His Convenient Marchioness

by Elizabeth Rolls

  ‘Sir?’

  He looked at Harry. ‘Yes?’

  ‘She might have gone to find Anna Maria.’

  Hunt felt his jaw drop. ‘What? Her doll? You think she’s gone—walked—to Chelsea for a doll?’

  Harry looked embarrassed. ‘I know it’s just a doll, sir. But Georgie, well, she sort of thinks she’s real. She talks to her all the time and makes up stories about her.’

  Marianne had been much the same. Hunt looked at Bentham. ‘The house has been searched?’

  ‘Top to bottom, my lord.’

  Bessie’s face worked. ‘Yes, me lord. The maids, couple of footmen, not to say Mr Bentham and Mrs Bentham. Checked everywhere they did, knowing the house better nor what I do. She’s not here.’

  ‘How long has she been missing? Do we know that?’

  Bessie looked ready to cry. ‘Mebbe two hours. I looked in on her and spoke to her right after you sent her to bed. Then I went to see Mrs Bentham about the children’s supper, but I looked in when I came back up and I thought she were there, asleep right down under the blankets, so I left her be. Not fifteen minutes it wasn’t. And I was in the nursery after that till Master Harry came home.’

  ‘She’d taken the pillows from my bed, sir,’ Harry said. ‘She’d stuffed them under her bedclothes to look like she was still there. I saw they weren’t on my bed and asked Bessie where they were.’ He added loyally, ‘It wasn’t Bessie’s fault.’

  Hunt swore mentally and forced himself to think past the rising worry. All very well to suspect the child had gone off to Chelsea. He had to be sure. ‘Harry. Run up to the nursery. Bring down something of Georgie’s. An article of clothing. Something she wears next to her skin.’ He glanced at his secretary. ‘William—’

  Barclay nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Hunt offered Fergus the glove Harry had brought down, led him out the open door and said, ‘Find!’

  The dog sniffed the glove, put his nose to the ground and snuffed around eagerly, casting back and forth. After a moment he gave a sharp bark and looked back at Hunt who held his leash.

  ‘That would seem to settle it,’ Hunt said grimly. ‘William, the—’

  ‘I ordered your curricle when I fetched Fergus, sir. Lady Huntercombe has the closed carriage. And the footmen and grooms are mostly out scouring the nearby streets, just in case.’

  Hunt managed a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Can I come, sir?’

  Hunt glanced at Harry, frowning. ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Might be a good idea, sir.’ Barclay held Hunt’s startled gaze. ‘I told them to find a warm jacket for Harry, as well as something for Georgie, blankets and so forth.’

  Hunt let out a breath. ‘At least I’ll have you under my eye.’ He clicked his fingers at the dog. ‘Fergus—go! Go find!’

  The spaniel put his nose to the ground with a bark and headed towards the back of the house.

  Hunt stopped him. ‘Wait.’ He looked back at Harry and Barclay. ‘She was bright enough not to go towards the square where she might have been seen from the windows and stopped. Harry, tell whoever brings the curricle around to meet me on Mount Street. Whoever it is will have to be prepared to run with Fergus at first.’

  * * *

  Hunt reached Mount Street ahead of the curricle and praised the excited dog. He had no doubt Fergus had the scent now, but how long he could keep it if it came on to rain was anybody’s guess. Or if too many other scents overlaid it.

  The rattle of hooves and wheels alerted him as his matched chestnuts brought the curricle around the corner at a smart trot. His coachman, Masters, had the reins, Harry beside him. Masters drew the curricle to a halt.

  ‘You’ll take their heads for a moment, my lord?’

  Hunt was already at the nearside gelding’s head. He drew Georgie’s glove from his pocket. ‘Up to a run, Masters? You’ll need to keep Fergus on the scent.’

  Masters grinned as he jumped down. ‘Oh, aye. That’s why it’s me, not one of the younger boys.’ He took the leash and glove from Hunt and set his own hand to the nearside bridle. ‘We’ll find her, sir. Never fear.’

  Hunt jumped into the curricle beside Harry. ‘Warm enough?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Has Fergus still got the...the scent?’

  ‘Judging by the way he pulled at his leash, yes.’ Hunt watched as Masters set Fergus again. The dog cast for a moment, then set off at a run, nose to the ground, along the rain-damp footpath, Masters running behind him.

  ‘Hold tight, Harry.’

  * * *

  Fergus lost the scent just past Hyde Park Corner. He cast back and forth for several minutes in the rain with Hunt while Masters held the horses, but failed to pick it up again.

  ‘What now, sir?’ Masters asked.

  Hunt looked at Harry. ‘She knows the way from here, doesn’t she?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Yes. If she got this far she’d go straight home. I mean, she’d go to Chelsea. We came this way all the time.’

  Hunt stepped into the curricle. ‘Then we go to Chelsea.’ He clicked to Fergus. ‘Up you come!’ The dog leapt in and shook himself vigorously. Hunt swore, remembered his company and said, ‘Do not say that in front of your mother!’

  Harry grinned. ‘No, sir. Jem the groom said it when one of the chestnuts stepped on him before. He said the same thing—not to say it in front of Mama. Or you.’

  Masters, jumping up behind, muttered something about Jem keeping his clumsy feet out of the way in future and his tongue in check.

  They made good time, despite the rain, but there was no sign of Georgie and every mile the fear in Hunt’s gut froze harder. Harry directed him along the route Emma had used most frequently. ‘It’s the shortest way, sir. She’d want to get there quickly.’

  Hunt reminded himself that the child had got a two-hour start. More when he added in the time to bring the curricle around. But he’d hoped to catch her up, get her home before Emma returned. And now it was pouring. He concentrated on the horses, brought them around the last corner into Symons Street and—

  ‘Bloody hell!’ breathed Masters.

  Harry let out a shocked cry and Hunt swallowed a curse.

  Emma’s house—the entire row of houses—lay in blackened ruins, a couple of chimneys still standing in the end houses.

  ‘Take their—’

  Masters was already at the horses’ heads, throwing blankets over their steaming hides.

  Hunt jumped down, realised Harry was right behind him. ‘No. Wait here.’ Surely, surely this had not just happened. But if it had, if Georgie had been here—he swallowed, sick to his stomach. The boy mustn’t see. But Harry let out a yell and sprinted past him.

  ‘Mr Adams! Mr Adams! It’s me, Harry Lacy! Have you seen Georgie?’

  * * *

  Emma’s tea sat cold and abandoned beside her at the library window overlooking the square. She couldn’t eat, had barely been able to sip her tea for the fear consuming her. If only she had taken Anna Maria inside! She could have put the doll away until tomorrow. But at least Georgie would have known the doll was safe. And now the child was lost. How long did it take to go to Chelsea and back in a curricle?

  She sat, hands gripped in her lap, flinching every time a carriage of any sort entered the darkening, rain-swept square. The last of the footmen and grooms out searching had come back half an hour since without finding Georgie. The maids had searched the house from top to bottom again. More, Emma thought, to feel that they were doing something, so that she would be comforted that something was being done, than anything else. The moment William Barclay had told her what had happened, Emma had realised that Harry was right. Georgie had gone after Anna Maria and she’d had the wretched doll safe in the carriage all the time.

  If anything had happened to Geor
gie...dark was closing in and it was still raining.

  A carriage rattled around the corner and Emma looked up, hardly daring to hope...a curricle—she half-rose, hope slicing into her. It would stop too soon...or drive past.

  It did neither. Instead it drew up in front of the house and the groom leapt down, ran to the horses’ heads. But...there were only two figures in the curricle. The smaller one jumped down and in a rush of relief she recognised Harry. Fergus followed and then she saw the small, still, blanketed form cradled in Hunt’s arms as he stepped down.

  Even as she ran into the hall the footman had the door open and Fergus rushed in to shake himself liberally.

  ‘Mama!’ Harry followed. ‘Our house burned down!’

  Emma’s throat closed and she could only stare at Hunt, terror choking her as he came into the hall.

  * * *

  Huge dark eyes in a pale, agonised face pierced him to the heart, as did the small frail weight in his arms.

  ‘She’s quite safe, Emma.’ He turned a little so she could see the sleeping face of her daughter. ‘The house burned down the night you left. She’s just worn out from the walk and getting soaked to the skin.’ He glanced at Harry. ‘Not the best way to reassure your mother, Harry.’

  ‘Oh.’ Harry blinked. ‘Sorry, Mama.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Amazing that her voice worked at all, let alone sounded calm. Everything in her trembled. ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Safe with Adams and his wife,’ Hunt said. ‘Harry, take Fergus to the kitchen, please, and rub him down by the fire. Mark?’ He turned to the footman. ‘Have hot water taken up to the nursery at once for Miss Georgie’s bath.’

  The footman bowed slightly. ‘Mr Bentham’s already arranging it, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He smiled at Emma reassuringly. ‘I’ll carry her up.’

  ‘Mama?’ The child stirred in his arms.

  ‘She’s right here, sweetheart.’ His heart shook as Emma pushed back the blanket to touch the soft little cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have gone.’

  ‘No. You shouldn’t.’ There was no anger in Emma’s voice and Hunt couldn’t fault her for that. Not now. She would have been terrified to find the child missing. Time enough to discuss discipline later.

  The small face crumpled. ‘But Anna Maria must have been there and—’

  ‘No.’ Emma’s mouth trembled. ‘She wasn’t. She was hiding in the carriage all the time. And now she’s upstairs in your bed.’

  * * *

  An hour later Emma found Hunt in the library going through a pile of cards with his secretary. She just stood, watching him for a moment. The lamp on the desk lit the austere planes of his face, the strong line of his jaw, gleamed in the silver at his temple. He had changed out of his damp clothes for evening attire: a dark coat, snowy waistcoat and satin knee breeches.

  She hesitated, wondering if she should go away. She was supposed to be a support to him and he had already spent his afternoon chasing after an errant stepdaughter. But Hunt looked up over his reading glasses and for a long moment their gazes met and held in the glow of the lamplight.

  Barclay rose and left with a bow for Emma.

  Hunt walked over to the fireplace, held a chair for her. ‘Come and sit down. Would you care for a glass of wine? Tea?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt you,’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t,’ he said. ‘Saved me would be closer to the mark.’ He grimaced. ‘Invitations. The news of our marriage is out and we’ve been invited everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Is she all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She tamped down the lingering fear that Georgie might have taken a chill. That the wetting and long, cold walk might have worsened the slight sniffle she’d had that morning. Like Peter... Emma knew to her cost how easily a slight cold combined with a wetting could lead to an inflammation of the lungs. ‘She’s tucked up in bed, sound asleep with Anna Maria.’

  She reached him, but didn’t sit down. ‘Hunt, I’m so sorry. I should have realised, not gone out. It was—’

  ‘Not your fault,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘She was extraordinarily naughty, but you were quite right to go out. Otherwise she would have known that she had forced you to back down. It was sheer bad luck that she knew a way to get out of the house without being seen.’

  ‘But if I’d taken the wretched doll up! Told her she couldn’t have it until tomorrow...’

  He was silent for a moment, then drew her into his arms. ‘Hindsight is a cruel deception, Emma. If only I had known! If I had known eleven years ago, I would not have sent my wife and children down to Cornwall a week early. If not for that we would have heard about the outbreak of smallpox in time and not gone at all. If I had known, you and I would not be standing here, would we?’

  She froze in his arms. ‘Hunt.’ She could barely get the word out.

  His arms tightened. ‘But I did not know then and nor could you have known this afternoon. Just as I didn’t think about that door. When my own children were...here, it was always bolted, top and bottom. But apparently, over the years, that has been relaxed somewhat.’

  ‘You couldn’t have—’

  ‘No. And nor could you have known.’ He tipped her face up to his and she met that steely gaze. ‘We can only make the choice that is right at the time. Look what a mess Macbeth created thinking he could control his future by committing a crime.’

  She swallowed. What choice would Hunt make now, though, if he could turn the clock back and control the past? What choices would she make? She no longer knew. Peter seemed so very far away, as if he were part of another life. This was her life now. With Hunt.

  ‘I suppose you have a Folio edition of that?’

  Some of the tension slid away as Hunt smiled. ‘Macbeth? I do. It’s at Pentreath.’

  ‘What about the house, Hunt?’ Emma could not quite believe that it was gone. They had moved there just after Peter’s death. Small and shabby though it was, it was the only home Georgie knew and even Harry had barely remembered the other house.

  Hunt frowned. ‘Yes. The house. It’s odd. The whole row burned down.’

  ‘Oh, poor Mr Adams!’ Emma felt sick. ‘Was anyone hurt? Do they know how it started?’

  Hunt hesitated. ‘No one was hurt. But, according to the neighbours, it spread from your house.’

  Emma’s stomach lurched. ‘My house? But how? Bessie and I put the kitchen fire out and the fire in the parlour. We were so careful!’

  He nodded. ‘I know. I saw you put them out. But Adams was certain. And your house—’ He swallowed. ‘Well, the houses to each side and the rest of the row were in ruins, but yours—it was razed.’

  ‘Razed? But—’ She dragged in breath. ‘There’s no point making excuses. I must have missed a coal somehow. And I didn’t even tell Adams I was leaving! He’ll be furious with me.’

  Hunt reached out and gripped her hand. ‘He was more relieved that you were alive and safe. His wife wept all over Harry and Georgie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Everyone assumed you had all been trapped and killed.’ His eyes were grim. ‘There was nothing left to show otherwise. No one realised you’d left.’

  She couldn’t speak. Could barely think. But she forced down the horror. ‘I have to compensate him. It must have been my fault somehow.’

  Hunt let out a breath. ‘I told him you’d feel that way. He doesn’t agree. He thinks some vagrant saw us all leaving and thought it would be a good time to break in. Apparently one of the neighbours saw a stranger hanging around earlier. He’d warned the fellow off several times before. And Adams said there was a stench of burning lamp oil. If that caught fire, well...’

  Emma frowned. ‘We always kept the lamp oil in the shed at the end of the garden—for just that reason. Bessie or I only ever brought enough in to fill th
e lamps. And I’m sure we locked up.’ She hesitated. ‘There was a strange man around. I used to see him when we were out. In fact...’ she swallowed ‘...I thought he might be following me.’

  Hunt’s gaze narrowed. ‘You never mentioned this.’

  ‘No.’ She’d been so reluctant to confide, to rely on anyone. ‘It seemed so unlikely. But later, after Keswick came and it was clear he knew about your visits, I thought he’d probably paid to have me watched.’

  Hunt raised his brows. ‘Perhaps, although I can’t see why he’d want to destroy your house. I’ll write to Adams mentioning that you also noticed a stranger and I do know you locked up. He’s refusing compensation, says that’s what he pays the fire insurance for, but we’ll see about that. Meanwhile, come and look at these blasted invitations that poor William has sorted into piles for us.’

  For a moment she hesitated, but then accepted she could do nothing further about the house this moment. ‘Piles? What sort of piles?’

  Hunt grimaced. ‘Must attend, should attend and snowing in Hades before we attend.’

  Emma choked back a reluctant laugh as he drew her over to the desk. ‘Are those Mr Barclay’s words?’

  Hunt chuckled. ‘No. Mine. William is much more discreet. There is a ball tomorrow night in the “absolutely should attend” pile. The Westerfolds. You know them?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’ The Duchess of Westerfold was close to her own age.

  He smiled. ‘Then I’ll look forward to dancing with you. The minuet is mine.’

  Despite her worry about the house, Emma’s heart skipped several beats and heat rose in her cheeks. The minuet? Where they would dance together the whole time, gazing into one another’s eyes? Oh, folly! She was already looking forward to it. She could write to Mr Adams tomorrow. Insist that he accept compensation...

  ‘That’s not the worst of it, though. You’d better look through these tomorrow.’ Hunt sat down and handed her a thick stack of invitations. ‘But William kept this one separate. A category all of its own.’ He held up a sheet of notepaper, his expression that of a man being loaded into a tumbril.