“You know about the recent scandal, of course.”
Richard’s attention snapped back to his friend. “Scandal?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” Alex sat forward, the cheekiest grin on his lips. “Such a juicy morsel it is too.”
Richard groaned, unsure whether he had to stomach to hear it or not.
“Isn’t he the lucky one who was dancing with your delectable cousin the other night?” Alex taunted.
Richard’s scowl deepened. “Yes.” He glowered at his friend, willing him to speak. Inside, he was in a murderous turmoil. He didn’t even know what the juicy gossip was, but he fought the desire to throttle the man all the same.
Alex sucked the air in through his teeth. “Now I can see the reason for your foul mood, my friend.”
“I promised both her and her cousin—”
“Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
“Indeed.” Richard breathed out heavily. “I promised them both I would take good care of her and make certain she did not run into trouble.”
Alex stuck out his chin. “Is she the kind of girl to get into trouble?”
“No!” Richard clenched his jaw when he heard his friend chuckle at him. “You know what I mean. This is her first season in society.”
“Right.” Alex nodded sharply. “Well, then,” he dragged long and hard on his cigar again “you need to be armed with all the facts.” He blew the smoke out, surrounding his head with a thick blue cloud. “Or at least what everyone seems to be chattering on about him anyway.”
“I do.” Richard drained his glass, stood up, and helped himself to another drink. Alex held out his glass and Richard sloshed more whisky into it too.
Once he sat back down, Alex began to tell everything he knew. Richard sat enthralled and disgusted at the same time.
“And so Miss Margaret Ainsworth and Lord Hugh’s little by-blow are left high and dry.”
“Has he no morals?” Richard growled.
“Oh,” Alex coughed on the smoke, “apparently his father, the Duke, found out about the dalliance and has come down hard on him.”
Richard’s stomach tightened. “What?” His mouth opened and closed.
“Margaret is of little consequence,” Alex explained, gesturing. “As the third son of a duke, Lord Hugh must marry a fortune or be left penniless when his old man shuffles off this mortal coil.”
Richard stared into nothingness. The words Margaret is of little consequence reverberated around his skull. “What of the infant?”
“What of it?”
The words stuck in Richard’s throat.
“You can’t go around rescuing the entire world, Richard.” Alex scoffed. “I know you’ve become some sort of hero on the Iberian Peninsula, but…”
“The child…” Richard managed.
“A boy, if you must know.” Alex huffed, drank a little and smoked his cigar, studying Richard. “Margaret had a little boy. She named him Walter, after her father.”
Richard sat up straight. “Where are they now?”
“What? You’re not thinking…”
“Where are they now?”
One infuriated look was all that was needed to have Alex spurting out the information Richard desired. “Her father has taken her to the coast. Bournemouth, I think.”
Richard finished the last drop of whisky and stood. “How can I find them?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Alex’s mouth fell open as he also stood.
“How can I find them?”
“Rumours have it the father has made her take a new name. I doubt you’ll find them.”
Richard cocked a brow. “Has the infant been baptised?”
“Not that I know of.” Alex stood, looking deflated. “This is so important to you?”
“I need to know if this is the truth or just idle gossip whose aim is to destroy the man.” He rounded on his friend. “My mother is bent on matching Miss Darcy and Lord Hugh.” He swallowed down the bile that rose to his throat. “And from what I can see, she is already partial to him.”
Slowly, Alex stubbed out the cigar in a brass ashtray. “Do you want company?”
For the first time in hours, Richard smiled.
* * *
Georgiana had never seen such a fuss. Richard was in a hurry, stating he had urgent business in the south of England, and Aunt Henrietta was beside herself, crying that she thought Richard was running away from them both.
“Mother!” he tried to calm her nerves. “There is no time to lose. Alexander and I must leave immediately.”
“But why?” she protested. “You have not furnished me with a sufficient explanation, Richard. And what about the dinner party? We can’t very well have it without you here.”
“Then wait until I return. I shan’t be long.” He kissed her forehead. “And do not fret, Mama.”
His horse, along with Alex’s, had been brought around to the house and awaited their riders on the street.
Georgiana accompanied her aunt to the top step. She watched as the stable boy held the heads of the horses while Richard strapped on his bag.
“I promise to return within two days. I know what I have to do and where I have to go.”
“Won’t you even tell your mother?” Aunt Henrietta whined, gripping Georgiana’s hand painfully.
“Mama, I cannot let you know every aspect of my business,” Richard replied, his temper clearly running out. “The quicker I depart, the quicker I may return.” He ran back up the steps and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Set the dinner party for Wednesday night, and I promise to be there, by hook or by crook.”
Aunt Henrietta began to weep.
Georgiana stepped forward. “Ride well and stay safe. Your mother needs you to return in one piece.”
She watched Richard’s expression soften as he gazed upon her. “And you?”
“Me?” Georgiana’s brow knit in confusion.
“Do you need me to return in one piece?” he asked quietly.
She felt her cheeks burn again. Why do I blush like a child when a man speaks thus to me? “I would dearly like you to return in one piece.” Puzzled, she believed Richard to be holding his breath. “And safe.”
He smiled brightly enough for her to feel its warmth.
“And quickly, please,” she breathed, surprised at her own desire to have him return.
He took hold of her free hand and kissed the back of it. “I shall.”
Georgiana watched, her heart thumping in her chest, as he bounded down the steps, mounted his horse and, within a few seconds, was gone, leaving the two women standing futilely staring into the street.
Twelve
Richard knew he was driving his horse too hard. A voice in the back of his mind warned him to ease up or risk injuring the poor beast.
They left London behind long ago and galloped their way along the rough southwesterly road. As a village loomed on the horizon, Richard reined in his horse. He was painfully aware of how much the animal was perspiring and needed rest. As did he, his stomach growled and reminded him of his meagre breakfast, and they stopped at an inn and took a meal.
The meat pie, ale, bread and cheese refreshed them; but when they got back outside, it was clear the horses were not.
Richard looked around him and sought out the livery stables where they hired two fine mares, leaving their own to be taken care of.
Once they were back on the road towards Bournemouth, Richard rode like man possessed. Alex, who had lived most of his life in and around cities, was not the horseman Richard was and had a difficult time keeping pace with him. Even so, by the time they reached Winchester with its imposing medieval cathedral, Richard had calmed himself sufficiently to slow down and allow his friend to ride by his side.
“Do you want to stop here?” he called out.
“Yes. I really think we ought to stop for the night, Richard. The sun is beginning to set, and the horses are tired.”
Richard didn’t need telling twice. He knew the va
lue of keeping a horse well looked after and had been wracked with guilt over driving his own so hard when they first set out. Moreover, his fingers and toes were numb from the cold wind. He’d lost the feeling in his nose hours ago. “Very well. We’ll stable these and procure two more. We’ll find a tavern, get some hot food in our bellies and some sleep. But I want to set off again in the early hours. We have no time to lose.”
Alex didn’t say a word. He merely nodded in agreement.
Richard hoped his friend understood and did not think he’d lost his mind.
They found stables and lodgings easily enough. Very few people were travelling at this time of the year and in such inclement weather—even there in the south.
He almost groaned with delight when the innkeeper told them that dinner was stew with potatoes. It was just what they needed. The pair seated themselves before the inn’s inglenook fireplace.
“What do you intend to do when we find her?” Alex asked, rubbing his hands before the fire.
Richard saw Alex’s fingers were as red and painful as his own and wanted to apologise for putting his friend through this but remembered Alex had volunteered to come along. “I need to ask her if…” his eyes darted nervously towards the bar, he then lowered his voice “…if Lord Hugh is the babe’s father.”
“Of course,” Alex replied, pulling off his boots and wincing in pain. “And then what?”
Richard sighed. He had not thought that far ahead. His main preoccupation had been to make sure that Georgiana was safe from a rake. She had already been in the path of Wickham. She didn’t need to go through that again.
His heart went out to Margaret and her infant. Her reputation now lay in tatters, and he doubted very much whether any man would want to marry her now.
“Perhaps her father has had the wisdom to not only change her name but come up with a story.”
“Hmm?”
“Well, perhaps…a widow.” Alex shrugged.
Richard smiled sadly. “Yes, that would solve many problems all at once.”
“I have heard of it being done. A lady’s reputation is fragile and once lost it can never be recovered.”
Richard studied his face. “You sound as though you speak from experience.”
Alex puffed out his cheeks and rested his heels on the hearthstone. “A childhood chum got a girl with child and his father paid her family to move away, say she was widowed, and change her name.”
“All that, rather than own up to what he did?” The whole scenario infuriated Richard.
“Indeed. She was the daughter of a baker. Not the kind of woman this fellow’s father wanted for a daughter-in-law.”
“I suppose that is how the Duke feels.”
“No doubt.”
“We have to find her,” Richard replied feeling the injustice of it all keenly.
Alex stared into the cracking flames. “Agreed.”
* * *
When they awoke, it was still dark outside. The innkeeper had kindly come, in his nightshirt, to rouse them from sleep—for an extra shilling. Richard and Alex dressed hastily in the chill air before dawn. Looking out of the window, Richard could see there was a sharp frost. His breath clouded in front of his face, steaming up the window. From his vantage point, he could see their horses being led out to the front of the building.
By the time they reached the bar, two flagons of ale and stale bread and cheese awaited them. Richard, knowing full well that he needed sustenance in such cold weather, tore two chunks of cheese and bread and handed them to Alex before biting into his own. The ale, chilled in the unheated bar, helped to wash down the hard bread.
Richard’s eyes were heavy as he headed out the door and mounted the horse provided for him. He knew what he had to do that day. They had to reach the outskirts of Bournemouth and ask for Margaret Ainsworth and her family. Richard thanked his lucky stars that Bournemouth was not as big a city as London. A person could disappear entirely in London, whereas in Bournemouth it was likely the locals would be gossiping about the new family for years to come. Richard intended to use that to his advantage.
The pair rode on in silence until the first few dwellings came into view just after dawn. Fortune favoured them. The milkmaids were out in the fields milking the cows. Richard reined in his horse, stopping beside the five-bar gate. Alex followed suit.
Richard dismounted and, putting on his best and most charming smile, strode towards the gate. Immediately he caught the eye of more than one of the maids. “Good morning,” he called out.
One of the maids, a buxom young girl with a ruddy complexion, stopped what she was doing and, rising, carried her milk pail towards them. “Morning,” she responded eyeing them both up and down. “You be new around ’ere?”
Richard liked the sound of her accent, lilting, and songlike. “We are indeed. We are looking for some friends of ours who have recently moved here.”
“Oh, aye,” she replied lifting up the pail. “Could I offer youse gentlemans some milk?”
Alex step forward. “Yes, please.” He drank from the side of the pail while Richard conversed with her.
“Yes. They must have come here in the last week or so.” He leant nonchalantly on the gate. “I suspect that nothing happens around here without you knowing about it. Am I right?”
His question was answered by the rising colour in her cheeks. Richard thought she looked quite pretty when she blushed.
“I do keep my eyes open, if that’s what you means,” she replied, puffing up her already ample chest with pride.
Richard did his best not to look satisfied. “I wonder if you know them.”
“There be a new family just north of here. They buyed a ’ouse, so they did.” The corners of her mouth turned down and her eyes twinkled with unshed tears. “’Tis a sad tale an’ make no mistake. For she, the young missus, is widowed an’ with a babe in arms,” the milkmaid blurted out.
Alex choked on the milk.
Could this be them? “Oh, that is a sad tale indeed.” Richard mimicked her expression. “I wonder, did they tell you their name at all?” He inched closer towards her. “I only ask because I would not wish to upset an already grieving family with our arrival if they were not the family we are looking for.”
“I knew you was a kind ’un the minute I sawed you.” She grinned revealing some missing teeth.
“Thank you,” Richard bowed his head. “The family we are looking for are called the Ainsworths.”
The milkmaid’s eyes opened wide. “I think that be them!” she almost shrieked.
“Wonderful!” Alex exclaimed, handing the pail back to her.
Her eyes narrowed. “How youse be knowing ’em?”
Richard was fast on the uptake. “We are acquaintances of the lady’s late husband.”
“Oh, really?”
Alex nodded. “Yes, really. We want to make sure that she is well taken care of and to pay our respects.”
The maid dug the toe of her boot into the dirt. “That’s mighty kind o’ youse.”
“Where precisely is this house they bought?” Richard pressed.
“No more’n three miles direct north,” she pointed.
“Thank you,” Richard beamed at her. “You have been most helpful, Miss…”
“People ’round ’ere jus’ call me Maisie.” Her blush returned deeper than before.
“Well, I am most grateful to you, Maisie.” Richard pulled out a coin from his pocket and handed it to her, squeezing it tightly in her chubby fist. “Most grateful.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” She chewed the inside of her cheek for a second before asking, “Might we be seein’ youse ’round ’ere more often?”
“That, I cannot say.” Richard straightened up and took a step back. “That all very much depends on whether the young lady is distressed by our visit or not.”
Alex nodded beside him looking suitably sombre. “Yes, we would not wish to cause her any more distress than that which she is presently suffering.”
The maid laid her head to the side. “Oh, that’s so very thoughtful o’ youse.” She gazed back at Richard, tilting her head down, and peering at him from under her lashes. “I do so very much ’ope that youse will return, mister.”
Richard bowed and doffed his top hat. “I wish you a very good day, Maisie. Thank you for the information and the milk.” He treated her, one last time, to his most charming smile before remounting his horse.
As they rode off, Richard stole a quick glance back. Maisie remained at the gate watching them as they rode away. He waved.
Alex whistled. “I never took you for such a charmer, Richard.”
“Neither did I!” Richard burst out laughing.
No matter how amusing the situation was, they had the information they needed, or at least Richard hoped they had. There was a new family not far away from them now whose daughter was recently widowed with a young babe.
Silently, Richard prayed the young lady was Margaret Ainsworth. He knew the longer it took to find the young lady and her infant, the less hope they had of finding out if Lord Hugh DeVere was a scoundrel or if he was simply maligned.
Thirteen
Georgiana paced up and down the full width of the house in Pembroke Square, then she turned and paced from the back to the front. Ever since Richard’s departure, she had felt unsettled and ill at ease, unable to think of anything else but him. For the umpteenth time, she resisted looking at the grandfather clock in the hallway.
“Knowing the time will not bring them back any quicker,” she huffed.
The previous night had cleared the skies to reveal the majesty of the universe, but it had brought with it a heavy frost. Georgiana had watched as many who attempted their morning walk slipped and slid about on the icy pavements and cobblestone streets. Aunt Henrietta deemed it better to stay indoors, which only increased Georgiana’s sense of agitation.
After lunch of Scotch broth, thick chunks of homemade bread, and more of Cook’s delicious mince pies, both Georgiana and Aunt Henrietta were surprised to hear the doorbell ring.
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