Yours Until Dawn (27 page)

My darling Cecily,

I carry your letters and all of my hopes for our future next to my heart…

“B
eckwith!”

As that familiar bellow came roaring through the corridors of Fairchild Park, every servant in the mansion jerked to wild-eyed attention. Their stunned gazes snapped to the ceiling as a deafening crash sounded, followed by a string of oaths hot enough to blister the gilt off the wainscoting.

There was the sound of footsteps stampeding down the stairs, then a shrill yelp followed by another oath. “Well, if you’d stay out from under my feet, I wouldn’t step on your blasted tail!”

Toenails clicked across the marble floor as Sam beat a hasty, and wise, retreat.

Beckwith exchanged an anxious look with Mrs. Philpot before calling out, “I’m in the dining room, my lord.”

Gabriel came storming through the dining room door, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and a formidable scowl. He was brandishing his walking stick as if it were a weapon. “Have you seen Samantha? When I woke this morning, she was gone.”

Someone let out a scandalized gasp. Gabriel slowly turned, obviously realizing too late that they were not alone.

He sniffed at the air, his nostrils flaring. “All I can smell is bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Who else is here?”

“Oh, n-n-not much of anyone, really,” Beckwith stammered. “Just Mrs. Philpot. Elsie. Your mother. Your father. And, um”—he awkwardly cleared his throat—“your sisters.”

“What? No Willie the gamekeeper? What’s wrong? Couldn’t he tear himself away from his hunting long enough to join the rest of the household for breakfast?” Gabriel shook his head. “Oh, never mind. The only person I care about is Samantha. Have you seen her?”

Beckwith frowned. “Now that you mention it, I don’t believe I have. Which surprises me, because it’s nearly ten o’clock and Miss Wickersham is usually very industrious. She’s quite devoted to her work.”

Looking Gabriel up and down from his bare feet to his uncombed mane of hair, his father chuckled. “I should say so.”

Eugenia, Valerie, and Honoria burst into giggles.

“Girls!” their mother snapped, shooting them a glare. “You’re excused from the table. Leave us at once.”

As the crestfallen girls began to slink out of their chairs, Gabriel said, “Let them stay. They’re not children anymore. It’s time you stopped banishing them to the nursery every time there’s some sort of family drama.”

“See?” Honoria whispered, poking Valerie in the ribs as they settled back into their seats. “I told you he was the best big brother in the world.”

“I’ll go see if I can find Miss Wickersham, my lord,” Mrs. Philpot said. “Perhaps one of the other servants has seen her.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel replied.

As she slipped from the room, the marquess leaned back in his chair, linking his hands over his ample belly with a wistful sigh. “I remember when I was only a few years younger than Gabriel here. There was this fetching little upstairs maid—”

“Theodore!” His wife turned her basilisk glare on him.

He reached over to pat her hand. “That was long before I met you, darling. Once I set my eyes on you, they never strayed again. All I was trying to say is that it happens to the best of men. There’s certainly no shame in dallying with the help.”

Gabriel rounded on his father. “I’m not dallying with Samantha! I love her and I have every intention of making her my wife.”

Both his father and his mother gasped.

“Shall I fetch the hartshorn?” Eugenia whispered. “Mummy looks as if she’s going to swoon.”

“A commoner?” Horror rippled through Valerie’s voice. “You’re going to wed a commoner?”

“I can assure you that there is nothing common about Miss Wickersham,” Gabriel said.

“Why, I think it’s the most romantic thing I ever heard!” Honoria exclaimed, her brown eyes sparkling. “I can just see you come swooping in on your white horse to rescue her from a life of genteel poverty.”

Gabriel snorted. “If anyone’s done any rescuing around here, it’s her.”

“Now, son,” his father said, “there’s no need to make any hasty or rash decisions. You found out only last night that your sight was going to be restored to you. I can understand how you might have been overcome with emotion. Allowed yourself to be swept away into the arms of this…this…”

“Yes?” Gabriel drawled, looking as dangerous as anyone had ever seen him.

“Charming girl,” his father finished brightly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to rush into matrimony with an unsuitable prospect. Why, once you get your sight back and return to London, you can let her a cozy flat somewhere near your town house, set her up as your mistress if you like.”

Gabriel’s face darkened, but before he could respond, Mrs. Philpot came bustling back into the dining room. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I can’t find a trace of her anywhere. No one has seen her. But I did find this note in her room.” Her voice faded to a near whisper, making them all wonder just what else she had found. “On her pillow.”

“Read it,” Gabriel commanded, groping for the nearest empty chair.

As he sank down, Mrs. Philpot handed the note to Beckwith.

The butler reluctantly unfolded the plain sheet of foolscap, his pudgy hands trembling ever so slightly. “ ‘My dear Lord Sheffield,’ ” he read, “ ‘I always told you that there would come a day when you would no longer have need of me. Although I know you are a man of honor, I would never expect you to honor promises made in the heat of…’” Beckwith faltered, shooting Gabriel’s family an anguished look.

“Go on,” Gabriel said, his own eyes dark and flat.

“ ‘I would never expect you to honor promises made in the heat of passion. Those fires burn too brightly, blinding even those who should be able to see. Soon you will have your sight—and your life—back. A life I can have no part of. I beg you not to think too harshly of me. Perhaps in some small corner of your heart, you will be able to remember me fondly, as I am ever your… Samantha.’ ”

As Beckwith folded the note, Mrs. Philpot edged closer to him, her trembling fingers groping for his sleeve. Tears were trickling openly down Honoria’s cheeks and even Eugenia was forced to dab at the tip of her nose with her napkin.

“You were right, weren’t you?” his mother said softly, resting her teacup on the table. “She was a very uncommon girl.”

His father sighed. “I’m sorry, lad, but surely you must know that it’s for the best.”

Without a word, Gabriel rose and strode toward the door, sweeping his walking stick ahead of him.

“Where are you going?” his father asked, plainly bewildered.

He swung around to face them all, his face taut with determination. “I’m going to find her, that’s where I’m going.”

His father exchanged a troubled look with his mother before asking the one question uppermost in all of their minds. “But what if she doesn’t wish to be found?”

Samantha slipped into the attic bedchamber of the large Tudor cottage without bothering to close the door behind her. Although the air was musty and shadows draped the spacious room, she didn’t think she could bear to draw back the curtains and throw open the mullioned windows. The morning sunshine would only hurt her eyes.

She rested the portmanteau on the bed, her shoulders slumping with weariness. After hauling the thing around through several sleepless, crowded coach rides, it felt as if it were loaded with rocks instead of a few undergarments, a packet of old letters, and one slim volume of poetry. If not for the letters, she might have been tempted to toss it into the nearest ditch during her long walk from the village that morning. The cheerful twitter of the birds nesting in the hedgerows that lined the lane had only seemed to mock her.

She still wore the same drab brown garments she had worn three days ago when she had slipped out of Fairchild Park at dawn. Dust layered the hem of her skirt and there was a dried milk stain on her bodice where some charwoman’s infant had spit up on her during the particularly bumpy ride from Hornsey to South Mims.

Samantha knew she should be chafing from such indignities, but a merciful numbness had descended on her soul. Even as she wondered if she would ever feel anything again, she had to admit the numbness was preferable to the piercing grief that had stabbed her heart when she had left Gabriel sleeping in her bed.

She sank down on the stool in front of the dressing table. She had left this room a girl, but it was a woman who gazed back at her from the shadows of the mirror. From her somber expression, one would have never guessed that her eyes could sparkle with happiness or that her cheeks had once dimpled in a teasing smile.

Her arms ached with exhaustion as she lifted them and began to drag the pins from her hair, one by one. The limp mass came tumbling around her shoulders. She blinked at herself with drowsy eyes, eyes the color of the sea beneath a summer sky.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs—her mother’s footsteps, so brisk and familiar that Samantha felt an unexpected rush of nostalgia for the time when her mother could have soothed any heartache, no matter how keen, with a brisk hug and a cup of warm tea.

“One would think,” her mother trilled as she came trotting up the stairs, “that when one’s mother had given one leave to go traveling abroad with one’s wealthy friend, one might be grateful enough to at least send a post to let one’s mother know that one was still alive and not languishing in some filthy French dungeon somewhere. Nor should one come sneaking into the house like a common thief instead of announcing her return. Why, I would have never known you were home if your sister hadn’t—”

Samantha swiveled on the stool.

Her mother was standing in the doorway. She clapped a hand to her heart, her expression horrified. “Good Lord, Cecily! What have you gone and done to your beautiful hair?”

My dearest Lord Sheffield,

You claim to be naught but dust beneath my delicate feet, yet to me you are stardust sprinkled across a night sky, forever in my dreams, but out of my reach…

“S
he can’t simply have vanished into thin air. It’s not possible!”

“One wouldn’t think so, my lord. But that appears to be exactly what happened. Once her coach reached London that afternoon, Miss Wickersham’s trail went stone cold. My men have been searching for over two months and they haven’t been able to locate a single trace of her. It’s almost as if she never existed.”

“Oh, she existed, all right.” Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Samantha warm and soft in his arms, more real than anything he had ever touched in his life.

What if we didn’t have a lifetime? What if we only had this moment?

Her cryptic question had haunted him ever since he’d been fool enough to let her slip out of his arms. And his bed.

He opened his eyes to survey the small, dapper man who sat on the other side of his desk. The mist in them faded a little more each day. Before long, he would be able to go out and comb the streets for Samantha himself. Until then, he had no choice but to put his trust in this man. Danville Steerforth was one of a half dozen Bow Street Runners of long standing. He and his fellow detectives with their showy red waistcoats and bright blue coats had come highly recommended, both for their skill and their discretion.

The man didn’t even seem fazed by Gabriel’s scar. He’d probably seen far worse in his line of work.

“Our door-to-door search of Chelsea yielded nothing,” Steerforth informed him with a twitch of his caramel-brown mustache. “Are you certain she left no other clues as to where she might have come from? Where she might have been going?”

Running his thumb along the blade of a brass-handled letter opener, Gabriel shook his head. “I’ve searched every inch of the trunk she left in her bedchamber a dozen times. I found nothing but a few nondescript items of clothing and a bottle of lemon verbena.”

He did not share the moment when he had opened the armoire to discover that she had left his gifts behind. Gifts he had never actually seen until that moment. As he had gently fingered the delicate muslin of the gown, the cashmere stole, the frivolous pink slippers suited only for dancing, the wistful strains of “Barbara Allen” had echoed through his memory. His dispassionate recitation also failed to reveal that the familiar fragrance of her perfume had sent him staggering from the room, aching with longing.

“What about her letters of reference? Have those turned up?”

“I’m afraid not. It seems my man returned those letters to her on the same day she was hired.”

Steerforth sighed. “That’s most unfortunate. Even a single name might have given us a trail to follow.”

Gabriel raked his memory. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, some maddening detail he couldn’t quite grasp. “During the very first meal we shared, she mentioned working for some family. Caruthers? Carmichael?” He snapped his fingers. “Carstairs! That was it! She told me that she’d served as governess for a Lord and Lady Carstairs for two years.”

Steerforth came to his feet, beaming at him. “Excellent, my lord! I’ll set up an interview with the family immediately.”