The Unexpected Bride (23 page)

She felt Peter’s arms tighten around her. When he spoke there was icy rage in his voice. ‘If Frobisher dares to touch you again, Penny, I swear I’ll kill him.’ The murderous fury in his heart was a total surprise to him. It was not mere jealousy. The thought of Penelope frightened and helpless in the power of a man like Frobisher aroused a protective instinct in him.

Penelope touched his face gently, tracing the strong line of his jaw. He relaxed suddenly and kissed her. ‘Never mind, Penny. We’ll sort it out somehow!’

Greatly daring, she said, ‘Perhaps we should simply have lots of babies. Then they might think there were too many of us to get rid of!’

Peter chuckled. ‘Well, I’m doing the best I can, Penny, but I think it might take too long! Not that I object to trying, of course!’ The vision of Penelope nursing his children was immensely satisfying, somehow. Not merely a son, but daughters as well, preferably just like Penelope.

Lady Caroline Daventry was in a dangerous humour when she returned home. The encounter with Darleston’s bride had infuriated her. Insipid wench! she thought furiously. The prospect of turning her over to Jack Frobisher appealed to her greatly. But how to
achieve it? Had Darleston’s appearance been a coincidence or had he been somehow tipped off?

Not for a moment did she suspect Sarah! That a child could have taken action was beyond her comprehension. All she could think was that someone in the park had consequently met Darleston and mentioned seeing his wife.

As she entered the house with Frobisher she caught sight of her butler and said, ‘Bring suitable refreshment to the drawing room when I ring. Otherwise do not disturb us! I am not at home to anyone!’ She went upstairs with Jack Frobisher and shut the drawing room door behind them with a bang.

Frobisher flung himself into a chair and asked abruptly, ‘Was that coincidence?’

‘God knows! Possibly someone who saw us subsequently met him and tipped him off. He was not pleased to see either of us, I fancy.’

‘He most certainly was not!’ agreed Frobisher. ‘Do you think he suspects us, or did he merely take exception to his ex-mistress having the effrontery to approach his bride?’

‘I should think the latter. I doubt not that his appearance was chance. How could he have known? Nevertheless, this is going to require some careful thought, my friend. Her ladyship was scared for some reason…’

There was a faintly questioning note in her voice, but Frobisher merely smiled enigmatically. He said thoughtfully, ‘It all hinges upon us getting the girl, of course. That will bring Darleston after her and we can trap him easily enough.’

‘You fool! The last thing we want is Darleston right on our heels!’ exclaimed Lady Caroline. ‘He’ll be ripe
for murder! No. We lay a false trail to give us time to prepare for him.’

Frobisher considered this carefully.

Lady Caroline added, ‘That will give you more time for whatever you have planned for the bride, of course.’

Frobisher’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very true, Caroline. I wouldn’t want to go to all this effort for nothing, after all. But where do we take the wench?’

‘France. I have an old friend there who will help us readily enough. We will be able to conceal the girl in his château near Dieppe. The place is shut up, with no one there at all, so we can take her there with no one the wiser. My friend the Marquis will deny all knowledge, suitably bribed. He prefers Paris and never goes near the château. Listen. We still have to work out how to take her. That’s the hard part. Once you have her it’s easy. I have the house in Scotland, so I’ll set off in my chaise the same night. They are bound to try to find out where we are so we’ll make it easy for them. Make it look as though we’ve both taken her to Scotland. By the time they catch up with my chaise, it will be too late to catch you.’

‘I’m impressed, Caroline. Then do I let Darleston know somehow?’ asked Frobisher.

‘You let the girl get a message to him. One of the villagers can be duped somehow into revealing her whereabouts but not who has her,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘That will fetch him, but he’ll have no proof of who holds her. Furthermore, fear of scandal will prevent him making the affair public! He and the girl can simply disappear.’

‘Hmm. It might just work, you know. It will have
to. As you say, Darleston will be ripe for murder, and I don’t fancy being in his way.’

‘I don’t advise it,’ said Lady Caroline grimly. ‘After a reasonable period, you can reappear. There will be no proof except my knowledge, and once we are married you are safe!’

Frobisher looked amused, ‘Charming,’ he murmured. ‘Absolutely charming! I can’t imagine why we mere males persist in thinking of your sex as weaker! Now, do you have a scheme for actually kidnapping the girl?’

Her ladyship was silent for a moment, then she smiled and said, ‘I think I’ve hit on something.’

‘Excellent. Caroline, I make you my compliments,’ said Frobisher. ‘Why don’t you ring for something with which to toast our success!’

L
ady Wickham’s ball was destined to be recalled in the mind of the Ton as the most startling social event of the year. The excellence of the refreshments and the attendance by all of consequence did not suffice to make it memorable. It was the scandal occasioned by the mysterious disappearance of the Countess of Darleston and the language used by her husband which ensured that it would live in the minds of all as an entertainment of no mean order.

The evening started in the most unexceptionable way possible. Lord and Lady Darleston arrived slightly late, with the Honourable George Carstares and her ladyship’s sister and brother-in-law. They were observed to be in the cheeriest of moods. A number of people who had openly suggested that Darleston had remarried for convenience and an heir were obliged to reverse their opinion.

The look of adoration on the Earl’s face as he waltzed with his lovely wife left no one in any doubt that he was head over heels in love with the chit. Nor could anyone in their right mind, observing the Countess of Darleston, possibly believe her to have
been coerced into marriage to clear her brother’s debts! The idea was ludicrous! It was patently obvious that she adored her husband! More likely the engagement had been the reason for Darleston’s forbearance with the young fool!

Peter himself was no longer in any doubt. For the past week the realisation that he had fallen very deeply in love had been borne in on him. Finally, that very evening, as Penelope had come into the drawing room arrayed in a silver gauze ballgown, he had admitted to himself that he loved her. But the presence of Sarah and George had made any declaration impossible.

Sarah, however, had seen the look of adoration on her brother-in-law’s face and had wondered. She knew, of course, that Penelope was very deeply in love. The fact that she said nothing about it told Sarah that she did not wish anyone to know. Sarah understood why, her love for Penelope providing an understanding beyond her years. She had grieved for Penelope’s problem, and seeing Peter gaze at her sister with undisguised love in his eyes had given her hope.

When Peter and Penelope had been leaving for the ball with George, Sarah had done something she had never done before. As a matter of course she had hugged Penelope, but had also given Peter an impulsive hug, then stepped back, blushing.

Peter had been a bit startled, but he had flicked her cheek with one finger, saying with a grin, ‘Don’t stay up too late, brat!’

Nothing happened to mar the evening until the arrival of Lady Caroline Daventry. A few whispers ran around the ballroom when Lady Caroline was observed dancing very close to Lord and Lady Darleston. Naturally the intelligence that she had actually ap
proached the young bride and been acknowledged had got about. Darleston’s outraged intervention had lost nothing in the telling. There had been some chuckles at this, but many were shocked that the woman had dared.

Those who were charitably inclined and too far away to see said afterwards that Lady Caroline must have been extraordinarily clumsy. Others who were closer swore that she stepped on Lady Darleston’s gown on purpose. Peter led his wife from the floor immediately, totally ignoring Lady Caroline’s fulsome attempt to apologise.

‘Is it ruined, Peter?’ asked Penelope.

‘I think it might require more than mere pinning up,’ he replied.

Their hostess came bustling up. ‘Dear Lady Darleston, come with me at once. You can’t possibly pin that up. I shall take you upstairs where my maid shall mend it for you. Such clumsiness,
most
unsubtle! We shall not be long, Darleston.’

Lady Wickham swept Penelope upstairs to her boudoir and summoned her maid. ‘Clara, please find a needle and thread to mend Lady Darleston’s gown. When you have mended it you may escort her ladyship back to the ballroom. She cannot see, so you must be very careful. Tell her about steps and so on. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, milady,’ answered Clara.

Lady Wickham said, ‘I must return to the ballroom, Lady Darleston. Do not, I beg of you, refine too much upon this little episode. Caroline Daventry has gone entirely too far!’

Jack Frobisher had observed the episode from a sheltered alcove. Silently he applauded his accom
plice’s ploy. He watched Lady Wickham take Penelope upstairs and smiled fiendishly when she returned alone. ‘Well done, Caroline.’ He produced a small phial from his pocket, emptied the contents into a glass of champagne and unobtrusively made his way upstairs.

Clara had not got very far with her repair job when a voice at the door said, ‘Your mistress wants you immediately, Clara.’

‘She asked me to do this,’ protested Clara.

‘Well, she wants you downstairs for a moment. In the library. You’d better hurry.’

‘Oh, very well. Excuse me, milady. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

‘No matter,’ said Penelope cheerfully.

The maid left. A moment later the door opened. Penelope swung round. She could make out a figure moving towards her. ‘Clara?’ she asked. There was no answer. Suddenly frightened, she opened her mouth to scream for help, but it was too late. She was taken in a powerful grasp, a glass forced to her mouth, the contents tipped ruthlessly down her throat. Then a hand was clamped over her mouth as she tried to scream again. Her frantic struggles grew weaker as consciousness slipped away.

Frobisher dropped her and ran to the door. He looked out but saw no one. Swiftly he went back to pick up his senseless victim. A footstep at the door startled him.

Lady Caroline said, ‘Hurry, Frobisher, the chaise will be waiting and you don’t want to miss the tide at Newhaven. That drug may not last long either. It works fast, but sometimes it wears off easily. I must leave now and head for Scotland. Enjoy yourself! The
maid is locked in the library.’ She was gone on the instant.

Frobisher made his way to the back stairs. A curious footman accepted the explanation that the lady had taken too much champagne and was being taken home to avoid scandal. He also accepted the coins pressed into his hand with the injunction to keep his mouth shut.

Clara waited ten minutes in the library and then discovered that the door was locked. It took her another twenty minutes to attract the attention of a footman. When she reached Lady Wickham’s boudoir she was shocked. An overturned chair and broken champagne glass told her that she had been duped. Terrified, she raced downstairs to the ballroom. Swiftly she pushed her way through the startled guests, with little regard for their consequence, until she found her mistress.

‘Milady,’ she gasped into a startled silence, ‘Lady Darleston’s gone. A man came and said you wanted me in the library, so I left her. When I went back she was gone, a chair turned over and a champagne glass broken!’

‘What?’ shrieked Lady Wickham. ‘Foolish girl! I sent no message!’ She shook the hapless Clara, who was nearly in tears.

Peter, standing nearby with Phoebe, Richard and George, wondered if his heart had stopped, for it gave such a sickening lurch. He never remembered much about the next few moments, except for grabbing the maid and racing upstairs with her. George assured him later that the language with which he cursed Caroline Daventry and Jack Frobisher would have shaken an infantryman, and that a number of ladies had actually fainted.

He regained some measure of control as he surveyed the evidence of Penelope’s struggle. He sniffed the champagne glass, wrinkling his nose at the sickly odour.

Richard, George and Phoebe had followed him upstairs with Lord and Lady Wickham. The latter was weeping and wringing her hands.

Lord Wickham said, ‘I’ll try to find out which way they went.’ He left the room.

‘Drugged?’ asked George tersely.

Peter nodded. Phoebe gave a cry of horror and clung to Richard.

‘I’ll kill them,’ said Peter softly. ‘I swear I’ll kill them.’ He swung around and his gaze fell on the sobbing Clara. Even in his own agony, his heart went out to the girl. ‘Don’t blame the maid, Lady Wickham. I should have stayed with Penny. It’s my fault. We knew there was danger, but Caroline and my cousin were too clever for us.’

‘The question now,’ said Richard, ‘is where the devil are they going? They haven’t much of a start. We may be able to find out by questioning their servants.’

‘Caroline has a place in Scotland,’ said Peter. ‘They might take her there, but it’s a long way. They must know I’ll be on their heels.’

‘That’s what they want,’ said Phoebe suddenly. ‘Don’t you see? By taking Penny, they can trap you.’

‘But if we’re too close behind the whole thing could backfire on them,’ said George. ‘If I were them, I’d want a good lead so that I could prepare a decent trap. Caroline Daventry may be a bitch, but she’s smart enough to think of that.’

Lord Wickham returned. ‘Caroline Daventry left
alone by the front door, but a man carrying a woman left via the back of the house. One of the footmen saw him, but he was cloaked and hooded and the back stairs are so ill-lit that he wouldn’t recognise the fellow, so we have no proof of who was involved. Charles said he heard a carriage of some sort in the mews.’

A puzzled little voice from the doorway asked, ‘Is something wrong, Mama?’ They turned around to see Miss Amabel Hartleigh, the six-year-old daughter of the house, clutching a doll.

‘No, sweetheart, go back to bed,’ said Lady Wickham.

‘Was the lady very sick?’

The grown-ups stood as though they had been turned to stone.

Peter went to the child, dropped to one knee and asked, very gently, ‘What lady was that, my pet?’

‘The red-haired lady. The man carried her out and there was another lady.’

‘Was there? Did you hear anything they said?’

‘Yes. I was going to come down the stairs a bit, to watch the dancing, but I heard their voices so I hid behind a door.’

‘What did they say?’

‘The red-haired lady didn’t say anything. I think she was asleep. The other lady said something about a chaise.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. Something about the tide at Newhaven and going to Scotland. Oh, and she called him Frobisher.’

Peter hugged her. ‘Good girl! What do you want most in the world?’

‘A pony.’

‘Well, you shall have one. I’ll keep you mounted for the rest of my life!’ He turned to the others. ‘We’ve got them! Obviously we were meant to think of Scotland—probably if we went to Caroline’s house we would discover that she
has
left for Scotland. Frobisher won’t be expecting us this close behind, so we’ve an advantage. We go back to Darleston House and collect horses, as well as my chaise to bring her back. Phoebe, will you come with us in the chaise?’

‘Just try to leave me behind!’ was the answer.

The reaction at Darleston House when they arrived was one of horror. All the servants loved their mistress, and the white agony of the master’s face was pitiful to behold.

Sarah was still up. She dragged a warm cloak from her wardrobe and along with Gelert presented herself to George and Phoebe in the hall. ‘I’m coming too.’

‘The devil you are. It’s too dangerous!’ snapped George.

‘Shut up, George! If you try to leave me behind I’ll saddle a horse myself and follow you anyway! If Phoebe’s going, so am I!’ was the uncompromising answer.

Phoebe nodded and said firmly, ‘Of course she’s coming!’

Richard came in. ‘The chaise and horses will be round directly. What are you doing Sarah?’

‘Coming with you! Don’t bother to argue about it!’

‘Where’s Peter? He may have something to say about this!’ said Richard.

‘Fetching his pistols,’ answered George. ‘Dammit, Sarah! You can’t come. Your mother would be furious
with us for taking you! I warn you, people are likely to be killed tonight! Peter is out of his mind!’

‘Good!’ said Sarah. ‘Maybe now he’ll stop being scared to admit that he loves her!’

Peter arrived in the hall with his pistols just in time to hear this outburst.

Sarah met his eyes defiantly and said, ‘Don’t you start, Peter. I’m coming with you and that’s all there is to it!’

He looked at her gravely. ‘If we left you I suppose you’d come after us, wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course.’

He simply nodded and said, ‘I’ve ordered my racing curricle as well. We have to take Gelert, and he can’t possibly run the whole way. Fortunately I have cattle stabled on the Newhaven Road. We can change as often as necessary.’

Meadows ran in. He thrust a greatcoat at Peter. ‘Brandy flask in the pocket, Master Peter. For God’s sake, bring her back!’

Peter gripped the old retainer’s shoulders. ‘Trust me, Meadows, we’ll catch them!’

A clatter of hooves announced the arrival of the curricle, chaise and horses.

‘Who is on the chaise?’ asked Peter.

‘Your coachman,’ said Richard. ‘He insisted. George and I are riding with you. That way if we have to leave the main road to follow them one of us can wait to give the chaise directions.’

‘Let’s go, then. They’re an hour ahead of us. Tide’s not till nine, but I want to catch them before they can reach Newhaven!’ He met George’s eyes, unable to voice his fears for Penelope’s safety in Frobisher’s hands.

Sarah and Phoebe were handed unceremoniously into the waiting carriage. ‘Newhaven, John,’ said Peter. ‘Spring them and change horses as often as necessary. All that matters is speed. Check at all the usual posting inns for instructions; we’ll leave messages.’

The coachman nodded and cracked his whip. The restless team sprang into motion, thundering over the cobbles.

‘Let’s ride, gentlemen! Come on, Gelert!’ Peter swung himself into his curricle, followed by the dog, and smiled grimly at his companions. Without another word they galloped after the chaise, swiftly passing it. Sarah was looking out to watch them go by. George saw her and raised his whip in salute, then they were gone.

Penelope regained consciousness slowly. She had a splitting headache, no memory of what had occurred, and the rocking of the chaise confused her. Waves of nausea threatened to overcome her, made worse by the motion of the carriage. Gradually, as the after-effects of the drug wore off, she realised that she was lying along a seat in a carriage. Instinct warned her to keep quiet and listen. Gradually she became certain that she was not alone. A faint sound of breathing and small movements told her there was someone on the opposite seat. Who was it?