“Fortunately, so am I,” Alvan said grimly. “I suggest you all take cover in the carriage.”
Laboriously, Fred took an ancient looking pistol from under his seat. “I’ll stand with you, my lord.”
“Your grace,” Lady Barnaby corrected with a frown.
“Don’t alienate my troops,” Alvan said with a frown. “He can call me what he likes if he watches my back.”
Chapter Twenty
Cornell was furious with his villainous driver when he discovered his captive bird had flown.
“Don’t blame me, gov’nor,” the man protested. “You’re the one what tied her up, and the one who insisted on going for a mug of ale in the taproom. I can’t be watching my horses and your bit of business, too, can I?”
Cornell scowled at him, dragging both hands through his hair as he tried to think. “Find out from the staff if any vehicles left with an extra passenger,” he ordered.
Five minutes later, the man sauntered back. “A shabby old hack left harnessed to the Duke of Alvan’s horses. A woman passenger claimed to be the companion of the duke’s aunt, but there was another lady with them when they drove out.”
The blood drained from Cornell’s head so fast he felt dizzy. The companion had to be the unspeakable Charlotte Maybury. He’d glimpsed her when he’d snatched Cecily in Blackhaven, but it had never entered his head she would follow. Worse, they must already be heading back to Blackhaven, and if the duke got word of the abduction before he had the ring safely on Cecily’s finger…
He squashed his rising panic with the remembrance of Captain Harrington’s opinion, that Alvan was all haughtiness and no substance, could not shoot and had more care for his family name than for anything else. This, surely, would count in Cornell’s favor. Even if he didn’t recapture Cecily in time, he could still hold the incident over the duke and force a marriage.
On the whole, though, he preferred his original plan.
“After her,” he snarled at his driver, jumping into the coach. “And don’t spare the damned horses!”
As the coach hurtled back along the road, Cornell continued to seethe about his ill-fortune and the ill-behavior of so-called ladies. He entertained himself quite savagely with all the ways he intended to punish Cecily and within ten minutes, he had convinced himself he actually wanted to meet Alvan and put a ball between his eyes.
Of course, arrest for murder was not a good plan. Perhaps he would just wing the wretched duke and tell everyone what a coward the nobleman was…
Abruptly, the carriage slowed, throwing Cornell almost onto the floor. He heaved himself back up and stuck his head out of the window. “Have you found her?” he yelled up at the driver. With luck, the wheels had fallen off the wretched hack and he would have lost only an hour with her ridiculous start.
“Aye,” the driver said. “I think so.”
The carriage came to a full stop, and Cornell jumped down, seizing his pistol from the case under the seat. Then, with the weapon dangling casually by his side, he strolled out into the road.
The road was blocked not by one carriage but by two. And waiting for him in front of them were not two helpless, pleading women, but the tall, still figure of the Duke of Alvan.
Cornell’s stomach plunged. He had to remind himself quite forcefully that the man was all bark and no bite. Although Alvan, too, carried a pistol, pointing down to the ground. His coachman was not obviously armed, although he looked understandably watchful. The amiable looking driver of the hack held something in one hand, but Cornell could not see what. Thank God for his own villainous driver who possessed a rifle and a pistol…
“Your grace,” Cornell said with all the bravado he could summon. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Not for me, you contemptible little lobcock,” the duke uttered. “I should shoot you where you stand.”
“No call for that talk,” drawled Cornell’s driver, throwing off his red scarf and revealing the rifle he held casually aimed at Alvan. “You put that down, sir, and we’ll keep this civil.”
Cornell smiled. He had chosen a good man from the Blackhaven tavern to do his dirty work. The duke moved, but not to put down his weapon. Instead, so quickly Cornell barely saw it, he whipped up his pistol and fired.
Cornell’s driver yelled and the rifle clattered off the coach into the road. Blood bloomed all over the man’s hand. Cornell stared at the duke, and to his horror, saw that the pistol he held was a double-barreled one. More than likely, he had another shot.
“Luck,” Cornell said, desperately trying to convince himself as much as to sneer at Alvan.
“It was an easy shot,” Alvan allowed. “Though not as easy as your heart.”
“I am a gentleman!” Cornell screamed, raising his pistol. “You cannot shoot me out of hand.”
“Sadly, I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in formal duels. Nor will I have my sister’s name bandied about just for the pleasure of killing you. So, take your shot if you must as I will take mine. After three? Good. One, two, three!”
Cornell’s pistol dropped to the ground. Snapping, he ran at Alvan, throwing himself on his knees before the duke.
Alvan’s lip curled, but at least he lowered the pistol. “What a vile, mean-spirited, cow-hearted—” He broke off. As if he couldn’t help himself, he grasped Cornell by the collar and yanked him to his feet. Then he drew back his fist and struck him in the nose. “For my sister, whose name you will never mention as long as you wish to live, for I will hear and I will find you.”
Cornell clutched his bloody nose, his one desire now to get away from the madman who seemed after all to have plenty of substance. He backed off, but as though irritated, the duke hit him again. “I think that was for Dunstan,” he said and stalked away, leaving Cornell staring after him through very watery eyes.
*
“Well,” Lady Cecily said with a hint of dissatisfaction, “It does not feel good at all to have been abducted by such a paltry fellow.”
Charlotte breathed again. She had been watching from the carriage steps—as a means of keeping Cecily inside—but now discovered that Cecily had been peering over her head for the whole time. As the duke strode toward them, they all climbed down to meet him. Charlotte’s legs trembled with reaction, with terror for what might have been. And somewhere, beneath the fear, admiration for Alvan’s casual courage. He had handled Cornell perfectly in the circumstances, overwhelmed him with sheer force of personality, and done so with total dignity, even when he’d hit him. She could not be sorry for that either.
At the roadside, Cornell was clambering back into his carriage and Fred was binding the driver’s wounded hand.
“It seems a bit harsh to have shot the henchman instead of the villain,” Cecily observed.
Alvan held out his pistol to her, handle first. “Feel free.”
She eyed him with dislike. “You know I won’t.”
“The driver would have shot his grace without a qualm,” Charlotte interjected. “Indeed, he was about to. It was clever of you, sir, to hit him just where you did. Besides, it frightened Cornell enough to make him easier to manage.”
“Thank you,” Alvan said gravely. “But you know you were not meant to see any of this.”
“Because of our ladylike sensibilities,” Cecily explained. “And I have to say, my heart was in my mouth when you counted, Alvan, for I was terrified he would get off his shot first.”
“I didn’t think it would come to that,” Alvan said, with a hint of impatience. “Dueling is as much about nerve, it seems to me, as accuracy, and Cornell clearly lacked the former.”
“But he could have shot early,” Lady Barnaby said anxiously. “He’s just the sort of shabby cheat to do so. And then where would we be?”
“True,” Cecily agreed, staring at her brother while she clearly imagined a life without him. She smiled. “But you were rather magnificent, Alvan.”
A tinge of color darkened the duke’s cheeks, which Charlott
e found endearing. “Shall we go?” he said gruffly. “We’ve been blocking the road for quite long enough and I’m sure there will be a mail coach along any minute.”
“Back to Blackhaven?” Cecily asked.
The duke shook his head. “No, we’ve already put it about that we’ve dashed off because Julius is ill—which I devoutly hope he isn’t. Hanson will bring your maids and your baggage to the Red Lion. I’m afraid Cornell has curtailed your visit somewhat, but to go back now would only cause the kind of speculation that we are trying to avoid.”
“To Lincolnshire, then?” Lady Barnaby suggested.
Alvan met Charlotte’s gaze. “Shall we go to Audley Park? Would your parents object?”
Warmth flooded Charlotte, for she knew he wanted to go there to sort everything out with Thomasina.
Cecily brightened. “We don’t need to put Lady Overton out. We can stay at that rather charming inn where I first met you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte smiled. “That would put my mother out. Not that she is at home, for she isn’t. She is in London with my younger sister. But I expect my father and Thomasina will be back from Brighton by now.”
“And Spring,” Alvan said fondly.
Charlotte laughed.
“Pardon, Miss, you wanting to go back to Blackhaven?” Fred asked, appearing among them.
“No, but I do thank you most profoundly for your help,” Charlotte said fervently. She glanced at Alvan to beg him for a loan, but he was already holding out a fat purse to Fred.
“You have all our gratitude. All I still ask is that you return my horses to the inn.” Alvan cast a quick glance at Cornell’s wounded driver who, incredibly, was gathering the reins in his one good hand, ready to drive on. “Will you have any trouble from our friend there for this?”
“Lord no. He just does what he’s paid for and asks no questions. Bears no grudges either. But you were right to shoot him, sir, for he’d have done for you as soon as blinking.” Fred tipped his hat with a grin to Charlotte, then bowed to the ladies before pocketing his purse and climbing back up on to his carriage. He was whistling. Charlotte rather liked him.
“Coach coming!” he yelled, and they all hastily piled into Alvan’s carriage.
*
It was a long drive to the Red Lion, and the journey was accomplished at great speed, changing horses frequently, and pausing only occasionally for refreshments. It might have been exhausting but it was also fun, partly because of Cecily’s wit and banter bouncing off everyone, but mostly because she could sit next to Alvan. She loved the thrill of his nearness and the occasional accidental brush of his hand on hers, or even his thigh as he stretched his long legs.
During one of the occasional silences, tiredness and general comfort overcame her and she began to drift off to sleep. As though from very far away, she heard Cecily say, “It’s odd, you know. You’re my brother and I’ve always loved you. But I never really knew you.”
“You still don’t,” Alvan replied humorously.
“But I’m getting there. And I like what I’ve found.”
“You’re embarrassing him,” Lady Barnaby said.
“No, I’m not,” Cecily insisted. “Some things need to be said.”
Like the things Charlotte had to say to Thomasina. Tommie would forgive her, of course, after a bout of accusation and drama. It was not in her nature to bear a grudge. But Charlotte suspected things would never be the same between them and Thomasina would feel that as much as she.
Life was never simple. But it was right that she should be with Alvan, so right…
*
At the Red Lion, they created quite a stir. It was a busy posting inn, and Lady Barnaby even recognized one of their fellow patrons. This, of course, was what Alvan had wanted—Cecily travelling in perfect respectability with her aunt and brother, and several servants with baggage arriving only a little later. Her reputation would remain undamaged.
They started forth bright and early the following morning, complete with newly hired outriders. Since she and Cecily were taking it in turns, Charlotte sat opposite the duke. He was quieter on this leg of their journey, as though deep in thought. Several times she found his veiled gaze fixed on her face. When she smiled a little uncertainly, his lips quirked in immediate response, but then he looked away as though unwilling to be distracted from his meditations. It made her a little uneasy, and only too aware that he was a complex man it would take a lifetime to know.
They stayed the next night in Grantham, at another posting inn, this one not quite so busy, although Cecily and Charlotte were obliged to share a bedchamber.
After dinner served in their private parlor, Alvan conducted the ladies upstairs to their chambers. They said good night first to Lady Barnaby, and then moved to the next door. “Good night, brother mine!” Cecily said cheerfully, and taking the candle from Charlotte, whisked herself inside.
“Good night,” Charlotte said a little shyly, and made to follow, but Alvan stayed her, catching her wrist.
“Good night,” he murmured, and dropped a warm kiss on the inside of her wrist. Her whole body seemed to ignite, especially when he raised his head and kissed her mouth, too. “Remember that I love you,” he whispered against her lips, and then, he was gone, striding along the passage.
She stepped inside the room and closed the door, wondering at his strange manner, but mostly wallowing in the thrill of his kisses.
With the next morning, came the reason for his behavior.
“Alvan has abandoned us,” Lady Barnaby said crossly, sailing into their bedchamber at first light, waving a letter in one hand. “He left for London on horseback before it was light, and bids us go on to Audley Park without him.”
Charlotte felt as if little bits of her heart were tumbling away, like petals in the wind.
“Why would he do that?” Cecily demanded. “It was his idea to go in the first place! Perhaps he believes you will deal better with your sister if he is not there?”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte said, trying to smile.
Lady Barnaby sniffed. “Probably, he’s just being a man and avoiding the drama.”
“Oh no, my sister would never enact a drama in front of him,” Charlotte said hastily, “or you.”
“Besides, he’s not so cowardly,” Cecily added.
“I expect he’s simply cramped in the carriage for so long,” Charlotte said briskly. “Shall we order a quick breakfast before we go?”
*
The last leg of the journey was not quite so much fun, for although Cecily and her aunt were very much their entertaining selves, Charlotte’s joy seemed to have vanished with Alvan. Plus, she would see Thomasina tonight and she did not underestimate the difficulties of that interview. Her father, she guessed, would not care which of them Alvan married, although he would be astonished to discover the duke had in the end chosen his plainest, least marriageable daughter over the beauties of the family.
The light was fading as they approached Audley Park, and Charlotte was dismayed to see the front of the house in darkness. Surely they were not now economizing with candles, too?
It was Jonathan, the first footman, who opened the door as the carriages drew up. Within, servants must have been scuttling about, lighting lamps and candles, while Jonathan let down the carriage steps.
“Thank you, Jonathan, I have brought guests to stay. Are my father and Miss Maybury at dinner?”
Jonathan blinked. “No, Miss, they’re still in Brighton and we had no notice of your coming.”
“No, it was a sudden decision. See that the bags are brought in, would you, Gerald?”
It was Lady Barnaby who quietly paid off the postilions, and then Charlotte led the way inside to the drawing room where a fire had just been lit. Excusing herself, she bolted to the kitchen to see what dinner could be put before her guests, and to rouse the servants to air guest bedchambers.
Before she could speak, Spring launched himself at her from his box in the kitchen corner where he
had, Cook said, been pining since she’d left. Laughing and hugging him, Charlotte allowed him to lick her face for a second before dragging him down to chest level and making the arrangements she needed to.
Then, she returned to the drawing room, still holding Spring in her arms.
“I’m afraid he isn’t really a lap dog,” she apologized, holding on to him with difficulty, “but he thinks he is. He is utterly harmless, but wildly over-enthusiastic. Shall I let him go or take him away?”
“Oh, let him go,” Cecily said at once, clearly entertained by Charlotte’s antics to keep hold of him. Charlotte did, and he threw himself at Cecily, tongue lolling, before bouncing to Lady Barnaby’s lap and commencing a circuit that took him round all the chairs in the room, as well all the occupants.
“No wonder Alvan likes him,” Cecily laughed. “He is utterly insane!”
“He’ll calm down in a few minutes,” Charlotte said hopefully.
In the end, they enjoyed quite a pleasant evening, with a simple dinner and an hour relaxing in the drawing room with Spring on Charlotte’s lap. But they were all exhausted after their arduous journey and retired early to bed.
*
In the morning, after sleeping later than she meant to, Charlotte wrote to her father to say she had returned to Audley Park with Lady Barnaby and Lady Cecily, who would stay a few days.
Her guests were easy to please and happy to wander alone or accompanied in the gardens or the library, or to write letters or just read novels by the fire. So, Charlotte felt able to catch up on housekeeping matters such as the paying—and juggling—of bills and a few urgent matters that needed to be seen to on the estate. After which, she had just sat down in her chamber to write some letters, not least to her mother and Henrietta, when she was brought a hand-delivered letter of her own.
She did not recognize the handwriting, and she couldn’t prevent the surge of hope that it was from Alvan.
It wasn’t.
Dear Miss Maybury,
We all hope this note finds you in good health.
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 21