The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  “I’ve been trying to do that all morning,” he growled, impatience rising once again. “Where is she?”

  “She should be right behind me,” Persephone promised, backing toward the stair. “A few moments, no more. Be gentle. I don’t think she’s in a very good mood.”

  “It couldn’t be any worse than mine,” Malcolm muttered as she flew up the stairs, out of his reach.

  The few moments passed even more slowly than the time after breakfast. Malcolm paced the rotunda, clasping his hands behind his back to keep from hitting something. He caught the footmen stationed on either side of the door exchanging glances. Most likely they thought him mad. He wasn’t sure they were wrong. All he knew was that it was possible Sarah had fallen in love with him. That had to change the equation in his favor.

  The clock in the library chimed nine, the silver bells echoing against the marble tiles below him. Malcolm paused, frowning. Had he been pacing for nearly fifteen minutes? Surely Sarah could not be that far behind her cousin. Thoroughly tired of the surreptitious looks of the footmen, he stalked to the door and let one of them scurry to open it for him.

  “If I miss Miss Compton,” he told the fellow, “ask her to wait for me. We must talk.” So saying, he strode down the graveled path for the stables.

  He did not find her there either. “Has Miss Compton ridden in yet?” he asked a tall, lanky groom who was rubbing down the roan horse he had seen Persephone ride before.

  “No, my lord,” the groom replied. “And her man was that worried, he went back for her and left me the work.”

  Malcolm frowned, stepping out of the fellow’s way. He was sorely tempted to go after her as well, but he’d probably be as welcome as Persephone had obviously been. Sarah likely wouldn’t appreciate him waiting for her at the stable either. He reluctantly returned to the house.

  When another fifteen minutes passed, he found himself back at the stables. Persephone’s horse had been returned to its stall and stood contentedly munching well-earned oats. The stall next to it yawned empty.

  He found Old Dobbs, the head groom, in the tack room at the end of the stable.

  “She’s a fine lady,” he said when Malcolm asked after Sarah. “She doesn’t ride neck for leather like some. You watch; she’ll coming prancing in like the Queen of Sheba.”

  The thud of hooves and the jingle of harness from the stable without belied his words. No longer caring for his dignity or Sarah’s temper, Malcolm dashed into the breezeway between the stalls. The Compton groom was turning his horse in agitated circles.

  “I can’t find her,” he panted, eyes wide in obvious panic. “I rode the whole length of the path. I’ve lost Miss Sarah.”

  “Saddle me a horse,” Malcolm barked to Dobbs, who hurried to comply. More grooms and stable hands gathered from their various duties.

  “You there,” Malcolm ordered, pointing to a lively lad with unkempt brown hair and freckles, “go tell Lord Prestwick what’s happened. Ask him to gather a search party and follow us.”

  As the boy scampered away, Old Dobbs pulled Chas Prestwick’s stallion from the stable. The brute snorted and pawed the ground, ready to run. He eyed Malcolm with thorough distrust, but Malcolm merely swung himself up into the saddle, gripping the fellow with his knees.

  “He’ll get you there fast enough, my lord,” Dobbs assured him with a throaty chuckle. “He knows when a gentleman is aboard, don’t you, my lad?”

  The horse snorted again, but although his sides quivered in anticipation, he did indeed heed Malcolm’s directions. Malcolm clamped heels to flanks and sent the beast flying from the stable yard. The Compton’s groom pelted after him.

  As they rode, he pictured Sarah fallen, bleeding, unconscious. His heart seemed to have stopped beating. Certainly his body had stopped functioning normally. He found he couldn't breathe, couldn’t think, couldn't do anything but pray she would be found safe.

  “Coming up now, my lord!” The groom had to call it twice before Malcolm slowed. They had reached a spot in the woods that looked exactly like every other spot they had passed the last few minutes. Malcolm held the stallion dancing, eying the groom.

  “It was here,” the fellow explained. “I left Miss Sarah here when Miss Persephone took off. She said she would go right back to the stable.”

  Malcolm gazed around him again. Oaks clustered on all sides, but the wide sandy track was easy to see. She had been perhaps fifteen minutes from the stable at a good trot, less if she had gone to a gallop. How could she have gotten lost?

  “Sarah!” He raised his voice, booming loud enough to cross the halls of Parliament. “Sarah Compton! Can you hear me?”

  Crows racketed into the blue sky, the horses shied, and something small scuttled away through the bushes. The sounds were completely unsatisfactory when all he wanted to hear was her voice saying she was alive.

  “We’ll ride back toward the stable,” he told the groom. “Slowly, this time, calling her name. Check the undergrowth for any sign of disturbance. If she fell or went off the track, we should find some sign.”

  It was difficult to hold the stallion to a walk. The black was content; it was Malcolm who chaffed. They looked, and they called, but they could find nothing that told Malcolm what had happened. The smaller paths that led off occasionally had clearly been made by deer or other forest denizens. None looked large enough for a horse and rider to Malcolm’s eyes, and none looked particularly disturbed. If there had been tracks in the sand, he realized, the groom’s first trip and their subsequent trips had obliterated them.

  They met Chas and his men part of the way back to the stable. It looked to Malcolm as if the young earl had roused every male member of his household, for Malcolm was certain the tall fellow looking most uncomfortable on horseback was one of the footmen from the front door. They clustered around him and the Compton groom, faces expectant.

  “No sign of her,” Malcolm reported, feeling suddenly old. “Do you have a tracker on this estate?”

  “My gamekeeper,” Chas told him, reaching out from his own horse to lay a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder in support. “He’s the best man I have. He’s in Barnsley visiting family, but he can be here in an hour or so once he gets word.“

  “An hour!“ Malcolm all but yelped.

  Chas’ hand gripped his shoulder. “I know, but rest assured he’ll tell us what happened. Until he gets here, perhaps we should go by foot.”

  Malcolm shook his head as Chas withdrew his hand. “We’ve already disturbed any trail. It might be best to wait.”

  As soon as he said it he knew it was a mistake. If he had to wait, he would go mad.

  * * * *

  “Easy, Malcolm,” Chas said for the third time after they had searched the immediate area and taken to walking the horses. “You look as if you’ll explode.”

  “How would you look,” Malcolm challenged him, “if your lady were missing?”

  “Worse than you, I imagine,” Chas replied calmly. “But in this case, I know Miss Compton can’t have gone far. Perhaps the horse spooked then went lame. She’s as level-headed as my Anne. She’ll be fine.”

  Malcolm was ready to be persuaded, but there was a sudden commotion from the woods. The horses perked up their ears. The stallion neighed in challenge. The grooms who had been sitting rose to their feet.

  Sarah’s horse cantered onto the path. Its heaving sides glistened with sweat; it rolled its eyes and shook its head. Dobbs dashed forward and grabbed its tangled reins to pull it to a stop.

  Easily parting the crowding men, Malcolm strode to his side. Chas shoved through after him.

  “The saddle’s in place,” he commented, but Malcolm could tell he was trying to mollify him.

  “She were thrown,” one of the grooms guessed.

  “Not from Shadow,” Dobbs argued. “Docile as a lamb she is. Perfect lady’s mount. That’s why I chose her for Miss Compton.”

  Roberts snorted. “Miss Sarah was a bruising rider. She could of handled that
stallion there. This horse couldn’t have thrown her.”

  They all started muttering. Malcolm felt as if the world were closing in around him. He turned and shoved his way back to the stallion, untying the lead and swinging up into the saddle.

  “I can’t stay here and wait,” he growled to Chas, who had followed him. “I’m going back to the stable to see whether she walked in. Send for me when the gamekeeper arrives.”

  Chas nodded as Malcolm took off.

  He prayed he’d find her at the stable, but the place was deserted. He thought he saw a pale face looking out the window of the manor, one of the maids most likely. Otherwise it was as if he were alone in the world.

  And he would be alone, he realized. Without knowing it, his world had shifted. Where once it had been completely bound up with the petty politics of Parliament, now it centered on the happiness and safety of one Sarah Compton. Despite everything he had said and done, his heart had known what he really needed.

  He had fallen in love with Sarah.

  He shook his head. The thought amazed him. He was in love with her. She would have been delighted. He could see her smile in his mind. The last hurdle to their marriage was overcome as easily as his realization. Nothing else mattered but Sarah. As long as she was by his side, the rest would fall into place.

  He did not dare think about what would happen if she could not take her place at his side. That way lay madness. But neither could he stand about the stable waiting. There had to be something he could do, someone he could talk to.

  The face appeared again, to be joined by another, and then to disappear entirely. The maids wanted to know what was happening. There was no one left to gossip. With a pang he realized there was someone else. Persephone Compton must be nearly as frantic as he was. He strode for the house.

  No footman snatched open the door for him, but the sound of it opening brought a flurry of silk as Anne and Persephone both appeared in the rotunda. Their faces were pale, and he could tell Persephone had been crying. Indeed, he had never seen the girl in worse looks. Her eyes were haunted, her complexion was sallow, and it looked as if she had been biting the skin off her lower lip.

  “How are you faring?” he asked the two of them, knowing the words sounded insipid.

  Anne managed a wane smile. “Tolerably well, my lord. Do you have news for us?”

  “We found her horse,” he offered. “I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before she’s found.”

  Persephone wrung her hands. “I knew it. It’s all my fault. She tried to tell me she was in no mood for my problems, and I wouldn’t listen. She’s probably been thrown; she may be dead!”

  Malcolm strode forward and grabbed the girl’s shoulders. “Nonsense! You give yourself too much credit, Miss Persephone. Your cousin is a strong woman, as nearly unflappable as our hostess here.”

  Persephone sniffed even as Anne’s smile deepened. Malcolm let go of her.

  “You were right to call Sarah the Incomparable Miss Compton,” the girl murmured. “I will tell her so when you return her safely to us.”

  “You do that,” Malcolm told her. “I should go now.”

  “A minute, Lord Breckonridge,” Anne put in. She put a hand on his arm. “I know you are concerned about Sarah, but I thought you should know what was in The Times this morning.“ Her face clouded, and he wondered what could possibly be worse than Sarah lost to him.

  “There was a gathering of the reformers near Manchester,“ she told him, and he could see she kept her voice level with effort. “Orator Hunt and some others were to speak.“

  Malcolm waved a hand. “I know about the gathering. That reporter, James Wroe, asked me to join them. It would have alienated me from half of Parliament. Don’t tell me the fools went ahead with it.“

  “Worse, my lord,“ she replied. Even Persephone was staring at her now. “The Manchester authorities apparently panicked over having such a crowd near their town.“

  “Crowd?“ Malcolm frowned. “How many people could have gathered?“

  “According to The Times, nearly fifty thousand. There were nearly two thousand soldiers and local militia present as well. Before even a word was spoken by Mr. Hunt, the magistrates ordered the soldiers to disperse the crowd.” She squeezed his arm with tight fingers. “My lord, they killed over a hundred civilians and wounded nearly 400 more, some women and children.”

  “My God!” Malcolm cried, staring at her. “What idiot authorized that?”

  “Apparently both Lord Liverpool and Lord Sidmouth agreed to the use of force,” Anne replied softly, though her gray eyes were stormy.

  Malcolm shook his head. “Madness! There will be hell to pay.”

  “There is talk of a special session,” Anne went on. “In just a few months. Lord Sidmouth promised an act that would stop the dissenters.”

  “Over my dead body,” Malcolm swore. “Why can’t they understand? It’s their irrational fear of peaceable demonstrations and rational reform that caused this tragedy. I must return to the capital, form a coalition. We cannot sit by while people are killed over this nonsense!”

  Persephone bit her lip. Anne took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course, my lord. I’ll have your carriage brought round. I’m sure Lord Prestwick can handle the search for Miss Compton.”

  Malcolm froze. Sarah. How could he leave with her potentially lost? Yet if he stayed the government might well be lost. He knew his struggle must be showing on his face, for both Persephone and Anne were watching him as if fascinated. But in the end, there was only one choice to be made. He stood straighter.

  “No need for haste, my dear,” he told her. “I’m sure I can wait until Sarah has been safety brought home.”

  Persephone smiled tearfully at him, and Anne beamed. Then she blinked. “Oh, in all the worries I nearly forgot.” She reached into the pocket of her gown and extracted a sealed note. “Your valet left before noon, as I understand you requested.”

  Persephone’s eyes widened.

  “We had a difference of opinion,” Malcolm explained.

  “I take it it wasn’t concerning matters of dress,” Anne said wisely. She handed him the note. “He asked me to give you this.”

  Malcolm waved it away. “I have no time for his apologies.”

  “Normally I would agree,” Anne told him. “But he seemed to think it urgent that you read it as soon as possible. He said he had gotten it from a friend.”

  A friend? What nonsense was this? Appleby had no friends in Somerset that Malcolm knew. But then, what did he know of Appleby after all but that the man could tie a credible cravat and take wine stains out of silk? Besides, it was possible it had something to do with the massacre in Manchester.

  He took the note and broke the seal. He could not recall ever seeing Appleby’s hand, but somehow the tight, left-canting writing did not seem to belong to his valet. Neither did the unsigned contents. He felt as if someone had stuck a fist in his gut and yanked out his intestines.

  “My lord, what is it?” Anne cried, putting a hand on his arm.

  “Lord Breckonridge, you are white as a ghost,” Persephone chimed in. “Is the government going to fall?”

  They mustn’t know. He could barely think, yet he knew that was true. He could not tell them that someone held Sarah captive, that this someone was even now watching the house, that this maddeningly unknown creature demanded he come alone to a secluded corner of the estate by tea time or Sarah would be killed. He could not let them suffer the fears that wracked him, and he could not risk Sarah’s life. He shoved the note in his pocket.

  “The government will be fine,” he told them. “I must go after all, but not to London. Lady Prestwick, you might send someone with word to your husband that if they do not find Sarah, be sure to check the eastern wood.”

  “But my lord,” she started to protest.

  “No time,” he clipped, even as the clock chimed two. “Just sent Chas word.” For all he knew, the bells sounded his own death, and Sarah’s.
He pulled Anne into his arms for a quick hug. She stared at him wordlessly as he released her, face pale, and he wondered whether he would at last see that remarkable reserve crack.

  “Safe journey, my lord,” was all she murmured.

  He bowed to her and Persephone and ran for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sarah lay on the floor of the loft in the gamekeeper’s cottage, hands trussed behind her back, face against the rough-hewn planking. The planks were so rough, in fact, that shafts of light from the room below slanted like golden rods between the floor boards and disappeared into the darkness of the thatched roof above. By their light, she had been able to recognize the musty smell as coming from the furs hanging above her to cure. She could also make out the pile of bedding in the far corner that was probably where the gamekeeper’s family slept and the stone of a chimney rising to her right. She knew behind her lay the trapdoor and open stairs down to the main room. That was how Lord Wells had pushed her up here before tying her hands.

  “What a pity you got in the middle of this,” he had told her without a trace of sorrow in his voice. “I’m afraid you’re simply a casualty of war. I promise to make it as painless as possible, providing Lord Breckonridge cooperates, of course.”

  She had tried to still her rising panic. “Lord Wells, I don’t understand. What war am I in the middle of? What has this to do with Lord Breckonridge?”

  “It’s a shame, really,” was all he would say before shoving her to the floor and placing his knee in her back to truss her up like a calf about to be slaughtered. “You should never have gotten involved with him.”

  She had fought the bonds and cried after him, but he had simply closed the trapdoor and left her in the darkness of the windowless loft.

  She had no idea how long she’d been there, no idea why he waited. And he was waiting. If she put her eye to the nearest gap in the floor boards, she could see a sliver of the room below. Lord Prestwick at least took care of his gamekeeper. There was glass in the windows of the cottage; she had seen their sparkle as Lord Wells had brought her here. From the sunshine coming through them, she knew it was still day. She could see a part of the table and chairs the room held, and once in a while a hand with a frilled cuff moved across her sight as well.