by Mary Nichols
‘Who?’ She had recovered from the shock of her capture but she was still very frightened because she had suddenly remembered where she had seen his watch before. It had been taken from Lord Dullingham by the highwaymen!
She had thought at the time that there was something strange about that hold-up. The men had strewn their belongings about the road and taken the jewellery they had been wearing and the money on their persons, but they had made a poor job of searching the coach. Experienced high tobies would have realised that his lordship would have hidden his money and anything of real value and they would have made him tell them where it was. And they had said something about making it look good.
She looked up at Jem; the servile look he had adopted while working at Rowan Park had gone and now he was scowling. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.
‘Who do you think? Your lover, of course.’
‘I have no lover.’
‘No?’ he sneered. ‘That ain’t what the tattlers are saying.’
So, Lord Barbour had spread that malicious lie after all. For a moment she forgot her own predicament in her concern for Felicity. Poor girl! But would she believe such duplicity of the sister who loved her so much that she would sacrifice anything for her? But she did not know that, did not know Georgie had given up all hope of happiness for herself. ‘What care I for gossip?’
‘I reckon you’ll care afore another day passes. It will get worse.’ He seemed delighted by the prospect. ‘Now you are going to write a letter. A love letter.’ He put a sheet of paper, an ink-well and a quill on the table in front of her and untied her wrists. ‘Write what I say and no funny business.’
She made no move to obey and he picked up the quill and put it in her hand. ‘Write, unless you want to taste the back of my hand.’
She looked up at him, frantically searching her brain for some way of including a secret message which Richard would understand. It was to the Major she was writing, she was sure.
‘Let me see; how shall we begin?’ He turned to her. ‘Now, how would you begin a letter to him? My darling, or dearest, or dear heart, which is it to be?’
‘It might help if I knew to whom I was writing,’ she said coldly.
‘Major the Honourable Richard Baverstock, heir to Viscount Dullingham, who else? Mind you, he’s only lately become the heir and that’s his misfortune. Before that it was...’ He shrugged. ‘Enough of that. Address the letter to him.’
She wrote ‘Dear Major Baverstock’ and looked up at him for further instructions.
‘I am in a little trouble,’ he dictated, then laughed. `You might as well tell the truth. It will serve. Tell him you are being held hostage and if he wants to see you again he is to accompany the bearer, who will bring him to you.’
‘He might not come.’
‘And pigs might fly. He’ll come, especially when he sees it is Lord Barbour’s son who brings him the message. They are old adversaries.’ He nodded to the boy who was sitting in a rocking-chair by the fire, rocking himself back and forth in a kind of contained glee.
‘Supposing the Major has continued with the race? He might be long gone.’
‘He doesn’t have a mount, not one that’ll carry him far. Besides, I’ve got someone on watch on the road. He’ll stop him if need be. Now write.’
‘And if I refuse?’ She didn’t really want to know the answer, but she needed time to think.
But she was not to have that time and neither was he. There was a great commotion outside, a heavy rumbling followed by the snorting of a horse and then hoof beats. Warrior had got loose and was creating mayhem! Jem threw open the door and went chasing after the stallion, falling over the logs which had tumbled from their pile and were rolling all over the place. The boy looked at the man, who was swearing and trying to get to his feet, then back at Georgie, obviously wondering what he should do, but before he could make up his mind Jem straightened up and found himself face to face with Daniel Batson. A couple of swift punches, one to the head and one to the belly, were enough. He sank back among the logs. The boy abandoned Georgie and tore off through the woods.
‘Let the boy go, man,’ commanded a familiar voice. ‘Go and get the other villain while I tie this one up.’
Georgie, who had been sitting at the table half mesmerised by the action taking place in the yard, scrambled to her feet just as Richard came in the door, grabbed the rope which had been used to tie her and went outside again to truss Jem up. That done, he returned to Georgie. She flung herself into his arms.
‘Hush, my love, it’s all over,’ he said, holding her close against him, stroking her hair from her face, feeling the wild beating of her heart against his chest. ‘No harm’s done.’
‘How did you find me? Oh, Richard, they were going to kill you. I couldn’t have borne it.’ She shuddered. ‘My blood runs cold to think of it.’
He leaned back to lift her chin with his finger so that he could look into her eyes. ‘You do care, don’t you?’
‘Of course I care.’
‘Weren’t you worried about what they would do to you?’
She smiled weakly. ‘Terrified. But I don’t understand what it was all about. It wasn’t just the race, was it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Oh, my darling, I am so sorry you had to be mixed up in it. Why did you bring Warrior instead of sending him?’
‘I just wanted to see a little of the race.’ She smiled again, feeling stronger with his arms so comfortably about her and his face, so full of concern, looking down at her. ‘The boy stopped me, pretended he was in trouble, then someone hit me on the back of the head. The next thing I knew I was here. Where are we?’
‘In the wood not three miles from Baldock. Corporal Batson overheard Jem talking to Lord Barbour. He came back to tell me.’
‘Back? Do you mean you abandoned the race?’
‘Yes. When no one turned up with Warrior, I knew you must be in some sort of trouble and you are far more important to me than any race. You are...’
‘But you must go on.’ She was almost desperate to stop him saying any more. It could not be; it just could not. ‘We’ll find Warrior, he won’t have gone far.’
‘No. We have to talk. I must know.’
‘No, no. You must go on.’
He stepped back to take her shoulders in his hands and look down at her. ‘Georgie, look at me.’
Slowly she raised her eyes.
‘I love you.’ He bent his head to kiss her. She shivered as the kiss deepened from a simple meeting of lips to something that held the fire and passion they both felt. Her whole body cried out for him and she clung to him, returning his kiss, abandoning herself to the delightful sensations his touch aroused. It was some time before he gathered his self-control and lifted his head, though his arms remained around her. ‘Oh, my dear. You do feel it too.’
If it was meant to be a question she did not answer and he did not repeat it. Instead, he said, ‘We can’t go on like his.’
‘Like what?’ Her voice was flat with the effort of trying to control her overflowing emotions. To have been abducted and threatened then rescued by the man she loved so much, to be kissed and know that he loved her too, and then to have to spurn him, was too much. But spurn him she must.
‘I need to know if you love me,’ he said.
Unable to look into his eyes and lie, she lowered her gaze. ‘You are betrothed to my sister.’
‘I am not. I haven’t seen her. I tried, believe me, but she seems not to want my advances.’
He had hoped to be able to go to Georgie after the race and tell her he was free to ask her to marry him, but he had been unable to see Felicity. She was a little out of curl, he had been told, a slight indisposition, nothing to worry about, but she was staying in bed for a day or two. He suspected she was doing to him exactly what Georgie had done to Lord Barbour - avoiding him in order not to have to receive his offer. He could not dangle there while she made a recovery; he had left to start the race
, knowing his failure would annoy Georgie.
He gave a strangled laugh. ‘All I wanted was to give her the opportunity to turn me down.’
‘She wouldn’t do that. She knows what a good match it will be for her and...’
‘And how much you have sacrificed to bring it about? I am not blind, Georgie, even if you are.’
‘Don’t you have any regard for her at all?’
‘Of course I do, because she is your sister. I admit when my father and your aunt began pushing me towards her I complied like a dutiful son, but it did not take me long to realise it just would not do. It is you I love.’
She felt drained of energy and there were no tears left in her to shed; they had evaporated, leaving her like a dried-up shell, devoid of feeling. ‘So, you want to defy your father again,’ she said, moving away from him to put enough distance between them for her to be able to control her turbulent emotions. ‘You would break Felicity’s heart and make us all the subject of the most horrible gossip?’
‘Do you really think she will be heartbroken?’
‘You can’t mean to back out. She will be mortified with shame.’
He looked miserable, cursing the strict code of etiquette which forbade him to withdraw with any honour, even though he had not actually made an offer of marriage. ‘I know I can’t, but if she were to refuse me...’ He paused and said softly, ‘Georgie, you must tell her...’
‘I can’t possibly do that.’
‘You are the most infuriating woman I have ever come across, do you know that? You will make three people miserable for the rest of their lives, perhaps four...’
‘Four?’
‘There may be someone who loves your sister very much and she might love him...’
‘Do you know that for a fact?’
‘No.’
‘Then I suggest you find Warrior and carry on with the race. I need you to win, Major Baverstock, for the sake of Rowan Park. It is all that matters to me.’
‘It’s too late. I’ve lost an hour at least.’
‘No, it isn’t. There is still a long way to go and anything could happen. Lord Barbour might be thrown; his horse might go lame halfway between one post and the next and he’d have to walk a few miles, wouldn’t he? He might even miss the way or slow down, believing you have been taken care of.’
‘I can’t leave you.’
‘The Corporal will escort me back to the Barley Mow. Come on.’
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she walked away from him towards the track which continued past the cottage and on through the trees towards the Great North Road. The Corporal had gone that way to take care of the second conspirator. Because there was little else he could do, Richard untied the mare and the cob and followed. They had almost reached the road when they found Daniel sitting with his back to a tree waiting for them. He had Charlie tied to another tree and Warrior tethered near by.
‘There you are,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘All nabbed, right and tight, and no harm done to the beast.’
‘Good man,’ Richard said.
‘Corporal, I have been trying to persuade the Major that it is not too late to go on,’ Georgie said. ‘He can easily catch his lordship, can’t he?’
‘Course he can,’ Daniel confirmed. ‘I’ll look after the lady, sir, and them two Jeremy Diddlers, don’t you worry none.’ He fetched the stallion and brought him alongside Richard. ‘Come on, let me give you a leg-up. I got money on this here race and so have a good many others.’
Richard, realising that he was going to make no progress with Georgie that night, or indeed ever, reluctantly allowed himself to be persuaded. He held his fidgeting mount to look down at her. She was standing very still, making no move to go to him or bid him goodbye. There was nothing more to be said; he dug his heels in and cantered away.
‘Oh, miss,’ Daniel said, turning to her and seeing the tears streaming down her face. ‘There ain’t no reason for you to cry now, is there? It’s all over.’
She forced a watering smile. ‘Yes,’ she said ‘it’s all over.’
Chapter Ten
Mrs Bertram was at her wits’ end. To have had no choice but to invite the Viscount to accompany her back to Baldock was bad enough, but then to be proved wrong about the route over the heath was even worse. She had been in so much of a ferment over not finding Felicity and wanting to see Georgiana as soon as possible that taking a short-cut had seemed to be the only thing to do. His lordship had demurred about the possible state of the road, but in the end had given way to her, and though she had been triumphant at the time she was more than sorry for it now. For they had not gone far when a wheel had fallen into a deep rut and thrown them both on to the floor in a great heap of legs and petticoats. She felt mortified even now, when she thought of the way his lordship had extricated himself from under her skirts and helped her out of the coach.
They had stood looking at the sorry state of it, while James, her driver, had struggled to calm the horses. It had looked as though the axle had broken, and when James had examined it he had said it was split but with a little ingenuity he might be able to mend it well enough to get them to the Barley Mow. He had vouchsafed the opinion that the inn would be able to effect a more permanent repair. Mrs Bertram’s response had been to urge him to get on with it.
Even so, it had taken some time because it had necessitated finding a piece of wood strong enough and straight enough to strap round the axle, but after a diligent search one had been found and, with the help of a few tools James kept in the boot and some odd leather straps, the axle had been bound up and they had been able to resume their journey at a snail’s pace.
It was no good suggesting that they go faster; they were lucky they were able to move at all and Harriet was obliged to contain her impatience behind a flurry of small talk, which became more breathless and inconsequential as time passed. His lordship was unfailingly calm and cheerful and had even helped the driver with the repair, getting his lovely riding coat covered in axle grease in the process.
By the time they turned into the yard of the inn, well past midnight, Mrs Bertram was aching in every joint and glad to descend and make her way into the parlour, leaving Lord Dullingham and her driver in the yard to give instructions about the repair of the coach. The room was empty except for a lone waiter, collecting up dirty glasses. ‘I had expected to find my niece here,’ she said, looking round the untidy room; they had obviously been very busy earlier in the evening. ‘Miss Paget, you know. Has she been here?’
‘There’ve been a good few young ladies, one way and another, ma’am, seeings everyone wanted to see the riders go through. None here now, though.’
She turned as the Viscount came into the room. ‘We missed them,’ he said.
‘So I have discovered, but where is my niece?’
‘I am afraid she never arrived,’ he said. ‘Nor the horse either. Richard went on without it.’
Mrs Bertram’s reaction to this was to fall on him in a faint and, as she was no lightweight, she almost took him down with her. He managed to haul her to a chair and shout at the waiter to fetch a feather and soon the stench of burning feathers being waved back and forth beneath her nose revived her. Almost at once she began to cry.
‘Do not distress yourself, dear lady,’ his lordship said, helping her to sit up so that she could fish her handkerchief from her reticule. `You have had a most upsetting time. I have bespoken a private room for you. The landlord’s daughter will help you to bed.’ He beckoned to the waiter. ‘Bring a bumper of brandy.’ And as the man obeyed he said, ‘Drink this down and then go and rest. Things will look much better after you have had some sleep. In the meantime I shall endeavour to find out what has happened to Miss Paget.’
‘Where, oh, where can she have got to? Oh, I shall never live it down. Never. Never.’
‘Compose yourself, ma’am, I beg you. No doubt she is safe and sound and so we shall discover in the morning.’ He looked up as the innkeeper’s
daughter entered the room. ‘There you are. Would you help Mrs Bertram up to her room? I am afraid she has had a shock.’ To the lady herself he said, ‘Go now. I shall see you in the morning.’
‘You do not think I shall sleep, do you? Oh, what is to become of us all?’ She carried on in like vein for several minutes but as she allowed the young woman to conduct her from the room at the same time, she was soon lost to his lordship’s hearing.
He went out to the yard to hire a mount, but learned, as his son had done before him, that there was nothing to be had. Unable to proceed very far, his lordship contented himself with walking down the road a little way, looking in the hedgerows as he went, just in case Georgie had been thrown, though if Richard’s account of how she could ride were to be believed that was highly unlikely. And where was the horse?
He began to suspect foul play. He sincerely hoped nothing had happened to her for he had become very fond of her. She was a spirited thing, practical and forthright. He had been amused and impressed by the way she had spoken to those soldiers after the hold-up, as if she were defending him! It was a funny thing about them. They had been no ordinary highwaymen and the fellow who had been shot had once been one of his grooms. He had dismissed him for ill-treating a horse. Had it been done for revenge? It was rather excessive, if it had.
The road he was walking along went through a wood and was dark as pitch. Georgie might have been lying at his feet and he would not have been able to see her; he should have brought a lantern. He turned to go back.
Georgie pulled the mare up in surprise. Surely that was her aunt’s chaise in the inn yard? What was it doing here? Mrs Bertram should be on her way to Dover by now to catch the packet to Calais. She slipped from the horse, leaving the Corporal to deal with the horses and hand the prisoners over to the town watch, and hurried inside. The landlord, who was dozing in the chimney corner, roused himself at her entrance and tried to look alert, but he had been at work for nearly twenty-four hours and it was an effort.
‘Mrs Bertram,’ Georgie began. ‘My aunt.’