First Season / Bride to Be (17 page)

Anabel looked at the pavement rushing by beneath them and tried to steel herself to leap. She couldn't. He was trying to frighten her as a punishment, she decided. If she refused to be intimidated, he would give it up and take her home. She sat back with folded arms and stared stonily ahead.

But Norbury merely drove on, satisfied with her silence. They left the neighborhood of the park and the fashionable part of London, and continued into an area of small houses, neat but by no means elegant. Anabel had never been here before. Her resolve wavered. “Charles, where are we going?”

He didn't answer.

“Why are you doing this? I shan't change my mind. Can you not be a little charitable and…”

With a quick jerk on the reins, he pulled up. The horses plunged and reared. And before Anabel could gather her wits to jump down, his hand had closed firmly on her upper arm, keeping her in her seat. “Here, you,” he said to a grubby boy standing on the pavement below. “Go to their heads.” He was holding the startled team with one hand. The boy ran and took the bridles.

“Let go of me!” demanded Anabel.

In response, he pushed her before him out of the phaeton, almost knocking her to the ground from its high perch. She struggled, but his grip on her arm was cruelly tight; she could not break it.

“Hold them for me,” he told the boy, then pushed her toward the narrow brick house in front of them.

Anabel struggled harder. He transferred his grip from her arm to her waist, pinning her against him and propelling her up two steps to the front door. She hit at him as he took a ring of keys from his pocket and applied one to the lock, but he paid no heed. “Help!” she cried, twisting her head to try to see the boy. There was no one else visible in the street. “Help me! Get someone.”

The child merely gaped at her. Sir Charles flung open the door and pushed her into a narrow hall, slamming the panel behind him.

“Have you gone mad?” asked Anabel. “What do you think you are doing?”

In one quick movement he gathered her wrists in one hand behind her back. Then he forced her forward again, up two sets of twisting stairs. Anabel exerted all her strength to break away. She strained against his grip, threw herself from one side to the other in hope of overbalancing him, and kicked at him with her feet, all to no avail. He was amazingly strong. Nothing she could do seemed to have any effect on him.

He paused on the second landing to open a door there. Then he forced her into a small bedchamber and released her. Anabel backed away from him, chafing her bruised wrists. He remained between her and the door.

“This is a house I sometimes use,” he said. “You will stay here.”

“What are you doing?” she cried. “You are mad!”

“On the contrary, I am carrying out an extremely rational plan to make you keep your promise. You will remain here until tomorrow, at which time I will escort you home. Having been away all night in my company, as it will appear, you will have to marry me.” He looked complacent.

Anabel's blue eyes widened. “What? You…you…”

“No harm will come to you. This house is perfectly safe; it is a very respectable neighborhood.” He smiled a little.

“I will never marry you!”

“Oh, I think you will. Your friend Hanford may not be quite so attentive when he knows you have spent the night with me. And the scandal would be shocking. Your children would suffer if you refused me.”

Anabel flushed with rage. How dare he mention her children? “I will take them back to the country. We shall do very well there.”

Norbury shrugged. “We will discuss it further in the morning. I think you will change your mind. And now there are some arrangements I must make, if you will excuse me.”

“How can you wish to marry in this way?” cried Anabel. “Do you want a wife who hates you? Because that is what I should be, if we ever married.”

He met her eyes. “Oh, I think you would put that aside quite soon. You are overwrought now, and you have been worried in the last few days. When you are calmer, you will see things differently. You
did
accept me, after all. You did not hate me then, and you do not now. You have simply allowed your concern for your children to cloud your mind, and Hanford took advantage of that.”

“Nonsense! I had grave doubts even before the children ran away, and I am certain I would have broken it off in any case.”

He frowned and took a step toward her. “You do not mean that. You are angry with me and trying to wound.”

“I do mean it!”

But he shook his head. “When you have had time to think, you will change your mind. I have no wish to hurt you, Anabel. Nothing will happen to you here. And I take such extreme measures only because I love you and cannot bear to lose you.”

“Love,” she repeated derisively. “You do not know the meaning of the word!”

His fists clenched, then relaxed. “You are mistaken. I do love you. I have never wished to marry a woman in my life before.”

“What you call love is just another form of selfishness. If you love me, you would put my happiness before yours and let me go.” She saw his eyes flicker and felt a sudden hope.

Then he said, “You will be happy with me.” And before she could speak again, he turned and strode out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Anabel was furious. She couldn't remember ever having been so angry in her life. She had been suppressing her own reactions in the hope that reason would sway Norbury, but now they surged up. She ran to the door and listened to his footsteps retreat down the stairs. “I shall never marry you!” she cried, pounding her fist on the panels.

There was no response. She tried the lock and found it firm, then ran to the single window at the opposite end of the room and looked out. The distance to the street was intimidating, and when she pushed on the sash to open it and get a better view, she found it was immovable. She could break the glass, she thought, sitting back on her heels, but she could not see how that would do her any good. There was a floor above this, so she was not near the roof. And she doubted that she could climb to safety from the shattered window.

Standing, she went to the only article of furniture in the chamber—a bare, narrow bed—and sat down. Charles might do as he liked, she told herself; he would accomplish nothing. She might be forced to remain here until tomorrow, but she would do nothing else. She would
not
marry him. She would go home as she had planned, with Christopher and the children. He would believe her and stand by her, she was certain. And if scandal arose, they would simply ignore it. They could be happy without society if need be.

Resolutely pushing aside doubts about her children's future under these circumstances, she rose again and paced the narrow confines of the chamber. If only there were some way she could get word home. Or if she had not consented to go out with Charles in the first place. But though she had had a low opinion of him, she had never suspected he would try something so despicable. She still could not quite believe that he would wish to marry a woman who despised him.

Remembering something, she went to the window again and gazed out. The boy who had held Norbury's horses was gone, as was his carriage. If she could attract the attention of some passerby, perhaps he would take a message for her. She bent and slipped off her shoe, grasped the toe firmly, and rapped the glass with the heel. Nothing happened. She hit it again, harder. The pane cracked. Abandoning caution, she struck once more with all her strength, shattering first one square, then two more. When she stopped, she had three small openings surrounded by jagged spears of glass, and she eyed them doubtingly. She couldn't get her head out. It would be very difficult to stop anyone by shouting from this height. Nonetheless, she must try. Putting on her shoe, she suddenly recalled that she had no way of writing a message or any money to offer the carrier. She had come out with little more than a handkerchief. Discouraged, she sat on the bed again and tried to think what to do.

Sir Charles, meantime, was removing his carriage to a livery nearby, where he could leave it out of sight. His plans were not yet fully formed—he had acted on impulse—so he was also thinking furiously. He could not go home; indeed, he could not go to any of his usual haunts in London. He must not be seen until tomorrow. But he could communicate with his servants. As he thought of this, a self-satisfied smile dawned on his dark features. Yes, that was it. At the livery, he asked for pen and paper, and was dubiously led to a small office and supplied with very inferior examples. Still smiling, he composed a note to his valet—the only personal servant he kept—informing him that he and Lady Wyndham had decided to elope, and that he was to tell no one of their plan. As he sealed this missive and offered one of the stable boys a coin to deliver it, his smile widened. Turvey was constitutionally incapable of keeping anything to himself, and this irritating trait would be very convenient today. The news would undoubtedly leak out; Anabel would be trapped.

When he had finished, it was well past midday. Norbury adjourned to a tavern in the neighborhood, where he was most unlikely to meet anyone he knew. To make certain, he took a private parlor and settled contentedly to cold meat and claret. He would pass the day here, he decided, perhaps even take a room. It would be easier to carry out his plan if he did not have to face Anabel. Her final accusations had shaken him more than he would admit. Pushing this thought aside, he called for another bottle.

* * *

Christopher Hanford called at Lady Goring's at three, to hear from Anabel how her talk with Norbury had gone, and was very surprised to be told that none of the ladies were at home. Frowning at the footman who had given him this news, he said, “Are you certain of that? My name is Hanford, and I believe Lady Wyndham is expecting me.”

“I'm sorry, sir. She isn't here.” The servant's normally impassive face showed a tremor of some emotion, but he merely waited, holding the door.

“Uncle Christopher!” hissed a voice from farther along the hall, and Nick's head appeared from the library. “Come here.”

The footman looked uncertain. Hanford brushed past him and strode into the room. “Nick? What are you doing down here? Where is your mother?”

The boy pulled him forward and shut the door. His face looked pinched, and his blue eyes were worried. “
She's
run away,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Quiet! I'm not supposed to know, and I don't want William or Susan to hear. They may be looking for me.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Hanford in a lower voice.

“I heard Grandmama telling Georgina before luncheon. Mama went out with Sir Charles Norbury, and she didn't come back. They have gone out to look for her.” Nicholas was puzzled and dejected. “Do you think she ran away with him? She told us she wasn't going to marry him after all, but perhaps she changed her mind, and she didn't want to tell us because she knew we would be unhappy. We should never have objected to—”

“Nonsense!” snapped Hanford, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “It is nothing like that.”

“You think not?” The boy was hopeful.

Hanford became aware of the resolutely suppressed fear in his eyes. “I'm certain it is just a mistake,” he replied firmly. “Your mother forgot to tell them of another engagement, I daresay. She will be home for dinner.”

“That's what Grandmama said,” replied Nick doubtfully, “but she didn't sound sure.”

“What else did she say?”

“Well, they said Mama had gone out driving with Sir Charles at eleven, and that she should have been back hours ago.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It's three now.”

“They went
driving
?'” Nick stared, and Hanford controlled himself. “Anything else?”

“No. But Grandmama seemed worried.”

“Everything will be all right. But you mustn't speak to anyone else about this.”

Nicholas shook his head, frowning.

“I will be back later today.”

“Are you going after her?” He sounded hopeful again.

“It is not a question of that. I have some business.” Hanford stalked out, and Nick watched him with unallayed worry in his face.

As soon as he was out of the house Christopher gave way to rage. It was obvious to him what had happened. Anabel had tried to break it off, and Norbury had made away with her.
Why
had she gone out with him? She might have known…but he paused, just even in his fury. She could not have predicted that the man would act this way. Even he had not imagined such villainy.

Seeing a hackney cab, he signaled it to stop. He would have to find them and bring her back. But before he did, he would teach Sir Charles Norbury the lesson of his life. The idea made him smile humorlessly.

He overcame the first obstacle—his ignorance of Norbury's address—with ease, obtaining it from an acquaintance at White's. But when he pulled up before Norbury's lodgings in Ryder Street and knocked, he was told by the retired gentleman's gentleman who looked after the chambers that Sir Charles was out. “This is a matter of great urgency,” replied Hanford. “Is anyone in his rooms? I must find him.”

Something in his eyes seemed to impress the man. “His valet Turvey is here. Would you wish to speak with him?”

“Yes!”

The other drew back. “This way.”

Turvey, who was pressing a coat in the kitchen, was startled at the interruption, for Hanford had insisted upon accompanying the man downstairs. When asked for his master's whereabouts, he gaped and bridled. “I'm sure I don't know,” he answered. But he exchanged a speaking look with the proprietor.

Christopher was in no mood for evasions. Stepping forward, he grasped the valet's neckcloth and pulled it tight, shaking him slightly. “Tell me where he is!” he said between his teeth.

Turvey choked and gabbled. “Sir!” exclaimed the other man. “Please, sir!”

Hanford merely shook Turvey again, watching the man's face purple with savage satisfaction.

Turvey goggled desperately at his friend, who held out his hands in helpless query, then croaked, “He's eloped.”

“What?” Hanford let go, and the man fell in a heap.

“With Lady Wyndham, to whom he is engaged,” added the valet haughtily, readjusting his collar. Now that the news was out, he seemed to savor his superior knowledge. “Very romantic, ain't it?” He smirked.

Christopher bent over him. “If you dare to repeat that tale to anyone, I shall make you regret it. Do you understand me?” He took his lapels again and shook him.

Turvey gaped again, turning pale at what he saw in Hanford's eyes.

“Where is the groom who went out with Sir Charles this morning?”

Turvey's mouth dropped open. Hanford looked murderous.

“Round in the stables,” said the other man, who had been increasingly worried. He was eager to get Hanford out of his house before he caused some damage.

Christopher released the valet. “And where might that be?”

“In the mews.” He pointed toward the rear of the house.

“Does that door go through to them?”

Reluctantly the proprietor nodded, and Hanford pushed past them and out. Turvey, rubbing his neck, met the other's eyes. “A rum go, and no mistake,” he said.

His companion agreed. “I wonder if your master's finally met his match, Turvey. That gentleman was in a fine rage, he was.”

The valet nodded, and the two of them contemplated the probable outcome with avid eyes.

In the stables, after one look at the groom, Hanford gave up violence for monetary persuasion, and he was soon informed of the circumstances of the morning drive and of the fact that the phaeton had not returned. Picturing a high-perch phaeton on the country roads, Christopher shook his head. “Your master has another place in London, does he not?” he asked. “A house somewhere he uses? You have driven him there.”

“Have I, guv?”

Hanford held out a ten-pound note, and the man raised his eyebrows. “Happen I have.”

“What is the address?”

The groom looked at him, then at the money. He grinned and told him.

Hanford left Ryder Street almost weak with relief. He had hazarded everything on a theory, and it had paid off. Anabel was in that house; he knew it. It had been the only possible explanation. Norbury could not drive an unwilling woman out of town in a phaeton, and he could not have taken her to a public inn. Now it remained only to get there and free her. In another hackney, Christopher cursed every cart and pedestrian that delayed his progress to her.