As he inhaled and exhaled measured breaths, he heard Merriweather’s distant voice ordering men to make a litter for him. Heard his future valet offering words of encouragement as he pressed an already bloody handkerchief to Carter’s wound. “You were a God send,” Merriweather’s voice trembled with the effort to staunch the blood flow. “I would follow you to the end’s of the earth. I mean to see you well, Sir. Tell me your name.”
Carter, who had thought he would die of his wound, wanted his mother to know how he met his end. It would have killed her for him to disappear without her knowing of his being with Wellington. He caught Merriweather’s arm before saying clearly. “Lowery. Carter Lowery. My parents are the Baron and Baroness Blakehell in Derbyshire.” The effort had cost him dearly, but he added, “Promise me you will tell my mother she was in my final prayers.”
“I mean to see you well, Sir,” Merriweather had insisted.
Yet, Carter had persisted, “Promise me.”
Merriweather had met his desperate gaze. “I will stay with you to Brussels. If the worst proves true, the baroness will know of your heroism.”
And Merriweather had kept his promise, had stayed by Carter’s side, often abusing officers who did not respond quickly enough to Carter’s need for care. Kerrington later reported having arrived at the hospital to claim Carter’s wounded body to find Merriweather standing guard over him. “I had to pull several strings,” Kerrington had shared later, “to keep Merriweather from knowing a court martial for his insolence.” The man who had saved Carter’s life that chaotic day had sung Carter’s praises to Wellington himself, and Carter had been declared a hero by King George, but Carter knew it was Merriweather’s determination, which had saved his fellow soldiers, as well as Carter’s life.
Fully awake, he reluctantly rolled from the bed and stood slowly. He rotated his shoulders to release the tension. The dream clung to the back of his mind, but he made his way to the tray, which held a decanter of brandy. Pouring himself several fingers of the liquid, he tossed it back before sitting heavily in a nearby chair. Burying his head in his hands, Carter allowed the last remnants of the dream to drift away into the room’s darkness.
“At least, I no longer need fear the dream’s end,” he said aloud. With a deep sigh, he looked about the room he had occupied for the last week. Dawn’s fingers peeked through the closed drapes. “Time to start another day.”
Again, he stood: This time to open the drapes to welcome the light. He hoped to hear from Pennington soon. Carter had sent the Realm’s leader the secret message, two days prior, regarding Carter’s suspicions of Dylan Monroe. “It will be difficult to put Monroe off for much longer without raising suspicion,” he acknowledged. When Monroe returned from London, Carter meant to send his assistant to The Rising Son Inn to question Blackston and several locals. Carter did not expect to learn anything new on the smuggling ring, but the ruse would keep Monroe from under foot while the Realm discovered a means to deal best with his likely betrayal.
Turning back to the room, he poured water into a basin so he might wash away the sleep from his eyes. He would like to have Merriweather with him now: He could use the former infantryman’s good advice. “I should send to London for Merriweather to join me,” he remarked as he lathered the soap ball against a cloth. But the thought of London brought forth the memory of meeting Mrs. Warren there. He desperately missed the woman–missed the spark in her eyes and even the disapproving scowl, which often graced her lips when she spoke to him.
Carter despised being so susceptible to her. “Nothing to be done but to live with the lady’s admonishments,” he acknowledged with regret. He finished his wash and used a small towel to dry his chest and arms and legs, taking time to examine the scar; yet, the motion brought forth a final memory: It was the boy’s countenance, tears streaming down the youth’s cheek. Eyes filled with anguish and remorse: The eyes that had haunted him for more than three years. “My father?” he heard the now familiar timbre as clear as if the lad whispered in Carter’s ear.
His heart stuttered with the realization. “I did not know the officer was Colonel Rightnour,” he confessed as his hands began to shake. “Not until at the hospital when Merriweather spoke of his former commander.” Carter’s breath hitched. “The boy said, ‘My father.’” He exhaled sharply. “But Rightnour had no son, only a daughter.” He shuddered with the realization. “No wonder the lady’s eyes have haunted me from our first acquaintance.” His head and emotions awhirl, Carter dropped the towel across the back of a chair. Had Lucinda Warren recognized him as the man from the battlefield? If so, why had the woman not acknowledged their former connection? Had Mrs. Warren purposely hidden her role in her father’s demise? And what did all her secrets have to do with the recent attempts on his life? Or even those on her life?
“Your Lordship!” Arabella Lowery looked up in surprise when she observed the Earl of Charleton’s pale features. She rushed to his side. “Please, my Lord. Permit me to see you to a chair. Should I send for the apothecary? You appear quite distraught.”
He sat heavily. “You must assist me, Lady Hellsman,” he said passionately. “I cannot make my niece see reason.”
Arabella poured the earl a glass of wine. “Drink this,” she encouraged. “And then explain how I might serve you.”
The earl’s hand trembled, but he quickly composed his expression. “It is with a heavy heart I must involve you in my family’s shame, but I cannot permit my youthful foolishness to ruin Lucinda’s life.” He paused to sip from the wine. “My precious girl deserves better than she has received from me,” he said with deep remorse.
Bella suspected Lucinda’s secrets were ones not easily dispatched. She caught the earl’s large hand in her two smaller ones. “I would be Mrs. Warren’s friend.”
Charleton nodded shakily “I have observed you with Lucinda. My girl respects you and will listen to your advice. I must ask you to speak in my behalf.”
Arabella recognized the desperation in the earl’s voice, and she steeled her spine for what he meant to tell her. “It would be best, Sir, if you simply spoke your fear.”
Defeat crossed the man’s countenance, but Charleton accepted what he must do. “Last evening, after we retired, Lucinda and I explored her father’s private papers. While I searched the records of the Devon estate, Lucinda chose to read through Roderick’s military records. I will spare you all the sorted details, but Lucinda has discovered the true reason for my and Roderick’s feud. She left my quarters in quite a fever.” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “I should have insisted Lucinda remain with me, but I could not look upon her pain without doubting my strength. Again, I took the coward’s trail, but this morning, Lucinda will not accept my apology. She refuses to unlock her door–to permit me admittance. How may I explain away her fears, if Lucinda will not speak to me?”
Arabella remained uncertain as to whether she should interfere in a personal matter, but she knew she must offer her friend a shoulder upon which to cry. “You wish me to convince Mrs. Warren to accept your apology?”
The earl shook his head in denial. “I would not ask you to choose sides in the conflict, but if you could persuade Lucinda to permit me the opportunity to speak to her in private, I would be forever in your debt.”
Bella breathed more easily. She would not deny the earl his request, but neither could she, with a clear conscience, place Mrs. Warren in an uncomfortable situation. “If you are well enough for my leaving, I would seek Mrs. Warren’s approval.”
Charleton caught her hand, bringing the back of it to his lips. “You are an angel. I can never express my full gratitude.”
Bella tapped lightly on Lucinda’s chamber door. She had no idea what she would say to her friend. “Lucinda,” she said reassuringly. “It is I, Arabella. Please permit me to speak to you.” Bella pressed her ear to the door to listen for Lucinda’s approach, but she could detect no movement within. “Lucinda?” she said louder and rapped more forcibl
y. “Lucinda? Mrs. Warren? I insist you open the door at once!”
Arabella did not like the urgency she heard in her voice. Again, she listened closely, but heard no response. She caught a passing maid. “Madge, please ask Lord Hellsman to join me here and tell Mrs. Grayson to bring her keys. Mrs. Warren may be ill.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The girl rushed off to do Bella’s biding.
“Mrs. Warren?” Bella jiggled the door’s handle. “Lucinda!” she called as her fists tapped out a heavy tattoo against the wood paneling.
Law finally appeared beside her. “What is amiss, Bella?” He caught her up in a loose embrace.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mrs. Warren and the earl…” she wailed. “Something terrible happened between them. The earl believes Mrs. Warren is distraught, and he asked me to speak in his behalf.” She looked frantically to the still closed door. “I have pleaded for admittance, but Lucinda does not respond. Oh, Law!” she gasped. “I hear no one moving about within. Could Mrs. Warren have done something foolish?”
Her husband’s countenance darkened. “I will not have you upset. I will handle whatever crisis has arisen. I insist you to go below,” he said gently.
“I cannot,” she pleaded. “Please do not ask it of me.”
Law cupped her cheek with his large palm. “Bella…” he whispered. “You must consider the child. I know you mean well, but whatever has occurred here… I must argue that you not risk your health in your rush to serve your new friend.”
Reluctantly, Bella nodded her agreement. In the few short months of their acquaintance, Lawrence Lowery had brought her such great happiness. “May I wait in the hall?”
He smiled that special smile, the one he only used when he looked upon her. “You know I can deny you nothing.”
Mrs. Grayson interrupted their tender moment, and reality jarred Bella to her senses. “You sent for me, Lady Hellsman?” As if she had run up the narrow servant stairs, the woman clutched her side.
Her husband set Bella from him. “Please open Mrs. Warren’s door,” Law demanded. “The lady does not respond.”
“Yes, Sir.” The housekeeper removed a ribboned ring attached about her waist. Upon it were several dozen keys to the various locked pantries and doors for which the lady held responsibility. She searched the ring for the correct key, finally settling on a well-worn one. “Do you wish me to enter first, Sir?” Bella thought it amusing Lawrence had not considered the fact Mrs. Warren could be unclothed.
Bella knew the second her husband came to the same conclusion. “If you would, Mrs. Grayson.” He stepped between Bella and the unopened door to block Bella’s view, and despite it being unnecessary, she appreciated his overprotective nature.
Although she could see nothing but her husband’s broad shoulders, Bella could hear the door open, could hear the housekeeper’s tentative steps, and then the confused silence. Law gently shoved her further from the opening. “Promise me, Bella, you will not move until I know it is safe for you to enter Mrs. Warren’s quarters.”
Yet, before Bella could utter her promise, Mrs. Grayson announced, “Mrs. Warren is not within, Lord Hellsman.”
Bella darted around Law’s stance to come to a stumbling halt. What Mrs. Grayson said was true: The room was deadly quiet in its emptiness. “Where could Lucinda have gone?” she asked in disbelief.
Law presented a reproving glare, but he spoke the obvious. “The balcony door is open.”
Bella flinched. “You think Mrs. Warren…?”
Her husband pointed a finger of obedience at Bella, very much as he often did with his hounds, and she would have laughed at his attempt at mastery if the situation were no so dire. “I will look, and you will wait here,” he said slowly and distinctly.
“You have my word, Lawrence,” Bella said placatingly. “But be quick about it.” She shooed him toward the open door.
With anticipation, Bella watched Law bend over the balustrade to examine the ground below. Her husband stretched lower, reaching for something apparently from sight, and Bella knew images of her friend’s broken body. When Lawrence turned around, he held up a thick ball of bleached material.
“Our Mrs. Warren has used the bedding to make a rope,” he proclaimed as he stepped into the room. Bella’s vivid imagination brought forward an image of a hangman’s noose. “The lady has used the baroness’s favorite linens to design an escape.”
Bella shook her head in denial. “Escape from what? If Mrs. Warren wished to leave, she is of age. Even Lord Charleton could not prevent her withdrawal. None of this makes sense.
Law handed the rags to Mrs. Grayson. “Where is the earl?”
Bella explained, “Lord Charleton awaits below. He asked I convince Mrs. Warren to permit him an explanation. They have experienced some sort of rout.”
Law caught Bella’s arm. “You and I will speak to His Lordship. Mrs. Grayson, I want you to first examine this chamber and to report anything unusual you discover. Afterwards, I want a thorough search of the manor and the immediate grounds. I will send Griffin to assist you, and please keep this in secret.”
“Of course, Lord Hellsman.”
With that, he escorted Bella from the room. Upon the stairs, he brought her to a halt. “Whatever is amiss, you must permit the earl to see to his niece’s safety,” he insisted.
Bella said defiantly, “Carter would expect us to serve the lady.”
Her husband scowled, “My one and only concern remains your health. I will do all possible to assist Charleton, but I will not permit you to place yourself in the way of danger.”
Bella did not agree, but she permitted her husband his masculinity. They found Lord Charleton pacing the open area between the chairs and the window seat. He turned in anticipation, but his countenance fell when his niece did not appear. “Lucinda remains angry with me,” he said dejectedly. “I prayed for her forgiveness.”
Law seated Bella before responding, “Mrs. Warren’s room was empty; it appears she has climbed down a makeshift rope, although why your niece would go to such lengths makes little sense.”
The earl swayed in place. “What of the boy?” he asked in concern. “Lucinda would not leave Simon behind. She has claimed no affection for the child, but my niece would never abandon the boy. It is not in her providence to deny her responsibilities.”
Bella nodded her agreement. “I shall visit the nursery, but surely if Simon were not above stairs, the maid in charge of the boy would inform us.”
Law suggested, “Do not permit Simon to know of Mrs. Warren’s absence. While you are above, see if Mrs. Grayson has learned anything of import.”
The rough jostling shook her awake, but Lucinda still possessed no idea of her whereabouts. She attempted to move–to stretch her legs and arms–but the closed quarters in which she found herself would not permit her any freedom of movement. Another jolt sent her stomach rolling, and Lucinda pressed her mouth against her shoulder to stay the bile rising to her throat.
She attempted to make sense of where she was and how she had come to be in the enclosure. Concentrating on the last evening’s events, her crazy world came crashing in. The earl had disclosed the truth behind her birth, and Lucinda had felt the betrayal foisted upon her by her mother, the colonel, and the earl. She had blindly made her way to her chambers, but much of what occurred after she entered the room eluded her.
A noise had alerted her she was not alone, and Lucinda had turned to sound an alarm, but an arm had caught her about the neck, while a large, meaty hand had covered her mouth. With the assumption her assailant meant to kill her, she had fought her attacker. Had she not received a note announcing her the target of a madman’s plan? Yet, despite her best efforts, she was no match for the man who easily outmaneuvered her. He tightened his grip about her neck, and although she had clawed at the exposed skin of his arm, her strength quickly faded. Lucinda’s ability to breathe had reached the point of terror when she collapsed against the man who would declare today her last on
this earth.
Even now, the skin upon her neck burned from the intensity of her struggle. She wondered if anyone at Blake’s Run was aware of her absence. Was anyone searching for her? The earl? Lady Hellsman? Sir Carter? Would any of them give a care if she disappeared from their lives? Lucinda held no doubt of her own insignificance, but the illusive dream of normalcy had seemed so real she had begun to believe Captain Warren had erred in his estimation of her. She had lived the past decade as the backdrop for the games her husband had executed. All about her, those who claimed to cherish her had robbed her of a purpose. She had drifted through life, accepting what came as being her only option.
The space in which she rested suddenly stopped its rocking motion. When a slit of light invaded the space, Lucinda shielded her eyes by turning her head to the left. “Awake are we?” an unfamiliar voice boomed into the tight space. Alert to what would follow, Lucinda kept her face hidden and waited to meet the stranger’s next assault. “Remain quiet,” he hissed. “We will be on our way again soon.”
Lucinda searched for a memory that might match the man’s identity, but nothing about his speech or voice held familiarity. Stretching her eyes wider, willing them to look upon her abductor’s countenance framed by the light, she asked, “Do I know you?”
The man leaned closer. She was in some sort of locked box, and her assailant had used a latch, which permitted a hinged opening. “No, Mrs. Warren; you know me not. Yet, I know of you. I knew your late husband, and I know your lover.”
“I have no lover,” she protested. However, her captor dismissed her objections by slamming the latch closed. Within seconds, Lucinda felt the box shift, as if she was in a hack, and the rocking motion resumed. “What lover?” she screamed, but no response was forthcoming. So her husband’s ghost had followed her to Derbyshire. A quavering ache filled Lucinda’s chest. The thought of how alone she was tore at her heart; as usual, she would be expected to face her perils without the assistance of others.
Realm 06 - A Touch of Love Page 25