The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (59 page)

She should have known
he was up to something when he insisted on putting Joseph off.

They had his driver, he
insisted, which took care of being chaperoned. She had known it
wasn’t up to Society’s standards, but was accustomed to sailing
close to the line with respect to social niceties. He was quite
insistent and she hadn’t wanted him to take the child to task for
her choices. He’d told her they weren’t going far when they’d
started out and she had believed him, but they had been driving for a
long while and now he told her they were going to Sussex.

She was so gullible.
And always too confident of her own ability to cope!

“I didn’t leave
word that I was going to be away for more than a few hours. They will
worry,” she said after awhile.

“Servants know their
masters are not always reliable. They’ll assume you are busy
enjoying yourself with friends,” he drawled carelessly.

How little he knew
about her household. Perhaps it was just as well to let him continue
thinking that. “You never said you planned on us being away
overnight. I would have brought a change of clothing and my companion
or grandmother to accompany me.”

Now, she was thankful
he’d let Joseph off. If he could kidnap her this way, he was
probably not above being ruthless with a child. Luckily, she’d had
the sense to wear her blue pelisse. Her pistol was concealed in the
inside pocket and her knife was strapped to her thigh. Foster would
never know how grateful she was, at this moment, for all his rigorous
training.

“You needn’t worry
about that.” He assured her.

His words had the exact
opposite effect. Her worry mounted by giant steps. But what was she
to do? Leap out of the moving vehicle? If she didn’t kill herself
in the process, she’d at the very least suffer serious injury,
thereby impeding her chance to escape and weakening her ability to
fight him off should he try to have his way with her. Best not do
anything rash, yet. She’d bide her time and see what happened. At
the first opportunity, she’d move her pistol to an outer pocket so
she could more easily retrieve it.

* * *

Reed was almost certain
the driver of the rented carriage would choose the Great West Road.
Aside from being in better repair, it would increase the number of
rental hours and, thus, his fee.

Foster was in Mason’s
carriage. It slowed them down a bit, but until they reached the
meeting place with the others, where they would plan out which roads
they needed to cover among them, they couldn’t go much faster,
especially not at night. It they had been rescuing only Tally, Reed
would have carried her up in front of him. (
If
she was well enough… was the worried thought that followed that
idea.
) But if Monsieur was still alive, they’d need a
vehicle to bring him back.

Help was close on their
heels. A reply to his note reached him before they left Town, telling
him his brothers had volunteered a family carriage to carry supplies
and extra weapons. They were accompanying it on horseback, joined by
Jace, Max and as many Spares as could be found. No one knew what was
awaiting them at the Abbey, so they were coming well prepared with
men, food, drink, warm clothes and sleeping rolls.

One thing was definite.
If Dubuc harmed Tally in any way, there was no chance in hell Reed
was walking away without killing him like the reptile he was.

* * *

The further they
traveled, the less Mr. Dubuc, (
Dio!
Enough of Mr. Dubucing this and Mr. Dubucing that! She was going to
call him Victor in her head, at least!
) was behaving like
his usual self. He’d lapsed into sullen silence, was exceedingly
agitated, and he constantly cracked his knuckles, until she wanted to
crack
him over the
head with her sketch bag!

His unusual sign of
nerves was not good. All her senses were screaming that this was not
going to end well.

The first time they
stopped to change horses was at a non-descript Hostler’s Inn. She
was grateful to disembark. Her growling stomach was grateful too
because, it seemed, she was to be fed.

Victor was in no hurry,
which at first surprised her. Refusing to talk to him, she pondered
this as she ate. He knew her sisters had left for Paris early this
week and obviously thought that, even if Joseph sounded the alarm,
there was no one to mount a rescue if she didn’t return. He must
have forgotten about her grandmother. Grandma had been out with
friends when he’d come for Tally. Even if he did remember her, the
foolish man probably thought an elderly woman like that would be
powerless and incapable of organizing a search. He had no idea what
her Grandma was really like!

Nor had he any notion
of who and what Foster was to her.

It was after they’d
finished eating that the idea came to her. She was outside, sitting
on a bench, sketching the Inn, to calm her nerves while waiting for
their carriage to be brought round. Victor had told the driver to
keep an eye on his wife because “these places can be dangerous for
defenseless women”, and then had gone to have a quick ale, “for
the road” he said. To her he’d said, “Don’t forget. Uncle
will be so pleased to see you, my dear.”

Little did he know that
she had no intention of escaping until she knew where Monsieur was in
Sussex. When Victor had said his uncle was there, he’d sounded
menacing. She was filled with trepidation at the thought that
Monsieur had most likely not gone there willingly. But why would
Victor hurt his own uncle? Monsieur Moreau was a kind, gentle soul.
He would have been a good uncle to his young nephew.

She hurried to finish
her drawing and, forcing herself to walk casually back into the Inn.
The driver watched her and shrugged. He must have thought she
wouldn’t go back into the inn if she was trying to escape. She held
out the sketch to the Innkeeper’s wife, a round-cheeked,
round-bodied middle-aged woman with kind eyes.

“I wonder if you’d
like to have this.” She gestured to the picture. “You can pin it
on the wall beside the reception desk, but please wait until after
we’ve left.”

At this odd request,
the woman gave her a puzzled look, until Tally added, “I’m a
little shy about putting my work up in public, but once I’m gone, I
won’t mind.”

The wife finally
glanced down at the drawing and Tally saw the woman’s stunned
surprise. She was now reasonably certain the picture would be
prominently displayed the minute they departed.

How fortunate she
always carried her sketch paper. At home in Evesham, it was her
custom to bring it with her at all times. One never knew when a scene
would present itself that just begged to be drawn. And now that her
paintings were all gone, she had to begin new work. She sighed sadly
at the thought of her precious paintings being reduced to a pile of
ashes.

Buoyed by her
successful ploy, she tried it again at each place they stopped. No
one had refused her offer after they saw her work. If Victor didn’t
intend to bring her home — a notion she was increasingly certain of
— she hoped her drawings would point the way to those searching for
her.

Now, she had to make
sure she lived long enough to find Monsieur and for her rescuers to
find her.

* * *

“Look! There!”
Foster’s excitement seemed misplaced after his subdued behavior
most of the afternoon. Tally wouldn’t be sitting here in an inn
awaiting their rescue, would she? That would be much too easy. The
butler rushed over to the message board beside the innkeeper’s
desk.

Reed turned to see what
was attracting his undivided attention. Then he quickly followed in
Foster’s footsteps.

It was unmistakably
Tally’s. She had a distinctive style.

Relief raced through
him and he had to grip the desk to regain his balance. He reassured
himself that it was because he’d been riding all day without any
food. No wonder his legs were shaky.

“May I help you?”
The innkeeper’s wife greeted them. “I see you’re admiring my
beautiful picture. The lady what gave it to me was beautiful too.”

“How long ago did she
give it to you?” He got to the most important point first.

“Middle of this
afternoon, I’d say. Just before the mail coach came in.”

So, they were still
hours behind! “And how did she look?”

“I told you! A very
lovely lady she was.”

“No, I mean, did she
look… in good health?” How did one ask if she looked constrained?

The kindly woman noted
his discomfort. “She seemed a bit anxious. But she told me she was
shy, so I put it down to that.” She leaned forward across the high
desk. “Her companion was a right beautiful man too.” She lowered
her voice. “I hate to say it, but he was drinking a little more
than he should ‘ave.” She darted a glance over her shoulder,
probably to make sure her husband hadn’t heard her complaining
about a client’s drinking.

Reed and Foster
exchanged looks. That was not good news. If Dubuc was already
drinking, what state was he going to be in by the time they reached
their destination? They inquired about Melton Abbey and, though the
lady had never heard of it, she did know the area in which it was
located. They learned it was still a full day of traveling ahead.

“Will you be staying
the night?”

“This man here,” he
clapped his hand on Foster’s shoulder, “will need a private
sitting room. He’s awaiting a group of men who will be arriving
later tonight.

My other friend is
arranging for the carriage and horses to be stabled and for fresh
horses for us…” Ah, here he is.” Mason bent his head to enter
the low-ceilinged reception area and came over to them.

Mason’s bland stare
had Reed pointing to Tally’s sketch. “Mid-afternoon.”

The Scot nodded.

“I’ve ordered us
all the lamb stew and some ale.”

“Good, I could eat a
horse!” He nodded to the woman and went to find Foster in the
dining room.

“I’ll pay for the
meal ahead of time, so we can be off as soon as we’re finished,”
Reed said, removing some coins from his money pouch.

“You know the young
lady who drew this, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He
couldn’t very well proclaim her as his wife, although that is how
he thought of her. So he settled for, “She’s my sister and the
beautiful man she is with has kidnapped her.”

“Oh, you poor man.
And your poor sister.” About to say more, she saw her husband
giving her the eye and said, “Janie will bring your food to you
immediately.”

“Thank you. Time is
of the essence.”

“Yes, of course.”
She bustled off to hurry along their meals.

Reed joined the other
two at the table Foster had selected, in front of the fireplace.
“Good choice of table. I’m chilled right through.”

Mason tucked into the
food as soon as it arrived. Reed had to push himself to eat. It was
good enough, but worry robbed him of his hunger. Foster wasn’t
gobbling it down either. But they knew it was important to keep their
strength up, so they did their best.

He was relieved Foster
had volunteered to stay behind and meet the others. Reed had been
about to suggest it when, just before they’d entered the inn, the
older man said, “I’ll stay behind here to meet the others, while
you and Mason ride hell-for-leather to Sussex. I don’t want to slow
you down. The sooner you get there, the better.”

“I agree.” Reed
appreciated what it must have cost the former soldier to suggest it,
to put his Missy’s welfare above his own need to be there.

“So Foster is staying
behind and we’re going on ahead of the others?” Mason wiped the
last of his gravy up with bread.

“Yes. Now that we
know how far ahead they are, we’ll head out as soon as we’re
finished here.”

Mason nodded,
expression as impassive as ever, but Reed thought he caught a
fugitive gleam of approval. “It’s fortunate this is where we
decided to meet up with the others or we might have missed that
sketch.” He swallowed the last of his ale and stood up. “I’ll
go see if they’ve readied our horses.”

Knowing they were on
the right track made Reed even more impatient to get there. Impatient
to get his hands on that fiend who dared kidnap Tally. But most of
all, impatient to ensure that was the worst he did.

* * *

Victor was as hard to
get a word out of, today, as was Mr. Mason! Tally had been trying to
engage him in conversation for the past few hours. She hoped it would
lessen the tense atmosphere and she’d be able to appeal to his
sense of honor and talk him out of whatever he was contemplating. But
he’d lapsed into a sullen silence and nothing she said snapped him
out of it.

Her first attempt,
she’d said, “Joseph will have told my grandmother and she will
send men out to find me. Had you not thought of that?” He hadn’t
even bothered to turn his head to look at her.

Her second try, she
hoped to discourage him with what everyone believed to be the truth.
“You said you could just as soon marry a Parisian female painter to
keep you rolling in paintings and sales... Is that why you want to
marry me? But you must know that I am the only Lawton who is not an
artist. So I would not be of much good to you.” He remained
unmoved.

Her final effort to get
him talking, she appealed to his business sense. “I could perhaps
speak to my father about you becoming his agent in France and the
rest of Europe. Monsieur Beauclaire is getting old and may enjoy the
rest.” He didn’t need to know that her father would never heed
her wishes regarding anything! She’d be lucky if the great Wendal
Lawton deigned to read any letter she wrote to him.

His eyes had flickered
at that and her hopes rose a little, only to plummet when she
glimpsed what was in those windows to his soul. Contempt. Derision.
If, as was said, eyes reflected what was inside one’s heart, then
Mr. Dubuc’s was a lot blacker than she could ever have imagined.