Uncrossing his legs, Adrian leaned forward and put his hand over hers. “I will ensure she’s churched, ma’am, I promise.”
Lady Strenshall dropped her chin and closed her eyes. “Thank you. I know that was bearing on her. She never shows it.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. Her tone firmed. “Look after her, or I will see you in hell, Adrian Sterling.”
Finally he understood why Lady Strenshall was so adored by her children. “I know.” He gave a wry smile and leaned back. The chair creaked threateningly, forcing him upright once more. “I will treat her with the greatest of care.” A vision came to him, the sight of his wife straddling him, breasts bare, silk pooled around them. And she was laughing.
Pain wrenched at him. He could not think of that now. “I cannot tell her I’m going after the boy in case I’m wrong. I might not succeed. This might be a wild goose chase. I intend to visit Sir Jeffrey. From there, I don’t know. I will follow the thread until the bitter end.”
“Don’t kill him.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“He isn’t worth dying for.”
He could agree with that, so he gave her a reluctant nod. “Not unless his death becomes an absolute necessity.” He would go no further, but she was right. He didn’t want that death on his conscience, and he would not hang for the blackguard. He got to his feet. “I will take my leave. I will find out what happened to the boy, and follow whatever I find to the end. I have left Livia a note, merely telling her not to expect me back soon. But I didn’t know what to tell her. Take care of her, if you please.” After bowing, he turned and went to the door, where he hesitated. “I’ll write when I know more.”
Her faint, “God speed” reached him just before he closed the bedroom door.
He did not tell her his worst fears. After all, they might not be true. But he would return with news for his wife, one way or the other.
* * * *
Livia blinked awake, alone in a wrecked bed. The sheets were tangled around her, the cover tossed over her with more regard to warmth than to order. Her hair streamed over her shoulders as she sat up, dragging the covers with her.
All cried out, no more tears left to shed, she faced the rest of her life.
The door opened and her maid came in. “Your grace.” Finch dropped a curtsy.
“Call me ma’am when we’re private, as always,” Livia said by rote. She didn’t want any reminder of her new status. The status she’d stolen by keeping the most important facts of her life from her husband.
“Your husband left early this morning. He sent you this note, ma’am. Will you come down to breakfast?”
Ignoring the last question, Livia tore open the note. He hadn’t even bothered to seal it, just tucked one end into the other.
My dear duchess,
I regret I have to leave you so soon, but urgent business has called me away. Pray remain there until I return. I should not be above a week.
When she’d read the few formal, stiff lines, she crumpled the paper in her hand, despair filling her heart.
She was alone. He had gone. Would he ever return?
Chapter 18
Adrian arrived at the manor as morning light was gleaming over the frost-whitened lawns, the birds. The sun sent a deceptively warm glow over the tranquil countryside. The neat manor fitted into the landscape as if it had always been there, the stones settled into the dip below a hill. Formal gardens surrounded it, the squared-off arrangements neatly pruned and tied off, the hedges clipped into balls and cones, silently waiting for spring before fighting the shapes the gardeners had carefully imposed on them.
He gave only slight heed to his surroundings, but rode up to the front door and, seeing nobody ready to take his horse, patted the beast and threw the reins to Loomis, who had insisted on attending him. The footman, already in riding gear, had brought his horse to him in Haxby. Recognizing when he was beaten, Adrian allowed the man to come with him.
Pulling the cord would have amused him if he were not intent on his mission. The old-fashioned bell worked well enough, though, setting a chime loud enough to set the dogs barking.
When a manservant shot back the bolts and swung the door wide, Adrian tossed his hat at the man and demanded to see the master of the house. “There’s only the m-mistress,” the man replied, gazing at Adrian as if at a vision sent from afar. “Sir Jeffrey isn’t at home.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone, my lord.”
Well, the man wasn’t to know he knew that already, but it gave him the open door. Visiting a woman alone wasn’t the done thing. Adrian handed him his card. “You address me as your grace,” he said kindly. “Now don’t keep me waiting.”
He didn’t. The servant returned as Adrian was warming his hands by the fire, having thrust his gloves in his pocket. He’d tossed his cloak onto a nearby chair. “If you’ll come with me, sir, your grace.”
He led Adrian to an oak-paneled room on the first floor. The fire had evidently just been lit, crackling and popping as it settled down. A definite chill permeated the air. This would be the best parlor, then. Despite his reservations about the owner, Adrian liked this house. A comfortable size, instead of the palaces he’d grown up in.
Lady Creasey stood to greet him. She was a tall woman with graying brown hair and an anxious expression. With a son like hers, that could be permanent. He bowed over her hand but did not apologize for his early arrival, or for his lack of finesse. “May I offer you refreshment, your grace?” Snatching back her hand, she folded it tightly against the other, gripping them hard.
And suffer more delay? Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he had sent a servant to the inn to bespeak breakfast. He wouldn’t eat here. “No, I thank you. My visit is not of a social nature, I’m afraid. I need to speak to your son.”
If Adrian had not been a strong man he might have tumbled to the floor when she threw herself into his arms. The force was such that he was obliged to take a step backward. Worse, the woman burst into noisy tears, burying her face against his riding coat. “So would I!” she wailed and that was all he could get out of her for some time.
Adrian had to guide her to a settle and pad her with some of the cushions that festooned it. Lady Creasey obviously knew how to make herself busy with her needle, for each cushion bore a different design. He needed to ensure she stayed upright and told him what he needed to know.
Half an hour he wasted, while the lady sipped first tea, then brandy, before he got the story out of her. Then it came out in a great torrent.
“Oh, sir, my son has always been an ambitious man. We thought it a good thing.” She sniffed and raised a cloth to her nose. She had run out of handkerchiefs some time ago, but fortunately Adrian had discovered a stack of embroidered fabric in her work-basket.
On and on the narrative went in horrifying detail. What an ungrateful son he was, how she feared for her health and her home, all the risks he’d taken to get what he wanted. Adrian couldn’t hurry her. If he tried, she’d refuse to say anything.
Finally they got to the point. “He says now you have married Livia, he has no use for the child. I don’t know what is wrong with him, sir, I truly don’t. I brought him up to respect people, but he won’t have any of it.”
And she went off again while Adrian’s stomach clenched in fear. From what he’d heard and observed, Sir Jeffrey had no conscience. He would do whatever he thought right to protect himself, and damn everyone else.
He was not sure when her ladyship knew about the existence of the child. Perhaps, like her son, she’d always known.
That child was not safe in his hands. “Where has he gone?” he asked calmly.
Lady Creasey clutched his arm in a death grip. “Will you bring him back?”
“One way or another.” He would make no promises. He had allowed the man to walk free once. That would not happen aga
in.
“Please, find him! He left in such a temper!” She was holding him tight enough to bruise, her grip surprisingly strong, but Adrian did not budge. If she refused to tell him, he would search the house for an answer. “He’s most likely gone to our manor in Yorkshire. It’s a little place, and too old to be comfortable, but it has some land attached. Jeffrey likes to go there sometimes. I believe he keeps his mistresses there. Not that I blame him, a man needs diversion, and he is not creating scandal here.”
Adrian didn’t care about the man’s affairs, except that if he did have a mistress, then she might prevent Sir Jeffrey from committing something drastic. However, those words, “no use for the child,” reverberated in his head.
He had to go there as quickly as possible. If he could believe her ladyship. If her son had told her the truth. But he had no other clues, so he had to follow this one. He had no choice. And Lady Creasey was either a better actress than Peg Woffington, or she was truly distressed. “When did he leave?”
“When we returned home from the wedding breakfast, in the early afternoon. He took the c-carriage.”
So Adrian was several hours behind. More, now Lady Creasey had delayed him. “If you give me the direction of the manor, I will undertake to go there directly.”
“Oh yes! Bring him back to me.”
He wouldn’t promise that, but he accepted the scrawled address from her. He had to use every ounce of finesse to extricate himself from her grasp, but he managed it, though without much grace. “If I am to find him, I must leave,” he said firmly, and finally she subsided, sniffing into her square of linen.
Before she could revive her spirits and start again, Adrian made good on his departure.
He spent a bare hour with his groom and Mickey at the inn, enough to make a hasty breakfast and write a letter to his wife. Not to explain in full, but to tell her where he would be. He added a note at the bottom, just for her.
He didn’t mince his words with the two sitting with him. “The man is dangerous, I’m sure of it. He has nothing beyond himself, his world only encompasses one person. I watched him in London and that is what my opinion amounts to. Therefore, we could put ourselves in danger pursuing him. You know that a gentleman can influence most matters in his favor. Including sudden, unexpected deaths.”
Mickey and Loomis grimaced. If Adrian had to take anyone with him, and he did, it would be Loomis.
“We go now and we go fast. The child I am interested in is in danger. Deadly danger. I have no doubt that Sir Jeffrey will make away with the boy, if it is in his interests. And it is. He is aiming for high office, and to do that, he wants no impediment such as a child born to someone—inconvenient.”
Not even to these people would he vouchsafe the secret. Even if they had guessed her secret, he would not confirm it. His wife would remain above reproach. “We have about fifty miles to traverse. That will take us two days, if we’re lucky, considering the time of year and the condition of the roads. Frost is making the going hard, but that is better than the rain we’ve had recently.”
He would barely notice the cold. His anger would keep him warm. Traveling unknown roads on horseback in the dark would be too dangerous, so it was up at dawn for them.
He placed his hands on the table, preparing to get to his feet, but a sudden thought made him change his mind. A solution to a puzzle. “Loomis, tell me something. Is Sir Jeffrey Creasey the reason you dogged my footsteps in London?”
Loomis grimaced and ducked his head. “Yes, yer grace.”
“Why?”
“We heard rumors. The staff, I mean. When we talked to Sir Jeffrey’s people, we couldn’t find anybody who liked him. That’s never a good sign. Then we heard he was beating people. No reason, just took a whip to them if he was in a bad mood.”
Adrian winced. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we didn’t have proof, your grace. Servants are dismissed for spreading gossip. Nobody showed us, they just told us. There were all kinds of rumors, and some of them couldn’t have been true. But we heard from Miss d’Arblay.”
“Ophelia? She didn’t write to me.” Or if she did, he hadn’t opened the letters. Ophelia used to send him several letters a day during their affair, proclaiming her devotion and asking for new purchases. After he’d dismissed her, he stopped opening them. “What did she say?”
“Sir Jeffrey came to her house, you know, the one in King Street, and asked her how much. She told him and he sneered at her, but said he’d pay. Then he hurt her, or so she said. So she threw him out. And he came back and smashed the windows. Every one.”
Guilt suffused Adrian. Perhaps he should have opened the letters, after all. But how was he to know? “I see. I’ll pay for their replacement.”
Ophelia would have done so already, but it would have cost her. Glass wasn’t cheap. He had no animosity toward her. After all, she had to make a living. “He hurt her?”
“Aye, took a whip to her. But she recovered.”
“Good. I’ll still pay for the glass.” If he knew Ophelia, she’d have a new protector by now, and he would ensure her safety. Pulling his watch out of his waistcoat pocket, he checked the time. “Come on. It’ll get dark early, so we don’t have much time. That’s if you want to come.” He wouldn’t put either of these men in danger. Well, man and boy. Another pang of conscience hit him. “Mickey, you go back to the house and look after her grace.”
“But, sir—”
Adrian cut him off. “No. You don’t ride well enough for one thing. Loomis and I will go faster without you. And if her grace is in any danger, I want someone I trust with her.”
That did the trick. Mickey nodded. “Yes, your grace.”
“And don’t tell her what we’re doing. Not unless you have to. You can take the note for her. I’m saying I’m going north because my mother has been taken ill. I told her I’d contact her as soon as I can. Now go.” He thrust the paper into Mickey’s hands.
Mickey left, and Adrian and Loomis soon followed on his heels.
Chapter 19
My Dearest Wife;
A messenger arrived early. My mother has been taken ill. Please wait at Haxby for me, where you will be warm and safe. I will send word as soon as I can. I still wish us to travel to Oxfordshire, but while the weather is so cold, there is no need for you to put yourself to any trouble.
I will think of you often. Our wedding night will remain a treasured memory.
That was so different to the note he’d left behind a few hours earlier that it might almost have come from a different person. The first note had been hastily scrawled, informing her that he would return when he could. No fond words, no intimation that her confession to him had not pushed him away. Livia had feared the worst. Been terrified of it, in fact. She had thought he knew about the baby, but he had not. That was more than enough to drive a man away.
But if his mother was ill, shouldn’t he have her with him? Wasn’t her wifely duty to attend him?
Livia laid the letter gently down on the table. “Where did he give you this message?”
“At the inn, your grace. He left with Loomis.”
The burly footman with the black eyebrows that met in the middle. She recalled the way the man hovered around Adrian as if his master was delicate. “I see. On horseback?”
“Yes, your grace. Not long after daybreak.”
So, around seven. And Mickey had not brought her the letter until ten. The boy had waited.
“There’s no reply, Mickey. He just told me where he would be.”
At least he hadn’t left her, as she feared. Unless this was a polite ploy, to prevent society talking. Fear gripped her again. Fear that they would never be as close as they’d been last night. The “treasured memory” part seemed to show it. That part of their marriage was done, the loving, intimate part. He wouldn’t come near a woman who’d lie
d to him.
For two hours she’d thought their marriage was essentially over. Now this new missive reinforced it. Not if she could help it.
Mickey turned to go.
“Wait.”
The boy turned around.
“Is his mother really ill?”
Mickey said nothing. Her heart dropped. She would miss Adrian, his amusement, his care of her, his lovemaking. Oh, he would probably come to her bed, but not with the intimacy they’d shared last night.
He was backing away just when she had fallen deeply in love with him.
The knowledge brought tears, but she refused to shed them. So he had gone, and sent her an excuse. Would she let him do it? Wait like an obedient spouse for him to make another appearance? Be damned to that!
“Finch!” She called for her maid without turning around. The opening of the powder room door told her that her maid had obeyed her summons. “Pack. I want enough clothes for at least a week. And I want to leave today, as soon as possible.”
“May I ask where we are going, your grace?”
“To Northumberland. My husband’s house. I do not want to wait, Finch. You may leave orders to have the other items packed and be waiting for my order to send them. Clear?”
Finch’s eyes widened slightly, then she glanced at Mickey. “Yes, your grace.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.
Mickey was halfway to the door. “You are coming with us,” she said to the boy. “Now, are you ready to tell me the truth?”
* * * *
Two hours later they were away. Two hours was far too long, but she’d had Adrian’s traveling coach made ready in the time allowed. Finch accompanied her, as did Mickey, but instead of the plethora of outriders, she’d reduced the people accompanying them to the driver, his relief driver and two footmen. Not in livery. She did not intend to travel in pomp. The footmen loaded the trunks Finch had packed into the boot, and her parents waved them off.
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