Anne Barbour (26 page)

“Don’t be absurd, my girl. We can’t just go haring off in the middle of the night. And we can’t leave in the morning, either. It would look extremely odd, don’t you think? Devil take it, Lissa, you can’t expect everyone to drop what they’re doing and minister to you every time you have a spat with Marc.”

His black eyes snapped at her and hers, darker yet, stared at him for a long moment before she turned on her heel and walked away.

“Lissa!” called Jared, but she did not stop. Hunching a shoulder in exasperation, he went to search out Diana, who could always be depended on to bring his tiresome little sister out of her sulks. Surely, that’s all it was, he thought uncomfortably, remembering her white face and the anguish in her eyes.

Lissa ran out again into the hall, and this time, still in fear of meeting Marcus, hurtled up the stairs to the refuge of her bedchamber. She was halted in her flight by Gerard and Harry, who were coming down the stairs, nearly knocking her over in their haste.

“Lissa!” gasped Gerard, clutching at her. “Have you seen Winifred?”

She shook her head stiffly and attempted to release her hand.

“Then, how about Charles?” His voice squeaked in agitation.

“I have not seen either of them,” replied Lissa coldly. “Now may I please go on my way?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Gerard exchanged an anguished glance with Harry and the two bolted down the stairs, leaving Lissa to continue on her path.

Having gained the top of the stairs, Lissa hurried along the gallery that overlooked the hall and then into the corridor that led from it. Unseeing, she brushed past Charles, who was just coming out of his chambers in the company of a footman. So intent was he on the instructions he was imparting to the servant, that he did not even look up as Lissa hurtled past him. As for Lissa, absorbed in her own private hell, she heard only the words, “... and have the chaise at the stable yard gate at one o’clock.”

Her attention caught, she slowed and listened as Charles continued. “I want the strongest cattle in the stable—your master won’t mind, for I’ll make it up to him later. They must take me to London with no stopping. No, I shan’t require a coachman. I’ll drive the team myself.”

London! Charles was going to London. Tonight! In her extreme agitation, she did not consider why a guest of the house would be taking such precipitate leave in the middle of the night, or why he required a carriage rather than his phaeton. Only the words, “London,” and “no stopping,” registered with her. She had plenty of pin money, and once in London, she could hire a carriage to take her to Stonefield. She knew the journey could be made in only a few hours. She turned to retrace her steps toward Charles, but caught herself immediately. He would, of course, not only refuse a request from her that she be taken up in his carriage, but would no doubt inform Aunt Amabelle and/or Jared besides.

She ran all the rest of the way to her room and flung herself on her bed, giving herself up to furious thought. How fortunate that Charles would be driving the carriage himself. It would be unlikely that he would discover an unscheduled passenger curled up in a very small ball under a rug inside. One o’clock, Charles had said. It was already a little after midnight. She would have to make her plans quickly. Good. The more she thought about a plan, the less time she’d have to think about Marcus.

A fresh burst of pain shuddered through her as she whispered his name. Would he miss her tomorrow morning? Would he even notice she was gone?

Downstairs, Charles circulated among the revelers, who were contained for the most part in the hall and the saloons surrounding it. Still garbed in his homespun tunic, he accepted with an affecting modesty congratulations for his performance as Bottom, but his smile grew ever broader as he passed through the assemblage until it threatened to split his face.

“Thank you so much, Lady Granbrooke. By the by, have you seen Wini—Miss Timburton?” “That’s awfully kind of you, Lord Mumblethorpe. Has Miss Timburton been in here within the last few minutes?”

Perhaps, thought the earl, the little darling was upstairs preparing for their clandestine meeting at the stable gate in—by gad!— half an hour! Yes, that was probably it. In fact, he should be going up himself to change and to collect the portmanteau his valet was packing for him at that very moment. A tingle of anticipation shot through him as he moved toward the door of the Crimson Saloon.

“Wye! There you are.” At the sound of the nasal voice behind him, the smile dropped from his lips to be replaced by a grimace of alarm, which in turn was almost instantly replaced by one of crafty satisfaction. He turned.

“There you are, my dear. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Have you indeed?” said Lady Hermione, looking more than ever like a disassembled rock pile in a gown of granite gray embellished with knobby little tufts of embroidery. She placed her finger tips on the arm he held out for her and proceeded with him about the room, nodding graciously at the compliments directed at Charles as though she were personally responsible for any talent he might have displayed that evening.

“Now that you have dispensed with your duties here, Wye,” began Lady Hermione, “I assume you are planning to return to London shortly.”

Charles jerked spasmodically and his head swiveled to meet her gaze. “London? London?” were the only words he was able to produce at the moment, but he relaxed almost immediately. There was no way she could know about his plans, after all. The smirk returned to its place. “Why, yes, I shall be leaving Selworth shortly. As, I assume, will you?”

“Most certainly.” Her ladyship shuddered. “I can hardly wait to see the last of this place. I have been sorry ever since I arrived that I was obliged to come here.”

“Obliged?”

Lady Hermione uttered an unbecoming titter. “Why, because of my feelings for you, dear Wye. I was so lonely at Wimpole Park. That is our seat in—’

“Yes, I know,” said Charles hastily. He peeled her fingers from his sleeve. “I wonder if you will excuse me for a few moments, my dear. There is someone I must see.”

Lady Hermione giggled playfully. Lord, thought Charles, she’d been at the punch bowl too long. “Yes, but only for a moment, dearest,” she said with a coy smile.

Charles hurried away, leaving her wagging her fingers at him from the center of the room. He waded through the guests to the doorway, bumping into Diana and Jared as he did so.

Idly, Jared watched the earl’s rather erratic progress into the hall. He turned to Diana with a laugh. “He even moves like a hedge-bird. When, by the by,” he continued as he tucked his wife’s hand in his arm, “are you going to tell me what plot you and Aunt Amabelle have been hatching over his unfortunate head?”

Diana merely smiled mysteriously. “All in good time, my dear.” She gazed about abstractedly. “I wonder where Simon is. I wish to speak to him about something a little later on.”

“I don’t know,” replied Jared with a pained expression. “He’s probably proposing to Miss-Godawful Timburton, I should imagine. I have not seen her of late, either. Lord, I hope she refuses him.”

Diana smiled demurely. “I think he may have found a way out of his difficulties.”

Her husband bent a discerning glance on her. “Yes?” he said encouragingly.

Diana flushed. “Nothing.” Her gray eyes gazed up into dark ones that held a great deal of tender amusement. “Oh, very well. I will tell you everything, if you promise not to put a spoke in our plans.”

“I may regret this, but very well.”

With some relish, Diana proceeded to detail the solution she and Lady Teague had concocted for Simon’s difficulties.

“Oh, my God, Diana, an elopement? But Charles is betrothed!”

“Simon told me that there have been no settlement papers signed. And truly, Jared, can marriage to Winifred be much worse than spending his life with Hermione? To say nothing of the fact that her ladyship will be much better off without Charles. She has no real regard for him, I’m sure, and it’s obvious that she is clinging to him only because no one else has come up to scratch. I mean, Jared, the woman is at her last prayers!”

“My God, I never realized what a cat I married! Or what a devious hatcher of wicked schemes. Between the two of you, you and Aunt Amabelle could give lessons to the Borgias.”

Diana laughed. “Why thank you, my dear.” She lifted her eyes to his once more and at the expression in her eyes, Jared’s next words emerged a little raggedly. “I wonder if it is too early to retire for the evening? I would like—”

“Danny! Jared. Have you seen Lissa?” The pair turned to regard Marcus, who had come up behind them. He, too, was still in costume, though he had removed most of his greasepaint. His fair hair was in a good deal of disarray and fell over his brow in undisciplined curls.

“Damn, I forgot,” said Jared in some irritation. “She came running up to me some minutes ago in high dudgeon. Said she wanted to go home—to Stonefield.”

“Stonefield?” echoed Marcus blankly.

“Mmm. She seemed more than usually upset with you.” He turned to Diana. “I meant to ask you to go to her, but in the press of all this merrymaking, I quite forgot.”

A puzzled frown appeared on Marcus’s face. “I looked for her after the last curtain call.” He flushed a little. “I thought, now that the whole thing is over, perhaps she and I... At any rate, there were so many people milling about, I couldn’t find her.” His gaze moved restlessly over the crowded room.

“Perhaps she has gone to change,” said Diana. “I’ll go upstairs. If she’s in her chambers, I shall send word to you.” She bent a mischievous smile on her husband. “I’ll see you later—about that matter we were discussing.” With a soft rustle of the silk tunic she had worn as Hippolyta, she turned and hurried away.

Outside, at the back of the house, Lissa was also hurrying, to the stables. As she neared the yard gate, she stopped and huddled behind a convenient bush. Yes! There was the chaise, as ordered. Looking around carefully, she scurried across the lawn. Opening the door of the chaise, she discovered that Charles’s portmanteau had already been placed there. She climbed into the carriage and, curling herself into a ball on the floor, she drew the rug that had been folded on one of the seats over her.

A few moments later, masculine voices and the crunch of footsteps on gravel warned her that people approached, and she cowered inside her hiding place. A sharp knock sounded on the door of the chaise and startled Lissa so that, despite herself, she uttered a small squeak.

Charles’s laughter sounded loud in her ears through the door of the carriage and she shrank even farther into her corner on the floor. “Ah! Winifred!” exclaimed Charles. “You’re in there already, my sweet bonbon. Come along then, Biggs.”

Lissa felt a lurch as the tiger mounted his post, and a second upheaval occurred as Charles climbed onto the driver’s seat. Lissa shivered, terrified at her own audacity, and curled herself up as tightly as she could and clenched her teeth together as Charles cracked his whip and the chaise sprang forward.

In the house, Gerard leaned against a bookcase in the library, one of the few downstairs rooms not overrun with guests at the moment. His rough tunic was drenched with perspiration, for the night was warm and he had been in constant motion for the past hour and more. He straightened suddenly as the door opened, and exhaled a breath of relief when Harry skidded into the room.

“Well?” asked Gerard in a strained voice.

Harry merely shook his head, his yellow hair hanging in limp tendrils over his heavily bedewed forehead. “She’s nowhere to be found,” he gasped before sinking into a leather chair. “Ain’t seen hide nor hair of the earl, either.”

“My God,” breathed Gerard hoarsely, “do you think they’ve flown the roost?” He ran thin, trembling fingers through his hair and his eyes were round as silver buttons.

“I dunno. Can’t think of anyplace else to look.”

Gerard straightened suddenly, snapping his fingers. “What a pair of loobies we are! We have only to check the stables. If Winifred and the earl are gone—”

“So will be the earl’s phaeton,” finished Harry after staring blankly at his friend for a moment.

Five minutes later, the two stood outside the stables, immersed in unrelieved gloom.

“I cannot believe the earl—or Winifred, for that matter—would behave in such a cotton-brained fashion,” said Gerard. “My God—to make off with Lord Simon’s chaise and his best set of carriage horses. What if someone sees them haring off to God-knows-where? Her reputation will be in shreds. Not that she seems to care,” he added bitterly. “And Wye must know that Lord Simon will discover their absence in short order, and then there’ll be the devil to pay.”

“What if they’re eloping to France?” asked Harry. He had only meant to be helpful, but his efforts were rewarded with a snarl.

“I tell you what, Harry, we have to go after them.”

Harry’s only response was a faint whimper.

“No, really,” continued Gerard eagerly. “The stable boy said they left only minutes ago. We should be able to catch up to them in ... What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” mumbled Harry, who had whimpered again.

“We’ll take your curricle,” continued Gerard, his tone one of eminent practicality, “and go after them.”

“And then what?”

“And then what what?”

“And then what are we going to do? Tell Lord Wye to hand Winifred over to us? You said she didn’t sound unwilling. What if she tells us to sod off? Are we going to drag her back by her hair?”

“Oh,” said Gerard, daunted. He brightened almost immediately. “We’ll just have to talk her round. Don’t forget your Uncle James.”

Harry snorted, his round, blue eyes crinkled in contempt. “My Uncle James, indeed. Fat lot of good he’s done us so far. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to get him to come here. He’s never done anything for anybody but himself in his whole life. But no—’he knows people in the theater,’ you said. ‘He’ll be so smitten with Winifred, he’ll help her do anything she wants,’ you said. Tchah!”

“Well, yes, but he told us at the start he would have to get to know her a bit—you know, feel her out—er, no, bad choice of words. See if she would meet his needs—well, no, that’s no good either. You know what I mean,” Gerard finished impatiently.