A Reason to Rebel (27 page)

“Marriage to that disagreeable old man has done nothing to diminish your beauty,” she said, as the sisters finished their toilette.

“Why thank you, Marianne. And being in love has enhanced your own appearance, my love. There is radiance to your complexion and a becoming sparkle in your eye.”

“Do you not consider Benjamin to be the handsomest, bravest, cleverest man in the entire world?”

“Indeed I do.” Estelle hugged her sister. “It gladdens my heart, after all we have been compelled to endure, to see you so happy.”

“Thank you.” Marianne grinned, a calculating expression in her eye. “And what of you and the dashing Lord Crawley? He is enamoured of you, I think.”

“He is no such thing! He is merely being gentlemanly and doing a service for his best friend’s wife.”

“Oh, is that why he is so inconveniencing himself? I was wondering.”

“Michael Cleethorpe and Lord Crawley are virtually inseparable and, with Susanna being in a delicate condition, Michael does not wish her to be worried about us.”

“Ah, that would explain it then.”

“Marianne, he is all but engaged to another lady.”

“Yes, darling, if you say so.”

“Oh!” Estelle threw her hairbrush at her sister. “You are as bad as Susanna. Sometimes there is no talking to either of you. Come along, we shall be late.”

They descended the stairs and found Bradley, the footman whom Alex had charged with their care, awaiting them. He was young and reassuringly strong looking, with a cheerful disposition and ready smile. His makeshift livery of green and gold was so like that worn by their father’s retainers that even the sisters, who were accustomed to seeing it every day, had difficulty detecting the differences.

“You look very convincing, Bradley,” said Estelle.

“Thank you, ma’am. Let us hope that it fools the villains, if they are watching us. Are you ready, ladies?”

Upon learning that they were perfectly ready, Bradley opened the door and looked cautiously up and down the road before ushering them into the cab stationed immediately in front of the door.

“I understand from Lord Crawley that you anticipate being in the solicitor’s office for upwards of half an hour,” said Bradley.

“That is our expectation.” Estelle inclined her head in agreement.

The cab slowed as they neared their destination. “One moment, if you please, ladies.” Bradley leapt from the conveyance before it came to a complete halt and scanned the road carefully in both directions. Seeing nothing to excite his suspicions he handed each lady down from the carriage. He escorted them to the door and opened it for them.

“Thank you,” said Estelle.

“I shall station myself outside here, ma’am, and be waiting for you. I shall keep a sharp lookout but if anything inside don’t look right, just call and I’ll come running.”

“That is a reassuring thought, Bradley, but I do not anticipate that we shall encounter any difficulties.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Stepping into the anti-room a clerk bowed to the ladies and asked them their business.

“Oh no!” Marianne looked genuinely distressed when they were told that Mr. Nesbit was not expecting them and, indeed, was not in the office at all. “And we have come so far. What are we to do, Estelle?”

Marianne produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Estelle knew her sister’s tears were the product of laughter rather than distress and kicked her shin. She was grossly overacting but the flustered clerk did not appear to notice. In fact he seemed quite moved by Marianne’s wretchedness. He conducted the ladies to a small anteroom and invited them to sit down.

“Perhaps you would care for some tea, ladies, whilst we sort out this unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Thank you. That would be most welcome.”

“What if Mr. Cowper is watching us and tries to come in here?” asked Marianne anxiously when the clerk disappeared to arrange their tea.

“Lord Crawley does not think that likely. And remember, we are supposed to be hiding from him at our father’s behest. If he doubted that, he might try to follow us, or find a way to grab at least one of us. But by coming here, we will confirm Mr. Porter’s claim that we are in the scheme with our father. And so rather than confronting us he will go directly to him with his complaints.”

Before Marianne could respond the clerk reappeared with their tea. He was followed by an older gentleman.

“Good morning, ladies.” He bowed. “I am Mr.
Grant
. I regret that you have been inconvenienced but doubtless I can be of service to you in Mr. Nesbit’s stead. Indeed, it would be an honour.”

“Oh no, sir. I thank you but our father said we were to deal only with Mr. Nesbit.” Estelle noticed the downturn in Mr. Grant’s expression and treated him to her sweetest smile. “Were it up to us, of course, we would not hesitate to place our trust in you. But as it is—”

“I perfectly understand. Pray do not distress yourselves. Please partake of these refreshments and we will arrange an alternative time for you to see Mr. Nesbit.”

“How kind you are, sir.”

The ladies emerged, as planned, almost exactly half an hour later.

“That went perfectly to plan,” said Estelle as Bradley assisted them into the cab.

“Couldn’t be more pleased, ma’am.”

He closed the door and signalled to the cabbie to drive on by banging on the roof. So buoyed with success were they that the ladies did not look properly at Bradley, whose face was partially concealed by the brim of his hat, until the cab had lurched away from the pavement. Only then did something coarse in his tone make Estelle glance up suspiciously.

“No!” The feelings of mild euphoria at having conducted their part in the scheme so successfully abruptly gave way to despair.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Travis,” said Johnson, her father’s right-hand man. He doffed his hat in a mock salute. “Your father will be right pleased with me—two for the price of one. He weren’t expecting that.”

–—

Upon leaving number seventeen on Sunday evening, Alex walked briskly to the hotel where he had left his phaeton and drove back to the Albion at a leisurely pace. But he was unable to shake off the feeling of unease which had gripped him the moment he left Estelle in her brother’s care. He went over the plan countless times in his head, unable to account for the fact that he was only beset with concerns when he considered her part in it. The rational part of his brain told him he had nothing to fear. He had considered all eventualities and made contingency plans for every one of them. But he clearly wasn’t in a rational frame of mind and such assurances did little to quell his anxieties.

The girls were required to appear in public only when entering and leaving the cab. Under the watchful eye of Bradley, one of his most dependable servants, nothing could possibly go wrong. When Alex first encountered him at a mill, Bradley had been an angry young man with a grudge against a world that had done him few favours. He was attempting to make a living as a bruiser, all courage and strength, his lack of technique and fiery temper being responsible for the many vicious beatings he had already endured. Alex had sensed something in the battered and bloodied youth that night and, aware that he would be dead within a year if he carried on in such a fashion, compulsively offered him employment. In return he had enjoyed Bradley’s unswerving loyalty ever since. Bradley would not be found wanting, Alex assured himself for the fiftieth time.

But the feeling of unease still refused to go away.

What was it about Estelle that so compelled him? She was a beauty, that was undeniable, but so were countless other women of his acquaintance. He had watched with fascination this past week as she slowly emerged from beneath the burden of her sense of duty to spread her wings and allow her independent spirit to flower. But that was nothing to the manner in which she shed her inhibitions when they shared a bed together. He became aroused at the mere thought of it. He chuckled at her prim attempts to deny her need for him, only to abandon them with a speed that defied any true conviction. Such unbridled passion and profound sensuality were a rarity in his extensive experience. But did they account for the protectiveness he now entertained towards the chit? It hardly seemed likely. But the only other explanation he could think of was equally impossible, and at first he refused to even consider it.

Alex was prepared to enter into matrimony now that his father had passed on and he had succeeded him as Viscount Crawley. It was his duty to produce an heir and ensure the succession. His mother’s attempts to remind him of the fact by parading a succession of suitable young ladies before him was diverting. He found them all charming, even if they did little to stimulate his intellect, and did not much care which one finally became his viscountess. He was almost willing to let his mother make the final selection on his behalf. After all, she would likely spend more time in his eventual wife’s company than he himself expected to, and so the two ladies ought to enjoy one another’s society.

He was a realist. He did not believe in undying love, which was why he had tried so hard to dissuade Michael from uniting with Susanna, convinced he would recover from his infatuation and regret his impetuosity. But now?

Was that it? Could the unknown emotion he entertained towards Estelle—the one that was causing him such anguish—really be love? He jerked his team to a clumsy halt, for once mindless of their mouths, as the thought hit him with all the force of one of Bradley’s haymakers. Could it really be?

When Susanna had asked him to describe the qualities he most sought in a wife, he had teased her about it, but in reality he could not tell her because he did not know the answer himself. But he did now. His face broke into an unrestrained smile as he acknowledged this unexpected truth. The lady he wished to share his life with was currently engaged in a battle for independence, determined to disengage from a monster of a father who would not hesitate to use any means at his disposal to bend her to his will. Alex hardened his expression even as his determination to keep her safe increased tenfold. His anxieties returned and now that he understood the reason for them, he knew there was nothing he would not do to keep the woman he loved safe.

Upon arrival at the Albion, Alex was confronted by two of the men who had been keeping watch over Cowper.

“He hired a nag and rode down here today, m’lord.”

“As we expected then.”

“Yeah, except he ain’t much of a horseman and I reckon he’ll be pretty sore tomorrow.”

Alex chuckled. “Where has he put up for the night?”

“A rundown tavern on the wharf. Cheap looking and not at all respectable.”

“He should feel right at home then. Has John Coachman arrived with the chaise and four as I instructed?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Good.” Alex had decided that his requirement for fast, reliable transportation now transcended the need for stealth. He was convinced that Winthrop did not know his children were in Ramsgate. It was a calculated risk he was prepared to take that his own presence, and therefore theirs, might be given away by his carriage. By the time Winthrop heard of it he would be too preoccupied with very different concerns to be able to do anything about it. “Get John to take Mr. Cleethorpe’s phaeton back to Fairlands in the morning and I will drive the chaise to Hampshire myself.”

“Very good, m’lord.” The man made to leave the room.

“Oh, and Simmonds.”

“M’lord?” The man paused, his hand on the door latch, a look of enquiry on his face.

“Any news to report from Bradley?”

“No, m’lord, were you expecting any?”

Alex, who no longer knew what he was expecting, made no reply and dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand.

The following morning Alex and Porter made an early start. Alex left a message for Porter’s employers to the effect that he still required the services of their clerk. He could not afford to delay by waiting to speak to them in person. He drove them both to the village of Farnham, a few miles away from Estelle’s family home. They arrived in the late afternoon and put up at the inn there.

“Now we wait for word from Ramsgate,” said Alex, who suspected that his expression must be as bleak as he felt at that moment, in spite of his best efforts to portray an appearance of calm. “We need to know what Cowper has done before we reconnoitre.”

“All right.” Porter paced the room, consulting his pocket watch every few minutes and then peering out of the window in search of Alex’s men. “The ladies must have done their part. Let us hope they were convincing.”