The Stolen Bride

by Jo Beverley

  Despite the efforts of his upper staff, Randal felt as if he were drowning in details. His father had demanded his presence first thing in the morning and lectured him for two hours on the management of the ducal estate. Randal had only been rescued by the arrival of the doctor who said so much talking was bad for his patient.

  Then he had visited Chelmly’s room and sat at his bedside, willing him to open his eyes and be himself again.

  He was so pale and looked younger and more vulnerable lying still in the bed with his head swathed in bandages. Randal had never realized how much he depended on his older brother, how much he loved him, until now when it seemed he might be taken away.

  In recent years they had grown apart for Randal’s chosen milieu was the social whirl—London, Brighton, the great country houses—while Chelmly’s had always been his precious land. When Randal had been young, however, his older brother had been his admired mentor and protector. There were good memories in the farther reaches of his mind and now they made his heart ache.

  “Come on, Chelmly,” he said softly, ignoring the presence of the valet and nurse. “You can’t leave the place to me. I’ll make a pig’s dinner of it in no time at all.”

  There was no response from the still figure on the bed. Randal wondered what his brother would think of his intent to go ahead with the wedding. If Chelmly, God forbid, was still at death’s door it would be seen as outrageous. Even Sophie had been shocked but, Lord, he needed her more now than ever.

  That kiss the other day had shown him, if he needed showing, how fragile his control had grown. He simply could not endure months more of sitting drinking tea with her, playing tennis, riding...

  And more than her body he needed her company. To lie quietly with Sophie in his arms and talk things over. To lay problems out and solve them together...

  He had pulled himself together, knowing he was needed elsewhere. He had laid a hand for a moment on his brother’s and then left to handle his tasks as best he could. Now he was faced with a mountain of incomprehensible documents. Resolutely he applied himself...

  There was a genteel clearing of the throat.

  Randal looked up to see Willerby beside him with papers in his hand. “If you could just approve these expenditures, my lord,” the man said apologetically. “They only require a signature.”

  With a sigh Randal took the lists. The staff kept telling him he need only sign things but he couldn’t take the easy way out. He concentrated as he ran his eyes over the lists.

  The duke and Chelmly liked having a masculine household and after his mother’s death Chelmly had taken over supervision of the domestic arrangements as well as those of the estate. Randal wished now they’d brought in some female relative to handle those things. With a touch of devilment he thought that soon he would be able to dump them all in Sophie’s lap. Oh, to lay all his troubles and his head as well in Sophie’s lap...

  His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. In came his grandmother, bent and stiff, but sprightly enough in her own way. Her quick eyes fastened on the lists in front of Randal and she harrumphed.

  “Thought so,” she said, coming forward as Randal rose to his feet to assist her. “Forgot Chelmly had taken all this in hand when your mother died. He works so hard and so quietly we never noticed.” She picked up the first list and ran her eyes over it. “Load of nonsense, of course, but it’s mainly your father’s fault. Bit of a misogynist. I’ll take over all this.”

  “Grandmama, there’s no need—”

  “Suspect I’ve lost the use of my faculties, do you?” she asked sharply.

  “Of course not—”

  “I’ll remind you, you young rascal, that I ran this place for thirty years, most of it before you were born, so don’t say I’m not able.” Her eyes were sharp and challenging and Randal felt a grin start. He suddenly felt a great deal better about life in general.

  “I’d never dare,” he said. “But still, Grandmama—”

  “If I need young legs,” the old woman interrupted, “there’s staff galore and Chloe to help me. So go away. I’m sure you can find something else to do.”

  After a moment he laughed and gave her a warm hug and a kiss. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Go along with you,” she harrumphed, taking his seat at the desk. “I’d think you should go and see how Sophie’s doing. Must all have been a nasty shock.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Can I take that as an order?”

  “Yes. Though what the likelihood is of a jackanapes like you obeying an order, I’d hesitate to say.”

  “But I’m thoroughly reformed,” he responded. “Expect me back at dinnertime.” As he walked to the door he said to Willerby, “Have Yorrick sent round. I wish to ride over to the Castle.”

  The groom of the chamber blanched. “But, my lord! The... the villain may still be hereabout.”

  “He has a point,” said the duchess, suddenly looking very weary.

  Randal stopped with a bitten-back curse. And it was possible that the attack had been meant for him in the first place. He remembered that note which could be interpreted as a clear death threat. “Am I to be a prisoner?” he demanded desperately. “We may never catch the man.”

  The servant had no answer to such a question.

  “Find Mr. Verderan for me, please,” Randal said.

  A footman was dispatched and Randal moved out into the corridor to await his friend.

  In a few minutes the Dark Angel strolled up. “You called, my lord?” he drawled insolently.

  Randal burst out laughing. “Gods, Ver, I’m glad you’re here.”

  The two men clasped hands briefly. “Then I must be glad I am,” said Verderan. “In what way can I help you?”

  “I need advice. Is it reasonable, do you think, for me to ride over to Stenby to see Sophie?”

  “Why not?”

  “Willerby seems to think the would-be assassin is lurking behind a bush seeking to finish the task.”

  Verderan gave it serious thought. “I doubt it. This area has been gone over quite thoroughly. It is possible it’s a local man, of course, but are you going to lurk in here for the rest of your life?”

  Randal could feel the relief spread through him. Such a life would be unendurable. He’d far rather a quick death. “Exactly what I was thinking,” he said. “Willing to ride guard?”

  “Of course,” said Verderan.

  Randal laughed and let the madness take him. Not even bothering to change into boots, the two young men went to the stables, commanded horses, and galloped off toward Stenby Castle.

  13

  By THE time they arrived at Stenby, Jane and Beth were already wondering where Sophie had disappeared to, though they assumed she had wanted time to herself. Randal’s arrival triggered a search. After half an hour of wandering the Castle shouting for her the search moved to the grounds and everyone began to feel uneasy.

  “She’ll be up a tree,” said Randal with a sigh. Beth looked at him and wondered if he believed it. If Sophie was anywhere close to the Castle she would surely have heard her name being called.

  They were standing at the base of the terrace steps and Jane and Lord Wraybourne joined them there. In a moment, Sir Marius arrived, shaking his head.

  “Could she have ridden out?” Randal asked.

  “I checked the stables,” Sir Marius said. “No horses have left there at all today.”

  “What was she wearing?” Randal asked.

  Sophie’s maid reported that her mistress had dressed that morning in a green sprig muslin gown and silk slippers. No other clothes had gone, not even a bonnet.

  “She wouldn’t have gone walking without a bonnet and in slippers,” said her brother sharply, searching the rolling parkland with his eyes for the hundredth time. “Where the devil is she?”

  He was trying to sound irritated, as Randal himself had done, but he sounded worried, and with reason. In view of the attack on Chelmly, there was cause to fear the worst. Those not
es that Sophie had received came into Beth’s mind but it seemed too far-fetched a connection to make.

  The search of the grounds was abandoned and they were soon joined by the other men—Verderan, and the Reverend Mortimer Kyle. By silent accord they stayed outside, all still alert for the sight of Sophie strolling across the grass, back from some impulsive errand.

  “When was she last seen?” asked Mortimer.

  “After her maid dressed her?” asked the earl. “Do you know, Jane?”

  “Perhaps we should make further inquiries,” said Jane, “but no one has mentioned seeing her since she saw that Haven woman away. She could well have gone for a walk, I suppose.”

  Randal forced out the question no one else would ask. “Is it possible... ?”

  “That she’s lying somewhere wounded?” completed David calmly. “I don’t think so.”

  “I was going to say ‘dead,’” Randal said harshly. “Perhaps this time the maniac was more thorough.”

  A muscle twitched in Lord Wraybourne’s jaw. “I don’t think so,” he said steadily.

  “Is that just blind optimism?” demanded Randal sharply, forcing himself over the subject like someone trying to dig a bullet from his own flesh. “Or do you have logic to it?”

  “There is absolutely no reason for anyone to want to harm Sophie,” said David firmly.

  “There was no reason for anyone to try to kill Chelmly—Damn it. What if it is all a plot against me?”

  “Why would there be a plot against you?” asked Verderan in a level, drawling voice. “We’ve established your spotless innocence in the recent past.”

  Beth flinched from this tone that was perilously close to an insult, but Piers Verderan obviously knew his friend, for Randal collected himself. “I don’t know why,” he said. “But there has to be a connection. The attack on Chelmly. Sophie’s disappearance. Those damned notes.”

  At that moment two people came laughing around the corner and the small figure broke away from his nursemaid to trot toward the men. “Ver!” cried Stevie blissfully.

  The Dark Angel cursed softly but moved forward to stop the boy from joining the somber group. Beth saw the pursuing nursemaid hesitate, obviously more afraid of Verderan than of neglecting her duties. What did she think he was, the devil? More than likely.

  Stevie offered his favorite toy for his idol’s inspection. It was somewhat faded after its swim. “Horsey,” he said.

  “We’ve had this discussion before, brat,” said Verderan, not unkindly. “We’re all busy here. Go off with your nurse now.”

  Stevie ignored this and pointed toward the porte cochere. “Horsey go,” he said, obviously trying to gain Verderan’s attention. He cocked his head and offered, “Sophie go horsey.” He stuck the horse’s hind legs in his mouth and mumbled something else.

  They all looked at the child. Were they fools to hope? Stevie couldn’t have any useful information to offer, could he? As no one did anything, Beth went forward and crouched down beside the boy. “Did you see Sophie on a horse, Stevie?”

  Stevie shook his head. The back end of the horse was still in his mouth and Beth carefully extracted it. “Did you see Sophie with a horse then?”

  Stevie moved closer and snuggled against her.” Coachyhorsey,” he offered.

  “You saw Sophie with a coach and horses?” Beth asked hopefully. Then she remembered that Sophie had seen the accident victim off. That was all the boy was referring to. Stevie nodded his assent and Beth looked up at the others and shrugged hopelessly.

  Stevie grabbed her hand. “Sophie wiv ballady, ballady, ballady,” he chanted.

  They all looked bewildered. “A song?” Jane suggested.

  Hope couldn’t be dismissed out of hand. Randal beckoned the maid and she came over, nervously pleating her apron. She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, milord?”

  “Did Master Steven see Lady Sophie escort a lady to her coach today?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Where did Lady Sophie go after the coach left, Rosie?”

  Before the girl could answer, Stevie set up his chant again. “Wiv ballady, ballady, ballady.”

  Randal looked up at the maid with impatience. “What the devil is he saying?”

  His sharp tone frightened her and she looked around for help, her apron now reduced to a knot. “I’m ... not rightly sure, milord. Sometimes he makes sense, sometimes he don’t.” She bit her lip and offered, “‘Bad lady,’ maybe?”

  Randal caught his breath. He picked up Stevie and looked at him as if he might have the answers written across his face. “Why would he call this woman, this Mrs. Haven, a bad lady?” he asked Rosie. “You must have been with him, girl, when he watched the coach leave. What happened?”

  “She didn’t want him to watch the horses, milord. She told me to take him away. That’s doubtless what he means.” After a moment she added with real spirit, “She were proper mean about it, and her just a person taken in out of charity!”

  Beth saw the disappointment on Randal’s face and shared it. For a moment she too had believed that the child might hold the key to Sophie’s disappearance. Randal set the boy back on his feet. It was Lord Wraybourne who said to the maid, “But you said he did watch the coach leave.”

  Rosie began twisting her apron again. “Yes, milord.”

  “So answer Lord Randal’s question. Where did Lady Sophie go when the coach had left?”

  The girl’s eyes opened wide and she looked as if she might cry. “I wasn’t exactly there, milord,” she mumbled. She looked up and said quickly, “I went to get the laundry basket. I was only gone for a moment or two and he was safe enough where he was and safe and sound—”

  “Be quiet!” Randal cut off the gabble and they all shared his urgency. Logic said this was a wild-goose chase but instinct screamed that Steven Delamere held the key to Sophie’s safety.

  “How much does a child of this age understand?” Randal asked. They were all childless and shook their heads. Even Beth had little experience with a child of such tender years.

  Randal picked the boy up and strolled over to a bench to sit with him in his lap. “Well, Stevie, so you saw the bad lady leave in a coach?”

  “Yes,” Stevie said with a firm nod of his head.

  “And did Sophie leave in the coach too?”

  “Yes,” said Stevie.

  Everyone gasped and Randal looked bemused. Driven by urgency, Beth stepped forward and sat down beside Randal and the boy. She put the question again. “Lady Sophie got in the coach with the bad lady and they drove away, Stevie?”

  “Drove away,” said Stevie, smiling at her, seeming pleased to have finally found someone to understand him. Then he added emphatically, “Fast!” He held his horse out and made bouncing motions as he moved it quickly from right to left. “Galloppy, galloppy, galloppy.”

  “But it makes no sense,” said Mortimer softly.

  “Sense or not,” said David grimly, “I’m setting men to trace that coach.” He strode off to put it in hand.

  Randal gently put the child in Beth’s arms. “See what else you can find out,” he said softly.

  Beth took a deep breath and asked calmly, “Did Lady Sophie want to go in the coach, Stevie?”

  “Wiv ballady,” said Stevie, agreeable.

  “Did Sophie climb in the coach, Stevie?”

  Stevie nodded and stuck the horse back in his mouth. Beth looked up at the others. “Why would she go with a stranger without a word to anyone?”

  At that moment Verderan reclaimed Stevie’s attention by picking him up off Beth’s lap. The boy took the horse out of his mouth and smiled brilliantly at his idol. Verderan smiled back.

  He carried the boy a little way and put him down. He pointed to Beth, still sitting on the bench. “Stevie, you see that lady there. Let’s pretend that’s the bad lady.” He flashed an apologetic smile at Beth. “Let’s pretend you’re Lady Sophie. Can you show us how she got in the coach?”

  Beth looked at Mr. Verderan sk
eptically. Who did he think Stevie was, the great Kean? The Dark Angel shrugged.

  “How did Sophie get in the coach, Stevie?” he asked patiently. “Did she climb up the steps? Was she lifted in?”

  It looked as if the questions were getting them nowhere. Then suddenly Stevie spread his arms wide and hurtled forward into Beth’s lap.

  “Thrown in,” said Randal, surging to his feet. “I’m for following that damned coach.”

  “We all are,” said Sir Marius, “but I think we have to pause and consider matters. It’s hours since that coach left and it’s possible we may not be able to trace it. We need to find out more.”

  Piers Verderan came over and took Stevie from Beth. He passed the child on to the maid. “You’ve been a good boy, Stevie,” he said. “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll take you up on my horse.”

  Stevie blissfully watched him over Rosie’s shoulder as he was carried away. Beth thought that perhaps Piers Verderan was a rake worth the reforming, but not by her. She found herself instinctively looking over at Sir Marius and he smiled. It was like an embrace and all there could be for them now. More urgent matters were in hand.

  Randal imposed an iron control on himself and was attempting to reason it through. “If that woman had some devilish plot against me, why in Hades did she come to Stenby?”

  Sir Marius spoke up. “I’m afraid, whatever’s going on, you can’t lay the attack on Chelmly at her door. She was genuinely ill when we picked her up. There’s no chance she crept out, walked five miles, and laid a trap for someone.”

  “Coincidence?” queried Randal skeptically. “And she could have sent those letters before she left home.”

  “But what of the one Sophie received at the picnic?” Sir Marius shrugged. “The only matter of importance is who is Mrs. Haven and where is she taking Sophie. The why can be sorted out later.”

  The earl came back and his expression sharpened when he heard what more had been discovered. “I’ve sent men out in pairs to check the roads. One to follow the trail of the coach and the other to report back. We should soon know the direction and can follow.” His sharp pacing showed the impatience they all felt with just standing. “I’ll go odds,” he said, “that she’s not Mrs. Haven of Stone.”