Miss Goldsleigh's Secret

by Amylynn Bright

  “Did you ever come to a decision?” he asked, angry, his voice rising with each word. “I don’t know what else I can say. I’ve made my feelings on the matter well known to you. I have given you every opportunity to trust me and yet, even when you knew I didn’t believe your cockamamie lies, you refused to trust me. And worse yet, you betrayed the trust I had in you by deliberately withholding information that has put my sister, your friend, in grave danger from the very madman who has terrorized you.”

  Olivia rose from her seat on the sofa and approached Henry, her chest rising and falling as she fought to control her tears. “I’m so sorry. I was afraid, and it’s really no excuse. I had thought this morning I could leave today and he wouldn’t hurt Penelope if I was gone from here. But then she went missing, and, oh, Henry…I am so sorry.”

  Henry threw his hand in the air in an extravagant gesture. “What were you going to do? Give in and go with him?” He shook his head at her, his mouth open in amazement. “Sweet Jesus,” he ran his hand through his already disheveled hair.

  “No.” Olivia denied with emphasis. “I was thinking I needed to sell my father’s gun and leave the country.”

  “You care about me so little?” Henry’s blue eyes, intense with emotion, peered down at her. “Do I mean nothing? What about Warren? You’d leave him?”

  She choked back another sob. “That’s not it at all, the opposite actually. I care about you more than anything. And Warren, too. That’s why I’ll go.” She loved him. She’d been so wrapped up in her own head, so confused about what to do, she’d not even realized the reason leaving was so hard was because she loved him. She loved Henry more than anything.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Henry told her in a low, fuming tone. “My sister is fine. We’re all fine, and that’s how we will stay. I will see to it now.”

  But there was no way Henry could see into Reginald’s dark, twisted heart the way she could. Her cousin wouldn’t give up, and just because he didn’t snatch Penelope today didn’t mean he didn’t plan to in the future. She’d never recover if Reginald hurt Henry. Never.

  The folded paper slid under Warren’s bedroom door with a whisper of air and shhh of paper over hardwood. Henry’s note was thicker and thus crinkled a bit when Olivia shoved it through the gap between the door and the floor. Neither note caused enough noise to wake its sleeping recipients.

  Olivia wasn’t especially fond of these night-time escapes with her meager possessions tucked in a pitifully small bag and nerves thrumming through her veins. The last time things had ended dreadfully, but she didn’t expect anything remotely like that happening this time. Of course, the last time she’d been escaping a dire situation, and she had been desperate to get as far away as she and Warren could go. This time she was leaving the man she loved, a family who meant almost as much to her as her own had, and she was leaving her brother.

  This time she emphatically did not want to go.

  After the terror of the afternoon and the mind-numbing panic and guilt Olivia had felt when she’d thought Reginald had snatched Penelope—she could never inflict that sort of horror on this family again.

  But the real reason Olivia had carefully folded one day dress and two changes of underclothes into a knapsack with her father’s watch and the gun was because, obviously, Lord Dalton didn’t want her anymore. There had been no follow-up conversation from their earlier one in his study when she confessed everything. She had always known his reaction would be to distance himself from her, but she’d actually expected him to evict her from the premises. Instead of a violent scene of yelling and accusations, his amity and any interest he had for her quietly turned to, if not outright dislike, then apathy, which was most likely worse.

  She had not seen him again for the rest of the day. He didn’t appear at dinner and he did not explain to the other ladies why they must cancel their evening engagement. Rather he left instructions in a note to his mother. But most telling of all, he did not come to her room to kiss her good night. He’d come every single night, and his absence, as she waited in her nightclothes by the firelight growing more despondent, was most telling.

  It was obvious what she needed to do. She’d brought this potential disaster on these wonderful people, and after all they’d done for her and her brother, there was no way she could allow them to be in any danger.

  She slipped out a side door through the garden before the sun was fully risen and the household staff was just beginning to stir. She strode swiftly down the path and to the lane where she hailed a sleepy hackney driver.

  It was the hardest thing she’d ever done and she was completely miserable, but it was also the right thing to do. Nothing else could be done. She was sure of it.

  Henry was foot weary when he arrived home just before dawn. He and the Duke of Morewether had been up all night searching for clues to the whereabouts of Olivia’s cousin. With the small amount of information they’d gleaned from their contacts in the city, they’d been in every whorehouse and gaming hell in London. He’d never wanted a bath so badly in his life.

  It was best they hadn’t found Reginald. As angry as he was, there was little doubt great physical harm would have come to the perverted bastard, and Morewether wasn’t the man you needed with you when the situation called for cooler heads to prevail. He’d get some sleep today and resume the hunt later tonight. During the day, though, the mission would not be idle. Thomas would continue on today, diligently sifting through records and contacting his friends in the military and the Runner’s office. Henry would have to let the physical search go for now and trust that progress would be made while he rested. He was dead on his feet.

  The house was quiet when he entered. The servants were beginning to stir below in the kitchen, but the family’s apartments were still a slumber. He made his way up the stairs in the dark, not even bothering to light a lamp when he entered his room. What clothes didn’t make the arm of the chair landed on the floor where they stayed, disregarded, until his valet would retrieve them later. Henry crawled under the sheets and flopped his head on the feather pillow.

  His last conscious thought was that he forgot to kiss Olivia good night.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The knocking wormed its way through the dreamy fog and wiggled into Henry’s ear. He pulled his head out from under a pillow and looked around the room for the origin of the offensive noise. The light was too bright, streaming through the gap in the heavy drapery.

  “Henry,” a wee voice called. “Lord Dalton.”

  He sat up and blinked in an effort to clear the daze.

  More knocking. “Henry, are you awake?”

  “Who is it?” He rubbed his head vigorously, scrubbing his scalp with his fingertips.

  “It’s me, Warren.”

  Henry gave a short nod and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Come in.” The door opened, and Warren entered his suite, then ducked down and retrieved something from the floor.

  “You got one, too,” the boy told him as he approached the bed.

  “Got one what?”

  “A note.” The boy wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt not encumbered by the bandages and sling. Upon better inspection, even through his sleep-sandy eyes, Henry could see the lad was upset.

  “What’s troubling you?” he asked. The boy shoved a piece of paper in his direction. Unfolded, Henry spied a handwritten note addressed to Dearest Warren. Henry skimmed it quickly. The contents made him nauseous. “You said I got one too?” The second note was longer than the boy’s. It began My Dear Henry and ended two pages later with All my love, Livvy.

  Henry read back over both notes while the boy stood next to the bed and fidgeted. He was beginning to think he was going to require pants to solve this problem. And more sleep. Coffee certainly. None of this was making sense. Why would Olivia leave? He read the notes again.

  “Have you been to her room? Is she gone?”

  Warren nodded, indicating yes on both accounts. “S
he took Father’s gun, but not much else.”

  The blasted notes didn’t hint where she was going or with whom. Was her damned cousin involved? She had mentioned her thoughts towards leaving and selling the watch for passage somewhere, hadn’t she? Henry had been seething with anger by then. But Reginald could have forced her to write the notes. Regardless, she was out in the world, either with her tormentor or alone, it didn’t matter. Olivia was in serious danger, and he’d failed miserably in his promise to protect her.

  He shoved his legs into the trousers from last night and pulled the shirt over his head but didn’t bother to tuck it in.

  “Come on,” he told the boy who was expecting Henry to solve this problem. “We’ll find her. I made a promise to protect you both, even if that means protecting her from herself.”

  Warren smiled, his relief palpable. “What will we do?”

  “First, we’ll marshal the troops.” Henry strode from the room with determination, and Warren followed along in his wake. “Do you have any idea where she’ll go?”

  “No.” Warren shook his head. “We didn’t make any friends in the city while we were here.”

  “I was afraid of that. She mentioned America several times to me.” Henry paused in his stride, causing Warren to run into the back of him with a grunt. “Do you think her cousin snatched her?”

  “He’s been sneaking up on her, hasn’t he?” Warren asked. “She’s been acting strange the last few days, and I saw the bruise on her arm.”

  Henry didn’t want to think of the other unseen bruises, but he couldn’t keep himself from wincing when the visions flashed through his mind’s eye unbidden. “Yes. She told me yesterday.” How much misery could she have avoided if he’d protected her as promised?

  “It’s possible. Reginald is crazy,” Warren told him as if Henry needed confirmation.

  Henry cursed under his breath. “Come on. I vow we’ll get her back whether she left of her own volition or if that bastard stole her. I promise.” He didn’t have an excellent track record with promises of late. Maybe making this vow on Olivia’s behalf would give him good enough luck so he could get to the other vow next week.

  Henry fired off rapidly scrawled notes to Harrington and Morewether and had them delivered posthaste while he waited for his groggy family to be rousted out of bed. With a fierce sense of urgency, he gave a quick explanation of Olivia’s disappearance and listed off his three working theories. Perhaps his family would have some kind of notion of where to start looking for her.

  “One: her cousin has kidnapped her and forced her to write the notes. Two: She gave into his ultimatum and went to him as he demanded to protect our family.” Henry ticked off the options on his fingers. “Or three: she left everything behind to protect the family and plans to disappear in America or France or wherever her meager funds can take her.”

  “Do you think Reginald forced her to write the notes?” his mother asked.

  “Pardon me, my lord”—Siegfried raised a finger—“I am certain no one entered this house last night. The guards we posted, both our footmen and the ones sent over from His Grace, are adamant about it.”

  Henry shrugged, not as convinced as his butler about their effectiveness. “Well, no one noticed her leaving and she’s definitely gone.”

  “There is no way she went to Reginald,” Penelope added, emphatic. “She hates him, and he terrifies her.”

  “I agree with Penny,” Aunt Evelyn noted. “She is much too strong a girl to bow to that man and his sick whims.”

  Warren nodded emphatic agreement to their character assessment.

  Henry liked to think so, too, but that only left the options that she was kidnapped or left him of her own freewill. Either eventuality proved too heartbreaking to contemplate, but contemplate he must if he was going to redeem himself in the promises department.

  “Remember,” his grandmother added her two cents, “she was likely terrified of the man. Fear makes a person do stupid things, and she wouldn’t be thinking clearly.”

  “Let me see the notes.” His mother held out her hand.

  Warren handed his over, but Henry hesitated. His note lay tucked in his pocket, safe and dear. If he couldn’t have Olivia protected in his house, then he wanted her note safe in his pocket.

  “Henry, for goodness’ sake, give me your note.” She actually snapped her fingers in impatience before he gave up and placed it in her palm.

  After she read them over, she handed the notes to Evelyn. Great, everyone in his family would know about his failings. To cap off the worry that almost consumed him, now he had humiliation to contend with. His family gathered around the pieces of paper, read them out loud and mulled over the significance of each word, dissecting any and all subtext.

  “Do you think it’s in code?” Penelope asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Cassandra offered, discussing his note with clinical detachment. “Right here where she says she loves him seems sincere.”

  “True,” Daphne agreed. “Besides, if her cousin was standing over her dictating what to say, why would she bring up how much she ‘treasured our time together in the garden’ if she didn’t want her cousin to know about it?” She pointed her finger at the exact line in Olivia’s note.

  Henry snatched back the papers. He’d had just about enough of the insult of having his sisters scrutinizing his love notes.

  “Why does she think you don’t want her anymore?” Penelope asked.

  Would this humiliation never stop? He folded the paper and slid it back in his pocket, signaling, at least he thought, that the conversation was over.

  Helen tilted her head to the side. “Where did you read that?”

  Daphne spoke up. Apparently his middle sister had recently developed perfect recall. “When she wrote, ‘I can’t in good conscious make you uphold your valiant offer due to your changed feelings for me.’”

  “Why does she think your feelings changed for her?” Cassandra cocked her head in question and stared at him pointedly.

  Penelope chimed in before he could muster up an indignant response. “Probably from the reprehensible way he treated her during my kidnapping scare.”

  “I was not reprehensible,” Henry insisted. Yes, you were. What a stupid, idiotic man he was. He knew exactly why she had that impression, as wrong as it was. Granted, he’d been angry with her, but his feelings hadn’t changed. He could kick himself.

  “Sounds like it to me,” Helen volunteered.

  “Me, too,” Cassandra chimed in. The rest of his family looked at him sadly, which was almost more than he could bear.

  A deep voice broke into the middle of the feminine scolding. “All men are reprehensible. That’s why you like us. Otherwise there’d be nothing for you to try to change.” Morewether strolled into the parlor, led by Siegfried. Henry hadn’t even heard the bell. The man looked disgustingly put together for someone who probably got less sleep than he had. He heard Cassandra sigh and glared in her direction before he addressed his best friend.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Henry told Morewether. “I’m sorry to rouse you so early after the long night.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself over it,” Morewether told him with a good-natured smile. “Anything for a lovely lady.”

  “Our lovely lady is still in dire straits, is she?” Harrington, Francesca, and Anna entered the already uncomfortably crowded room of people staring at Henry with disdain.

  Once again the tale was told, this time by his female relations who peppered it with their opinions of Henry’s actions and failings. He got a pitying look from Francesca and Anna and a glance of understanding from Harrington.

  Morewether took in Henry’s disheveled appearance. “I’d shoot you to put you out of your misery if you didn’t look so damn desperate.”

  “How does that help, Christian?” Francesca asked her brother. Then she focused her attention on Henry. “I agree with your mother. I don’t think she left with her cousin, at least not will
ingly.”

  “And I don’t know about your men,” Morewether told him, “but my guards wouldn’t allow the man in here without a hell of a fight.”

  Siegfried coughed a polite interruption. “Nor ours, Your Grace.”

  Fabulous. That meant she left him. What an ass I am.

  The very perceptive Anna must have interpreted what he was thinking. “Not just you, Dalton. If she left, it was because she was trying to protect everyone.”

  “Right.” His mother placed her hands on his shoulders and urged him to look at her. “She loves you. You love her.” Henry broke eye contact with her, but she shook him hard. “You love her.”

  Francesca interrupted. “You never told her?” She snorted in derision. “You men are so unbelievably stupid.” Her statement was emphasized by four nodding heads, proving his sisters agreed with her wholeheartedly.

  “This can be fixed,” Harrington assured him. “I speak from experience.” His wife looked at him and shook her head in disgust. “It can,” he protested.

  “I believe it can,” Aunt Evelyn said. “She isn’t going to stop loving you by this afternoon.”

  “Right.” Morewether clapped his hands and rubbed them vigorously. “Let’s go find her so you can moon over her properly.”

  “Where?” Daphne asked, ever the pragmatist. “Where do we start?”

  “Remember, she took Father’s gun,” Warren reminded everyone. “I’m sure she means to sell it this time.”

  “Oh, that’s so sad,” Anna said, and his sisters all agreed.

  Henry agreed as well, but he did think it was a good clue to what Olivia was thinking. “If she sells it, she’s going to try to buy passage on a ship.”

  “So to the docks, then.” Harrington put his hat back on, preparing to depart for the wharfs of London. The crowd moved as one for the door. “I’ll tell you the news of the solicitor on the way.” When Henry swiveled and looked at him expectantly, Harrington shooed his hands at him. “On the way.”