by Candace Camp
“Yes?” Michael encouraged him when the other man’s voice trailed off. “A story you thought I should hear?”
“Exactly.” Tanner sighed, then said in a rush, “The thing is, the lad thought he saw Miss Aincourt.”
“Miss Aincourt?” Whatever he had expected the head groom to say, it had certainly not been this. “My fiancée?”
“Yes. That’s right. Down below the gardens, along the path that leads to the meadow.”
“The meadow! When? You mean tonight?”
“Aye, sir.” The other man looked away, not meeting his gaze. “Maybe thirty minutes ago or so. Dougie was taking a walk before bed, and he comes back inside, lookin’ all distraught, and he pulls me aside and he says he seen Miss Aincourt down there.”
“He must be mistaken,” Michael said automatically. “At this time of night? I just saw Miss Aincourt a little over an hour ago, and she was going up to bed.”
“I asked him, sir, and he swore up and down that it was the lady herself. He was taken aback to see her, he said, so he moved a little closer. He…” The groom hesitated, then went on in a rush. “He saw that she was talkin’ to a man.”
Michael went suddenly cold. His fingers curled into his palms. “Go on,” he said, amazed at how even his voice sounded.
“Dougie thought it was you at first, so he was goin’ to turn and leave, only a horse whinnied. He looked an’ seen there was a bay tied to one of the trees, kind of back in the shadow. Now Dougie knows horses, and this wasn’t one of ours, so he—he didn’t know what to do, sir. He was thinkin’ he shouldn’t leave Miss Aincourt out there alone, an’ he reckoned the man was a stranger, ’cause of the horse. So he stayed, watching, tryin’ to decide. And then, well, the man led his horse out, an’ Dougie saw his face. It was no one he’d ever seen afore, he said. An’ he—he helped Miss Aincourt onto the horse and mounted it after her, an’ they—they rode off.”
The groom studiously examined the flagstone walkway beneath his feet. Michael felt as if someone had just knocked the wind out of him. He remembered suddenly the look on Rachel’s face after he kissed her—surprise, he’d thought, then wondered if it had been fear. Had the force of his passion scared her into running from him? Then he remembered that she had seemed a little odd all evening.
He took a breath and tried to clear the confusion from his head. “He is certain?”
“He swears it is what he saw. I wouldn’t have bothered you if it had been some of the other lads. But Dougie…well, I’ve never known him to lie or even exaggerate. I asked him over and over, an’ he insisted he hadn’t been mistaken. There was no smell of gin on his breath. I didn’t know what to do, sir, but finally I decided I had to tell you and let you decide, you know….” His voice trailed off miserably.
“I will look into it straightaway,” Michael assured him grimly. “I needn’t tell you—”
“No one else heard it, and they won’t. I already swore Dougie to silence. He knows he’ll be turned off without a reference if he breathes a word of it to anyone else, including the other lads.”
“Thank you, Tanner.”
He went back into the house, feeling strangely numb, and knocked on Lord Ravenscar’s door. Ravenscar came to the door, glowering, with his nightcap on his balding head and a dressing gown flung hastily around his shoulders.
In a low voice, Michael explained what he had learned. Ravenscar stared back at him blankly for a long moment, then his cheeks flushed red. “What? What are you saying?” he barked. “Do you dare to imply that—”
“I am not implying anything,” Michael responded coolly. “I am just asking if Lady Ravenscar might step into Miss Aincourt’s room and see if she is in her bed.”
Ravenscar looked as if he would have liked to shut the door in Michael’s face, but after a moment he turned away, and Michael heard him talking to his wife. Michael stepped a few feet away and waited. A few moments later Lady Ravenscar rushed out of the room, a dressing gown wrapped around her, the ribbons of her nightcap fluttering as she rushed down the hall. Michael caught only a glimpse of her face, but he saw that it was white and taut with fear. He was suddenly sure that she knew something her husband did not.
Lord Ravenscar went down the hall after her at a more stately pace. Before he reached the door, his wife stepped back out into the hall. If possible, her face was even paler than before. She looked at her husband, then at Michael, fumbling for words. Impatiently, Ravenscar shoved past her into the room. Michael strode down the hall to Rachel’s mother and took her arm to steady her. She looked as if she were about to faint.
“She’s gone, then?” he asked in a low voice.
Lady Ravenscar nodded dumbly, tears pooling in her eyes. She raised her hands to her cheeks. “I don’t know what he will say.” She cast an anxious glance behind her toward the room into which her husband had gone.
Michael steered her into Rachel’s room and closed the door behind him, guiding Lady Ravenscar to a chair. Ravenscar stood in the middle of the room, shock turning to rage on his face.
“Are any of her things gone?” Michael asked quickly, forestalling the imminent explosion from Ravenscar.
Lady Ravenscar shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Her vanity set is still there.” She gestured toward the dresser, where a silver-backed set of brush, mirror and comb lay.
Michael glanced around the room. The bed had been turned down, the fire banked. A woman’s white nightdress and dressing gown were tossed onto the bed. She had dressed for bed, he surmised—no doubt because of the presence of her maid—then had discarded the nightclothes and redressed, slipping out into the night. There was no sign of a letter on the bed or anywhere else. He wondered if she had gone out wothout intending to leave the estate, or if she had left her things behind to conceal what she had done for a while longer.
“Do you have any idea who he is?” Michael asked Lady Ravenscar.
“Of course not!” Ravenscar snapped.
Michael noticed that Lady Ravenscar cast a furtive glance at her husband but said nothing. He turned to Lord Ravenscar. “They have not been gone long, and Dougie said they were riding double. It is quite likely that we can catch up with them if we leave quickly. I will send down to the groom to saddle two horses if you want to accompany me.”
Ravenscar, still looking as if he might fly into a rage at any moment, nodded his head shortly. “I’ll get dressed.”
He strode out of the room. Lady Ravenscar started to follow, but Michael laid a hand on her arm. “Do you know his name, my lady?”
Rachel’s mother cast him an agonized glance. “I—I’m not sure. There was a man—the silly girl thought she had developed a tendre for someone. But I made sure he was not admitted to our house any longer and that she was never alone. She hasn’t seen him in four months, I would swear it. I thought she had forgotten him.”
“What is his name?” He had to know, though it cost him some pride to ask.
“Anthony Birkshaw.”
“Birkshaw.” Michael cast around in his mind for a face to go with the name. He faintly remembered a darkly handsome young man among the flock who had hung around Rachel before her engagement. “She loved him when she accepted my proposal?”
“Love? The chit doesn’t know what love is!” Lady Ravenscar retorted contemptuously. “She was flattered, and he was a presentable young man. I explained to her that it was impossible. She knew where her duty lay. I cannot imagine what can have possessed her to throw away her future like this.”
Her duty. The words lay like lead in his chest. He was the duty her family had laid upon her. He had known she did not love him, but there had been hope. But the knowledge that she loved another, that she had fled from Michael at the last moment, unable to bear the thought of wedding him, cut through him like a knife.
There was a part of him that wanted in that moment to simply go back to his room and shut the door, to let her go to her love, to simply wrap himself around with his misery and let
Ravenscar answer the storm of questions from the guests.
But he knew that he could not. He had seen the light of fury in Ravenscar’s eyes. He could not allow him to catch up to Rachel alone. Besides, her reputation would be damaged beyond repair if word of what she had done this night got out. The scandal would stain his name, as well, of course, but he was the injured party, after all, and, after this, once again a highly eligible bachelor. He cared little for London Society, anyway, and he could ride out the storm alone up here at Westhampton, far away from the pitying glances and malicious whispers about what had driven the Aincourt girl to take such drastic measures.
It would be Rachel who would be excoriated by the gossip. Leaving a bridegroom almost literally at the altar…eloping to Gretna Green, with the several nights spent alone with a man, unmarried, that that would entail…her reputation would be in shreds after this. Whispers would follow her all her life. There would be many hostesses who would not invite her to parties or receive her if she called on them. Of course, given what Lady Ravenscar had said about Birkshaw’s finances, doubtless Rachel would not be able to afford to move in her family’s social circle any longer, anyway. She would be living in some rented room, not sure where her next meal was coming from, mending her dresses because she could not afford new ones, no doubt burdened even further by children whom she would have to worry about feeding, too.
Michael supposed that such a gloomy picture of Rachel’s future should have assuaged his spirits somewhat, but he found he could not bear to think of her in such dire circumstances. She had been unutterably foolish. Why had she accepted his proposal? Why had she not told him that she loved someone else? But the ruin of her life was too cruel a punishment for her adolescent mistake. He had to find her and stop her from throwing away her future.
So, turning away from Lady Ravenscar, he went out to ride after Rachel.
CHAPTER 4
Michael sighed and stood up, running his hands over his face tiredly. It had been a long time since he had thought about the night when Rachel ran away from him. For the first two years of his marriage, that night had haunted him constantly, but over time the memory of it had blessedly receded. But when it did come to mind, as now, it was vivid and painful. He could feel once again the leaden sorrow in his heart, the dread of what he would find when they caught up to the escaping couple, the anguish of knowing that Rachel was so revolted at the thought of marrying him that she was willing to forfeit her reputation—not to mention a life of ease—in order to avoid becoming his wife.
He had come to know in that evening the depths of pain which love brought…as well as the extent to which love for Rachel had wrapped around his heart and all through his body, to the point that he could not despise her no matter how much he wanted to, could not wish for her the misery his wounded heart cried out to inflict on someone. Pride and bitter hurt had called out for revenge, yet he had known, even as he rode grimly after her, that in the end, given the chance, he would not exact that revenge.
The upstairs maid crept quietly into his room and was clearly startled to find him up. She scurried about her business, scraping the ashes from the fire and lighting a new one, then slipped out. Michael rang for his breakfast tray. After that, his valet would bring heated water for shaving and lay out his clothes, and his day would begin. But for now, Michael stood before the fire, holding his hands out to the warmth, welcome in the chill of a spring dawn, and watched the flames dance—and remembered the night he brought Rachel back.
* * *
He and Ravenscar rode grimly through the darkness. It had not been difficult to follow the escaping couple. From the bottom of the gardens, the tracks of the doubly loaded horse led along the edge of the meadow and onto the road, where they had clearly headed east, toward the village. There, he and Ravenscar stopped to enquire at the inn whether a couple had stopped, and the innkeeper cheerfully responded that indeed, a young man had come by seeking to hire a carriage only an hour or so earlier, and there had been, the innkeeper thought, a young woman waiting out in the yard for him, but as she had been wearing a hooded cloak, he had not gotten a proper look at her.
“Friends of yours, my lord?” the innkeeper asked, curiosity mingling with the friendly respect in his face.
Michael smiled with a look of ease that he did not feel, glad that his experiences dealing with spies during the war had engendered in him an ability to dissemble, and replied, “Yes, a foolish young man who took offense, I’m afraid, and rode off into the night. I must see if I can bring him back before he puts his poor wife through much more trouble.”
“Ah, I see. Yes, I thought he was awful unprepared-like, seekin’ a vehicle at that time of night. ’Course, I had nothin’ to give him, and I told him so. No place nearer than Coxley would have an inn big enough to be hirin’ out post chaises. That’s where I told him to go.”
“Very good. Perhaps I will catch up to him there. Thank you for your trouble.” Michael tipped the innkeeper a goldboy just to ensure his continued allegiance and strode out to rejoin Lord Ravenscar.
“The fool tried to hire a post chaise here at this time of night,” Michael said. Anger surged through him—how could the man have enticed Rachel to run away with him, knowing that he had not even made arrangements for their escape? He was clearly an idiot or a scoundrel or both.
They pushed onward and ran the couple to ground in Coxley not long after midnight. There was no bustle of a carriage being prepared in the courtyard of the inn, but the lights were on inside the place, and an irritated innkeeper opened the door to their knock. On hearing they were seeking a young couple, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward a closed door across the hall from the public room.
“They’re in the private sitting room there, sir, and if ye can talk some sense into that young man’s head, it’ll be a great favor to me, I’ll tell ye. Fool wants me roust out me grooms and set him and his wife up in a post chaise. At this time of night. I told him he’d have to wait ’til the morning, like any decent body would, but he’s been carrying on like a scalded cat about spending the night in a ‘grubby country inn.’ I ask ye—”
“He’ll win no awards for tact,” Michael agreed calmly. “Don’t worry. We shall handle him for you. Go back to bed and don’t worry about it. They will be leaving with us.”
“Thank you, sir.” The innkeeper nodded his head gratefully. “I can always tell real quality, sir, and yer it, not like some young pups I could mention.” He nodded his head significantly toward the closed door, then turned, picked up his candle and waddled off down the back hall to his quarters.
Ravenscar had been waiting impatiently all through the innkeeper’s conversation, and as soon as he left, Rachel’s father strode across and unceremoniously opened the door and walked in. Michael followed quickly, closing the door behind them.
Rachel sat in a chair across the room, her elbow propped on the arm of the chair and her head on her hand, looking wilted. A young man with a thick head of black hair and handsome features was striding impatiently back and forth across the floor. He swung around at their entrance, but it was clear from the stunned expression on his face that he was not expecting to see Michael and Ravenscar.
“Good God!” he exclaimed involuntarily.
Rachel looked up at the force of his exclamation, and she froze when she saw their visitors. She jumped to her feet, her hands clutching her skirts, and the fear on her face pierced Michael’s heart anew. “F-father! Lord Westhampton!”
“Did you think you would get away?” Lord Ravenscar roared, his face flooding red with fury. “Did you think you could just dash off and nothing would happen? Have you gone mad? Are you dead to all sense of propriety?”
“Lord Ravenscar…” Michael began, coming up beside him.
Ravenscar cast him a single cold glance, saying, “No. Unfortunately she is not your wife yet, Westhampton. She is still my concern.” He turned back to his daughter, saying, “Your mother is prostrate with grief. You have ruin
ed us all.”
Rachel’s face turned even paler, and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I did not want to hurt anyone.”
“My lord, it was all my fault.” The young man came to stand between Rachel and her father. “I begged Rachel to run away and marry me.”
“Of course it’s your fault!” Ravenscar roared. “Do you think I don’t know that? This one hasn’t the wit to come up with an idea like that. But you couldn’t keep from seducing her, could you?”
“My lord!” Birkshaw gasped. “I did not touch her, I swear! I love your daughter!”
Ravenscar’s face went from red to purple as Birkshaw’s words rendered him speechless for the moment.
“You have an odd way of demonstrating your affection,” Michael said crisply, stepping into the gap. “Convincing Miss Aincourt to elope with you practically on the eve of her wedding, with scores of guests here to witness the scandal. You have exposed her to unimaginable gossip and encouraged her to break her trust, all the while knowing that you have not the means to support a wife. And you hadn’t even the foresight to hire a carriage to make your escape,” he finished in disgust.
The other man flushed, whether from anger or shame, Michael was not sure. “I know you have good reason to hate me, my lord, and I beg your pardon. I had no intention of doing wrong to you. It is just that my love for Miss Aincourt is overwhelming.”
Birkshaw turned to look at Rachel, and she smiled at him through her tears, love glowing on her face. Michael felt as if a knife had just sliced through his vital organs. He turned and walked away, struggling to compose himself. Rachel had never looked at him with even a third of that emotion, and he saw clearly now that he had no hope of becoming the man she loved. He walked over to the sideboard, staring blindly down at the rough wood surface, seeing only the bleakness that lay over the rest of his life. A life without Rachel. Without love.
“Overwhelming!” Ravenscar barked. “You are a fool. Between the two of you, you have ruined her life. Eloping—spending the night on the road with a man who is not her husband—good God, man, the entire world will know she is a wanton. Her good name is destroyed. Are you such a mooncalf you don’t see that? No man would marry her now.”