by Ella Edon
“Yes, sir.”
He strode out into the street, the letter crumpled in his hand.
“Canmure?” he asked.
“Yes, old boy?”
“Can we go to Ellingsgate Coffee House, please? I’m sure Raphaella and her friends will be perfectly happy if we leave them here for an hour or two in Goldsmith Street.”
He was in a strange-enough state before the letter. Now, he was sure to cause upset to any shopping-trip simply by being there. He needed time to talk to his friend alone. Perhaps they could resolve this mess, both that of Emilia and of his uncle’s estates, together.
Canmure nodded. “I’m sure they would. Alors! Raphella!”
Raphaella turned around, a smile on her soft face. She was pretty, Luke noticed, with a long face, a soft profile and masses of curly chestnut hair. “Yes, brother?”
“We’re going to take a turn down Bakerwell Street. Did you want to stay here awhile?”
“Yes, brother,” she said. “We’re perfectly well-occupied here. We’ll be in the ribbon shop when you come out.”
“You’re planning to take that long in there?” her brother called back.
She chuckled. “Brother…I have two balls to plan for – and all my summer outfits. We’ll be in there – for certes.”
He laughed heartily. “Well, then, Luke. We’re off?”
Luke nodded. They turned left and around the corner. The coffee-house of choice was not particularly famous, nor particularly fancy. It was, however, good and reliable, and the number of customers in there at this time attested that. It was still an hour off tea-time, Luke thought, checking his fob-watch. But it was still packed.
“Table for two?” Canmure gestured to the proprietor, who nodded.
“Over there by the window, sir.”
They went and sat down. Luke looked around, hoping he couldn’t be too easily overheard. The last thing he wished for was to embarrass Lady Emilia by discussing her details in public.
“Canmure…what do you know about the Earl of Mowbray?” he asked, as the proprietor left with their orders for coffee and spiced cake.
Canmure frowned. “Not much. Likeable sort, or so I heard. He’s a member of the Leedsgate Club. I saw him there once or twice, when I went along with Osburne and his bunch. Not like the Milway. Different set.” He grimaced.
“I see,” Luke said. He tried to fit that information in with what he already knew. “Not a good set, mayhap?”
Canmure shrugged indicatively. “Only fellow I know who’s a member at both is Carrington. What’s that say to you?”
Luke frowned. “I see.”
That told him a great deal. His grace, the Duke of Elsmoor, was one of the less-pleasant people he knew. Lord Osburne and he had a great deal in common – both arrogant, uncaring, and distasteful people. Both, he suspected, with illicit dealings that they’d rather others didn’t know.
“I think the earl has a daughter, though I haven’t seen her. They don’t go out in society much. Mayhap she’s in the countryside?” He shrugged.
“I wonder,” Luke said pointedly. That was very interesting, too. Now that he thought about it, he’d never met Lady Emilia in society, either, which should have seemed unusual to him. Her father was an earl, and he moved in similar circles to Luke himself. Why had he never met him or his daughter before?
Their finances must be in a bad state, if she never attends parties.
He swore inwardly. Why hadn’t he noticed it? He had stayed in their house and all seemed shipshape, but it must be worse than he realized. Lady Emilia was of an age where she should be making the most of what London had to offer. Why wasn’t she?
“Where do they live?” he asked. He’d been there, but he had no idea what the place was called, or if he could even find it again. His recollection of the ride back in the hired coach was foggy.
Canmure shrugged. “Mowbray House. Nice sort of place. Near Haddon Hall. D’you plan to go there?”
“I don’t know, Canmure. I’m considering it. I have…an interest in the business of the house.”
“I see.” Canmure’s brow went up and Luke knew he was fooling no one. Canmure had guessed what his interest was. “Well. If you want to visit her, we could go together, perhaps. One for moral support?”
Luke grinned. “Thanks,” he said. “But it’s alright. I don’t know how long I’ll stay there.”
“Well, if you’ve a plan to stay longer, I can go across to Haddon. Not that I’d be welcome there.” Canmure’s face went hard.
“Why, Canmure?” Luke frowned.
“They’ve taken her abroad.”
“What?” Luke stared at him. He knew Canmure meant Ettie Haddon. But what happened? She seemed in good health. What reason had anyone for taking her hence?
“Her family. Got wind of my interest and…other things. She’s now at their estate in Ireland.”
“No!” Luke felt two spots of rage color his cheeks. “They had not the reason…”
“It’s best we don’t discuss it.”
Luke heard the fury underlying that tone and looked swiftly away. He couldn’t say anything to Canmure that would help. Short of going with him to Ireland – which he couldn’t do, since he couldn’t risk leaving his uncle – he could do nothing to help him now.
“We can go to Mowbray this afternoon,” Canmure said. Their coffee arrived and Luke waited while the proprietor set it down on their table, then stirred sugar into his, watching as the crystals went into solution, the denser fluid swirling through the coffee.
Canmure drank his down quickly, grimacing at the bitterness. He leaned back in his seat, eyes closed.
“We should find my sister soon,” he suggested. “We promised we’d meet up with them at five. I’m sure that’s more time than one requires to buy ribbons.”
Luke nodded. “Probably not.”
Canmure raised a brow at him. “Want to bet?”
“No,” Luke replied lightly. “I’m sure to lose, and then I’d only owe you money.”
Canmure chuckled. “Fine. Shall we go in twenty minutes?”
Luke raised a shoulder in a mild shrug. “As you like.”
They ate their spiced cake in contemplative silence. Luke’s mind was racing through the possibilities of what to say to Emilia when he saw her. His worries about his uncle he could settle later. He would simply have to travel north to check on him – what else could he do? His mind delayed the prospect of writing to his cousin, preferring to consider his visit with Emilia.
Come away with me, he wanted to say. I will ask your father for permission, and we can go to my estate. You would like the countryside. If you took your maid and a friend, there would be no impropriety. I want to help you.
They settled the bill and went out into the street. Outside, it was dark, clouds having blown in during their time indoors. Luke pulled his cloak around him, shivering a little in the wind that had come up. He looked around. The streets were still busy, though most people had gone inside for afternoon tea, or to seek shelter from the wind and foreseeable rain.
Even though the streets were even more ominous than they were earlier, Luke felt oddly better. He had come to a decision about Lady Emilia. He could solve her problems. He would help her.
“I say, Canmure. Is that your sister?”
Canmure nodded. They were back in Goldsmith’s Street. Lady Rafaella stood outside of the robbon shop. She saw them and waved.
“Brother! Lord Westmore!” she greeted them. “We just finished. Do come and see what I found – the most darling ribbons. I think I’ll restyle my riding-dress just to fit in with these gorgeous velvet bonnet-ties…”
Luke grinned as Canmure stared at his sister remorsefully. “You mean…you’ll want another one?”
“No! I’m just planning to take the waist in,” she assured her brother. “To make it more fashionable, and to add red trims to it. You see? I have the velvet for it right here! I think that will make it more modish.”
As Raphella showed them her purchases, Luke found himself looking up and down the street. He felt oddly restless, and he was sure it couldn’t just be the weather, though the imminent rain and the strange storm wind were adding to it.
“Canmure?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we get inside?”
Canmure nodded. “Sister? What say you to an early supper at one of the inns?”
“Oh! How exciting!” Raphaella put her hand on her brother’s shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. She turned towards her friend. “Francine? What say you?”
“I would be glad of a bite to eat,” her friend agreed.
“Luke?” Canmure asked.
Luke shrugged. “I’d be happy to join you,” he said. The prospect of having to wait until they reached Rumsgate House to have supper was not entirely appealing.
“Capital! We need to find a place with room for four. And should we go to the park? There are some charming places nearby.”
Luke looked down the street again as they chose a place to eat dinner. It was still crowded, with people coming out of the shops and cafes now and finding places to go for a bite to eat. He noticed a rider trying to make his way through the press of people, the sound of the horse’s hoofs on the cobbles an allegory of frustration.
Behind the rider, a coach rumbled up.
“Make way!” the driver yelled in evident annoyance. “Make way!”
Luke frowned. Whoever was in the coach had a disproportionate sense of their own importance: the street was crowded and he could surely wait to get to wherever he was going?
Who is it? he wondered.
As the coach passed – going as fast as it could through the thronging crowd without the risk of knocking someone over – he studied it inquisitively.
There was a badge emblazoned on one side – his brows shot up as he recognized the seal of the Duke of Elsmoor, the acanthus leaves and the badge featuring a helmet. He was surprised to see it on the street at this time, and in such haste.
Where would he be going so fast?
He stared in with keen interest through the windows, looking for the Duke. As he did, he stared in horror. It wasn’t the duke inside at all. It was a woman. He gasped.
It was Emilia.
He turned to Canmure, gripping his shoulder with some urgency.
“Canmure?”
“Yes, old boy? What’s the matter?”
“Canmure. I can’t attend dinner. There’s somewhere I have to go. Urgently.”
“And where’s that?” Canmure asked, sounding concerned.
Luke just shook his head grimly and stuck his hand in the air, waving down the Hansom coach that, as luck would have it, rattled past just then.
“After that coach,” he said. “At full speed, please. We haven’t a spare moment.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Moment of Fear
The coach rattled through the London streets. Emilia sat on the seat, rank terror keeping her upright. She looked out of the window, too scared and shocked to scream.
She tried to recall how she had arrived here, but her memories were all a distant haze. She recalled being in the Duke’s home, and being confronted. She recalled her head swimming in blackness, a sick, falling feeling gripping her and dragging her under. Her next memory was of being here, in this coach, racing along. In her mind, a confusing set of images swam through. One of them floated to the forefront – her father’s face. What would he be thinking?
Opposite her, the Duke sat in a relaxed stance. He was too close for her to risk anything like trying to open the door, beat on the window or alert anyone.
“Do sit back,” the duke said softly. “You look quite silly so bolt upright in a coach. You’re not riding in a soldierly parade.”
Emilia felt embarrassed. She leaned back automatically. His scornful tone made anything else seem ridiculous.
“So,” he said. “You agree to my plan at last.”
Emilia cleared her throat. She was beyond words. The shock of waking up in the coach, alone with this man, unable to escape, was too much for her. All she could think of at that moment was that this was a nightmare. It couldn’t possibly be true. Surely, somebody would come to rescue her soon?
“You have no words of objection?” he sounded amused. “Good. I thought you might come to agree with my ideas, eventually.”
“I don’t,” Emilia managed to say.
“What’s that? I didn’t catch it,” the Duke said contentedly. “Well, no matter. Isn’t it a grand evening? We’ll spend the night at my country house, just on the outskirts of town. I will ensure as many people as possible see you with me, to ensure there can be no backing out of it. Your reputation will be ruined, should you refuse.”
“I know,” Emilia murmured softly.
It was diabolical. She couldn’t believe he’d done this. If she was seen alone with him, she’d have no choice, but to wed him. To do anything else would negate any other social prospects she had. He had forced her to agree with his wild ideas.
It made sense for him, and even – perhaps – for Father. Her father would at least be able to use the savings he’d set aside for her dowry, since the Duke would demand nothing. Would that make him happy? She couldn’t believe it, but it made a horrid sort of sense to her in that moment.
She felt a tear run down her cheek, another following it. Soundlessly, she started crying. What else could she do?
Lord Westmore. I wish you were here.
She swallowed hard. Memories of him at the ball filled her mind. His gentle voice, his tender kisses. She had loved him; she knew that now.
And now I will never see him again.
What could she do?
Her head filled with wild plans of her own. She would escape. She would open the door and jump out, heedless of the danger. Would it not be better to risk death in a fall, than spend the rest of my days with this man?
She studied him through narrowed eyes. He looked perfectly content with life. He leaned easily back on the leather-covered seats, a self-satisfied expression that infuriated her on his face.
She thought about how cruel he was, how scheming. She could almost smell the scent of it on him, a smell that was rank and foul. He didn’t actually smell bad – if she breathed in, she caught a whiff of spicy pomade that was actually quite nice – but the odor of lies and cruelty tainted the air around him.
“Are you excited about it?” he asked. His grin broadened, his eyes sparkling in a way that made her want, very badly, to run.
“No,” she muttered. Her hands gripped each other, her heart pounding. She reached for the door of the coach, contemplating a sudden leap.
“You don’t want to be crushed by my wheels,” he said, eyes narrowed. “So I would suggest you don’t try it.”
Emilia felt her fingers unclasp from the doorframe and she leaned back in the seat again, feigning sleep. She couldn’t bear the sight of him a second more.
I have to escape.
They were nearing the less-populous area of town – she could hear that the street was less busy as the coach sped up. The wheels ground over the cobbles. The only human noise around them was the sound of the driver, exhorting the team.
Emilia opened her eyes, glancing out of the window. The countryside was going past at quite a marked speed now, the trees and fences and homes whipping past with some frequency. She cast her eyes in the direction of the Duke. He was leaning back on the cushions, seemingly asleep. It was sunset now, the sunshine reddish as it touched the hills.
If he was truly asleep, perhaps she could jump now. She gripped the door and considered what he’d said. If she leapt, the chances of her falling beside the wheels were fairly high. In which case, he was likely correct: she’d be run over directly.
“Do it, Emilia,” she whispered to herself.
She closed her eyes. Oddly, a picture of her father drifted into her mind. What would he do, if she were to be killed? She imagined his confusion, his sorrow. Was it worth inflicting that on him?
>
“Whoa!” the coachman called. “Halt, there.”
She saw the Duke sit upright smoothly, dark eyes shooting open. He hadn’t been asleep, after all.
“Hudson? What’re you doing?” he shouted through the window. His voice was rough with anger.
“Loose wheel, milord,” the driver called back. “All that haste in town’s rattled it. Won’t take more than five minutes to tighten it on.”