“You will release me,” she said firmly.
He did so. He was not without manners.
“Now,” she said quietly. “You will explain.”
He laughed. “You are a brave lady. But this time you go too far. You have no right to demand information of us. All that you need to know we have said. You can demand the information of others. Someone will know whereof we speak. And the debt will be faced.”
Emilia stared at him. “Or what?” she asked bluntly.
He laughed nastily. “Or is not what you wish to discuss, my lady. I will only say that you value your family, yes?”
“Yes!” Emilia said feelingly. She covered her mouth with her hand, aware she should not have replied so. Now he knew precisely where to direct threat.
“I deduced as much,” he said comfortably.
“You cannot expect me to do this with no information!” Emilia's voice was desperate.
“It is all there,” the man said harshly. “We have talked too much already. Now you will leave.”
“Leave? Where?”
He laughed, then, standing. “You said I offered safe passage. Do you not believe me? I am a gentleman. And a gentleman pays his debts.”
Emilia swallowed, feeling rage and distaste. Her husband Lucian was a gentleman! He was the best, the dearest, the truest...
“You two!” the man said to two men who stood at the door. “Do what we agreed.”
The men looked at him blankly. “But, sir...”
“You will obey my orders,” the man said coldly.
The two men stepped forward and laid hands on Emilia. They did not take her to the door, as Emilia had expected, but were marching her out into the hallway and further into the house. She was about to scream when she saw another man step forward.
“My lord,” he said clearly. “I cannot allow this.”
The questioner looked down at him. “You know we agreed to this.”
“You made the lady a promise,” the man said candidly. “I think a gentleman honors his word?” The voice was light, but Emilia was close enough to hear cold iron underneath. She felt her heart beat.
She saw the man tense. Then he laughed. “You will regret this,” he said cheerfully enough. “But not by my causation. Very well,” he sighed. “Take the lady to the coach. Take her to the toll gate. Leave her there.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man who held her shoulder sounded cautious. “But...”
“I will take her,” the voice said firmly. Emilia looked over to where the shorter man who had spoken out still stood, facing down the taller leader. She felt her heart thump. Somehow, there was something about that voice that resonated deep within her.
“Oh, you...” the man spat.
“You will entrust this duty to me,” the man said firmly. “Or I will not hesitate to denounce you.”
The man tensed again, and Emilia sucked in breath. She was expecting the leader to maim him. If not shoot him with the pistol that seemed to be permanently at his hand. However, nothing happened.
She saw him turn away, voice weary.
“Take her, then,” he said lightly. “But remember I will remember this.”
“Me also,” the man said harshly. He turned away and walked quickly across to Emilia. He touched her arm.
“My lady?”
“My lord,” Emilia said hesitantly.
She felt suddenly safer and felt herself relax as she walked out beside him into the pale daylight. She was sure he was a gentleman – again because of the way he spoke – and suddenly realized why his voice had such a profound impact on her: she was certain she had heard it before.
CHAPTER FIVE
A TRAVELER ARRIVES
A TRAVELER ARRIVES
“She's been missing for the whole night, Bronson,” Evelyn said. She was in the drawing room, pacing back and forth before the door. It was later on in the day they had arrived in London. Still there was no sign of Emilia anywhere.
“I know,” Bronson said gravely. He looked up from his writing set. “I know. You must be terrified for her.”
“I am!” Evelyn said, distressed. “I keep wondering what is happening to her. You know our streets are far from safe...” she bit her lip. She could feel tears on the edges of her lids and she did not want to cry, but knew she could not avoid it much longer.
“I know, dear. Colonel Burbage is on the street now, looking for her. He has assured me he will send out a detachment to comb the main road as far as St. Alban. All we can do now is wait.”
Evelyn nodded. She could not stop walking back and forth. “I know. But I cannot let myself feel calm, knowing what might be happening.”
Bronson nodded. “I know. Would it help if we took the carriage out again?”
Evelyn shook her head. She and Bronson had taken the lighter carriage out to the inn themselves, and questioned the innkeeper. They could get no information from her. While Bronson took the coach into the woodlands to where Jackson described they had been, Evelyn had looked at Lady Sumpter's coach.
There was nothing she could see that was out of place – no inkling of who might have stopped it or any trace of the brigands.
She had looked inside, wondering if Emilia had perhaps left any sign, any clues – maybe she had known where they were headed and deduced some means of leaving information behind? Evelyn admired her cousin as a keen wit and knew she would have done her best to leave word.
Now, Evelyn turned to her desk. She had spent a few hours searching the pages of the manual of the peerage, and among the lists of crests and sigil she had only seen six which had a trace of blue.
She read over the list. She knew none of the names that she had written there. She could think of no reason why any of them would know her family or wish ill on them.
Bronson finished his letter. “I have notified the magistrate,” he said quietly. “This letter lists everything we know. Perhaps the city watch can search for her?” he asked.
“I think that is a wise idea,” Evelyn nodded. “I should send word to York, but any letter will take far too long to reach Emilia's kin...” her words faded.
“That is a wise plan,” Bronson agreed. “If she is not found by nightfall today, you ought to tell her parents of her absence.”
Evelyn bit her lip. She did not want to concede that Emilia could not be found. If they could not find her in a day, the risk that she had been sent abroad, or harmed in some way, became too great. “We have to find her,” she said quietly.
“I know.” Bronson stood. He walked over to the door. “Wallace?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Take this letter to Jarvis and have him ride to the town magistrate. Make him to know it is urgent. He must try to deliver it in person, if 'tis possible.”
“Yes, my lord.” Wallace bowed deep.
He left and Bronson walked to the fireplace. Evelyn stood. She wiped her hands down her skirts again.
“I should try and distract myself,” she said firmly. She pulled the bell and five minutes later Janet appeared. “Janet?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“If you could find my sewing things in the trunk and have them sent down to me, please?”
“In the white trunk...with the satin's in it?”
“Yes, Janet. That one.”
“Yes, madam.”
As Janet left, Evelyn felt her resolve waver. She broke down. “All the satin's! The ones I bought for Emilia, to make dresses for the parties. I can't believe she's gone...”
She sat down heavily on a wing-back chair, shoulders shaking as she finally started to weep.
Bronson was at her side in an instant. He stayed a careful distance back, but sat down slowly on the seat opposite her. He waited, watching her with deep brown eyes.
“Oh, Bronson,” Evelyn said. She looked up and dried her eyes, breath still coming in slow gasps.
“It is well, dear,” Bronson said gently. “Cry, dear. It is what you need. I also grieve her. But I do not think we
have to, yet. The watch will find her. Or the troops. Or Jarvis. We cannot lose hope...”
Evelyn sniffed and reached for her kerchief. “I know,” she said brokenly. She reached for his hand. “Oh, Bronson. What would I do, were you not here?”
He leaned forward and melted her icy heart in a gentle embrace.
“I think you'd probably manage better without me,” Bronson said with a chuckle as she rested her head on his shoulder. “You're the one who thinks of clever things like finding the insignia, are you not?”
Evelyn sighed. She reached a hand up and stroked his face, kissing him. “My dear,” she said gently, “we are the perfect co-conspirators.” She gave him a wink. “You think of all the things I wouldn't consider.”
“Well, I don't know if I believe you,” Bronson said, scratching his ear. “But I am glad you said it.”
“You silly man.” Evelyn kissed him again and felt her heart settle. Whatever happened, she had Bronson. They could face anything together.
Janet returned with her embroidery cottons a moment later, and passed her the hoop-frame where her latest canvas was being stitched. She was making a sampler which she hoped would hang in a child's room one day. She and Bronson had been married a year with no sign of children, however, and she was starting to consider that perhaps her life would not include that joy.
She focused on the stitching, trying not to think of any of her worries. Especially not of Emilia. She could be out there, alone and frightened in the forest somewhere. She could be captive somewhere. She could be on a ship bound to some foreign land...
She bit her lip. A thousand horrible scenarios were racing through her mind. She could not bear any of them. She focused on the stitches, cutting a fresh length of silk thread.
At that moment, she heard Bronson clear his throat. A knock sounded at the door, and another one, and she realized she must have been so lost in thought she had not heard the first.
She sprang to her feet, body trembling. Bronson was ahead of her and was already opening the door.
“Wallace?”
“My lord!
“Do you have news?”
“What have you heard?”
Bronson and Evelyn's voices mixed, both asking him different questions at one time. The older man gazed at them worriedly and Evelyn cleared her throat. She felt herself wringing the fabric of her dress with her fists, unable to stand still and wait.
“Wallace?”
“My lord, my lady! You have a visitor downstairs.”
“A lady?” Evelyn asked at once. Was it Emilia?
“Indeed, ma'am. A young lady. She wanted to come up directly but she was too weak. She is resting in the parlor downstairs...” he trailed off. Evelyn had burst out past him and was already heading to the stairwell beyond.
Bronson was talking to Wallace in a low voice behind her, but Evelyn, hearing them on the stairs behind her, could not wait. She ran down the last flight and to the downstairs parlor, heart pounding in her chest.
She reached the door.
There was a lady sitting on the chaise. She was leaning back, exhausted. Her face was gray and her eyes were closed. Her hair was long and golden and was falling down from its elaborate up-do...
“Emilia!” Evelyn cried out. Her heart soared and then fell when the woman turned weary eyes to her. She realized how completely drained her cousin was.
“Evelyn...” Emilia tried to stand. She seemed so weak. Evelyn had seen ladies twice her age with twice as much strength in them and winced at how her cousin had fared. She must have been starved these past two days!
“Emilia! My dearest cousin. Please, don't try to move. Rest yourself. I will call someone...”
Her voice trailed off. Emilia had managed to push herself to standing. However, not for long. She stood, wavering on her feet for a moment and then she quietly collapsed. She must have fainted. The shock and fatigue were simply too much for her fragile health.
Evelyn knelt beside her just as Bronson entered the room. He looked down and realized what had happened instantly. Without considering the matter, he bent down and lifted his wife's cousin into his arms.
Evelyn followed him as they carried her upstairs to the guest chamber that had been set aside for Emilia. Evelyn bit her lip. She was so pleased to see her cousin, but so shocked at the state she was in and only hoped that she could recover enough to talk.
CHAPTER SIX
A PERPLEXING ACCOUNT
A PERPLEXING ACCOUNT
It was late at night. Emilia was sleeping and Evelyn had left her in bed with something to drink when she woke, and Janet to guard her.
Now, Evelyn and Bronson sat in the drawing room, a bottle of Malmsey between them. They discussed what they had learned.
“How is your cousin?”
Evelyn ran a weary hand down her face. “She is...sorely tried by her ordeal, Bronson.”
“I'm sure she is,” he nodded, a frown between his brows. “Have you any idea what happened to her?”
“She did not tell me much,” Evelyn admitted. “She woke after an hour and said a few words. She was detained on the road by brigands. They forced her from the coach...” Evelyn covered her mouth in shock even as she told him, shaking her head. “I could not find out more – she did not wish to tell me about it.”
“I understand that,” Bronson nodded.
“She's frightened, Bronson,” Evelyn said, gravely. “I cannot guess what was done to her...” she trailed off with a shiver.
“I think under those circumstances almost anything would be frightening. Being captive must be terrible,” Bronson said feelingly.
“Yes,” Evelyn agreed. “You are right. However, I cannot help my rage when I think of what was done to her. My cousin is a gentle soul, Bronson. She would fly into a rage when her brothers shot birds! She cannot bear violence. She must have been so scared.”
“I know,” Bronson agreed. “I have only met her once or twice, but I know her to be a gentle lady. What was done to her is terrible. Did she tell you anything?”
“Nothing that I understood,” Evelyn sighed. “She said something about debts. She sounded desperate. She asked me if I knew anything about it. She said they told her someone would know. Lucian's debts, apparently. I cannot help...I felt so helpless, Bronson.” Evelyn reached for her kerchief and wiped her cheeks free of tears.
“She did not say anything about the debts? These debts are Lucian's?”
“I understand them to be so, yes. She knew nothing more about any such debt.”
“Do you know of any of his dealings?”
“I know Lucian was scrupulously honest,” Evelyn insisted. “And extremely careful with money, even stingy. He never went into debt, as far as I know. The man was frugal, Bronson. I recall how he would rather serve only two courses at a party than run into debt.” She shook her head. “This cannot be right.”
“That is odd,” Bronson agreed. “He couldn't have inherited a debt?”
Evelyn shook her head. “I cannot imagine it. Lord Sumpter, his father, was as well thought-of as his heir. Possibly more abstemious even than his descendant. And they had an appreciable income. Emilia's mother would never have countenanced the marriage else,” she smiled.
“There couldn't have been any unknown debtors from his father's lifetime?”
“I suppose there could have been,” Evelyn agreed. She paused. “Oh...” She covered her lips with her hand, feeling her heart pound.
“What is it, dear?”
“I just had a thought. Lucian died in what I can only term vague circumstances. What if these men – whoever they are – were connected to his death?”
“Could you explain more?” Bronson asked gently
“Well,” Evelyn began. “I do not know much about Lucian Sumpter's death. All I know was that there was a secret. Emilia never told me anything, and her mother, when I addressed it, only said that it was a cursed misadventure. No one knows anything else.”
“You think someo
ne killed him by accident?” Bronson asked. “And is trying to cover their tracks?”
“I wonder if it was not on purpose,” Evelyn said simply. “And that they are now trying to prey on our Emilia.”
Bronson leaned back, fingers steepled against his chin. “You think Lucian was killed. Yes?”
“Yes,” Evelyn said slowly. “I have no proof of that. I only wonder if perhaps he did owe these people something. And that they perhaps killed him in the hopes to have it settled.”
“And then, when the debt was not settled...” Bronson began haltingly.
“Then they seized Emilia to threaten her to make the payment. It all fits together,” she said. She was standing now, walking from the table to the desk and back, feeling the inspiration arrive. It was hideous, and it was frightening. Yet, it was also liberating to begin to understand.
“I believe you are quite right,” Bronson said slowly. “In which case...” he paused. “Should we not inform the authorities?”
Evelyn paused. “I am not sure, Bronson. Something makes me think that would be dangerous for Emilia.”
“Why?”
“Because these people swore to find her if they are not paid. She told me that much. They threatened her and her family if she does not comply.”
“And you think that if they find she has set someone after them...”
“That they will not hesitate to try and stop her. Exactly.”
Bronson sighed. “I agree, dear. Nevertheless, I do not like it. I wish I could send Colonel Burbage to wherever she was held. Surely he could catch these people? Could she tell you anything more about them?”
“No, dear,” Evelyn shook her head and gave him a pallid smile. “I think she will recall more tomorrow. Or when she is stronger. She is fevered right now and she should not be overwrought.”
“Indeed, my dear,” Bronson said gravely. “In which case,” he stood, stretching, “I should perhaps send for Doctor Harlowe?”
An Earl To Remember_The Yorkshire Downs Series_Love, Hearts and Challenges_A Regency Romance Story Page 37