by Anne Gracie
“No indeed. A most exhilarating performance,” agreed Lady Elinore.
Sebastian snorted. “It’s a performance, all right.”
“I had heard him described as Byronesque,” Lady Elinore said, “but I had not realized the degree to which it would be so apt. There is a tendency in society to exaggerate such things, but in this case it seems appropriate. Do you not find him so, Mr. Reyne?”
“Find him what? Appropriate?” Sebastian blinked. Miss Hope hadn’t taken her eyes off the dratted fiddle player.
“Byronesque.”
Sebastian frowned. “I thought he was Hungarian.”
Both Giles and Lady Elinore laughed, as if he’d made a very good joke. Giles said, “Yes, as if he’d stepped right out of ‘The Giaour.’”
Sebastian supposed that the Jowr was some place in Hungary. He didn’t know about such things. He’d had only had a few years of schooling, as Giles very well knew, and poetry wasn’t part of it.
“Oh no, ‘The Corsair,’ I think,” Lady Elinore said. “‘His forehead high and pale / The sable curls in wild profusion veil; . . .’”
“Apt indeed,” Giles agreed.“‘And oft perforce his rising lip reveals / The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals.’ Though it does seem as if he’s quite willing to share his haughtier thoughts aloud—about the inferiority of the refreshments offered, for instance.”
Giles laughed at his own wit. Lady Elinore frowned. Sebastian, having not a clue what the devil they were talking about, frowned also. Miss Hope was paying far too much attention to the blasted fellow!
Lady Elinore said with cool severity, “Mr. Bemerton, I hope you are not mocking the count. I was in absolute earnest in my admiration. Count Felix Vladimir Rimavska is the finest violinist I have ever heard. The fact that he also resembles Lord Byron’s most romantical hero is not, I believe, a reason for flippancy. On the contrary, it only adds to his attraction.” She walked off, leaving Giles staring after her, his jaw agape.
“Did you see that?”
“I did indeed,” murmured Sebastian, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the scene next to the stage. “An absolute disgrace.”
“She reprimanded me! Again!”
“Hmm? Who?”
“Lady Elinore! She reprimanded me for my flippancy and walked off in high dudgeon!” Giles was astounded. And from the light in his eyes, amused. “I’ve never had any woman talk to me that way, let alone a dowdy little quiz at her last prayers.”
“Ahem!” Sebastian cleared his throat meaningfully, but Giles missed the hint, so he was forced to add, “Recall, if you please, that you are talking of my intended.”
“Oh, right. Yes, of course. Sorry.” Giles stared after Lady Elinore.
“What did you do to offend her, anyway?”
Giles jerked his chin in the direction of the stage. “Insulted the fiddler.”
Sebastian snorted. “A man like that cannot be insulted enough! Blasted coxcomb!” He glared at the Merridew sisters, still apparently entranced by the count.
Giles nodded. “Fellow needs a punch in the nose, if you ask me.”
“My thoughts exactly!”
In complete accord they watched the ladies thronging around the count. The Merridew girls were in the forefront, standing right beside him. Lady Elinore had quietly attached herself to the edge of the adoring circle. Sebastian said, “I’m not staying to watch any more of this.”
Giles shook his head in disgust. “Me neither. I need a drink.”
However, when they reached the house Sebastian had rented for the season, it was to find there was an urgent message waiting for him from his butler in Manchester. Cassie and Dorie were missing. They’d been missing for—he checked the date on the message—three days now. The butler had taken the liberty of calling in Mr. Morton Black.
Missing. A cold chill enveloped his body, and for a second he could not think at all. They could not be missing. He could not have lost them again!
Feeling sick and more worried than he’d been for years, Sebastian instantly ordered a fresh horse to be saddled. He explained briefly to Giles. “I must go, immediately.”
“Yes, of course, my dear fellow. I shall look after things for you here, shall I?”
Sebastian, his only thought for his sisters, said distractedly, “What things?”
“You have an engagement to drive out with Lady Elinore tomorrow morning, do you not?”
“Oh yes. Damn! I should write—”
Giles laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t give it another thought. I shall call on Lady Elinore in the morning, explain to her that you were called away on urgent family business. I’ll even take her on that drive, if she wants. I’ve no other engagements.”
“Thanks, Giles. You’re a good friend. Now, I’ll just get out of these evening clothes and be off.”
In less than ten minutes, Sebastian, in boots, buckskins, and riding coat, was ready and set off northward, into the night.
Chapter Six
I had a dream, which was not all a dream . . .
The dread of vanished shadows.
LORD BYRON
HOPE TURNED AND TWISTED, TRYING TO ESCAPE. DARK. JUST A chink of light. She reached for it, for the handle. Can’t move. Pain. She tried again. “The Devil’s hand.” The rope burned into her wrist. “I forbid you to use it.”
She fought for breath. Her heart thudded in her ears. She was dying. He’d locked her in here to die.
Faith, where was Faith? Where was her twin?
Dark. So dark. Can’t move hand. “I’ll teach you to use that hand.”
She fumbled with her other hand, groped at the chink of light. Should be able to work the lock from the inside. Try, try!
Can’t! Too clumsy! “Tainted.” Can’t use her right hand like everyone else. Can’t get out. Can’t breathe!
Coffin. She tried to hammer on the lid. Hand won’t move. Good hand. Bad hand. Rope bites into her flesh, tight. Tight enough to cut off the flesh, the bad hand. “Evil. Tainted.”
She tried to breathe.
“Faith,” she called again. “Faith! Twin!”
“Hope! Hope darling, I’m here. Wake up, my dear.”
Light. Blessed light. Blinding her but oh, thank God! Sister. Twin. Faith, her other half. In a nightgown. She was saved. She gasped for breath.
“Breathe deeply now, Hope, dear. You’re safe. It was just one of your dreams.”
The words finally penetrated. A dream? She was not back at the Court? Thank God. Thank God.
“It was just a nightmare, love. You’re safe now, safe in your own bed, far away from Grandpapa.” Faith smoothed Hope’s tangled hair off her damp forehead.
Hope blinked, dazed, still partly in the grip of her nightmare. Her twin reached down and took Hope’s left hand and raised it in front of her. “See? No ropes. No marks. It’s all behind us, now.” She hugged her.
Hope gave several deep, shivery breaths and rubbed her left wrist as if the rope burns were still there. “I’m sorry, twin,” she said gruffly.
“Don’t be,” said her gentle sister almost fiercely. “Do you think I don’t know what these nightmares are about? How often you took punishments intended for me?” There were tears in her eyes. “I just wish I could suffer the nightmares for you.”
Hope smiled shakily and hugged Faith. “Don’t worry, twin. You have your own nightmares, I know. We all do. It is Grandpapa’s legacy.”
Her sister’s words of the other night came back to her. “Give him another fifty years or so, and who will you be looking at? Grandpapa!”
Was that what had brought the nightmare on? Did he really, deep down, remind her of Grandpapa? Was the dream a warning?
She thought about it. Sebastian Reyne was not like Grandpapa, he was not. She was sure he was not.
Almost.
Wearily, Sebastian turned into the driveway of his home. Lights blazed from the house. He was drenched, filthy, and exhausted. He’d ridden almost nonstop for the last twe
nty-two hours. He’d lost track of the number of horses he’d exchanged on the way. He dismounted, staggering briefly, as his muscles cramped.
The front door was flung open before he had even reached the steps. The butler hurried to greet Sebastian. “It’s all right, sir, the girls have been found!”
Sebastian stumbled on a step.
“Mr. Black, he found them, safe and well!”
Sebastian stared at the butler, almost unable to take in his words. He glanced up. Behind the butler, Morton Black stood at the open front door of Sebastian’s house, and behind him stood Cassie, looking both belligerent and embarrassed, her hand clasping Dorie’s. Dorie looked no different from usual: wide-eyed, wary, and silent.
Relief flooded him. “Thank God!” He raced up the steps and bent to embrace the girls. They flinched and stepped back. Sebastian froze. In his relief at seeing them safe, he’d forgotten.
Hurt, and angry with himself for overstepping the bounds the girls had early established, he ran a rueful hand over his unshaven chin. “Sorry. I forgot how wet and filthy I was. A right bear I must look.”
They said nothing.
Stripping off his wet coat, hat, and gloves, he wiped his hands on a towel provided by his butler and held his hand out to Morton Black. “Thank you once again for coming to our rescue, Black. I am extremely grateful. Now, shall we all go into the drawing room? I would like to get to the bottom of this. And Treece,” he turned to the butler. “I am famished, and I am certain Mr. Black and the girls will not be averse to some refreshments also.”
He ushered the two girls before him into the drawing room and sat down on a hard, wooden chair. “So, Black, did you have to travel far to find them?”
Morton Black shook his head. “Not far at all, sir. Just as far as your own attics.”
Sebastian frowned. “My attics?”
Black nodded. “I was all set to start scouring the streets, but when I discovered that they hadn’t taken their coats and sturdy boots with them, it gave me pause. Not sensible, you see, and these girls are not . . . stupid. Foolish, perhaps, but not stupid.” He gave them a mildly censorious look. Cassie jutted her chin at him in silent defiance. Dorie sat mute and still.
Black continued, “Then I overheard the cook accusing the scullery maid of pinching food from the kitchen, and I put two and two together. I ordered the house searched from top to bottom.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Found ’em in the attics. Miss Dorie sound asleep in an old armchair and Miss Cassie sittin’ on the roof, surveying her surrounds. Should have known.”
Sebastian felt relief swamp him. They must have had no intention of running away from him.
But that didn’t explain why the girls had hidden in the first place. They weren’t the kind for idle mischief or practical jokes. In fact, he’d feel a lot happier about them if they did show such normal childish traits. He went straight to the heart of the problem. “Yes, but why hide in the first place? They are perfectly safe, now.”
Black shrugged. “That I can’t tell you, sir. The girls have said nothing to me.”
“Cassie?” Sebastian turned to her. “Why did you and Dorie hide?”
There was a long silence.
“Was it a prank? Something you thought might be fun, to trick everyone?”
Cassie flung him a scornful look in response. Of course she wouldn’t do such a thing for fun, the look said.
“Then why, Cassie?”
She shrugged, her face sullen and uncommunicative.
He clenched his fist in frustration but said in an even tone, “I will have an answer, Cassie. If you had good reason for what you did, no one shall punish you. If not, you will be punished.”
Dorie’s gaze flickered to Sebastian’s fist, then to her sister. Her little face was white and pinched, and instead of her habitual blankness, she looked anxious.
It was like a hand squeezed around Sebastian’s heart. His voice softened. “It’s all right, Dorie, nobody will hurt either of you. Cassie, was it something to do with Dorie?”
Cassie glanced at her sister, then shrugged, as if indifferent. “And if it was?”
Sebastian sighed wearily. “Just tell me, Cassie. I am tired and angry and relieved all at once. I’ve been traveling nonstop day and night, worried sick that something terrible had happened to you.”
Cassie’s eyes narrowed skeptically, as if she didn’t believe him.
Sebastian continued, “Yes, worried sick!” He shook his head, puzzled at her attitude. “Of course I was! You’re my sisters! Why else do you think I dropped everything in London and came home to look for you?”
Cassie frowned.
He said, “I wasn’t the only one. Treece and Mrs. Elliot and Mr. Black and Cook and everyone else in the house have been worried sick, too, searching for you high and low. I suspect none of us have slept properly for days.”
She glanced at Black, who nodded confirmation.
Treece had just come in carrying a pot of tea, a bottle of brandy, and a plate of sandwiches. Cassie glanced at him, and he nodded, “He’s right, Miss Cassie. We’ve all been that worried about you and the little one. Mrs. Treece hasn’t slept a wink for fretting, neither.”
Sebastian, seeing that Cassie was genuinely taken aback by their concern, explained, “We all imagined you dead in a ditch, or worse! So the least you can do is explain why you put us all through that.”
After a moment’s silent reflection, Cassie said slowly, “It wasn’t a trick. I’m sorry we upset you all.” She glanced at her little sister, and some silent communication passed between them. “Dorie was frightened. She thought she saw . . . someone.”
“Who?”
“Cassie shook her head.
“Did she tell you? Can she speak?”
Cassie said impatiently. “You know Dorie doesn’t speak.”
“Then how did you—” He broke off. “Very well, I accept that Dorie was frightened and that I was not here to protect you from whatever she thought it was. But why did you not tell Treece or Mrs. Elliot? Why hide instead?”
She gave him a flat look, and he realized it hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t expect to be protected. It was why she carried that knife strapped to her thigh.
He said gently, “While I am away, there are more than twenty people in this house, Cassie, and their only task is to see to your and Dorie’s welfare. Their only task.”
Cassie shrugged uncomfortably, unsettled but determined to feign indifference.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about who or what frightened Dorie?”
She got that stubborn look in her eyes again, and Sebastian realized he’d got all he was going to get out of her. “Very well, it’s late. Mrs. Elliot can take you up to bed now. I shall consider what is to be done in the morning, when I’ve had some sleep and can think more clearly. Good night, Cassie. Good night, Dorie.”
“G’night, sir,” Cassie mumbled and took Dorie’s hand. It was another cut. Cassie refused utterly to address him as Sebastian, as he had asked her. She addressed him as the servants did—sir—making it clear that he was nothing personal to her.
Sebastian watched them leave. As they reached the door, he said in a low voice, “Girls, I know I sound angry, but you have no idea how thankful I am that you are both safe and well.”
The girls paused on the threshold, then glanced at each other. Slowly, reluctantly, Cassie turned. “Sorry we worried you,” she muttered, addressing the room in general, not Sebastian in particular. It was a victory, but a hollow one.
“Sleep well, little ones,” he said, feeling unutterably weary. They would punish him forever for losing them in the first place.
“So I’ve brought them to London with me,” Sebastian told Giles ten days later. He jerked his chin at the ceiling. “They’re asleep now. The journey has worn them out, poor little things.” He’d arrived in London in the late afternoon and sent a note around to Giles, informing him.
Giles raised a brow. “Having two young girls o
n hand is going to complicate your social life, you realize.”
“I know, but what else can I do? It’s obvious I can’t leave them alone. More than ever, I need to take a wife, and the longer I delay it, the more the difficulties multiply.”
“What difficulties? Are the girls getting harder to handle?”
Sebastian shook his head. “No, not really, though I must admit this last escapade threw me. But it is the mill, also. There are things needing my attention, and lately, there’s been a lot of unrest in the area. I’ve managed to keep it from affecting my mills—my workers are better off than most and know it—but still, a few hotheads can . . .” He noticed the glazed look around Giles’s eyes and said, “I see I’m boring you. Suffice it to say, I need to expedite this courtship in as short a period as possible and get back to normal. I sent a note around to Lady Elinore an hour ago.”
“So you haven’t changed your mind about courting Lady Elinore?”
“No. Why should I?” Sebastian firmly drove images of golden-haired Miss Merridew from of his mind. “This episode with the girls has confirmed more than ever that I need a wife who can understand their special circumstances.”
“So it is fixed in your mind that your own desires do not matt—”
“We shall keep my desires—whatever you imagine them to be—out of this, Giles, thank you.”
Giles smiled skeptically. “Very well. Your own desires do not matter, and only Lady Elinore could understand your sisters’ situation, not . . . anyone else. Miss Merridew, for instance.”
Sebastian frowned. His friend was like a cat, seemingly uninterested until he unsheathed a lazy claw. He explained forcefully, “Miss Merridew is a lovely girl, but she’s led a sheltered and privileged life. Lady Elinore might come from the same privileged class, but she’s spent most of her adult life working with poor and troubled orphan girls.” From the look in his eye, Giles would not give up, so he turned the subject. “Thank you for smoothing things with her, by the way. Did she mind very much that I didn’t turn up for our drive?”
“No, not much.”
“Good. You explained, then.”