Hunting the Hero

by Heather Boyd

  “The girls talk of nothing else but missing her. Miss Clark this. Miss Clark and Papa that. Did you become bored with her and dump her at the side of the road to fend for herself?”

  “Of course not,” Constantine said quickly. Meredith was never far from his thoughts. “She fell ill on the way here, as I said, and wouldn’t countenance further travel. I told her I’d return tomorrow once the girls were settled.”

  “So you say.” Mercy scowled. “What, exactly, is wrong with her? Did you secure a doctor? A servant to attend her? Did you ensure she had funds for a physician should one be needed?”

  “I…” Constantine tried to explain, but it was impossible to get a word in when Mercy had a head of steam going. He waited until her rant ended, waited a bit longer until she looked at him to speak.

  “Miss Clark is a very private person. If she said she was unwell, then I believed her, but I paid the innkeeper handsomely to see to her every need. And yes, she is my lover. Anything else is for her and me to discuss.”

  But Constantine had to admit he wouldn’t mind knowing Meredith a little better. Like her real name. Her obstinacy at sharing it was a constant irritation in their affair. He didn’t believe he would be comfortable until he had it in his possession.

  His sister touched his arm. “Don’t tell me this one has gotten under your skin.”

  Reluctantly, he nodded. “She’s different. But enough of me. This,” he said and waved his hand about to include Leopold, “is completely different.”

  “Yes, it is. Leopold offered marriage rather than to continue our affair. And wipe that smug expression from your face. Our attraction was completely mutual.”

  “Really? Forgive me for not believing that.”

  Mercy stamped her foot. “Damn you and your suspicions. Can you not allow me to be happy at last?”

  Grayling frowned. “You were happy before.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Edwin.” She threw her hands up into the air. “Did you know he had a weak heart before I married him?”

  Randall scooped up the boy in his arms and moved him away out of hearing.

  “No. Father was alive then and conducted the negotiations with the duke and Edwin. He seemed robust enough to me, but was he ill?”

  “Yes and no. But two women, a wife and a mistress, were too great a tax on his stamina. There was no chance for an heir.”

  Constantine looked at the boy across the room and pointed out the obvious. “You have a son.”

  “I have a son.” She moved closer. “But Edwin did not father him.”

  He stared at his sister in shock. Mercy couldn’t have gone that far to be a mother to gain an heir for the estate. But her defiant glare proved she may have done just that. He took a step back from her. “What the devil did you do?”

  His sister shook her head a little sadly. “I did nothing. The duke arranged everything. If you had read my letters, you might have an inkling of his malevolence. His son had to have an heir by any means possible, even by blackmailing his own family to get one.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “Blackmail.” Mercy drew closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “In return for his siblings’ safety, the duke sent Leopold to my bed. That’s why he will never hurt Edwin. Can you imagine anyone murdering their own child just to claim the title their flesh and blood already has?”

  Constantine glanced toward the young duke, saw him laughing and smiling at the man playing games with him. There was a certain similarity in their features. The shape of the nose, the curl of their hair as they leaned toward each other over the game.

  “The longer I look, the more I see. Leopold realized sooner than I did and still intended to leave us behind.”

  Hell and damnation. What else had he missed these past years? “Why did he stay?”

  “Besides the fact that we love each other to distraction?” Mercy snorted. “Because of Edwin. Family means everything to Leopold. He didn’t want Edwin to shoulder the responsibilities for this place alone. He stayed to guide my son when all he wanted from the start was to leave and continue his search.”

  “The missing siblings?” Constantine scowled. “I keep seeing those damned notices in the paper. Soon all of society will know and start to wonder what else is going on here. I shudder to think of the gossip the season will bring.”

  “We will weather whatever comes together. It is what families do. There is only Rosemary to find now.” Mercy turned away and grabbed a handful of papers from the desk. She shuffled through them until she found one and handed it to him. “This is what we believe Rosemary might look like today. Leopold’s sketches of his brothers were remarkably accurate, so we have hope someone will recognize her. Have you seen her? I asked everyone at the wedding with no success.”

  Constantine took the paper and stared down at it. At first, the face was that of a stranger. He held it out at arm’s length before his face and then lowered his hand, placing it closer to five feet in height. He was struck by the familiar heart-shaped face and expressive dark eyes. Without color it was harder to imagine, but if those eyes were the color of whiskey and her hair was cut short, that sweetly deceptive face would usually show far more animation.

  Meredith. Calista.

  He shook his head. That couldn’t possibly be right. If Meredith was in fact Rosemary Randall, and knew full well he was coming here, then she would never have stayed behind in that shabby village. It must be a coincidence.

  He lowered the paper and found himself face-to-face with Leopold Randall.

  The other man’s eyes skewered him. “Do you recognize her?”

  He handed the paper back, ignoring the thumping of his heart. When he returned to Meredith he would ask her about the similarity. Maybe she had a double. “I’ve never met Miss Randall before.”

  Leopold’s nostrils flared and he held out the paper again. “That wasn’t the right answer to my question. I asked if you have seen her face somewhere. Recently.”

  Constantine took the paper again. There was a definite similarity, but he couldn’t believe Meredith was related to the Randalls. A woman in her position should have been overjoyed to acknowledge a connection to the Duchess of Romsey. Unless she was too afraid to come home to her family after the life she’d led. “Tell me about her?”

  “We lost track of Rosemary ten years ago now. She’d been traveling with our parents and my brother, Tobias, when the carriage overturned. My brother tells me that our mother was injured in the crash and trapped in the wreckage. Tobias and Rosemary ran back to the nearest village to get help. When they returned, our parents’ carriage was surrounded. Our parents were murdered where they lay trapped in the carriage, Tobias and Rosemary captured. Tobias was taken to the docks and thrown aboard a ship. Rosemary was carried away, slung over a horse. We’ve found no trace of her.”

  Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. “Describe her.”

  “A hellcat. A risk taker. She has a temper. Despite all our efforts, she either cannot or will not come home.”

  He stared at the drawing again. The woman who had graced his life with her vibrant energy for the past months, torturing him with pleasure beyond his wildest dreams, could not be this man’s sister. “It makes no sense.”

  “It does when the Duke of Romsey, and possibly his son, were responsible for the deaths of our parents. They arranged the murder and our separation to keep us in their control, but Tobias unfortunately was too young to remember where he and Rosemary met with foul play and were parted.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  Mercy squeezed his arm tightly. “Constantine, what is it? Have you seen her?”

  Constantine held Randall’s gaze. There had to be something tangible to prove Meredith was not Rosemary Randall. “Does she have any distinguishing marks?”

  “None that I’m aware of. However, I’m her brother and have never seen her without the modesty of clothe
s.” He pursed his lips a moment. “Aside from a temper and a love of mean-spirited dogs, Rosemary was much like any young woman on the verge of coming out. She was rather fond of gemstones at one time. Garnets, I believe, were her favorite.”

  Constantine closed his eyes. “Meredith.”

  “What?”

  “I fear the woman you are looking for goes by many names, but I know her currently as Meredith Clark. My governess.”

  “Your lover,” Leopold Randall growled, arm hitching back.

  The blow to his jaw, when it came, was well deserved.

  CHAPTER 25

  ROSEMARY WAS DYING. She was sure of it. As morning’s faint light spread over the sleeping village, her stomach roiled again. She clutched the blankets against her chest as a moan escaped her and she prayed not to be sick again. It would be impossible to endure a long carriage journey if she was casting up her accounts every few minutes. This time she wouldn’t have to call upon one scrap of acting ability to prove herself unequal to the challenge of getting out of bed. She’d feigned a poorly condition to make Constantine leave her behind, but now she truly was suffering. She had never felt this way before.

  Mrs. Lambs voice came through the door. “Are you awake, Miss Clark?”

  “Please come in,” she croaked, grateful that finally someone had come. She was so tired of being alone and miserable.

  “Here you are now, dearie. Got a nice cup a tea and spot of bread to soothe your poor stomach. These things can hit us hard, but you’ll feel better soon.”

  “I couldn’t…” Rosemary shook her head. “How did you know about my stomach?”

  “I have ears. I’ve been listening to you retch since before the sun came up.” Mrs. Lamb placed a small tray beside the bed. “Sit up now and I’ll do my best to make you more comfortable.”

  With the Mrs. Lamb’s help, she sat up and then leaned against the freshly plumped pillows. Meredith hadn’t felt so cosseted in a long time. Mrs. Lamb pressed bread into her hands. “Nibble this slowly.”

  While Mrs. Lamb took care of the soiled chamber pot, Rosemary looked at the hunk and then raised it to her mouth. She tried not to think of anything as she drew in a breath of fresh air. When her stomach roiled, she made the first bite very small.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed the dry lump. Tears filled her eyes. How ridiculous to be laid low on a day she should be busy. She had to get up and dressed, pack her things, and start over. It had taken all night, but she had decided Mrs. Evelyn Lynch would be her new name. A pity she had no references to give weight to her claim to be a governess, but she could always say she was a mother and had lost her children to illness. That would be somewhat true. She would always think of Constantine’s daughters as hers.

  Rosemary opened her eyes to find Mrs. Lamb was watching her. “Tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  When the woman handed it over, there was pity in her eyes. “Like that is it? He broke your heart and left you behind.”

  “I’m not heartbroken.” Rosemary quickly swallowed some of the tea and handed back the cup and saucer. The hot liquid did nothing to ease the ache and she slumped against the pillows, wishing Constantine had never revealed his connections. “I’m ill.”

  How annoying to remember Constantine so clearly now that he was long gone. The way he smiled, the way he was always trying to learn something new about her that she didn’t want to reveal. How ridiculous to want to feel his hands upon her again and tell him the truth, given he was related to the Duke of Romsey.

  They had no future together.

  Mrs. Lamb sighed dramatically. “These lords can turn a girl’s head so easily. They promise the world and leave your belly full. I thought Lord Grayling a little different by the way he fretted for your welfare yesterday. But I see my first suspicion was correct. When is the babe due?”

  Rosemary stilled as shock set in. “I’m not with child.”

  “Oh, I think time will tell that you are. It may be cruel, but I could wave a raw mutton chop beneath your nose and make your stomach turn over. There is no sense pretending the worst hasn’t happened.”

  Rosemary held her stomach as the mere mention of meat sent her nausea soaring.

  Mrs. Lamb smiled kindly. “I can see a carriage in the distance, so I’d better return below. I’ll send a tray up for you to consider if you’re well enough to eat any of it in my absence and check on you again when they’re gone, my dear. When I come back, we can talk about what you must do. For all his kind words yesterday, I doubt Grayling will be sympathetic. Forgive me for saying this, but he won’t be marrying someone not of his level.”

  Rosemary pulled the covers up to her nose as a shudder filled her. “Never expected him to.”

  A babe changed nothing. She knew what to do to remedy herself of that condition. With no home, no future, she had only one choice. Constantine would never know.

  He’d only wanted her for pleasure. She and Constantine were remarkably alike in that. When they’d met, neither had wanted more. Yet the longer they’d stayed together, the greater that pleasure had become. Even his children had been no barrier to her contentment. A contentment that ended when she learned his connections.

  It was a shame she’d never see him again. He’d become the closest thing to a friend she’d had in a decade. She could think on that when this inn was a distant memory.

  Rosemary climbed from bed and slipped into a day gown. She might not feel herself completely, but she had to be ready to get on that mail coach. The buttons on her gown proved a little difficult since she had to keep stopping when assailed by nausea.

  When she was decently covered, she sat to fasten her half boots. As she lifted her head, the sounds of a carriage drawing up outside filled the room. Fearing it was the mail coach come early, Rosemary hurried to the window. The crest on the door blazed with the carriage owner’s identity.

  Romsey.

  Rosemary picked up her skirts and ran.

  ~ * ~

  “Are you sure this is the right place,” Leopold demanded of Constantine as the carriage rolled to a stop in the sleepy little village he’d stayed in the night before. Being questioned so often, and in such a condescending manner, during the long hours of the night had removed any lingering guilt he felt over making love to the man’s sister before they married.

  Leopold Randall had no reason to scold him anyway after what he’d discovered about the young Duke of Romsey’s conception. Only a fool would claim the higher ground. They had each lain with the other’s sister before they ever intended to marry them.

  Although Constantine would like nothing better than to scowl, he thought better of it. His jaw hurt like the very devil from the blow he’d received from his brother-in-law’s fist every time he clenched it. “I always break my journey to Romsey here,” he said carefully. “Another few minutes and you’ll see her for yourself.”

  He cupped his jaw as pain spiked. Even talking a small amount hurt, and he was rather annoyed that no one else seemed the least bit concerned for his well-being. He could have lost a tooth. Maybe Rosemary would tenderly soothe him into a better frame of mind.

  Spending the night in close quarters with three Randall men had not been the most comfortable night of his life. Although he hadn’t argued, he had not been given much of a voice on the decision to return to the inn. He’d been spared a few precious minutes to tell Willow he was on his way to fetch her favorite governess and that had been all the concession he’d been given.

  Yet for all the Randalls’ silent scrutiny, he was rather glad they kept their questioning to a minimum, because he didn’t think it fair to be accused of wrongdoing when Calista, Meredith, or rather Rosemary, had never had an honest conversation with him since they met. How was he to have deduced that the willful, wicked woman he’d made love to was a woman with an excellent pedigree, outstanding connections, and more suited to a ballroom than a brothel?

  He’d never had her real name, although he had known that from t
he very beginning.

  It took a brave woman to lie so boldly as she gave her body to yet another man. At least under the guise of being his governess, her family might be spared the knowledge of the rest of her past.

  When the carriage steps were finally dropped, Randall was first out the door. Constantine followed, stepping out onto the familiar street. “This way,” he called and then smiled at the inn’s proprietor as he approached. “I’ve returned for my governess, Mr. Lamb.”

  “So I see.” Mr. Lamb ducked back inside the inn, calling for his wife.

  The brothers departed the coach and the younger one paled.

  “Do you remember the place, Tobias,” Oliver asked quickly.

  The youngest Randall looked up and down the street and then he pointed. Dense smoke hung around the building he indicated. “We went to the smithy for help, the accident must have occurred some distance beyond that on the far side of the village. I don’t remember much else.”

  Constantine’s pulse quickened. Tobias’s reaction was almost the same as Meredith’s—curse his tongue, Rosemary—yesterday. Despite the lies and deception, he was rather keen to see her again. The younger Randall might believe they were near the scene of the crime that had robbed them of their parents, but Constantine wouldn’t be satisfied until he heard the truth from her own lips.

  His steps quickened as he hurried inside the dimly lit interior, and sweeping his hat from his head, he found the innkeeper’s wife waiting, hands on her hips and a surprisingly hostile glint in her eye. “Back so soon?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “I’ve come for Miss Clark.”

  Randall burst through the door. “Where’s Rosemary?”

  The woman’s brow rose. “Rosemary? There’s no Rosemary here.”

  Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. If Randall wasn’t careful, he’d let everyone know Rosemary Randall was a fallen woman. He didn’t think she’d appreciate that. “Miss Clark. My governess fell ill and wished to remain behind. The children would not rest until she rejoined them, so I’ve come to fetch her.”