Chasing the Heiress (12 page)

“Calomel—it's a mercury compound—causes vomiting, while camphor causes sweating,” Lucy answered slowly, not knowing if Sophia needed her explanation or if this were some sort of test. “Together with bleeding, the idea goes, the treatment releases harmful pressures in the body. Then the opium stops the diarrhea and gives the patient some relief from the cycle of purging.”

Sophia met Lucy's eyes, her face an unreadable mask. “Colin indicated that the bullet carried fabric into the wound and you dug the threads out. But the surgeon assured me that he often leaves them in. Like the rope that led Theseus out of the Minotaur's maze, he said, the threads give the poison a way out of the body.”

Lucy's cheeks flushed with surprise and anger, and she clenched her hands under the table. She had thought Lady Wilmot understood and approved of her methods. “That treatment would have killed him,” she said, keeping her voice level, her eyes on the tea service.

“I know.” Sophia spoke in almost a whisper. Looking up, Lucy could see that her eyes brimmed with tears. “Had you not been here, we would have lost Colin, and not the way he has been lost these last months, but truly and irrevocably.” Sophia wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “As I see it, we owe you a debt, Lucy, and one we cannot easily repay. So, whether you
aspire
to Colin or not, you will always have a place with us. The ducal manor is quite large, or there are other properties if you would wish to have a place of your own.”

“But you do not know me. I could be a murderer, a thief, a . . .”

Sophia lifted her hand to stop Lucy's sentence. “Nell, who is a woman of good sense, holds you in great esteem. Colin, who does not use the word lightly, tells me you are his friend. My salon could use someone like you, someone who knows how to doctor wounds and treat illnesses—and who isn't afraid to stand her ground when she knows she's right.”

* * *

While Lucy and Sophia shared tea, Colin and his brothers met to plan the next stage of Colin's journey. Fletcher would carry the plan to London for Walgrave's approval, then return to Shropshire with the Home Office's response. That alone would allow Colin to rest for a week. A dozen of Aidan's best men, old soldiers who worked for him in various capacities, already filled the house, watching the child under the guise of card games, whittling contests, and other entertainments.

Aidan had brought a large folding map of the southern shires from Shropshire to London in the west and the coast in the south. That, combined with Colin's individual county maps, gave them a fairly clear vision of the best routes to the Royal Family.

“I still think that we should call for more help from my estate. My men can escort you safely to London.”

“Few people question why a duke needs such a large retinue, but no one will believe a duke's brother needs so many men. Besides, even when they are serving you, your men attract attention, and attention is exactly what Prinny wants to avoid,” Colin objected, thinking of the document Walgrave had given him from the prince regent.

“Let me understand you. You would rather not ask for help and end up dead?” Aidan glowered.

“I've already agreed to stay here for a fortnight while you mother me. But I can change my mind.” Colin glowered back.

Seth, ever the peacemaker, tapped the map with his finger, drawing the men's attention away from their growing stalemate. “To get the babe to Prinny most quickly, London would be the best route. Birmingham to Stratford, then through Oxfordshire to London. Let Aidan's men travel the roads before you to ward off trouble. Depending on how often you stop, the trip would take two, maybe three, days.”

“If the highwaymen were, as we suspect, assassins, then they will redouble their efforts to keep the child from his relatives.” Colin stared at the ceiling. “A post road will allow too many opportunities to be waylaid before we can reach Kensington or Windsor or even Buckingham.”

“Circumspection is the key. They will expect you to bolt for London, so do something else,” Aidan counseled. “Recuperate here for another week. Seth and I will watch over the child while my men secure the roads ahead of you.”

“We will move in stages. A long run on the road followed by a day or two somewhere safe. The days when we aren't traveling will allow me to recuperate and make me better able to protect the child on the days when we are, and your men will have ample time to ensure the next stretch of road is secure. As for our route, we give London a wide berth, not using any road leading directly there.”

“That sounds good. And we will also set up a little diversion. If we position the carriages carefully, all someone watching would be able to see would be one man and one woman entering a carriage with two postboys and a coachman. Sophia and I, pretending to be you, will set out at breakneck speeds for London in my third-best carriage, while you and Lucy travel in ducal comfort in some other direction.”

“Two postboys?” Colin questioned.

“Of course,” Seth agreed, smiling. “From a distance and in the right clothes, the wet nurse will make a fine boy.”

Colin leaned forward to trace a line on the map with his finger. “First, we stop here.” He tapped a spot in the countryside near Wolverhampton.

“That's certainly out of the way.” Seth looked at the surrounding towns. “What's there?”

“An old manor house, known to local residents and a narrow circle in the Home Office, but long ago removed from any map,” Colin explained. “It's remote, well appointed, and, other than a gatekeeper, empty. It will be a comfortable haven until Aidan notifies us that the next part of our route is ready to be traveled.”

“Depending on what I can discover in London and what Seth can find out here locally, you could be there three, four days.” Aidan calculated the lengths of the roads. “Then what?”

“We double back to the Bath road.” Colin traced the route with his finger. “Then follow it from Kiddermister, through Worcester, Upton, and Gloucester to stay here.” Colin tapped a point east of Gloucester.

Aidan straightened in surprise and rolled back on his heels. “Are you certain Hartshorn Hall is a wise decision?”

“We will be welcomed, and Lady Emmeline would not breathe a word of our presence. The babe will be safe there, as safe as anywhere.”

“It isn't the babe I'm considering. Or whether Lady Emmeline can be trusted.” Aidan stared hard at Colin.

“It's a trip I've needed to make.” Colin shrugged off Aidan's questions. “Besides, it's our best option in that direction.”

Aidan and Seth met eyes, wordlessly agreeing not to pursue the topic. Seth turned back to the map.

“Well, then, after that, you'll want to take the road down to Winchester. That will let you come up to London from the south, rather than the north.” Seth marked the route with a pencil. “That should give you an element of surprise.”

“Have you considered delivering the babe either to Prinny's royal palace at Brighton or the royal family's residence at Kew? No one would find it surprising for an extra detachment of men to be stationed at either one.” Aidan identified the location of each royal residence with a circle, then drew in a route of well-traveled roads to each from Winchester. “Any of these routes would offer the safety you need, and the guards to support any further movement of the child. I could consult with Walgrave to see which path best suits the Home Office's plans.”

Colin nodded agreement. “So, it's Wolverhampton, then Em's, then wherever the Home Office determines we should go.”

“What will you tell her?” Seth asked quietly.

“Her?” Colin scowled. “Lady Emmeline or Lucy?”

“Both,” Aidan interjected with clear frustration.

“Lady Emmeline will understand. Lucy won't ask.”

“Are you sure you can trust her?” Aidan pressed, his scowl conveying the full extent of his dismay.

Colin stared Aidan down. “Lucy's not part of this. She's in some trouble, but this isn't it.”

Chapter Nine

The morning at Hartshorn Hall had been filled with rain, trapping Lady Emmeline Hartley in the drawing room with her cousin and her cousin's unwelcome house party. She had tried to make an early escape, claiming obligations to visit several of the estate's tenants. But the rain had begun to fall in heavy sheets before she had even been able to reach the stables. She had grudgingly accepted her fate: a day with Stella and her vapid friends.

“When can we expect your betrothed, Emmeline?” Stella demanded archly, tapping her closed fan against her palm. “I was surprised not to find him here already. Did he not promise to visit this week?”

Standing at the long west window watching the rain fall, Emmeline pretended not to hear. The window glass reflected her cousin's image only indistinctly. But she knew too well the proud set of Stella's shoulders and the haughty lift of her chin. As usual, her cousin hoped to embarrass her.

At least her cousin's guests were occupied with games. Emmeline had called for tables for whist and faro when she had realized Stella's houseguests could not take their anticipated expedition.

She would have to respond, or Stella would simply repeat the question in different words, louder and louder, until she had the attention of everyone in the room.

“Somerville had some pressing business that could not be postponed.” Em turned away from the window, reaching for her cane as she turned. Though she could usually walk without aid, the change in the weather always made the old injury in her leg ache. “But I am sure he will regret it if he arrives after your party returns to London.”

“I promised my friends that we would have fine hunting and pleasant weather, but if this rain continues we will have little reason to remain.” Stella had little patience when her desires were thwarted. “Our excursions have all had to be cancelled or postponed. Had Somerville been on time, we could have held a lovely engagement dinner to entertain my guests.”

“Certainly, Somerville was inconsiderate not to weigh more thoroughly the imposition he would create for your party by not arriving as expected.” Em hoped that Stella had not grown more attuned to irony.

“Yes, his absence causes a tremendous inconvenience.” Stella pouted. “Without him, we have no justification for a banquet of that size and variety.”

The door to the hall opened, and Em's butler, Jeffreys, stood inside it. He raised his forefinger to indicate he needed an audience.

“Well, perhaps it is for the best.” Em nodded to Jeffreys, then walked with Stella slowly toward the door. “Cook has not yet forgiven us for the last impromptu banquet you held for your guests. She had to empty the larder, hire four additional cooks, and purchase the entire weekly produce of two market towns to serve the menu you designed.”

“As if Cook's feelings or preferences are any of my concern.” Stella lifted her nose and toyed with one of the long tendrils that hung elegantly from her lower neck. “That menu was the perfect complement to the costume ball. It was the talk of the
ton
for weeks.”

“No, certainly, the pleasure of you and your guests is always the estate's first priority.” Em reached the door. “I simply would regret if Cook poisoned us all for imposing too much on her.”

“Your ladyship is needed downstairs.” Jeffreys held the door open.

“I say, Em, you would think you were yourself a servant as much time as you spend in the kitchen.” Stella snapped the fan in her hand once more and turned back to her guests.

Em limped through the doorway and waited as Jeffreys shut the door. “The footman who delivered tea indicated that your cousin was growing petulant.”

“And you were waiting to save me, as usual. Thank you.”

Jeffreys held out his arm, and Em leaned heavily on it as they descended the stairs. Once her father's valet, Jeffreys had taken over the management of the house, after the accident that had left Em lame and killed her mother.

“I find myself less patient with each visit. She interrupted my breakfast this morning, demanding to review my management of the accounts.” Em released Jeffreys's arm and removed the estate office key from beneath the knob on her cane. “Now that she has borne a son, she finds it impossible to believe that the estate will not pass to him on my father's death.”

Jeffreys shook his head as he handed Em into an overstuffed Louis Seize armchair with a curving back. “After all these years, I should have grown used to your cousin's capacity for self-deception.”

“It is enough to make me wish my father would marry his French mistress and produce a son.” Em stretched her leg out, and Jeffreys lifted it onto an overstuffed round ottoman.

“But a son would make no difference in the disposition of the estate.” Jeffreys brought her a wool lap-blanket and wrapped it around her legs. “I was witness to your grandfather's will myself—and to your father's.”

“Stella cannot imagine that my father would bequeath the estate to any but a male heir. And yet, my father has asked me to be kind to her. Therefore, until he dies, I will have to endure her visits with as much graciousness as I can muster.” Em closed her eyes against the ache in her leg.

“Perhaps it is time to marry, my dear—share the burden of the estate.” Jeffreys stoked the fire and set a pile of Minerva Press novels beside her. “Your father might return from France if there were grandchildren to spoil.”

“You know my father will never return—you want the grandchildren for yourself.” Em leaned into the chair's thick cushioned back. “I might close my eyes for a while, Jeffreys. Would you send Bess to me?”

“Of course, your ladyship. And if your cousin wishes to find you, I will tell her you are in the stables.”