for cheerfulness? This is a foolish quest,’ Thea muttered, completely ignoring his use of the nickname she detested.
Where was the fire in her eyes? The passion in her heart? This forlorn Thea was so very different to the woman he had come to know and to admire, with her drive and her verve and her ability to find fun in the everyday.
‘Nobody remembered Daniel,’ she said. ‘And here...’ she gestured to the town at their backs ‘...would anyone notice a stranger? It is so busy, how could anyone remember one man passing through, out of so many?’ Then she straightened in her saddle. ‘I am sorry. I do not mean to be such a misery. I convinced myself that someone would remember Daniel on the road between Birmingham and Worcester, that is all.’ She met Vernon’s gaze and he could see her fear. ‘We cannot know if he ever arrived here—he might have ridden no more than a mile out of Birmingham before...before...’ Her voice choked and she turned her head aside.
Vernon cursed himself for not realising how her worst fears must be haunting her. He might be committed to this quest, but he had not the same emotional stake in the outcome. He studied the land on the far side of the bridge.
‘I have decided. We shall stay on this side of the bridge after all...who knows how far we would have to go before finding decent accommodation on the road out of town. You, my dear nephew, need some rest. You look exhausted.’
And his heart ached to see her instinctive female response to such a comment as she straightened her back, pinched at her cheeks and tidied her few stray strands of hair under her cap.
‘I am fine.’ She sounded more like the determined Thea he was used to, but he knew she was putting on a brave front for him. ‘Once we’ve had something to eat and drink, we must begin our enquiries. Even if we find no trace of Daniel, surely someone will have knowledge of Mannington and he might hold the key to the mystery.’
She reined Star around and headed back into the town. ‘Come along,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘There is no time to waste.’
Vernon followed, partly relieved to see her regain her former resolve but also worried at how adept she was at concealing her inner pain. He vowed to try again to persuade her to return home and leave him to continue the search alone.
Back outside the Crown, Vernon studied the façade. ‘Let us go inside and see what the accommodation is like before we commit to staying. We can have a drink and something to eat, and see if it is suitable. At least we shall be rested.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later they were seated in their favoured position in the taproom, at a table in the corner, with Vernon facing out into the room and Thea with her back to it. There were only three other occupants: a man sitting alone, reading a newspaper and two men, their heads together over a table, deep in conversation. A glance reassured Vernon that all three were strangers and he felt he could relax. For now.
Platters of rolls and butter, cheese and cold roast beef, with a dish of pickles and two tankards of ale had been delivered to the table. Thea reached for her tankard and sipped cautiously. She still had not acquired a taste for it. If it was in his power, Vernon would buy her fine wine or champagne, but such a choice would excite too much interest in the youth Theo. The image of Thea, arrayed in a fine gown and jewels and sipping champagne, arose in his increasingly active imagination—an imagination he was helpless to quash, and an imagination that supplied ever more disturbing images of Thea, picturing her as part of his world—in his world and in his life.
Impossible images.
He raised his own tankard and drank long and deep. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been a man to indulge in obsessive fantasies, particularly of women.
You’ve never had to fantasise, that is why, a small voice whispered. Women have always fallen at your feet. You’re only interested in Thea because she is impervious to your charm.
She is different. She is my friend. She feels a part of me. She is fun, good company and courageous. And sexy, beautiful and desirable.
And what you are starting to think...to hope for...is impossible. She has no interest in you as a man. She treats you as an older brother. Have you no pride? Will you prostrate yourself at her feet?
Vernon bit viciously into his bread roll and chewed, ignoring that infuriating inner voice. It was time for action, not for this idle conjecture. He was thinking like a lovesick youth, not a man of the world in his mid-thirties. He slammed the lid on his daydreams and vowed to focus his full attention on tracing Daniel and on finding out how Henry was involved. And the first step...
‘I have been thinking,’ he said.
Thea looked up, her brows arched.
‘I think it is time you went home and left the rest of this to me.’
‘No!’
Heads turned at Thea’s loud exclamation and she shot Vernon a look of apology, then leaned across the table.
‘I am sorry.’ Her husky voice sparked such shivers of desire across his skin he was forced to clench his jaw to hide his reaction. ‘I didn’t mean to shout, but you cannot send me away. We are partners. We are in this together. You cannot expect me to go home when we are finally close to the truth.’
‘It could be dangerous. I am a fool. I should never have brought you this far.’
‘Dangerous? How so? You told me your Cousin Henry is a gentle soul.’
‘He is. Was. It is many years since we have met. He went to live in Italy to feed his passion for the art and architecture, and he also longed to visit Greece and Egypt to view their antiquities. I cannot reconcile the Henry I knew with the man who made your brother so angry he shook with fury, as Janey told us. I have accepted I know nothing about this man and he could very well pose a danger. I should have sent you home on that very first day.’
‘And if I point out it is not your place to dictate my movements? Vernon...’ his name on her lips sent longing cascading through him ‘...look...you know I am sensible. If I promise to remain in the background, please allow me to stay.’
Vernon smiled at her and shook his head. ‘You are inconsistent, my dear Dotty. You have just informed me I cannot dictate your movements and now you beg me to allow you to stay.’
Her lips firmed. ‘I am not inconsistent. You can send me away, but I will not go. I am asking you to allow me to stay with you.’ Her words ignited a fire in his belly. If only they were spoken in different circumstances. ‘Otherwise...’ she drew back, squaring her shoulders ‘...I shall simply stay at another establishment and conduct my own enquiries.’
She had taken the decision from him and he was, secretly, glad. He wanted her to stay, no matter how unwise.
‘You leave me little choice,’ he grumbled, determined not to reveal his relief. ‘But, you must remain in the background. That idea you came up with, in Birmingham, about being my by-blow...we will keep that in mind. It will provide a good excuse for you not to accompany me when we find my cousin...it would be entirely reasonable for me to keep you away from any member of my family.’
Thea gave him a saucy smile. ‘I am glad that is all settled. Might I suggest you go and reserve rooms for us?’
‘Your wish is my command.’
Thea had finished eating and had pushed her plate aside when Vernon returned, but he resumed his seat and began to eat once more. All this fresh air and exe
rcise was giving him an appetite.
‘I have paid for two rooms,’ he said. ‘For three nights to start with.’
‘I shall repay you, as soon as we go home.’
Again, the words she chose...‘as soon as we go home’...sparked a need and a longing in Vernon that he did not care to examine too closely.
‘There is no need to repay a single penny. I am happy to fund this little adventure of ours. I was going to say I have enjoyed it...but that is not entirely true, given the nature of our quest and the fact we have yet to find Daniel.’
Vernon resumed eating. The two customers who had been in such deep conversation now stood up and walked towards the door, passing close behind Thea, who was absently crumbling a roll between her fingers. Vernon watched them idly. The first man, finely dressed, fair-haired and sharp-featured, appeared to be of a similar age to Vernon. The second man was older and heavy-set, with a ruddy face and bulging waistcoat. They paused at the door and he clapped the younger man on the shoulder.
‘Now, Mannington...’ Vernon’s heart jolted in his chest as his eyes fixed on the fair-haired man. Mannington! The older man—an American, by his accent—continued to speak. ‘Don’t be a stranger. As soon as you get back, send me word and come dine with us—I know my Cordelia will be pleased to see you again. And we will hope you are not delayed like last time.’
Vernon looked more closely. This could not, surely, be Cousin Henry? Despite the man before him being similar in height, build and colouring, he could see no resemblance in his features and Henry had never been quite as fair...this man’s hair was near white in colour.
‘I should not be gone more than a couple of days,’ Mannington said. No, definitely not Henry. Wrong voice altogether. ‘And I shall be delighted to further my acquaintance with your charming daughter.’
Vernon glanced at Thea to see if she had caught Mannington’s name and his heart jerked again, this time in alarm. Thea had frozen. Even her lips had drained of colour and each individual freckle stood stark against the pallor of her skin. Her fingers squeezed tight around the roll, her knuckles white, and her eyes were squeezed tight shut.
Vernon stretched his leg out under the cover of the table to nudge Thea, to try to provoke a reaction. Anything to interrupt that death-like stillness.
The two men left the room, but still Thea didn’t move.
‘What is it?’ Vernon kept his voice to a whisper. He longed to reach across the table, to take her hand, to offer her his strength, his presence. But he could not. Not whilst she was dressed as a boy. ‘Thea! Talk to me. Please.’
She looked up at that. Shock and disbelief on her face. Eyes stricken. Her chest moving up and down too fast, too shallow. She licked her lips and her brows drew together in a distressed frown.
‘That man.’
Her voice shook. Her hands trembled. Vernon stretched his leg forward again and pressed it against hers, offering his physical support in the only way he could.
‘Hush. It is all right. I am here. Do you mean Mannington or the American?’
‘M-Mannington. Did he see me?’
‘No. Neither of them noticed either one of us. It is safe. You are safe. You know I will look after you. There is nothing to fear.’
‘Fear?’ Thea laughed. A harsh, low sound. ‘Am I not to fear a ghost?’
Chapter Thirteen
A ghost?
A movement outside the window caught Vernon’s eye. Mannington and the American stood on the pavement outside, still deep in conversation. Thea followed the direction of his gaze and a distressed mewl reached Vernon’s ears. She had paled even further and appeared to shrink, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed.
Vernon shoved his chair back.
‘I need to go after Mannington.’
‘No!’ Thea was on her feet, by his side, blocking his way, frantic fingers clawing his sleeve. ‘No! You cannot, not until I...you must not.’ She captured his gaze with glittering eyes. ‘Let him go. He will be back. Mannington!’ She all but spat the word. ‘It is not his name,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Oh, I cannot think...and Daniel...what did he do?’
‘Hush,’ Vernon whispered urgently as her voice rose in both volume and pitch.
He dropped his hand upon her shoulder. She was trembling violently.
‘Come on, lad,’ he said, in a loud voice for the benefit of the remaining customer who had abandoned his newspaper and was watching them with curiosity. ‘Let us go and inspect our rooms.’
I ought to be following Mannington. Finding out what the devil is going on. But I can’t leave Thea, not like this.
Thea nodded. Side by side they walked to the door and out into the lobby, from which an oak staircase rose to the first floor. Thea stumbled slightly as they crossed the lobby and Vernon slung his arm around her shoulders—to an onlooker it would be a friendly gesture but, in reality, his fingers gripped her upper arm and he remained ready to support her if she stumbled. Once they had left the bar, Thea seemed to regain some of her strength and they climbed the stairs to the first of the rooms Vernon had reserved for their use.
He realised precisely how much effort it had taken for Thea to walk from the bar and climb the staircase as soon as they entered the bedchamber. He released his hold upon her to turn and close the door and, when he turned back, she had sunk to the floor. She had not swooned, however. She sat, huddled in a heap, with her face sunk into her hands as she rocked to and fro in absolute silence.
He fell to his knees beside her and gently rubbed her back. He ducked his head to try to see her face, but it was completely covered by hands that visibly shook.
‘Thea. Please. Talk to me. You recognised Mannington?’
She nodded, her face still hidden.
‘Who is he? What has he done?’
A high-pitched whimper escaped her, quickly stifled. Vernon bit back a curse and gathered her into his arms, then regained his feet and carried her to the bed. He set her down near the head, pulling the pillows behind her to cushion her, and then he clasped her wrists and tugged her hands from her face.
She shook her head violently. ‘No! No!’
Vernon settled beside her and held her close. ‘There is nothing to fear. I am here. He cannot hurt you.’
His mind whirled with conjecture. What was that man to Thea? What had he done? A black, murderous rage swelled deep in his chest and he swore he would make the bastard suffer. Gradually her quivering stilled and her breathing steadied. She relaxed into Vernon’s embrace. He pulled back, to look into her face, putting his hand under her chin to force her to meet his gaze.
‘I am going downstairs for a few minutes—’
‘No!’ Terror lit her eyes and she grabbed frantically at his hand. ‘I beg of you. He cannot find out I am here. For Daniel’s sake! You must not!’
‘Calm yourself. I promise I shall not confront him—I am going to fetch some brandy. You have had a shock; it will help steady your nerves. I shall return before you know it and then we shall talk. No matter how difficult it is for you to confide in me, you must.’
Had the bastard attacked Thea? Possibly even raped her? That rage—hot as molten lava only moments before—had solidified into a cold hard mass that demanded revenge—a revenge that required a cool, logical approach, not the hot-headed, fists-flying solution he had initially craved.
He stroked her cheek, smoothing her curls away, relieved to see a touch of colour in her face again. ‘Do you understand?’
Her eyes searched his and his heart stuttered at the trust that shone from them. She nodded—tiny, rapid movements.
‘And you must promise me you will not leave this room until I return.’
She nodded again.
‘Let me hear you say it.’
‘I promise. And...’ She paused for so long he wonder
ed if she had forgotten what she had been going to say. ‘Thank you,’ she concluded eventually.
He smiled at her and pulled her close into a brief hug. Unable to resist, he dropped a kiss on to her curls, pausing for one second to breathe in her evocative scent before leaving to go downstairs.
Before going to the bar to request a bottle of brandy and two glasses, he stepped outside the front door, fully prepared to exchange at least a few words with the man who had evoked such an extreme reaction from Thea—not to challenge him...merely to establish a preliminary connection—but both Mannington and the American were gone.
At least we know he is here and he will be returning.
As he crossed the lobby, after ordering brandy to be sent to his room, the innkeeper, Mr Horwell—a spare, dark-haired man of indeterminate age—was descending the staircase. Vernon waited for him to reach the lobby.
‘Mr Boyton,’ Horwell said, with a nod of his head. ‘I trust your rooms are to your satisfaction?’
‘Indeed they are.’
‘You have a further requirement?’
‘I do.’ Vernon glanced around the lobby. It was quiet now, but when he had reserved their rooms it had been busy with people coming and going. He did not want to be overheard. ‘I should like a word with you, if you will? Do you have somewhere private we may talk?’
Horwell bowed. ‘But of course, sir. This way.’
He showed Vernon into a back room clearly used as an office.
‘Would you care to sit, Mr Boyton?’
Vernon thought of Thea and declined. He must get back to her as soon as possible, but he could not pass up this chance to question the innkeeper.
‘I shall not take up much of your time,’ he said. ‘I shall come straight to the point. Do you know the name Daniel Markham?’
‘No, sir, I do not.’
‘What about Charles Leyton?’
Horwell shook his head decisively. ‘No, sir.’
‘And—’ Vernon watched him closely ‘—what can you tell me about Mr Henry Mannington?’
Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals) Page 13