The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Was Lady Gordyn right? Had she committed her mistake and would now never be forgiven?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charlotte woke after a restless night with a splitting headache. But one thing was at least clear to her. Alvan had not been angry or guilty in his reaction last night. He had been hurt that she could think such a thing of him. She wished desperately that she had waited until the morning before deciding to speak to him. She had been too tired and too emotional to make sensible judgements.

  Although it was still early, considering they hadn’t gone to bed until four in the morning, she rose, washed, and dressed, anxious to kill her headache with fresh air. And if she hoped to meet Alvan on the beach again, well, she owed him an apology and was eager to make it.

  With her mind made up, the tension in her head eased during her walk. However, the blustery wind and the dark clouds made it a less pleasant walk than yesterday. She was not entirely surprised when there was no sign of Alvan. After all, they had made no assignation. She walked back along the beach, longing to hear the sound of his footsteps behind. She could almost imagine him walking beside her again, large, disturbing, and yet curiously comforting.

  She climbed the path off the beach and turned the corner back into Shore Street. A closed carriage drawn by an unmatched pair of horses had stopped opposite their front door. Lady Cecily was talking to someone inside it, while her footman—no doubt required to carry her parcels on whatever shopping expedition she was about to embark upon—waited close by. He looked bored.

  Since the carriage door was open to facilitate conversation, Charlotte assumed the passengers were acquaintances and felt no sign of alarm as she approached the front door of the house. Cecily even laughed.

  “I gave you my answer before,” she said. “And now, sir, you are in danger of boring me, which is an equally heinous crime.”

  After that, Charlotte couldn’t quite believe what she saw. A male arm snaked out of the carriage and around Cecil’s waist and hauled her inside. For an instant, Cecily’s fingers grasped desperately at the side of her carriage but she was dragged in willy-nilly with a belated cry of distress.

  “Go!” came the order from inside and with a “Yah!”, the driver whipped his horses into motion. As the man within reached out to yank the door closed, Charlotte, already bolting toward the carriage, finally had a glimpse of his face. Frank Cornell.

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered in despair.

  The footman, obviously taken by as much surprise as Charlotte, barreled past her and threw himself at the moving carriage, grasping the door handle. But the carriage only picked up speed, dragging him along the road until he fell on the cobbles and had to let go.

  Charlotte rushed up to him. “Are you hurt?” she demanded, one eye on the carriage which was bowling toward the main street.

  “No, Miss,” he replied desperately, staggering to his feet with her help.

  “Then hurry, we have to see where he goes.”

  Together, they ran up Shore Street. Lord knew what any watching neighbors might think, but since no alarm so far had been raised, she suspected no one was around to see.

  In High Street, Cornell’s carriage had been forced to slow for other vehicles and pedestrians, but it was still clear they would never catch it on foot. Desperately, Charlotte waved down a hired carriage which was heading, no doubt, for the hotel. As it reined in, she turned to the footman.

  “Go to the hotel,” she said urgently, “and tell his grace what has happened. Advise him to bring Lady Barnaby.”

  “Be careful, Miss,” the footman said grimly and ran off to do her bidding. Charlotte wrenched open the door to the hack and spoke desperately to the driver. “Do you see that carriage ahead? The driver has a red scarf around his head. Be so good as to follow it—as quickly as you can!”

  *

  By ill-luck, Alvan had arrived at Shore Street just as his sister was about to go out. “I am going to buy gewgaws and bad paintings,” she told him cheerfully when they met in the front hall. “I’m taking James with me, so send Violet in search of Charlotte. She’s probably at breakfast, for I am never up before her.”

  Alvan, discovering no one at all in the breakfast room, duly sent the maid, Violet, to see if Miss Charlotte would join him. Then he paced around the table, pausing to gaze out over the kitchen garden without really seeing it.

  He needed to see Charlotte very badly. He owed her an apology for stalking off so hastily last night. In the light of day, he recognized she had merely been seeking reassurance. After all, there had been little time for her to know him very well. But her doubt had hurt him far more than it should, and not for the first time in his life, that had caused him to behave badly, with more thought for his own pride than Charlotte’s peace.

  Hurried footsteps outside the open door made him spin around, but it was Violet who hurried in.

  “Miss Charlotte’s not in her bedchamber, sir. Brenda says she went out for a walk about half an hour ago.”

  “Then I’ll wait,” he said impatiently, lifting the lids on the breakfast dishes already set out on the sideboard. “And you’d better tell Lady Barnaby I’m here when she wakes.”

  As he piled his plate with ham and eggs, he wondered if Charlotte was walking on the beach in the hope of meeting him. She was not the sort of young lady who bore grudges, but he wanted to reassure her he was not angry, that he had no reason to be.

  He was half way through his breakfast when a commotion in the hall set his heart racing like that of a schoolboy about to behold his first love. But it was one of his aunt’s footmen who strode into the breakfast room.

  “I’ve been to the hotel looking for your grace,” he panted. “Miss Charlotte’s gone!”

  The blood drained from Alvan’s face so fast he had to grasp the edge of the table to steady himself. “Gone where?” he barked.

  “After Mr. Cornell!”

  “Cornell?” He stared at the footman. “Why the devil—” No, no he would not believe that of her. He could not. Something was very wrong here.

  The footman gathered his breath. “Mr. Cornell has abducted Lady Cecily. I couldn’t stop him, sir, I was too slow, not paying enough attention, because, God help me, I thought he were a gentleman! But Miss Charlotte saw it, too, and we ran up Shore Street after him to see which way the carriage went, and—”

  Alvan leapt to his feet, ruthlessly squashing the sick feeling rising from his stomach. “Where is Miss Charlotte now?” he demanded.

  “In a hired hack going after her ladyship and Cornell. She sent me to you, says you’re to bring Lady Barnaby with you.”

  “Bring Lady—” But of course, it made perfect sense. She was thinking ahead, averting scandal with their aunt’s presence. “Violet, are you there? Tell Lady Barnaby I need her dressed and downstairs now. You—James, is it? Send for the carriage with all speed. We have all left in a hurry because… my brother is ill.” It would do for now, despite everyone leaving at different times. He only hoped it wouldn’t hex poor Julius.

  *

  “I knew that man was trouble,” Lady Barnaby wailed as the coach thundered out of Blackhaven by the north road. “But Cecily has become so adept at avoiding the dangerous and keeping the encroaching at bay—”

  “We all underestimated him,” Alvan said grimly. “I gave him nowhere to go. I assumed he would slink off. It never entered by head he would do something so unforgivable.”

  “He won’t just have Cecily’s fortune,” Lady Barnaby said grimly. “He’ll ruin her in the eyes of Society. How would that benefit him?”

  Alvan shrugged. “I suppose he does not care if he has her money. Besides, he’s probably the kind of loose screw who’s more at home in the demimonde.”

  Lady Barnaby moaned. “Oh, my poor Cecily.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Alvan said harshly. “Not for her and not for Charlotte.”

  “Charlotte!” Lady Barnaby sank her head into her hands. “How am I ever to face Lady Over
ton after I have practically thrown her daughter to the wolves?”

  In spite of himself, Alvan’s lips twitched with grim amusement. “Don’t be silly. Of course, you haven’t. We’ll catch up with everyone before they get anywhere near Scotland. All will be well.” Please God, let all be well.

  *

  Although at first inclined to be outraged by his instructions, Charlotte’s driver, whose name was Fred, quickly entered into the spirit of the chase. Once they were clear of the town, he shouted reports down to her, such as, “Taking the road to Scotland!” and later, “He’s slowing! Think his horses are tiring faster than mine. He’ll need to change ’em soon—and so will we if we don’t catch him when he stops.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll pay!” Charlotte shouted back recklessly. She couldn’t, of course, for she only had a few coins in her purse, but the duke would cover everything in the end and be glad to if they could only save Cecily.

  “He’s turning into the posting inn!” the driver shouted down five minutes later. “He’ll be changing horses.”

  “Then so should we.”

  She thought at first that it was somewhat reckless of him to use a respectable and busy inn, but once in the yard, she understood his reasoning. It was too busy for either staff or patrons to pay much attention to one slightly shabby carriage.

  Once Fred brought his exhausted horses to a halt, Charlotte stepped down to confer with him. The ostlers were busy changing horses for a stagecoach and a gentleman’s curricle. A post chaise sped off with its outriders. When it had passed, Charlotte spied Cornell’s carriage at last. It looked as if the horses had just been changed, but though the driver in his bright red scarf still sat on his box, there was no sign of either Cornell or Cecily.

  As the ostlers ran up, she had a sudden bright idea. It was a posting inn and there was every chance Alvan kept horses here…

  Given their instructions, the chief ostler expressed the contemptuous opinion that his grace would never keep such a shabby vehicle, nor such bad cattle.

  Fred was inclined to take umbrage until Charlotte hastily intervened. “I am companion to his grace’s aunt, Lady Barnaby, who is most anxious for my presence. If you wish to explain to his grace, who will be following shortly, why I was held up, that is your right, but frankly, I do not envy you the task. I require horses now, and I would prefer them to be those his grace has instructed me to use. Refreshments, too, if you please, for myself and my driver.”

  Without waiting to see if they obeyed, she stalked off, moving around the yard toward Cornell’s carriage. There was no sign of anyone at the windows but without getting closer she could not peer right inside.

  She approached casually from the back, and walked around to the side without attracting the attention of the driver. A quick glance showed her no one within, so, with some vague thought of finding something to steal that would slow Cornell down, or even ambushing him when he returned, she grasped the handle.

  The door flew open with such force that Charlotte was sent staggering backward. And there was Cecily, lying flat on the seat with her feet tied at the ankles, dangling out of the door.

  “Dear God,” Charlotte whispered, for not only were Cecily’s hands and feet tied, but a cloth was tied over her mouth. She had clearly used all her strength to kick open the door.

  Cecily glared, wriggling and making noises deep in her throat. Charlotte threw herself on the ground at her feet, seizing the little scissors from her reticule and hastily cutting through the linen that bound her feet. Then, seizing Cecily’s arm, she drew her upright and wrenched the cloth from her mouth.

  “Charlotte, thank God,” Cecily said hoarsely.

  “Quickly,” Charlotte said urgently, throwing one arm around her and softly closing the door with a nervous glance at the oblivious driver. Then, supporting her friend, she hurried back the way she had come.

  Two fine horses, presumably the duke’s, had been harnessed to Fred’s shabby hack. Fred, about to climb back up, caught sight of the two women and his eyebrows nearly flew off his face.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Fred,” Charlotte said regally, while praying that her eyes conveyed the true message of Hurry! Drive like the wind!

  Having helped Cecily inside, Charlotte threw herself in afterward and set about freeing Cecily’s bound hands. The coach lurched into motion, weaving around the yard and turning into the gateway.

  “Dear God, what a vile man!” Charlotte exclaimed, touching the raw marks on Cecily’s wrists. “How badly has he hurt you?”

  “Oh, barely at all,” Cecily said shakily. “I made these marks myself trying to get free. To be honest, he wouldn’t have bound me at all if I hadn’t fought like a wildcat to get away. Even then, I didn’t make it easy to do. I got in a few good hits that Alex would be quite proud of! And then he had to gag me to stop me screaming. He seemed to have imagined I would be a polite and ladylike captive, too afraid for my reputation to draw attention to myself.” She took a deep breath, staring at Charlotte in wonder. “How in the world do you come to be here?”

  “I saw him seize you,” Charlotte explained, “and persuaded Fred to follow you. James is beside himself at letting such a thing happen to you.”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Cecily said ruefully. “It was mine. I should never have gone to speak to him after what he said to me last night.” She let out a laugh that broke in the middle, casing Charlotte to hug her. “Can you imagine, I thought he meant to apologize!” She pushed herself back from Charlotte, “But we must not let him catch us again. He’s armed and so is that nasty driver of his.”

  There was no need to tell Fred to spring the horses. Clearly, he was enjoying the experience of driving the duke’s fine pair.

  Charlotte frowned. “But how did he mean to marry you? Surely, even in Scotland, one cannot be married at gunpoint, bound and gagged?”

  Cecily curled her lip. “I suppose he meant to cow me enough on the journey to make me compliant. If so, his plan was not going well. But I have to say, Charlotte, I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my life. I hope I didn’t hurt you when I kicked open the door.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Charlotte replied, not quite truthfully.

  “God Almighty! Now what?” Fred exclaimed from above. “Woah there!” The horses slowed so suddenly that Charlotte and Cecily had to hang on to the straps in alarm. “There’s some numbskull just slewed his rig right across the road,” Fred called to them. “I can’t go around.”

  Charlotte and Cecily stared uneasily at each other.

  “He would have to come from behind us, surely?” Charlotte said. “There can’t be a shortcut that would let him circle around to meet us?”

  “What d’you think you’re doing on the public highway?” Fred demanded loudly. “You can’t—”

  “Retrieving my stolen horses,” another voice interrupted, an only too familiar voice that made Cecily’s eyes widen and Charlotte’s heart pound.

  “Alex!” Cecily cried, throwing open the door and leaping down without the aid of the steps. “By all that is wonderful.”

  A little more hesitantly, Charlotte stuck her head out of the open door in time to see Cecily cast herself into her brother’s arms.

  “Thank God,” Alvan muttered, clasping her convulsively for a moment before he thrust her back and raked her with his eyes from head to toe. “Where is he? Did he hurt you?”

  “Not as much as I hurt him,” Cecily replied complacently. “And it was Charlotte who rescued me!”

  His gaze flew to the carriage and then to Charlotte. He released his sister and began to walk toward her.

  “I’m very sorry about the horses,” she said nervously. “I did use your name, though the ostlers were most reluctant to—”

  She broke off with a gasp, for he seized her round the waist, swinging her to the ground, close against him. His face loomed over her and his mouth captured hers.

  Stunned, she could only hang helplessly in his embrace for the first
few moments. And then, almost of their own volition, her arms crept around his neck and her mouth opened wide. She kissed him back with uninhibited passion and sheer joy that there was this instant understanding between them once more.

  “Put her down, Alvan,” came Lady Barnaby’s stern voice. “She’s not one of your tavern wenches or stage floozies, so don’t treat her as such.”

  His breath of laughter caressed Charlotte’s lips as he partially released her to face his aunt. “What do you know of my tavern wenches and stage floozies?”

  “That they had better have their marching orders if you expect to marry this lady,” Lady Barnaby said tartly.

  “They’ve marched long since, and I never realized you had such a poor sense of propriety as to mention such things.” He spoke haughtily although the faint twitch of his lips betrayed him.

  Cecily laughed. “At last, Alvan! I am so glad, for Charlotte is just right for you and—”

  “Oh dear,” Charlotte said in dismay, slipping free of the duke’s delightful hold. “No, please don’t congratulate us or say a word to anyone, for I still have to find a way… oh dear, what am I doing?”

  “Stop fighting it,” Alvan said gently. “It has always been you and I, and in her heart, Thomasina knows it. But we’ll announce nothing until you have time to speak to her, if that is your wish.”

  “Oh, yes, it is,” Charlotte said earnestly.

  Satisfied, Alvan retrieved her hand. “Then will you and Cecily please join my aunt in my carriage?”

  “Why, where are you going?” Charlotte asked in fresh alarm.

  “I am going to take your hack and my horses and run down Cecily’s friend.”

  “No need, my lord,” Fred said casually from the box. “Looks like he’s coming to you. I’ve been chasing that damned red scarf for so long, I can recognize it a mile away.”

  “Oh, goodness,” Charlotte said, awed, “he’s coming to get you back.”

  Cecily curled her lip. “Good luck to him.”

  “But he’s armed!” Charlotte recalled, clutching Alvan’s sleeve. “And so is the driver!”