Cousin Louisa related the conclusions they had reached.
"Good God! That does complicate matters," the duchess said. "No way to know who she's with if all her suitors are out of Town."
"My lord," Edgemont said from the doorway, "here is news. A stableboy saw a cloaked figure stealing from the mews sometime after midnight."
Papa went with the butler to question the lad further. The women waited in worried silence. Phaedra wanted to offer her mama words of hope, but found none within herself. When Papa returned, all looked expectantly at him.
He shook his head.
Papa paced. Cousin Louisa embroidered. Mama sat with her embroidery in her lap, but instead of plying a needle, her fingers plucked nervously at the cloth. Phaedra forced herself to sit still, although she wanted to go outside and run as far and as fast as she could. The silence went on for an intolerable time. At last it was broken by loud knocking at the front door. Again they waited. Hoped.
Edgemont entered, holding a silver salver, after a few minutes. "This note just arrived, my lord. 'Tis from the Master of the Watch."
Papa unfolded it with a shaking hand. "Thank God!" he said, after a moment.
"What is it, George? What does it say?"
"It seems a young man hired a hackney to bring him here, or rather to the next street over. The hackney waited while the man disappeared for some minutes. When he returned, he was accompanied by a woman, hooded but the driver swears she was young.
"They drove around for nearly an hour, before the young man was dropped in St. James Street and the young woman was taken to Regents Park, where she waited in the coach for nearly an hour. Eventually a coach with a crest on the door met them, and the pair departed in it. That was around three this morning. The driver did not recognize the crest, but he was able to describe it well enough that the Master recognized it." He pursed his lips and frowned. "Everingham. He's not whom I'd have chosen, but at lest he's respectable."
Phaedra sat mute as the others babbled. Poor Chloe. She'll be well paid for her foolishness. Her life will be uncomfortable, to say the least, with Lady Everingham as a mother-in-law.
The Duchess called them to order after a few minutes of confusion. "Three this morning. It is three of the afternoon now. You've little chance of catching her, George. Isabella, I suggest you start planning a wedding."
Mama's expression was woebegone as she looked across the room at Phaedra. "Oh, darling, I am so sorry."
"Sorry? Why?"
"Enough, Isabella," the duchess said. "We'll come about with no great harm done, as long as the silly chit marries. I do wish you will allow me to send for Reggie Farwell, though. He may be able to assist us."
"Oh, your Grace, how could that fop be of any help?" Phaedra protested.
"I do not like it, Your Grace," Papa protested. "What is the guarantee that he will not broadcast the story at his club? I've a poor impression of that overdressed fribble and do not want my daughter's escapade to become the latest on dit of St. James Street."
"Reggie is a very resourceful young man," the Duchess told him. "He will not tattle, George, you may rest easy on that score. Fetch a footman, Phaedra," she said, moving to the small escritoire in the corner.
A footman was dispatched with Her Grace's hurriedly written note. Again the family waited, but now the Duchess directed the conversation along other paths. She related several humorous tales of minor scandals among the ton, and generally kept their minds off of their problems for as much as two or three minutes at a time.
By the time Mr. Farwell arrived, rain was falling heavily. He entered, shaking droplets from his greatcoat. As Edgemont helped him off with it, he was quickly informed of the situation.
"I am amazed that Everingham would defy his mother sufficiently to be considered a suspect," Farwell said.
"As am I," the Duchess agreed, "but the driver's description of the crest certainly points toward him."
"What about Robert Dervigne?" Cousin Louisa asked. There was a dead silence for a few seconds.
"No! By gad!" Papa exploded. "If he's harmed her..."
"She would not! Oh, George, tell me that she would not go with him!" his wife cried.
Phaedra said nothing, but she grew very pale and was forced to sink into a chair.
Mr. Farwell broke into the babble to say, "Dervigne is not the guilty party." At their disbelieving stares, he continued, "Man's a rake and a seducer of innocents, but he ain't stupid enough to get himself in a situation where he'd have to marry the girl. Which this would be. No, he's not the one--this time."
"Are you sure?"
"He was walking past White's as I emerged, just minutes ago." Again he waited until he had everyone's attention. "Unless there's a dark horse in the running, it's Everingham."
"Must we simply sit here and wait until they return? Oh, George, I cannot stand it," Mama cried.
"Neither shall you have to, my love. I will immediately drive out along the Great North Road and see what I can learn. We've still a few hours of light. Edgemont," he called in a loud voice. To the others he said, "I'll bring her home to be wed. My daughter's not going to be jumping an anvil. Not if I have a say."
"Yes, my lord," the butler said as he opened the parlor door.
"Have the horses put to at once. I depart immediately."
"Wait, my lord," Reggie said. "I have a racing curricle, and could make better time than you in your coach."
"If you do not fall asleep," Phaedra said softly.
"I shall not, Miss Phaedra, you may be assured. I never sleep while driving."
"I appreciate the offer young man, but she is my daughter. Would you take me on your curricle, then?" Papa asked.
"Of course, my lord. I will pick you up here within the half-hour." He bowed to the ladies and left them.
Lord Gifford called Edgemont back to rescind his order for the coach and went upstairs to change into buckskins for the trip. The Duchess resumed her recitation, relating some really shocking on dits. Even Mama was interested in the tales, despite her distress.
Phaedra was initially embarrassed, for some of what the duchess related was quite warm, but as the recitation continued, she found she was rather enjoying the stories. They were neither vindictive nor slanderous, and were often quite humorous. She had had no idea that so much went on behind the respectable scenes of Society.
How unfair! Everything Chloe did was mild and innocent in comparison.
When Papa re-entered, he kissed Mama gently but thoroughly. "I'm off, Isabella. Try not to worry."
Phaedra ran ahead to the front door. Outside Mr. Farwell, in sensible buckskins and a riding jacket, was holding the reins of a pair of powerful, restive blacks. Phaedra went to the side of his curricle and held up her hand. As he took it, she said, "Mr. Farwell, I must apologize for my unkind remark. I sincerely appreciate what you are doing for my family. I wish you godspeed."
He leaned over and kissed her hand, causing her to snatch it from him. "I do this for you, Phaedra, not for your family nor for your sister's reputation. See you remember that." Before she could answer, she was shouldered aside by her father, who mounted quickly.
"Spring 'em, Farwell," he said, and the curricle raced away.
Phaedra's hand burned as she returned to the parlor. As she entered, a thought struck her and she laughed, somewhat hysterically. "She could not think of Everingham kissing her, because he looks like a sheep And now she will marry him. Oh, Mama, this is too much!"
Chapter Eleven
Lord Everingham's shiny black coach was well sprung and the squabs were of blue velvet. Chloe had never ridden in a more comfortable or more elegant equipage. She was sure she would not become sick in such a luxurious vehicle. In fact, she was determined not to, for she did not wish to give Lord Everingham a disgust of her. Gentlemen had little patience with ladies who did not travel well. Pleading the ravages of a night without sleep, she begged her suitor's indulgence and curled herself into a corner of the comfortable seat.<
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She slept until the first change of horses. While waiting for a new team to be brought to them, the coachman suggested that breakfast was in order.
"I think not," Lord Everingham told him. "Ask the landlord for some bread and cheese and a jug of ale. I want us to be farther from London before we make an extended stop."
Chloe could tell the coachman was not well pleased at being deprived of a hearty breakfast. For herself, she was content to nibble at a piece of dry bread, knowing that anything more substantial would not set well in a moving coach. Her queasy stomach was better after her sleep, but she still did not feel entirely well.
The journey resumed. Soon they were dozing in opposite corners of the coach. For some reason, now that they were alone, she could find very little to say to Jeremy. He seemed similarly lacking in conversation. The long and tiring night had put dark circles under his eyes and deepened the creases beside his mouth. Oddly enough, he looked less sheeplike this morning.
Shortly after one in the afternoon, the coach drew into yet another inn yard. The coachman opened the door. "My lord, it will be a while before they can ready a fresh team for us. There will be time luncheon. Shall I ask the innkeeper to prepare a parlor for you?"
Everingham yawned. "Yes. I confess I am feeling sharp set. Miss Hazelbourne, would you care to alight?"
Chloe, feeling the need to refresh herself, agreed. She was met by the innkeeper's wife who pointed her to the ladies' necessary. When she emerged, she was directed to the private parlor taken by Lord Everingham.
He was standing at the window, a tankard in his hand. For the first time, she saw him as the man she might spend the rest of her life with. I must begin as I am to go on, she told herself, unable to admit she was not entirely certain she wanted to be Lady Everingham for the next thirty or forty years.
"Jeremy, I am so tired of traveling. How much farther must we go today?"
"As far as possible, my love. We are sure to be pursued."
"I do not think so. I left no note, so no one will know where I have gone."
"But surely someone will seek you?"
"Probably, but how will they know where to search? Can we not stay here until tomorrow? Please?" She put on her most beguiling expression. She knew that if she ate luncheon, she would become sick if forced back into a moving carriage. And she was very hungry.
"No, my precious, we must continue. I would like to be well north of Hertfordshire before we halt for the night."
"Oh, very well, but I do so hate the idea of traveling farther today."
Luncheon was brought in just then, and they applied themselves to it. Unfortunately for Chloe, the meat pie was dominated by greasy mutton. Overcome with hunger, she ate of it, even knowing it would not agree with her once she was again within the moving coach.
And so it did not, for they were scarce on the road for a quarter hour when her stomach began protesting. She relaxed into the squabs, hoping that she would be able to control her nausea. Lord Everingham, awake now, began to tell Chloe about his estate in Warwickshire. She managed to maintain her composure for nearly an hour, due mostly to the fact that the road remained relatively smooth. But inevitably the coach reached a bumpy, uneven stretch of roadway. Her rebellious stomach immediately made itself felt. She moaned.
Everingham was instantly solicitous. "Are you ill, my dear?" He attempted to put his arm about her shoulder.
"Oh, no," she protested, pulling away. "I am merely somewhat uncomfortable from the motion of the coach. I will be better soon."
He again attempted to comfort her, and this time he succeeded in encircling her shoulders. She sagged against him for a moment, then pushed away. He tried to hold her. Just then her control over her stomach broke and she disgraced herself.
"My garments! Oh, it's vile! I am covered with it!" he cried. He pounded on the roof, the smelly remnants of Chloe's lunch dripping from his clothing and onto the seat. "Smith! Smith, I say! Stop the coach!"
When Smith opened the door, Everingham jumped out. "Help me get these wet garments off, Smith. Oh, this is horrible."
Meanwhile Chloe's sickness had worn itself out and she lay moaning in the corner of the coach. She made a halfhearted attempt to clean her own soiled garments with her dainty handkerchief. Fortunately only a portion of her skirt was damp and she soon had it wiped clean, although the dampness had soaked through, all the way to her skin. She shivered as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. Always before when she had become sick from traveling, her parents or sister had held her head until she was recovered, and then had tenderly cared for her and offered abundant sympathy. Now she was left untended, and by one who had sworn his lasting devotion.
Smith climbed into the coach, holding a stained piece of sacking. He started mopping up the mess with it, completely ignoring her.
Outraged, Chloe said, "Give me that rag so I may dry my gown."
He looked at her, then down at the mess on the floor. "I be sorry, miss, but I'm to clean the coach."
She stared at him in disbelief. "But I am cold and damp."
"Soon's I get master taken care of, I'll find you something to dry yourself with," he promised, as he continued to swab. "There, that'll do it. Can't do nothin' about the smell, but his honor won't be getting his feet dirty, anyhow."
As he was climbing down, he said, "I'll bring your bandbox in a bit, miss."
Chloe sat in the corner and fumed. She no longer felt the cold, for fury was warming her from within. The longer she sat, listening to Everingham's complaints as he changed his clothing, the more angry she became. When he opened the door, she attacked. "You are no gentleman! I could have died in here and all you cared about was your clothing."
"And you are no lady!" he retorted. "No woman of quality would have so forgot herself to have done this to me."
"I could not help myself. But to offer no assistance when I was sick. Oh, Jeremy, you said you loved me," she wailed.
"My mother would have never allowed herself to become sick upon a gentleman's garments."
"Your mother is no doubt far too high in the instep to suffer from ordinary human frailties."
"At least she would have been more considerate. I have no valet to tend my soiled garments. Likely they are ruined."
"I have no maid, either, but I am not whining about the lack. You said you would care for me. What a thoughtless husband you will be."
"Now my lord, miss, let's have no more argufying," Smith told them as he handed Chloe's bandbox inside. "I've cleaned the worst, my lord. You just climb back in there and we'll see if there's not an inn nearby where you can clean up."
"I am not getting back into that noisome thing until it has been washed out," Everingham said. "I shall ride forward with you." He stalked out of Chloe's view.
Smith made to close the door again.
"Wait," she cried. "I do not wish to ride inside either. It smells so horrible, and the squabs are damp."
"I'm afeared you must, miss. There's scarce room on the seat for his lordship and me, and you couldn't hang on the footman's perch. It can't be far to the next inn; you can clean up there."
"I will not! You cannot force me to ride in this filthy, smelly coach."
The door in the roof opened and Everingham peered in. "Well, then, Chloe, you will have to walk, because it is my coach, and I will not ride inside nor on the footman's perch, and Smith must drive."
"Oh, you!" Chloe spat.
The trapdoor slammed shut. Smith quietly closed the door and left her alone.
I hate him. I hate them both, but most especially Jeremy.
Fortunately the next inn was reached in little over a quarter of an hour. It was not one of the better hostelries, but there were two bedchambers free, as well as a private parlor where they could dine. Insult was added to injury when the landlady informed Chloe that she would not be able to bathe immediately. There was only one tub available, and his lordship had commanded that it be brought to him first.
She stormed, s
he wept, she pled, but Everingham's chivalry stopped short of his relinquishing the inn's only bathtub.
She sat in her room, clad in her damp and smelly dress, for the better part of an hour before the tub was brought to her and cans of hot water were carried in. The water was dumped into the tub, a towel was tossed upon the bed. There was no maid to assist her, so she was forced to tussle with buttons and laces. Even worse, she had no soap, for she had not brought any and all the inn had to offer was harsh and scratchy.
She emerged from the bath, smelling better and feeling a little cleaner, but in no good humor. When she pulled her primrose challis morning dress from her portmanteau, she found it dreadfully wrinkled.
She put it on anyway.
Cleanly clothed at last, she attacked her hair, tangled from the night before and damp from her bath. It stubbornly refused to behave. She finally pulled it back and tied it with a ribbon at the nape of her neck. A quick glance at the cloudy mirror told her she looked less than her best. I do not care. This is no longer an exciting adventure. I hate him. I wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on earth.
With that resolve firmly in mind, she strode from the room and downstairs to the private parlor. She intended to demand that he first find her a maid, and second, return her to her family.
He was sitting at the table sipping brandy. "It is about time. I have been awaiting you this age."
When he made no motion to offer her refreshment, she planted her fists upon her hips. "I suppose I must order my own tea?"
"If you want some." He contemplated the golden liquid in his glass. "I have been thinking, Miss Hazelbourne, and have come to the conclusion that we will not suit."
"Ha! As if I would even consider you as a husband."
"I cannot understand what possessed me to yield to your importunities. I must have been drunk to consider an elopement."
"You were as eager as I. You said that you wanted to marry me and take care of me. If this is how you do so, I pity any woman foolish enough to become your wife."
"I did take care of you. I provided a handsome coach and ample funds. You cannot expect me to be a nurse or doctor as well."
A Sisterly Regard Page 14