Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  After a moment Mr. Nixon said, “Ease up. She’s no use to me if you break her neck.”

  “I wasn’t planning to.”

  “No, but a bump or pothole might jar your foot and then where would I be? With a useless body to dispose of. I didn’t pay you for that.”

  A body? The flat indifference in the voices was terrifying. Lily’s heart hammered harder.

  The pressure on her neck eased. She lay still, struggling to breathe. Questions swirled uselessly in her brain. What did these terrible men want? It sounded like Sylvia’s cousin, Mr. Nixon, was in charge. Was Sylvia part of this? Did she know what was happening to Lily or not? And who was the other man? Some rough hireling from the sound of things. Most pressing of all, why had they taken her? For what purpose?

  And why was it so difficult to marshal her thoughts? Had she been hit on the head, that she was so dizzy and lethargic? She thought about her head. It wasn’t sore—at least not in the way it would be if something had hit it.

  Her mouth tasted sour and cobwebby. So much fabric had been jammed into her mouth that her jaw ached from being forced open for so long. Her tongue was wedged to the side, pressing painfully against a sharp tooth. Every jolt and bump and swerve of the carriage was painful.

  What did they want with her? Were they planning to murder—no, he said a body was no use to him. What then? Ransom?

  She recalled something her brother, Cal, had said to her and Rose a lifetime ago in Bath, when they’d sneaked out alone at night. Something about girls being kidnapped and sold into some kind of slavery. Yes, that was it. White slavery—do you know what that means? Sold into a Turkish harem or a brothel in the seamiest foreign cities. And never seen again.

  A chill ran down her spine. Was that it? Would she disappear into some Turkish seraglio and never see her family again? Tears squeezed between her tightly closed eyes.

  She couldn’t give in to despair. She wouldn’t. She had to fight this. Somehow. She swallowed convulsively, and immediately had to battle the instinct to gag.

  Lily didn’t know how long she lay there on the cold floor of the carriage, in a kind of stupor of helplessness and nausea, but eventually she realized the carriage was slowing. It stopped. Now what? She blinked hard, trying to breathe, to force herself to think. It was like wading through a heavy fog.

  “How much of that stuff did you give her?”

  Stuff? What stuff?

  “A bit, just enough to keep her quiet. Any more and she’d have tasted it.”

  “Better give her another dose before I leave you, then.”

  She snatched a realization from the swirling bewilderment. The fruit punch at the party. It must have been drugged. No wonder she was so confused.

  She could hear them moving in the carriage, shifting things, and then abruptly she was grabbed by the shoulders and jerked into a sitting position. The blanket was pulled off her face, and the wad of cloth dragged from her mouth. She swallowed, gasping deep gulps of air in relief, but before she could gather her wits, someone grabbed her hair and forced her head back, painfully.

  A hand gripped her chin, hard, and the neck of a small bottle was thrust between her lips. She choked and spluttered as some nasty-tasting liquid was forced down her throat. She struggled with all the feeble strength left to her, but it did no good. The holder of the bottle—she couldn’t see his face in the dark—simply jammed it painfully against her teeth, while the other one pulled harder on her hair, forcing her head back until she feared her neck might break.

  “Careful, not too much now, a dead bride will do you no good at all.”

  A dead bride? A bride?

  The vile bottle was removed and Lily, coughing and weak, found her wrists seized and bound. She tried to resist but it was like trying to swim in mud. The dizziness and lethargy were worse now.

  “Good. Now, keep her doped up until you get to Scotland.”

  Scotland?

  Hard hands replaced the gag, still damp from her own spittle, but this time tied around her mouth instead of being stuffed into it. Small mercies.

  She lay on the carriage floor while Nixon paid the other man. Then she was scooped up and dumped roughly into something like . . . a box? A coffin? Panic threatened. She breathed deeply—as deeply as she could through the gag. Stay calm, Lily. Not a coffin. She would have seen a coffin. They were still in the carriage. Think, Lily, think.

  It was some kind of container—no, a space under the seat. Yes, a space for storing cushions and rugs and extra luggage. And abducted women. As the realization came, a lid closed over her, turning the night from a terrifying thing of darkness and shadows into absolute pitch-blackness.

  Slowly, grimly, through the swirling fog of the drug, she pieced it together. They were taking her to Scotland. As a bride.

  * * *

  • • •

  “There’s no use insisting, Cal, I will not go upstairs and sleep—not while Lily and Rose are missing! I couldn’t sleep a wink, even if I wanted to.”

  “But—”

  “Until you walk through the front door, with all three girls safe and sound—because if Rose and Lily are up to mischief, you can be sure that George will be involved too—I will wait downstairs. I’ll be perfectly comfortable here in the front sitting room, on the chaise longue with my feet up. Now, stop fussing about me, my darling—go and find Lily!”

  “Very well, but you will ring if you need—”

  “Go! I’m feeling perfectly well now, just worried about Lily.”

  Cal briefly scrutinized her face, gave a brusque nod and turned to leave. He’d taken just two steps when the front door opened, and Rose and George entered, laughing.

  “Aunt Agatha is in high dudgeon,” Rose told them, her blue eyes dancing.

  “High dudgeon? She’s spitting fire and brimstone!” added George with a grin. “I always knew she was part dragon.”

  “Her precious duke never even turned up. She had to cancel supper— What is it?” The laughter died from Rose’s eyes. She glanced from Emm to Cal and back. “What’s the matter?”

  “Where’s Lily?” Cal demanded.

  “What do you mean?” Rose asked. “She went to the party with you, didn’t she?”

  “She left the party early,” Cal said grimly, “when she received a note from you.”

  Rose looked blank. “I never sent her a note.”

  “Rose,” Cal growled, “this is no time for—”

  She cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Don’t be stupid, Cal. I would never send Lily a note. Why would I, when we all know Lily can’t read?”

  There was a sudden silence. “Oh, good God, we never thought . . .” Cal gave Emm an agonized look. Emm shook her head. In the worry and confusion, it hadn’t occurred to her. Someone must have sent Lily a note purporting to come from her sister.

  Rose sat down on a chair with a thump. “Are you saying Lily is missing?”

  Cal nodded. “It seems so.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “It’s my fault.” Emm felt wretched. She was meant to be guarding Lily, chaperoning her. Instead she’d failed her. “I was feeling ill, so we stepped outside—”

  “Nonsense! It wasn’t your fault,” Cal said curtly. “We were only gone for a few minutes—ten at the most. We left her inside, in the home of our friends, surrounded by members of the ton, and talking to a friend, perfectly safe and happy.”

  “Cal decided to take me home, but when we went looking for Lily to bring her with us, we couldn’t find her.”

  Cal stood abruptly. “I’m going back to the Mainwarings’. Somebody must have seen something. For all we know she’s still there. She might have just stepped out for a few minutes for fresh air, like we did.”

  Emm shook her head. “Into the garden, perhaps, but not into the street. That butler said she’d gone into the s
treet with a man.”

  “What man?” Rose demanded.

  Cal gave her a searching look. “You don’t know who he might be?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “There’s no man she fancies? No man who’s been paying her attention lately?

  Rose stared at him. “Are you imagining she’s eloped? That’s ridiculous! Lily would never do such a thing. Besides, I’d know if she was planning anything like that.”

  “In any case,” George said, “why would she run off to get married? If she wanted to marry someone you’d give her your blessing and start arranging for a wedding with all the trimmings, wouldn’t you?”

  Cal nodded slowly. “If the fellow was worthy of my little sister. But if he wasn’t . . .”

  “Has anyone asked for Lily’s hand and been refused?” George asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, then.”

  Cal said nothing. The look on his face was grim.

  Emm looked up at her husband. “You’re thinking she’s been abducted, aren’t you?”

  He gave her a hard look. “She’s an heiress. And I don’t like the sound of that damned note.” He bent and kissed Emm briefly. “I’m going back to the Mainwaring place, talk to the other servants and the Gorrie woman again. Someone must have seen something.”

  “I’ll come with you,” George said, but Cal shook his head.

  “No, you and Rose stay and look after Emm. Besides, Lily might come home any minute.” He strode off, and in a few seconds they heard the front door slam.

  “Pray she does,” Emm murmured. An anxious silence descended.

  How could Lily be abducted in the full view of half the ton? According to the butler, Lily had left the house willingly. Why? Because of the note?

  And surely if she’d looked frightened or in distress someone would have noticed and stopped her. Surely?

  Horrid possibilities churned in Emm’s mind.

  Rose frowned. “Cal said ‘the Gorrie woman.’ Did he mean Sylvia?”

  Emm nodded. “She was talking to Lily when we went into the garden. It was Sylvia who told us about the message, but she was very vague about it. Apparently Lily was talking with Sylvia’s cousin, but she didn’t notice where they’d gone.”

  “Sylvia always was completely self-centered. Oh, I wish now I’d gone with Lily to the rout. I nearly did, but . . . That wretched duke of Aunt Agatha’s. Oh, do stop pacing, George. It’s very unsettling and it doesn’t help.”

  “It helps me,” George said. “I hate doing nothing. I’d rather be out searching for Lily.”

  “Me too, but where would we search? We can’t just rush out into the streets and run around looking. We need a starting point,” Rose pointed out. She sat on the end of the chaise longue and slipped her hand into Emm’s. “You don’t really think that she’s been abducted, do you, Emm? Not our darling, softhearted Lily.”

  Emm gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “No, I’m sure it will be all right. It will just be some silly mix-up. Cal will no doubt arrive at the Mainwaring house and find Lily there, wondering where we’ve gone.”

  But from the look in their eyes, Rose and George believed that as little as Emm did.

  * * *

  • • •

  The Mainwaring rout was still in full swing, but Lily was nowhere to be found. Cal questioned the Mainwarings’ servants again, and this time he found a footman who thought—though he wasn’t sure—that the man Lily had left with had arrived earlier with a young woman dressed in blue. Lily had worn a dress that Emm had told him was in shades of peach. He decided that meant some kind of pink.

  Cal then spoke to Lord and Lady Mainwaring, asking them, though without much hope, for discretion. For all he knew, Lily had just stepped out on some foolish escapade with a young man she fancied. It wasn’t like her, but in his experience, young women were unpredictable. He hoped it was something as simple.

  “Can you recall any of your guests who wore a blue gown, Lady Mainwaring?” It was the slenderest of leads, but it was all Cal had.

  “Good heavens, Lord Ashendon, I’m sure I couldn’t possibly remember such finicky little details, especially after everything I’ve had to organize today. My husband says I’m the veriest scatterbrain and I’m afraid it’s quite true,” Lady Mainwaring said with a little laugh. She gave her husband a fond look, then proceeded to list every woman who wore any shade of blue.

  As she spoke, Cal noted the names, thinking that his friend Gil Radcliffe could use such a “scatterbrain” in his network of spies and informers.

  “—and dear Libby Barker wore a pretty gown in sky-blue silk and blond lace. Such a nice girl. And I think that’s all. Oh, no,” she said on an afterthought, “I seem to recall that Mrs. Gorrie wore a rather commonplace blue dress with white trimming and—”

  “Mrs. Gorrie?” Cal interrupted. “I don’t suppose she’s still here.” He should have pressed her harder earlier, but at that point they weren’t as worried about Lily.

  “No, she left quite early, I think.”

  “Would you have her direction?”

  Lady Mainwaring made a vague gesture. “Heavens, no, but I’m sure my butler will know it.”

  Cal went in search of the butler again, and got the addresses of every one of the women who’d worn blue that night. He started with Sylvia Gorrie.

  The Gorries’ butler stood firm. “I regret, my lord, that Mr. and Mrs. Gorrie are not receiving. Please return at a more convenient hour tomorrow.”

  “Nonsense. This is an urgent matter.”

  “My sincere regrets, my lord, but I cannot—”

  “What’s all the noise about, Barton?” an irritable female voice said from inside the house. “If my husband is woken there’ll be hell to pay.”

  The butler turned and said in a hushed voice, “A Lord Ashendon is here, wishing to speak to you, madam.”

  “Ashendon? Good grief, whatever could he want? Oh, well, I’m still up, so you might as well show him in. But quietly, I beg of you.”

  Cal was shown into a sitting room. Sylvia Gorrie was standing in front of the fire, still wearing the dress he’d seen her in earlier, blue with white trim, though he’d taken no notice at the time. She was holding a note in her hand and as Cal entered she looked up with a petulant expression.

  “Good evening, Lord Ashendon. Lord knows what you can want with me at this hour—nothing pleasant, I see from your expression—but it has become a night of nasty surprises”—she indicated the note in her hand—“so go ahead.”

  Cal didn’t beat about the bush. “My sister Lily is missing.”

  She frowned. “Still? Didn’t you find her earlier?”

  “Obviously not. You said earlier she received a message.”

  “Yes, a note from her sister, Rose. Of course poor Lily can’t read, so I read it out for her. I must say—”

  “A footman said she left with a man—”

  “Well, then—”

  “A man who had arrived a short time earlier with you on his arm.”

  She frowned. “With me? Are you sure?”

  He wasn’t, of course, but he wasn’t going to reveal how little he actually knew. “It was you, definitely. So who was the man?”

  Sylvia glanced down at the note in her hand and said in a puzzled voice, “I came with my cousin, Victor Nixon. But he disappeared on me. I thought at first he was in one of the gaming rooms—he has an addiction to piquet, you know—but he wasn’t, and then I realized he must have gone home with some tart—well, it wouldn’t be the first time—leaving me to get home by myself. But when I got home I found this note—”

  “Where does this Nixon fellow live?”

  “Paris.”

  “Paris?”

  She nodded. “He’s lived there for the past five years. He has a house in the—oh, I forget where
. Near some gardens. But when in London he stays with us, of course.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “It’s as I was trying to tell you!” Sylvia exclaimed crossly. She brandished the note. “He says he’s gone back to Paris—in the middle of the night, and without so much as a thank-you or a by-your-leave! What sort of a houseguest is that, I ask you? My husband will be furious! Victor owes him money—they played cards the other night—oh, it isn’t much, but my husband is the sort of man who counts every penny and—”

  “May I see that note?” Without waiting for her permission, Cal plucked it from her grasp and read it.

  Dear coz,

  Sorry to have to push off home without notice. As you know, my circumstances have been rather dire of late, but thanks to your little introduction tonight, I have a plan to bring the dibs back in tune. When I see you next, I’ll be a married man. Make my apologies to your husband.

  Au revoir, Victor

  Cal crushed the note in his hand, ignoring Sylvia’s squeak of dismay. “What ‘little introduction’?”

  Sylvia made a petulant gesture. “How would I know? He’s been in London a week or more, and I’ve introduced him to dozens of people. He has no consideration at all, rushing off like that. My husband will blame me, of course, and—”

  “He said ‘tonight.’ Did you introduce him to Lily tonight?”

  “Of course. I introduced him to lots of peop—”

  “Did you tell him Lily was an heiress?”

  Sylvia gave him an irritated look. “I don’t recall. I might have. Everyone at school knew that both Rose and Lily would inherit a fortune on marriage—some people have all the luck.” She glanced up at his face and stepped back hurriedly. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not a secret, is it?”

  “No, it’s not a damned secret! But it looks as though your damned cousin has gone off with my sister Lily.”

  Sylvia gasped, then clapped her hands. “You don’t say! How romantic. Of course, Victor was always a charmer, but—”

  “It’s not in the least romantic,” Cal snarled. “Lily wouldn’t elope on the strength on one night’s acquaintance. She has no need to elope at all. He must have abducted her.”