The Landlocked Baron (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  He was staring at the younger woman. “Tabby?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Edmund was relieved to see his passengers safe in his home at last. Where they would go from there, he had no idea, but to his mind the responsibility with which he’d been charged, had now concluded.

  The older lady was looking much better, although still pale. She’d slept most of the voyage, only waking as the Rose slowed and dropped anchor in the bay. The transfer to land was accomplished without incident, and she weighed so little that Edmund had no difficulty carrying her up the path and along the lane to the house.

  Their welcome had warmed and surprised him.

  He was warmed to his core by the look on Rosaline’s face when she saw him. It was everything he could have hoped for and if they’d been the only two there…well, he wouldn’t be standing in his own parlor right now. Neither would she.

  But the presence of the rest of his family dampened his ardor, temporarily. The presence of what looked like a regiment of Hussars in his own front hall had definitely surprised him, and now Simon’s reaction to the young woman he’d brought from France had made his jaw drop.

  Altogether an eventful homecoming.

  “Simon? Are you all right?” He threw the question to his brother, who was standing stock-still and gazing at the woman beside the fire.

  She was the one who spoke. “It would seem that my identity is no longer a secret.” She glanced at Edmund. “Although how Mr. Simon Ridlington recognized me, I have no idea.”

  “Our brother is now the Vicar of Ridlington,” said Edmund smoothly. “But he seems to know who you are.”

  Simon drew himself together. “Indeed I do. This is, if I’m not terribly mistaken, Miss Tabitha Worsley.”

  “Good grief.” Letitia spoke up. “Badger’s little girl?”

  The young woman’s lips curled into a smile, an expression which lit up her entire face. Edmund found himself surprised yet again. Her modest demeanor and downcast eyes had led him to regard her as a companion and nothing more. She had neither attracted nor invited attention. If she had smiled like this earlier? Everyone would have been paying attention.

  “Forgive me, Vicar.” She nodded in Simon’s direction. “But you are correct. My father is indeed Sir Badger Worsley. I have to note that you deserve much credit for recognizing me. I believe the last time we met I was barely sixteen.”

  “And a damned nuisance too.”

  “Simon.” Rosaline was shocked.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but she was.” Simon turned to Rosaline. “Francis Matthews, Edward Noble and I use to ride through Worsley land on our way hunting. She…” he frowned at Tabitha, “…she would put down false scents to lure the hounds away from the foxes. Ruined more hunting weekends than I can remember. And don’t even get me started on what she did during pheasant season.”

  “I am impressed by your recollections, Sir. But not in the least regretful of my behavior.”

  “You spoiled our plans.”

  “You were going to kill defenseless creatures. For what? Were you starving? Were you going to cook fox pie? No, of course you weren’t.”

  “We’d have certainly had pheasant.”

  “Oh, were your chickens all dead? Or did you just want to beat the drums that terrified some poor birds into flight so that you could have the pleasure of filling them full of lead shot and watching them fall from the sky.”

  “One moment, if you please.” Edmund stepped forward. “Simon, stop. Miss Worsley…enough. This is not the time or the place to resurrect past differences.”

  Thankfully Chidwell chose that moment to enter with refreshments. Edmund wondered if he’d been listening outside the door and timed his entrance for that very moment, because it was the perfect distraction. What the hell Simon had been thinking to get into an argument like that, Edmund had no idea. But he intended to find out.

  Rosaline came to his side as tea was poured and sandwiches passed around. “What the devil was all that about?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out though, you can be sure of that.”

  While these personal dramas played out, Edmund caught Lieutenant Mansfield standing next to the sofa and leaning down to kiss an elderly hand. He caught his wife’s wrist. “What is this?” He nodded at the unexpected tableau.

  “I couldn’t begin to guess.” She stared as the woman’s back straightened and she nodded imperiously.

  “Lieutenant Mansfield. You are acquainted with this lady?” Edmund asked.

  “Yes my Lord.” The man straightened, mustache quivering slightly. “I am permitted to inform you that you have delivered Lady Charlotte Beresford back to the land of her birth and the embrace of a grateful family.”

  Silence fell.

  “Lady Beresford?” breathed James. “Lady Bessborough’s missing sister? The one who disappeared a couple of years ago on a visit to Belgium?”

  “The very same, Sir.”

  “Good heavens.” Rosaline moved to the sofa and seated herself next to the old woman. “Welcome, my Lady. It is indeed an honor.”

  The lady snorted. “Silly gel. It’s me who should be thanking you and that husband of yours. Demmed fine man with a quick brain.”

  “I agree,” smiled Rosaline. “But you were presumed dead, my Lady. There was nearly an international incident, so I heard, when our Government demanded an inquiry.”

  “Terrible gossips, some people,” frowned Lady Beresford. “But then again, I was fleeing a…an unhealthy situation, shall we say. So to be honest, being thought dead was not a bad thing at the time.”

  “It wasn’t until she reached the French border that matters became difficult.” Tabitha added her mite. “That’s where I met her and she honored me by inviting me to travel with her. I had…well, let’s just say I had my own reasons for being in that area. Those reasons were greatly aided by her Ladyship’s presence.”

  Lady Beresford chuckled, but it turned into a cough and the conversation died away as more tea was poured and her Ladyship was fussed over by Tabitha, Letitia and Hecate.

  “You didn’t know?” Rosaline whispered to Edmund.

  “Not a clue. I knew as soon as I saw them, they were women. And they were well-spoken; obviously not country folk. But other than that? No. I didn’t know. Although I had a nagging feeling she was familiar in some way… To be honest, up until now, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get them home safely.”

  “You did, Edmund. I had no doubts that you would succeed in that.” Her conscience stung. “Although I will admit to being quite worried about you.”

  “Thank you. Wives should always worry about their husbands.” He grinned. “I take it Simon and James kept you ladies safe?”

  “Pretty much.” Rosaline watched Simon and Tabitha studiously avoiding each other. “Simon is older than Miss Worsley, of course.”

  Edmund nodded. “By about three years I think. So he would’ve been nineteen last time they met. Nearly ten years ago.”

  “Well, I’d say she made an impression on him if he recognized her after all that time.”

  “I’d say that you were right. And,” he looked down at her. “May I say how wonderful it is to be home with my wife?”

  She chuckled quietly. “You may. And you may demonstrate your joy in its fullness very shortly. Unless you’re too tired?”

  He snorted. “I will never be too tired for you, love.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she returned his look. “Likewise, my Lord.”

  “I do beg your pardon.” It was Chidwell, demolishing his growing reputation for perfect timing. “There is a person asking to see you, my Lord. One of your crew, I believe.”

  “Thank you Chidwell. At the kitchen door, is he?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I’ll be down in a moment.” Edmund touched his wife’s shoulder. “Can I leave them to you? I think I know what this lad wants. I’m not sure how to handle it, but I must see him first.”

  “Of course.” She smiled
at him. “I’m going to get people moving upstairs any minute now. We’re all exhausted. Some more than others, of course.”

  “I’ll be up as soon as I can.” He dropped a brief kiss on the side of her head and then left the room.

  Rosaline looked around and gave a little nod. “Very well, everyone. I think it is time we settled ourselves—it’s quite late and we all need at least a little sleep on this adventurous night.” She turned to the older woman. “I’m going to ask Mr. FitzArden if he would assist you and Miss Worsley upstairs. My husband has a little business matter to attend to, but I know James will take care of you both.”

  James immediately acquiesced and Letitia moved to his side. “I shall go with you, to make sure James doesn’t put you in the wrong room.” She laughed and the two women smiled with her.

  “I’m drooping with weariness,” announced Hecate with a dramatic wilt and a hand to her forehead. “Don’t expect me until noon at least.”

  Rosaline sighed. “Very good, your Majesty.”

  Hecate giggled and left.

  Which meant that Rosaline, Simon and Lieutenant Mansfield were the only remaining occupants of the parlor.

  *~~*~~*

  “Before you leave, Lieutenant, would you kindly enlighten me as to why a member of the Ton, albeit a titled one, is getting a Hussar escort to London? It seems a little extreme…” Rosaline fixed the man with a stern gaze.

  His mustached trembled, then stilled as he raised his head and looked at her. “My Lady, I am not supposed to reveal our mission here as anything other than an escort for Lady Beresford.”

  “I suppose her connection with Lady Bessborough, and that lady’s connection to our Regent might have something to do with it?”

  “Indeed,” replied the Lieutenant. “A lot to do with it, I’d say.”

  “But not all,” pursued Rosaline.

  The Lieutenant sighed, then looked at Simon. “Vicar, if I answer her Ladyship’s question and you hear what I say, can I ask you to promise never to reveal it? On the word of something very important to you?”

  Simon nodded. “I hear confessions from my flock, sir. I understand the meaning of privacy, secrecy and the power of giving one’s word. I swear by everything I hold holy, that not one word of our conversation will ever leave this room.”

  “That goes for me too, of course,” Rosaline added.

  Mansfield motioned for them to sit. He took a chair opposite and drew it close. “You’re correct, my Lady. We’re not here just to escort Lady Beresford.”

  “You can’t mean you’re here to escort Tabitha Worsley? She’s just a country girl…” Simon’s eyebrows rose.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, sir.”

  “Really?” Rosaline leaned forward. “I don’t understand.”

  “In the last years since you saw Miss Worsley,” he began, “she left the country behind and moved to London. You may not know this, but she was an Incomparable for a season, so I’m told.”

  “Good grief.” Rosaline blinked.

  “She made an excellent match with the younger son of the Duke of Margate, and the wedding was—well, I heard it was top of the trees.”

  “Made all the papers, did it?” asked Simon wryly.

  “It did, sir. I might add my wife was avidly following it all. Never heard the last of it for quite some time.”

  “Well, this is quite a tale, I’m sure, but how on earth did she end up with Lady Beresford in France?” Fascinated, Rosaline leaned forward, eager to hear more.

  “Her husband, Sir Michael Ellsmere, fell at Trafalgar.”

  “Oh no…”

  Simon shook his head. “Such a tragedy. They must have been newly wed…”

  “You are correct, sir.” Mansfield nodded. “She was barely eighteen and he a fine sprig of a man who was close to his maturity. But as second son, he was destined for the military. It’s anyone’s guess as to why he chose the Navy, but he did—with a sad result.”

  “So how did she go on? The Margates must have supported her during her time of loss?”

  “They did, certainly. But the young widow seemed determined to retire from Society. She wished nothing more than to be alone with her grief.”

  “I suppose that is understandable,” said Simon.

  “She took a small house just outside town; one of the Margate properties, I think. And she disappeared from town. We heard nothing of her for some time until it was rumored that someone answering her description had been seen on the Continent.”

  “Ah…so she went abroad?” Rosaline tilted her head to one side.

  “She did, my Lady. But at the request of…um…let’s merely say she had made friends within our Government. Her trip abroad was not the whimsical folly of a grieving widow. It was more of a carefully planned maneuver.”

  “She spied.” Simon whispered the words. “What a brave fool.”

  “Yes sir. She did. And the knowledge she still holds has a lot of value to those who need it. Which, to make a long story short, is why there’s a regiment of us here to make sure she gets safely to the right people.”

  “And why the French are probably not happy she’s flown out of their grasp…”

  “I’m sure they’re not, sir.” Mansfield answered Simon’s statement with a firm endorsement.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “I trust not, Simon.” Rosaline shot him a reproving look. “You, of all people, should know that there is much more beneath our surface appearance than we can imagine.”

  “I do know that, but still. Tabby? It seems so unlikely.”

  Rosaline stood. “May I tell my husband, Lieutenant? I can vouchsafe for his trustworthiness. This secret will be safe with him—and he did bring her home safely.”

  “I was hoping he’d be here so that I could tell him myself, my Lady.” The Lieutenant absently straightened his mustache.

  “He is taking rather a long time…”

  The door opened. “Ma’am… my Lady…” Chidwell stood there, looking pale. “It’s his Lordship.”

  “What about him…” Rosaline tensed.

  “He’s gone.” Chidwell gulped and held out his hand. “Someone left this.”

  It was a grubby note, folded several times, but Rosaline had no difficulty reading it aloud. “Give us the woman or the Baron dies. Wait for instructions.”

  “Dear God,” whispered Simon. “Somebody’s kidnapped Edmund.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Owwww…my head…”

  It was Edmund’s first reaction as he opened his eyes and then shut them again rapidly. Pain crashed through his skull, centering at a point just behind his ear. He reached around to touch it, terrified that his fingers would encounter nothing but mush.

  However, everything was intact, although bloody.

  He’d been hit with something, and hit hard. Again. Did he have a target painted on his head?

  At present, he lay on a sack on a dirt floor in a place that smelled strongly of horse. A stable perhaps? But it was silent and small. No light penetrated, so it must still be night…and no sound could be heard, so he must be alone. Or at least with no four-legged companions.

  Following these deductions, he lay quiet for a few moments, hoping the rest of him was still working and sorting out the confusion muddling his thoughts.

  First and foremost, he decided he was sick and tired of getting hit on the head. Then he thought some more. He remembered arriving home, learning the identities of the two women, and being called down to the kitchen where he was to meet someone.

  He’d been expecting one of his crew, since they’d agreed to all go home and then one would stop by Ridlington to learn if there was any information about their payment. All the men were eager to share in a good solid bag of coin for their efforts, as was their due.

  But the man at the door…Edmund tried to focus. He hadn’t recognized him, although the laborer’s clothes were nothing out of the ordinary.

  “I stepped outside—he was standing
out of the light…” He spoke aloud, the sound of his voice helping him to concentrate. “That’s when I was attacked. I said hello and that’s all I recall.”

  Satisfied that he’d regained most of his wits, he moved, slowly sitting up and ending in a cross-legged position with his back against a wooden wall. It was a good start.

  There were still a few stars dotting his vision, so he stayed still for a bit, catching his breath and willing the effects of the blow to go away.

  Finally, he felt steady enough to stand, but when he did, he realized something. His ankle was chained to the wall. “Fuck.” He spat out the oath and several others to go along with it, the fluid litany springing from a deep well filled by many years aboard ship. When he reached his small recollection of Portuguese curses, he gave up.

  He was helpless, manacled to a wall by a very solid chain.

  Sitting down again, he made himself as comfortable as he could, wondering when or if his captors would return. His thoughts turned to the inevitable question…why? Why was he thus imprisoned, and by whom?

  The logical reason that sprang to mind—money.

  He snorted. If that was the cause, whoever was responsible was barking up the wrong tree by taking him, of all people. The Ridlington purse wasn’t as empty as it had been, but it was by no means overflowing.

  Could it be about the money they had been promised for the trip to France? Possibly. But he didn’t have it and he wasn’t sure who did. Tom Farnwell had been the go-between, so it was most likely he would at least know the whereabouts of the purse, even if he didn’t have it himself.

  Could Farnwell have betrayed him and planned to keep the money for himself? It was another possibility, but one that Edmund found distasteful. The man had lived in the area for some time; one of the quiet ones, yes, but he’d helped out the men in their time of need with his less-than-legal trips over the Channel.

  The idea that he might decide to chain a Baron to a wall and abscond with money not rightfully his…well, it didn’t sit right to Edmund.

  He turned this over and over in his mind, looking at it from all angles, assessing it much as he had assessed naval strategies during his time with the Fleet. He could separate himself from the issue, remove any personal considerations, and review the result from all angles. It had helped him several times, this ability to be completely neutral when facing difficult decisions.