Scandal And Miss Markham
Scandal And Miss Markham
Janice Preston
A scandalous journey…Glassmaker’s daughter Thea Markham is devastated when her brother Daniel goes missing. Then a mysterious lord turns up asking questions about Daniel and offers to find him. Unsure she can trust the handsome peer, Thea dresses up as a boy and follows him!Lord Vernon Beauchamp feels his life lacks direction. Meeting Thea gives him a renewed purpose. And when they are thrown together on their scandalous adventure, friendship soon gives way to desire…
A scandalous journey...
Glassmaker’s daughter Thea Markham is devastated when her brother Daniel goes missing. Then a mysterious lord turns up asking questions about Daniel and offers to find him. Unsure she can trust the handsome peer, Thea dresses up as a boy and follows him!
Lord Vernon Beauchamp feels his life lacks direction. Meeting Thea gives him a renewed purpose. And when they are thrown together on their scandalous adventure, friendship soon gives way to desire...
Vernon stood at the washstand, shirtless, his back to her as he bent over the bowl.
The candlelight danced across unblemished skin and she watched, fascinated by the play of muscles across his shoulders and back, as he continued his ablutions. Her hands itched to touch, to stroke, to discover if his skin was as smooth as it looked. His breeches were stretched tight, outlining taut buttocks—thrust temptingly in her direction—and long, lean thighs. Her mouth dried as her skin heated. A thrilling sense of anticipation swirled in her belly, then slowed, arrowing in to the juncture of her thighs and provoking a strange restlessness.
An insistent need.
Thea resisted the urge to move, to turn onto her back, to push aside the covers, to extend her arms and invite him to hold her. How would it feel to throw aside morals and caution and pride and follow that craving? She lay motionless, still watching as Vernon hummed a tune she did not recognise under his breath, seemingly perfectly relaxed.
Desire.
She recognised it instinctively, although she had never before experienced it.
Author Note (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Scandal and Miss Markham is the second of The Beauchamp Betrothals linked books, but it is a stand-alone story and it’s not essential to read Cinderella and the Duke first.
It is time for Lord Vernon Beauchamp—handsome, wealthy, darling of the ton and younger brother of Leo, Duke of Cheriton—to meet his match. But his life seems almost too perfect. A man like him—and he has featured in other books of mine, apart from Cinderella and the Duke—would surely just need to snap his fingers to win any woman he chose? But then I thought a bit more about his life and I realised he has always been Leo’s sidekick, always the second in command, and he is bored. He needs shaking out of his perfect life, and I knew just the woman to do it.
Enter Dorothea Markham, a glass manufacturer’s daughter with fascinating springy copper curls, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a penchant for acting first and repenting later—or not, as the case may be. She doesn’t need help from anyone when her brother fails to return home—least of all from a spoilt, wealthy aristocrat with a tendency to tease her...and to make her pulse leap alarmingly.
Enjoy the trip as Vernon and Thea embark on an adventure to find her missing brother and end up finding more than they bargained for.
Scandal and
Miss Markham
Janice Preston
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police callhandler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats, and has a part-time job as a weight management counsellor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!
Books by Janice Preston
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Beauchamp Betrothals
Cinderella and the Duke
Scandal and Miss Markham
The Governess Tales
The Governess’s Secret Baby
Men About Town
Return of Scandal’s Son
Saved by Scandal’s Heir
Linked by Characterto Men About Town duet
Mary and the Marquis
From Wallflower to Countess
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
To Mum.
I like to think you would be proud.
Contents
Cover (#u1515e2ed-714f-5ab6-bc40-c48c6a42478f)
Back Cover Text (#ud9875fdb-dcdd-5b83-bfae-730ece7d34c6)
Introduction (#u08b4ba83-6f63-5eed-b759-0d2986b545f8)
Author Note (#uf0d56132-e044-5ea7-86e8-e1b96551d87c)
Title Page (#ua7e1d470-e725-5105-b7a6-d16a07b641b6)
About the Author (#u4a6fd9a0-cdeb-55f7-a92e-ae96dfaa76eb)
Dedication (#u27ebf7b9-7266-5714-9485-79cc2fc242c0)
Chapter One (#u73009820-8122-5d1b-bedd-3be15680515d)
Chapter Two (#uc9c448a0-0674-5a12-831c-e5d74433233b)
Chapter Three (#ue0326a9f-8e0b-516f-b13d-fa267f60ce6e)
Chapter Four (#u049650fc-0d79-5082-9f0e-41c8f8185542)
Chapter Five (#uc48eb665-9950-5673-b443-84f1eed3e899)
Chapter Six (#u76718a25-cab0-5f33-bf2e-bb5ededea2c8)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea’s head snapped up at the sound of wheels crunching across the gravel outside Stourwell Court.
Daniel!
Hope erupted through her...it had been five days since her brother had gone out one day and not returned. She leapt to her feet and hurried to the salon window. A glimpse of a curricle drawn by a pair of blacks set her heart racing, and she flung her embroidery aside, gathered her skirts and ran for the door. Across the hall and through the front door she sped.
Please. Let it be him.
Doubts nipped at her as she sprinted down the steps to the now stationary conveyance, but she ignored them. She could not bear to let that prayer of hope fizzle and die. She shut her mind against the evidence of her eyes as she reached the foot of the steps and hurried to the curricle.
‘Daniel—’
Her eyes met those of the driver—a stranger—and she skidded to a halt, gravel spinning from beneath her feet.
‘Who are you? Where is Daniel?’ She raked the driver with her eyes and then switched her gaze to the horses. ‘Those are his—’
Her jaw snapped shut and her cheeks scorched. ‘Oh!’ Those doubts had caught up with her and knocked her flat. She bit her lip as sick disappointment flooded her, followed by the fear that had dogged her ever since her brother had failed to come home.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I mistook your horses for those of my brother’s but I see, upon closer examination, they are not his.’
They were a pair of blacks, yes, but of far superior quality to Daniel’s, and a groom—another stranger—perched on the back of the curricle. And besides...
Fool! Daniel didn’t even take his curricle. He was on horseback.
And that had been her one ray of hope in this desperate mess, one that she clung to with all her heart: her brother had ridden away and not returned, but neither had Bullet, his grey gelding, whose homing instinct was powerful and who in the past had often carried his foxed rider safely home after a night spent drinking. Thankfully, though, Daniel had soon outgrown that wild behaviour.
And now Thea clung to her belief that whilst Bullet was missing, there was still hope.
The stranger appraised her with raised brows and she scowled back at him, irritated by the amused curl of his lips. She quashed the tug of attraction she recognised deep in her core. It was a very long time since she had allowed herself to be attracted to any man.
‘Your brother being Mr Daniel Markham?’
His voice was deep and cultured—that of a gentleman born. Thea had been subjected to enough elocution lessons to recognise that aristocratic drawl. She studied the driver, from the brim of his tall beaver hat to the toes of his shiny boots. What business could a man like this have with Daniel? Suspicions swirled. Did this stranger have something to do with Daniel’s disappearance? Daniel had been troubled before he disappeared, that much she did know. But, unusually, he had refused to confide in her.
‘He is,’ she said. ‘And you are?’
He frowned, clearly put out by such a brusque demand. Well, Thea had more pressing concerns than a strange gentleman’s sense of his own importance.
‘I am Lord Vernon Beauchamp, here to speak to your brother.’
‘A lord? What on earth do you want with Daniel?’
A muscle leapt at the side of his jaw. ‘Bickling, hold the horses.’
He tied off the reins and the groom jumped down and ran to the horses’ heads. Lord Vernon Beauchamp climbed in a leisurely fashion from his curricle and walked across the gravel to Thea, not stopping until he was so close he towered over her, radiating confidence and power. Thea set her jaw and stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated even though his commanding air and his raw masculinity rattled her from her head to her toes.
‘I suggest that is a matter between your brother and me, madam. Am I to understand he is not here?’
‘No, he is not.’
She glanced back at the house. No sign of her mother. Good...no doubt she was with Papa; she often read to him in the morning after he awoke. Heaven knew how much longer Thea could protect them from knowing the full truth of Daniel’s absence. She looked up at Lord Vernon.
‘If it concerns Stour Crystal, I assure you that I am perfectly able either to assist you myself, or to refer any query to the appropriate individual at the manufactory.’
‘Stour Crystal?’ Lord Vernon surveyed the frontage of Stourwell Court before looking back along the carriageway, to the wrought-iron entrance gates in the distance. Thea bridled as she fancied she detected a slight curl of his upper lip as he stripped off his driving gloves. ‘Your family manufacture lead-crystal glassware?’
‘We do.’
And I am proud of it.
Her father had built the business from scratch, manufacturing some of the finest quality cut lead crystal in the land. His Lordship might have been born into the aristocracy but that did not give him the right to look down upon her. But with that defiant pride came the realisation that she had not offered her visitor the customary hospitality due a visitor. She had allowed her disappointment he was not Daniel to override her manners and that would surely only add to his lordship’s low impression of her and her family. She bit back any further comment and moved away from Lord Vernon to smooth her hand over the haunch of the nearest horse. She smiled at the groom.
‘He is hot,’ she said, ‘and you must be tired and in need of refreshment.’ After the heavy rains of a week ago, the weather had turned unseasonably warm. ‘Take the horses around the back—you will see the way to the stable yard and you may care for them there. Come to the kitchen afterwards. Cook will give you some food and something to drink.’
The groom waited until his master gave him permission—granted by a flick of the head—to proceed before leading the horses away. Lord Vernon, a look of irritation on his face, swished his driving gloves against his palm. No doubt he was unhappy at his groom and horses’ needs being considered before his own: yet more evidence of his sense of entitlement. Mentally, Thea shrugged but she took care to conceal her scorn. She had neither the strength nor the heart to engage in a verbal sparring session.
‘You, too, must be weary, my lord. Shall we continue this discussion indoors?’
As the scrunch of hooves faded, his lordship inscribed an arc through the air with his arm and then bowed.
‘After you.’
Thea marched to the front porch, feeling much like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way, but she vowed to remain polite; she had no wish to reinforce his prejudices. The man had been neither rude nor derogatory, but—she pictured again that subtle curl of his lip—she knew how his sort viewed ordinary business folk who must work for their living.
She led him across the hall and into the study.
‘Would you prefer ale or wine, sir?’
‘Tea,’ he said.
She was certain he was being deliberately awkward. Their aversion was mutual then. So be it. She had more pressing concerns than how some spoilt aristocrat viewed her and a handsome face and a manly physique meant nothing to a woman who had forsworn all men. She jerked at the bell and a footman soon attended.
‘Bring tea for the gentleman, please, George, and a glass of Madeira for me. And some of Cook’s fruit cake.’
As George turned to leave, Thea said, ‘Is Mama with Papa?’
‘She is, miss. Shall I inform her we have a visitor?’
Thea glanced at Lord Vernon, who had removed his hat to reveal a full head of auburn hair that curled around his ears. A little flutter deep in her stomach taunted her: perhaps she wasn’t as immune to an attractive man as she thought. She wrenched her attention away from her treacherous body.
‘No. That will not be necessary, George.’
‘Very well, miss.’
Thea then sat in a chair by the window and gestured to a nearby chair.
‘Please, take a seat, sir.’
She waited until he was settled, her thoughts whirling. She knew from past experience, through her dealings with other men, that he would be reluctant to discuss business with her simply because of her sex. If she were to learn the truth of his visit, she must try to annoy him into indiscretion and she knew the perfect way to aggravate him: men often found it hard to deal with females who were direct.
‘Is it money?’
His brows lowered into a thunderous frown. ‘Is what money?’ His question almost a growl.
‘Does Daniel owe you money? Are you here to collect on a debt?’
‘I do not—’ He snapped his jaw shut, abruptly cutting off his heated response. His eyes—an arresting shade of green that sparkled in the light of a stray sunbeam filtering through the window pane—narrowed. When he spoke again, his voice was level. ‘Why should you jump to such a conclusion? Is your Daniel a gambler?’
Thea frowned in her turn. This man was clearly not to be easily manipulated.
‘He is not.’
‘Then I ask again, why do you jump to the conclusion I am here to collect on a debt?’
Thea shrugged, stood up and paced to the fireplace. She swung around, to see that her visitor had risen to his feet. She huffed a silent laugh. A lord and a gentleman, trained from birth in correct etiquette. When a lady stands—even a lowly born lady such as she—a gentleman, too, must stand.
‘Please. Sit down.’ She crossed the room to sit in her own chair and his lordship—with a supercilious lift of one brow—followed suit.
He folded his arms. ‘I am waiting.’
His voice was soft. Almost menacing. Thea shivered at her sudden mental image of a wolf: crouching, watching, patient. She thrust aside that picture, silently castigating herself for such a fanciful thought. He was a man...a powerful lord, maybe, but a man none the less.
His question...what was it again? About debt. ‘We are in business, my lord. I wondered if Daniel had overlooked a bill.’
His lips twitched. Thea searched his expression and felt her tension ease and her sense of foreboding lift as she realised he was trying not to laugh. No sign of a menacing predator now. She really must try to curtail her imagination.
‘I cannot decide whether to be amused or offended that you could even suspect I am a debt collector,’ he said. His smile now surfaced fully, his lips parting to reveal white, even teeth.
Heavens, he is a handsome devil.
She quashed that thought and dismissed the accompanying trip of her pulse.
‘Might we, do you think, start this conversation anew and dispense with the suspicion on both sides?’
Thea inclined her head by way of reply. A truce would speed this meeting along and give her the opportunity to discover if Lord Vernon Beauchamp knew anything that might shed light on Daniel’s disappearance.
George came in with the refreshments and Thea poured a cup of tea for her visitor before handing him the cup and saucer. He captured her gaze as he murmured his thanks, his deep voice vibrating through her. Then he brushed her fingers as she handed him a plate with a slice of cake. A whiff of cologne arose to tease at her senses: spicy, with notes of cinnamon. Musky and expensive. The resulting flicker of desire deep in her stomach exasperated Thea all over again.
She recognised his tactic. This was an attempt to use his charisma to wheedle information from her. He was a handsome aristocrat, experienced in the art of flirtation and accustomed to having his own way...well, he would soon find she was too shrewd to allow weasel words and admiring glances to fool her.
She had been burned before.
Never again.
Besides, she had neither the time nor the inclination to engage with him in this particular game. There was far too much at stake.
‘I do not know your name.’
His statement startled her. ‘But...of course you know my name. Daniel is my brother. I, therefore, am Miss Markham.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘But I did not know whether or not you were married, Miss Markham. For all I knew, you could be Mrs Wilful, or Lady Copper Curls.’
He smiled. Charmingly. A fan of crinkles formed at the outer corner of each eye. Thea raised her chin and directed a stern look at him.
‘You were about to tell me your business with my brother, sir.’
Lord Vernon set his teacup and saucer on to a side table and settled back into his chair, his elbows propped on the arms as he placed his hands fingertip to fingertip beneath his chin.
‘My business is with your brother. It is not proper that I should discuss it with you.’
‘Because I am a female?’ No matter how many times she was told she was unable to understand business matters, it became no easier hearing the same sentiment from yet another male. ‘As I said before—my brother and I collaborate in our father’s business. We do not have secrets.’
‘And yet you have no idea why I am here.’
Thea swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. ‘That is entirely different. I cannot be privy to your whims and fancies in deciding to call upon Daniel.’
‘Whims and fancies,’ he murmured. ‘I cannot say I am flattered at being thought a man subject to whims and fancies.’ His expression hardened and again she was reminded that, beneath his urbane exterior, there lurked an altogether different beast. ‘You boast there are no secrets between yourself and your brother and yet you are unaware it was your brother who wrote to me to request a meeting.’
‘For what purpose?’
He raised a brow. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten me?’
Thea shook her head and a lock of hair sprang loose to dangle in front of her eye. She clicked her tongue in irritation, swept the curl from her forehead and hooked it behind a hairpin, then sipped at her Madeira, her mind working furiously. This conversation was not going the way she intended. She was desperate to find out if this man had any information that might tell her where Daniel had gone.
‘I have not the first idea why Daniel wrote to you. Was it connected with the business?’
‘I can safely say he did not summon me to discuss a matter of business. The only knowledge I have of lead-crystal glassware is the quality of the liquid contained therein.’
‘That comes as no surprise.’
Heavens! When will I learn to curb my tongue?
A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘And such a riposte is entirely predictable. You clearly suffer under the illusion that the idle aristocracy are fit for little other than frittering their fortunes away upon their own pleasures and depravities.’
She couldn’t decide if she felt shame at having insulted him, albeit indirectly, or pride that she could stand her own against such a man.
‘They are your words,’ she responded, raising her brows. ‘Your interpretation of my expressed belief that you would have no knowledge of the manufacture of lead crystal. And I was correct.’
His lips thinned. ‘Where is your brother, Miss Markham? When do you expect him home?’
She bit her lip.
‘I do not know.’
Her stomach clenched into a tight, hard ball of fear. Unable to sit still, she rose to her feet and crossed the room to the desk. Daniel’s desk. But there were no clues there. She had searched it thoroughly and there was no hint of where he had gone or what had happened to him. She fingered a contract that lay on the top of a pile of papers awaiting attention, that same all-pervading sense of dread crawling through her veins. This contract was important to Stour Crystal.
Would Daniel really just...go? Would he really be so negligent?
Of the business? Of her? Of their parents?
‘I do not know,’ she repeated.
Chapter Two (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Lord Vernon Beauchamp eyed Miss Markham. Lines of strain bracketed her mouth and worry lurked in those huge hazel eyes—eyes that had sparked such fire at him only moments ago. In fact, all her fire had fizzled out... This was not merely a case of her brother not being at home this afternoon, of that he was certain. But alongside the worry in her eyes lurked caution. Maybe attempting to flirt his way into gaining her good opinion...her trust...had been a mistake.
He rose to his feet and approached the desk. She tracked his every movement, her wariness plain.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ Vernon said. ‘Will you not sit down and tell me what has happened? There truly is no need to be suspicious of my intentions towards your brother. If it helps to reassure you, you should know that I have never before met Daniel and I know nothing more than he wrote in this letter.’
He reached into his pocket and produced the letter that Daniel Markham had penned, the letter that had prompted Vernon’s journey into Worcestershire. Miss Markham subsided into the desk chair and took the letter, unfolding it to read. Vernon hitched one hip on the far corner of the desk. After a few seconds, she raised her gaze to his.
‘The Duke of Cheriton? This letter is not addressed to you...is it?’
Vernon laughed. ‘No, I am not a duke. Cheriton is my brother. He had every intention of writing to your Daniel with an invitation to call upon him to discuss his concerns, but I formed a sudden desire to visit Worcestershire and so I offered to travel up here to meet your brother myself.’
Leo—Vernon’s brother—had recently married again and the bride’s maternal aunt, Lady Slough, had set her sights on Vernon as a suitable catch for her daughter. Not that Vernon had anything against the chit, but Lady Slough sported all the finesse of a wild boar and he had decided that putting some distance between himself and the lady in question would be best for all concerned. He would not put it past Lady Slough to attempt a spot of entrapment.
Vernon had no inclination to enter the parson’s mousetrap. Not for a very long time, if ever. Leo already had his heir and spare—plus a daughter—from his first marriage, thus securing the future of the dukedom, so there was no absolutely no need for Vernon to wed. And why would he choose to give up his charmed life of a popular, wealthy bachelor? He wanted for nothing.
Except purpose.
He thrust aside that mocking voice, even though he was unable to deny that restlessness had also played its part in persuading him to travel up here to Worcestershire.
Miss Markham had continued to read her brother’s letter, a frown knitting her forehead.
‘Henry Mannington? Who is Henry Mannington?’ Her voice was unusually deep for a woman and slightly gruff—quite at odds with her petite figure and luxuriant curls.
‘You have never heard of him?’
She shook her head and two of those springy, copper-coloured curls of hers bounced over her forehead. She pushed at them absentmindedly, her gaze still fixed on the letter.
‘No. Never.’
‘He is not a friend of your brother’s? A customer? A rival?’
‘No. None of those. I told you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm, ‘I have never heard of him.’ She paused, white teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you know who he is. Or you would not have come all the way up here to speak to Daniel.’
Impressed by her quick uptake, Vernon decided there was nothing to be gained in concealing the little knowledge he did possess.
‘Henry Mannington is a distant cousin of the Beauchamp family, but none of us has seen him or heard of him for several years. He is a classics scholar with a passion for exploring ancient sites and even as a young man he had no interest in socialising in our circle.’
‘The upper ranks of society, you mean?’
There it was again. That hint of disdain in her tone, but recognisable for all that. Miss Markham clearly did not approve of the aristocracy.
‘Yes.’ He would neither apologise for who and what he was, nor feel guilty for it. Her prejudices were her problem. ‘He is my age and we were at university together. Our paths have not crossed since then.’
Miss Markham thrust the letter back at Vernon. ‘I cannot see how this will help me find Daniel.’ She crossed her arms.
‘Find him?’
Her cheeks reddened, clashing with her bright hair. Her lips compressed.
‘How long is it since you have seen Daniel?’
For the first time her composure wavered, her nostrils flared and her hazel eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, sheened.
‘Come.’ Vernon gentled his voice. ‘You are upset. Tell me what has happened. I might be able to help.’
‘I do not need help.’
‘How long?’
‘F-five days.’
Vernon checked the letter. ‘Three days after this was written.’ He re-read the missive. ‘By its wording, Daniel had suspicions about Henry Mannington, but what manner of suspicions? It must be more than Henry claiming kinship with Cheriton, for that much is the truth and easily verified. And Henry is a decent chap, not the sort to become embroiled in matters dastardly enough to drive your brother to beg help from a peer with whom he has no acquaintance.’
Miss Markham stood up and resolutely smoothed down the skirt of the peach-coloured gown that skimmed her petite frame. The colour should have clashed with her hair, which was the colour of an autumn leaf, but the combination put Vernon in mind of the brilliant sunset of the evening before and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She glared at him as he also rose to his feet. She really was a tiny little thing, barely reaching his shoulder. She put him in mind of a cornered kitten, fur fluffed up and claws out, ready for a fight.
‘There is no need to stand every time I do,’ she said, placing her fists on the desk and leaning on them. ‘I am not one of your fine ladies, ready to take affront at imagined slights.’
‘Maybe you are not,’ Vernon said, quashing down the laugh that tickled his throat. That really would infuriate her. ‘But I, you see, am a gentleman. And I therefore stand when a lady does. Whether she considers herself a lady or no. And...’ he added, tweaking his neckcloth and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, merely to irritate her and to see those remarkably fine eyes flash fire again ‘...as for taking affront, I quite see that particular emotion is alien to your sunny nature.’
He smiled at her scowl and her muttered imprecation. Fortunately, perhaps, he could not make out her exact sentiments. She was indeed a little hothead, hardly surprising with that head of hair. His own hair had reddish tones, but it was more of a dark chestnut colour than the fiery hue of Miss Markham’s. He would warrant his temperament was less fiery than hers, too.
‘Have you made enquiries as to your brother’s whereabouts?’
‘Yes... That is, I sent the grooms out to search the countryside around, but I instructed them not to make enquiries. Not yet. I did not want to raise a fuss only to find there was a simple explanation for his absence.’ She sucked in a deep breath and his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts. ‘They found no trace of Daniel or his horse. And so I waited. I kept hoping he would return. Or that he would write to me.’
‘In other words, you have done nothing to find your brother. You shut your eyes to reality and simply hoped for the best.’
She flashed a look of daggers at him. ‘I did not wish to stir up a wasps’ nest of trouble for him if there was no need for it.’
‘Trouble? Why should you suspect he was in trouble?’
She stared down at the desk, fingering the stack of papers in front of her. Then she subsided into the chair.
‘He was preoccupied...upset...in the days before he went missing.’
Her voice was low and husky with a hint of vulnerability and it stirred within him a peculiar urge to protect her. To help. She was nibbling at her full lower lip, her tawny brows creased in a frown as she stared past Vernon, into the distance. Vernon tore his gaze from her mouth, disconcerted by the slow but undeniable tightening in his loins.
‘I knew he was worried,’ she said, ‘and yet I did not make him tell me what was amiss. I allowed him to fob me off.’
‘I doubt you could have compelled him to confide in you.’
Her gaze met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could, had I tried. I should have forced him to tell me where he was going.’
Vernon felt his lips twitch. ‘You have piqued my interest, Miss Markham. How, pray, do you imagine you could have forced your brother to tell you?’
‘I could have threatened to follow him.’
‘And he would have believed you?’
‘Of course.’ She tilted her chin. ‘He knows I never make empty threats.’
His lips twitched again, but he held back his grin. ‘I shall have to remember that,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you are older than your brother?’
‘Yes. By three years.’
‘That explains much.’
Her brows snapped together. ‘This—’ Her lips tightened. ‘I am doing it again. Allowing myself to be diverted, because I am scared... I fear...’ She bent her head.
Vernon waited.
‘You were right... I have been waiting. And hoping. But no more.’ She pierced him with a fierce gaze. ‘You have spurred me into seeing what I must do. I shall go myself and I shall make enquiries. I shall find out where he went, all those days when he was out for hours upon end, returning home to eat and sleep and then leaving again at first light. He must have left a trail. He would have been seen. He had to eat.’ She was on her feet again, pacing. ‘Oh! Why did I not go out that first day? Immediately? What a fool I have been, waiting at home like a...like a...ninny...when Daniel had need of me.’
‘And where do you intend to make your enquiries?’
‘Oh! I do not know.’ She waved her arm as she paced, brushing aside his query as though it were an irritating fly. ‘His usual haunts. The Nag’s Head, in Stourbridge, for a start. He often went there for a drink in the evening. Someone there might know where he went. And they will know of other places he frequented.’
‘The Nag’s Head? A public house?’
She slammed to a halt, staring at him. ‘Do not—’ her voice throbbed with warning ‘—tell me I cannot go there because I am a woman.’
Vernon felt his eyes narrow. ‘That is precisely what I am telling you. Such scandalous behaviour is completely unacceptable. Your reputation would be ruined.’
‘Scandal! What do I care for scandal? My brother is missing and I must—’
‘You should care about scandal. Your good name, once lost, will not be easily recovered.’
‘We are not in your overprotected and rarefied world now, my lord. As I said before, I am not—’
‘Not one of my fine ladies. Yes, you have already made that point.’
Her mouth set in a mulish line and the dogged determination upon her face reminded Vernon of his niece, Olivia, when told she could not do something she had set her heart upon. But Olivia was eighteen years of age. Miss Markham should...must, surely...have more sense.
He’d had enough of this, she was not thinking rationally. She must realise how dangerous such places might be and not only to her good name. He changed tack. Demanding her obedience would not work, that much he had already learned.
‘Promise me you will not go haring off on such an ill-advised crusade.’
‘But I must, for if I do not, who will?’
‘Your father?’
She turned her head aside, but not before he recognised her anguish. ‘He is not well. He must not be upset.’
‘Other male relatives?’
She shook her head, freeing even more of those fascinating curls to bounce around her face. Her hair appeared to have a life of its own, the curls like flaming corkscrews.
‘I am not a fool,’ she said. ‘I would not go alone. I would take a groom. Or even two. For protection. So, you see, there is no need for you to be concerned, or even to stay here any longer.’ She tilted her chin. ‘You said yourself you do not know Daniel and neither do you know the area. You would not know where to begin looking.’
Vernon eyed her with exasperation as he pondered the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance and how, if at all, it was connected to Henry. He should, probably, return to town and wait for Markham to make further contact. But...he considered that option. What was there to return to? Leo would be fully occupied with his new bride and, soon, most everyone would be leaving London to spend summer on their estates or in the seaside resorts.
There was little enticement there to lure him home in a hurry.
And here, in Worcestershire...his blood stirred. All kinds of emotions swirled within him and chief amongst them was intrigue. Not only was there a mystery to solve, but he was needed, whether Miss Markham admitted it or not. That thought gave way to another as he realised, with a sense of shock, that to be needed was a rare feeling in his life thus far. The Beauchamps were a close family, but he was not needed...he was just there.
The spare, of the ‘heir and a spare’ fame.
He had learned the lesson that he would always play second fiddle to his older brother as a young man on the town for the first time. He had fallen in love—or so he had thought—with the Incomparable of the day, but although Lady Pamela had happily flirted with him and even encouraged his attentions, she had made it perfectly clear she wanted a man with a peerage, not a duke’s second son with a mere courtesy title. Had Leo not been married to his first wife at that time, she would doubtless have set her cap at him.
Vernon’s heart had not been broken, although it had been bruised. It was his pride that had been battered.
He loved Leo and he loved his nephews and his niece but he had to admit he still found it hard to find his own place in the world. They ran many businesses in partnership—the estates, their horse-breeding enterprises, the mining interests in Cornwall and the coal mines in the north-east—but, with Leo being the older of the two, as well as the Duke, Vernon was outranked for ever.
He did not want to walk away from the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance. He wanted to be involved, to take action, to help.
‘There is still the question of why your brother wrote to mine,’ he said. ‘You cannot expect me to leave without finding out how my Cousin Henry is involved and it is both senseless and unnecessary for you to risk either your reputation or your safety when I am better able to make the necessary enquiries. So, Miss Markham, I shall be your flagbearer: I shall visit the Nag’s Head and make enquiries on your behalf. And—’ he raised his voice as she opened her mouth...to argue, no doubt ‘—I urge you to remember that other men will tell me things they would not say in front of you.’
‘What sort of things?’
He wagged his head at her, stifling another grin at her clear frustration. ‘You cannot possibly expect me to divulge such secrets, Miss Markham. Suffice it to say that I have a better chance of prising information from them than you.’
The tiniest wobble of her lower lip reminded Vernon that, however brave the face she presented, beneath it, she must be devastated.
‘Do not despair, Miss Markham. I shall find Daniel.’
Hope lit her eyes and, having raised it, he was not about to dash it by voicing aloud the thought that followed: Alive or dead, I shall find him.
Footsteps clacked along the hall outside, getting nearer, and then the door behind Vernon opened. Miss Markham’s expression blanked and she tensed.
‘Dorothea.’ A woman’s voice. ‘There you—oh!’
Vernon looked around. A middle-aged woman, her greying hair bundled into a cap, had entered the room.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said to Vernon. ‘I was not informed we had visitors.’ Annoyance lent an edge to her tone and the look she cast Miss Markham—Dorothea—was...bitter.
Dorothea, meanwhile, had hurried around the desk, but halted before she got too close to the other woman. To Vernon’s eyes, she appeared to stand at attention, her hands clasped at her waist, her fingers twisting together.
‘Mama! There was no need to inform you of L... Mr Beauchamp’s visit. He called in on a matter of business and is about to leave. I am sorry. Did you have need of me?’
This was her mother? Vernon looked from one to the other, wondering at those noticeable cracks in their relationship.
Mrs Markham gave a tight smile, but ignored her daughter’s question.
‘I trust my daughter was able to satisfactorily answer your queries, Mr Beauchamp? It is unfortunate my son should happen to be away from home at present. He is on urgent business, but Dorothea is familiar with every aspect of the manufactory.’
‘She has proved most satisfactory, ma’am.’
‘Good. Good.’ He was clearly of little interest to the woman, for she turned her full attention to her daughter. ‘Your father feels well enough to sit in his chair today, Dorothea, so I shall stay with him. Have a small repast sent up around noon, if you please. Now—’ she flicked a glance at Vernon ‘—I must return to my husband, Mr Beauchamp. I am sure you will excuse me?’
Vernon bowed again as Dorothea walked with her mother to the door. There was no further exchange of words between mother and daughter. Mrs Markham left and Dorothea shut the door, muffling the tip-tap of her mother’s rapidly departing footsteps. She turned to face Vernon.
‘Mr Beauchamp?’ He raised his brows. ‘Might I ask why?’
‘I do not want my parents to wonder why a lord is calling upon Daniel. I cannot allow them to be worried; they have enough to cope with. They believe Daniel is in Birmingham on business—that is another reason I asked the grooms not to spread the news that Daniel is missing, for it would be sure to reach the house servants’ ears and they would tell my mother.’
‘What is wrong with your father?’
‘He had a stroke. Six years ago.’ Her face twisted: grief, guilt. ‘He cannot walk or talk properly. Mama devotes herself to him.’
‘He must require a lot of care. Your parents are fortunate to have you here to help.’
‘M-Mama says my visits agitate Papa; she d-discourages me from attending him.’ For the flash of a second, a bewildered child stared out of those huge hazel orbs. Then it seemed as though a shutter closed and the brisk, efficient Dorothea Markham returned. ‘Daniel took over the running of the business when Papa...when it happened. I help as much as I can, but now Daniel is missing and, somehow, your cousin is involved, and I—Mannington!’
Her voice suddenly rang with excitement and she captured Vernon’s gaze, her eyes sparkling, sending a jolt of heat sizzling through his veins. He could barely concentrate on her words, so taken aback was he by his unexpected physical response.
‘I recall... I am sure I have seen...’
She ran past Vernon to the desk, leaving a trail of floral scent wafting in her wake.
Roses. A summer garden. Quintessentially feminine.
She snatched up a handful of papers from the pile he had noticed before and began to leaf through them. After a few minutes she exclaimed in triumph, extracted a sheet of notepaper, and waved it in the air. ‘It did not resonate with me at first, but then... I remembered.’
‘May I see?’ Vernon reached for the sheet of paper.
Her gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, but she made no move to hand it to him. ‘I thought it was the name of a place,’ she continued. ‘It never occurred to me that Mannington was a person. At last, I have a definite clue.’
Vernon did not retract his outstretched hand, merely waited until she capitulated and handed him the paper.
‘Thank you.’ He scanned the sheet. It took no time at all, for there were only two words, separated by a pair of initials.
Mannington—R.H.—Willingdale?
Vernon frowned. ‘What...or where...is Willingdale? And who, do you suppose, is R.H?’
‘I have no idea.’
Silence reigned. A glance revealed Dorothea seemingly deep in thought as she leaned back against the edge of the desk, her arms folded as she gazed unseeingly past Vernon, a vertical groove between her brows.
Vernon reread the words written on the paper.
Willingdale... A village? An estate? The name of a person?
He was torn from his thoughts by a muffled whimper.
Chapter Three (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea tried so hard to hold back her tears, but she simply could not. She dropped her chin into her chest, hand pressed against her lips as her sight blurred. To her horror a single tear plopped on to her bodice, leaving a damp splodge as the fabric absorbed it. Then another tear fell, and another. A large handkerchief was pressed into her hands. She dabbed at her eyes and forced herself to look up. The sympathy in Vernon’s green eyes almost set her off again, but she gritted her teeth and cleared her throat.
‘I am sorry. I was just thinking...if only I had paid more attention...’
‘You must not blame yourself.’
Thea swallowed her bitter laugh. Blame herself? She had done nothing but blame herself for the past six years.
‘Where is he?’ The words burst from her. ‘Why has he not even wr-written?’ Her voice choked in her throat, and she buried her head in her hands. ‘I fear the worst...’ A sob broke free. Then another. ‘B-but I must know. I c-cannot bear this...this ignorance. I f-feel so...so alone.’
Two arms wrapped around her and her head was pressed to a strong chest, the thud of his heart steady and reassuring in her ear. He held her, and stroked her hair, and she gave way to the storm of tears she had dammed up ever since the morning she had discovered that Daniel had failed to come home.
Finally the tears slowed, leaving empty shame at having succumbed to such womanly weakness. What must he think of her? Her breath hitched as she battled for control.
‘Do not despair, Miss Markham.’ Vernon’s deep voice rumbled into the ear pressed against his chest, reverberating through her entire body. Words he had spoken before but somehow, this time, of even more comfort. ‘You no longer carry this burden alone.’
Thankfulness and hope floated into her heart. Her need to confide, to have somebody on her side, was so strong it almost overwhelmed her innate caution. She felt torn: she wanted so much to believe him...to follow the instincts that told her she could trust him, but...he was a stranger. She could not be certain of what was in his heart.
As she grew calm again a single thought clarified in her mind. She cared not how she managed it but—if Vernon was going to search for Daniel—she was going, too.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, mopping her eyes again with his handkerchief, as she wriggled free of his arms. She blew her nose. ‘I am not normally given to such displays.’
She crossed to the table near the window to finish off her glass of Madeira, then squared her shoulders and turned to face Vernon. It was time to stop moping and take action.
‘Shall we discuss strategy?’
‘Strategy, Miss Markham?’
The laughter lines at the corner of his eyes deepened although his lips remained perfectly straight. Thea scowled at this spoilt lord who clearly found her an object of fun.
‘I have no need of strategy. With this information...’ he picked up the discarded note from the desk, folded it and tucked it inside his jacket ‘...and a quick chat with your grooms, I have everything I need.’
He swung around and strode for the study door and panic swamped Thea.
What have I done?
‘Wait!’
She had handed this stranger information that might help him trace Daniel, but could she trust him? What if he meant Daniel harm? This was happening too quickly. He might have decided he needed no strategy, but she needed time to think. To plan.
Above all, she needed reassurance that this man was precisely what he appeared to be: a charming, cultured gentleman. She recalled her fanciful notion that she had glimpsed a wolf beneath his surface: a wolf that watched and waited. What if he had a hidden agenda? What if he was like Jasper Connor who, for months on end, had duped Thea and her entire family into thinking he was something he was not?
Vernon had halted at her command and he slowly rotated to face her. He raised a brow, the epitome of aristocratic arrogance. An idea started to form in Thea’s brain. If she could but delay his departure a short while...
‘You will stay and have luncheon before you set out?’
‘I thought time was of the essence?’
‘It is. But a few hours will not make much difference. You must eat.’
Doubt—and masculinity—radiated from the man: his booted feet planted a yard apart, his arms folded tight across his chest, his lips compressed.
Inspiration struck. ‘You cannot go to the Nag’s Head dressed as you are.’
He glowered. ‘What is wrong with the way I am dressed?’ He unfolded his arms and took a pace towards her. ‘I’ll have you know this coat is by Weston. It is—’
‘It proclaims you for what you are,’ Thea said. She stepped closer, and held his gaze. ‘A wealthy gentleman. Places such as the Nag’s Head are not patronised by members of the aristocracy, but by ordinary men: businessmen, tradesmen, farmers. They will not speak openly to a man of your ilk. A stranger.
‘Why don’t you go to the stables and speak to the grooms,’ she went on, ‘and by the time you return to the house there will be food ready for you to eat and, after that, I shall find you something appropriate of Daniel’s to wear.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You are of a similar height and build to him. His clothes will help you to blend in.’
That should buy her time to put her plans into place.
‘Very well.’ Vernon paused as he was about to leave the study. ‘I just wish I could be certain Daniel’s disappearance is connected to Henry Manning. If the two things are coincidental, I might end up on a wild goose chase.’
And that proves I am right to be cautious. If the two enquiries lead in different directions, I make no doubt Lord Vernon Beauchamp will go chasing after his cousin and consign poor Daniel to the Devil.
* * *
Vernon strode back to the house half an hour later, not much wiser about how he might discover what had happened to Daniel Markham. The grooms could not tell him who or what was Willingdale and nor did the initials R.H. mean anything. None of them had ever accompanied Daniel on his more recent daily excursions—although they confirmed Dorothea’s story that her brother had been troubled—and nor could they offer any reason for this change in Daniel’s behaviour. They were frustrated that they had been stopped from making enquiries—and Vernon had learned that was mainly due to Dorothea’s concern that any worries about Daniel’s welfare would damage confidence in Stour Crystal—and they had scoffed at the notion that Daniel had run up gaming debts.
‘Mr Daniel ain’t never been a one for gambling, sir,’ the head man, Pritchard, had said. ‘Not since his papa lost all their money. Both Mr Daniel and Miss Thea have worked too hard to save the business to put it at risk again.’
Mr Markham senior would not be the first man to gamble away a fortune, but Vernon’s comment along those lines had resulted in a fierce denial that the money had been lost at the gaming tables. Pritchard had then clammed up, refusing to elaborate further.
Vernon had not pressed Pritchard, but had caught Bickling’s eye and given him the nod before returning to the house, confident his trusty groom would winkle out the truth and pass the information on to Vernon later.
Dorothea—Miss Thea, Pritchard had called her, which was much less of a mouthful—must have been watching for him, because she appeared at a side door and beckoned him inside. He followed her along a passageway, eyeing her neat figure with appreciation, the smell of roses and summer teasing at his senses.
‘I have laid out some clothes for you to change into,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and there is food for you in here.’
She threw open a door that led into a shabby but homely parlour, the table laid with cold cuts, meat pies, bread, cheese and fruit, reminding Vernon of his hunger. The decor would have been the height of fashion a decade ago—in stark contrast with the ostentatious entrance hall and its grand staircase and even the more subdued but still luxurious furnishings in the study. Vernon recalled his initial scathing assessment of the well-tended surrounds of Stourwell Court as he had driven up the carriageway. The house—relatively newly built, with no passing architectural fashion left unsampled—had screamed new money to one familiar with the sprawling ancient Beauchamp family seat of Cheriton Abbey in the County of Devonshire.
Having learned of the family’s financial loss and subsequent struggle, Vernon was unsurprised by the tactic he had seen many times in the past: a family on its uppers, putting what money they could spare into the public rooms where visitors were entertained in order to keep up appearances.
‘Did you discover anything new?’
Thea came straight to the point as she closed the door behind them. Vernon was unsurprised—she had already impressed him with her directness, as well as her quick understanding.
‘Only the names of some of Daniel’s friends who drink at the Nag’s Head.’ He had no intention of revealing that the grooms had spoken of her family’s past financial difficulties. ‘Pritchard was of the opinion that Daniel had spent much of his time in Birmingham in the days before he went missing. He also reckons your brother called in at the Nag’s Head most nights on his way home. So that will definitely be my first port of call.’
‘Will you drive your curricle, or ride?’
‘I had not thought that far ahead,’ Vernon admitted. ‘If, as you say, my clothing would excite interest, then no doubt my curricle and pair will as well.’
‘A top-of-the-tree rig such as yours? I should say so,’ she said, gravely, but with a twinkle in her eye. When she wasn’t scowling she was an attractive woman. ‘You may take one of Daniel’s horses. They are perfectly decent animals, suitable for a gentleman of your standing.’
Vernon grinned. ‘I am delighted to hear it. A man of my consequence cannot be too careful.’
He might as well pander to her opinion of him as a spoilt aristocrat.
‘We had better eat.’ Thea crossed the room to the table and picked up a plate. ‘It will be more practical to go on horseback. We can take shortcuts across country—’
‘We?’ Vernon strode forward, grasped her arm and tugged her round to face him. ‘What...? Oh, no. No, no, no! Definitely not. You are not coming with me.’
Thea’s tawny brows snapped together, meeting across the bridge of her freckled nose as she drew herself up to her full height. Which was short.
‘You cannot stop me. Daniel is my brother. I want to come.’
Vernon stared down at her mutinous expression and heaved a silent sigh. He was hungry and he was anxious to set off, now he had a definite idea of where to start with his search. First he must deal with this hissing, spitting kitten.
Thea shrugged out of his hold, replaced her plate on the table with a crack that made Vernon wince and folded her arms.
‘You cannot tell me what to do. I am going.’
Vernon squared his shoulders. ‘Not with me you are not.’
‘You cannot stop me.’
‘You are correct. I cannot stop you going anywhere or doing anything you wish. But I tell you here and now...you will not do it with me. I shall return to London and you may never discover what has happened to your brother.’
Her eyes widened.
Good. That has shaken her.
‘You would not do that.’ Her voice lacked conviction.
Vernon lowered his own voice, injecting a silky menace into his tone. ‘If you put me to the test, Miss Markham, I think you will find that I do not make empty threats either.’
Her lips thinned as she glared at him. ‘What about your cousin?’
Vernon shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I shall pay an investigator to track him down and report to me in London. What you choose to forget, Miss Markham, is that I have neither desire nor need to remain here in Worcestershire, or to embark upon a search for a man I have never met. I offered my services because it is unsafe for you, as a female, to go into the places on that list. Which, incidentally, is the exact reason you cannot come with me: it is not safe. I admit to some curiosity as to my cousin’s involvement, but I shall not lose any sleep over it and you will do well to remember that.’
She hung her head, her eyes downcast. Vernon felt like an out-and-out brute, but knew he must not show any weakness for he had no doubt she would quickly seize upon it and, despite what he said, he really was curious to find out what had happened to Daniel Markham.
‘So, are we agreed? I shall leave after I have eaten and changed my clothing and you, Miss Markham, will wave me goodbye.’
‘Very well. I shall not insist on leaving with you.’
Her mouth drooped and he wondered if she were about to cry again. He had been certain that earlier bout was uncharacteristic. He could not abide women who cried at the slightest provocation, using tears as a weapon to get their own way. But, despite that, he still felt sympathy and also a little guilty, knowing how worried she was about her brother. He reached out and nudged one finger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. Respect for her crept through him: she was dry-eyed and he was relieved at this proof she was prepared to listen to and accept his reasoning.
‘Miss Markham, you must also understand that, quite apart from it being unsafe, it would also be entirely improper for you to accompany me. Your reputation would be in tatters.’
A gleam lit those huge hazel orbs and Vernon was disconcerted by the undeniable kick of his pulse and his sudden impulse to kiss her,
His awareness of her as an attractive woman rattled him into speaking more bluntly than he should.
‘We have no idea what has happened to Daniel, but I know you are aware he could have met with foul play. It would be wholly irresponsible for me to allow you to be exposed to possible danger.’
She blinked and her cheeks paled, causing the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks to stand out in contrast. Vernon felt a brute all over again, as though he had kicked a puppy. Or—perhaps more fitting in Thea’s case, given his earlier fanciful thoughts—a kitten. He released her chin and clasped her upper arms, bending his knees to look directly into her eyes.
‘I apologise. I did not mean to shock you.’
Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. He had upset her, but she was struggling to conceal her emotions and his respect grew at the way she handled herself in such a horrible situation.
‘Do not lose hope, Miss Markham.’ He gently rubbed her arms, trying to buoy her spirits. ‘There could still be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Daniel’s disappearance.’
She huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head, her curls bouncing. ‘Such as? No, I cannot be hopeful. He would have written to us. He would not stay away without a word.’
Vernon released her and stepped back from the temptation of taking her into his arms again to offer comfort.
‘He might be too ill to write,’ he said. ‘Or he has lost his memory. Or maybe he has written and the letter has been lost en route?’ He paced the room and then returned to come to a halt in front of her. ‘Whatever the reason, I shall discover it, but you must leave this to me. Do you understand?’
‘I understand. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters requiring my attention.’
‘You will not join me?’
‘I find I no longer have an appetite. Enjoy your luncheon, sir. Ring for George when you have finished eating and he will show you to Daniel’s bedchamber to change your clothing. I shall see you before you leave.’ She left him with a brisk step, leaving the scent of roses lingering in her wake.
* * *
After Vernon had eaten his fill, he was shown upstairs by George.
‘I shall leave as soon as I have changed,’ Vernon told the footman. ‘Could you inform Miss Markham that I will see her downstairs in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?’
He wondered if Thea would come to see him off, or if she would stay away, sulking. No, he decided. Sulking was not Miss Markham’s style.
George bowed and left. Vernon wasted no time in changing into the clothing that would help him to blend in. He donned the fawn-coloured breeches and the respectable linen shirt and neckcloth left on the bed. The boots, however, were too small. He eyed his Hessian boots and their mirror shine with regret as he realised there was nothing for it but to smear them with soil when he went outside, to dull the shine. A moleskin waistcoat and a brown jacket completed Vernon’s transformation from a man of fashion into a respectable country squire.
He ducked to peer into the dressing-table mirror and ruffled his fingers through his hair. At least he would not present himself all neatly barbered at the Nag’s Head and wherever else his enquiries might lead. His hair had needed a trim before he left London, but he had decided to leave it until his return. It was a touch long and unruly, but the less well-groomed his appearance, the less notice he would attract.
He rotated, studying the room: Daniel’s room. Quashing down any guilt—he was trying to help, not snoop—he quickly searched through drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He must hope that someone at the Nag’s Head could either throw some light on the reason Daniel had been riding to Birmingham on a regular basis—if, that is, Pritchard was correct that Daniel had been visiting the city—or that they might solve the mystery of what, or who, Willingdale and R.H. were.
A battered saddlebag had been left on the bed. Inside was a clean shirt and neckcloth, reminding Vernon that this mission might take several days. He slung the bag over one shoulder and, with one last look around, he strode from the room.
In the entrance hall, he waited. The scrunch of hooves on the gravel outside told him that his horse had arrived. He went out to find Bickling holding a dependable-looking bay hunter and sent him running back to the stables to retrieve Vernon’s shaving kit and other personal necessities from his valise in his curricle. When Bickling returned, Vernon stowed the articles in the saddlebag as his groom filled him in on what he’d discovered about Mr Markham’s lost fortune.
‘Seems he raised funds against his business and invested them all in some non-existent scheme through this swindler who befriended the family and then vanished with their money,’ he said. ‘The stress caused Markham senior’s stroke and, although Pritchard clammed up when I tried to get more from him, it seems this fraudster also had something to do with Miss Markham.’
‘In what way?’
Bickling shrugged. ‘The man’s very loyal to Miss Markham. He wouldn’t say more than the bastard took Miss Markham in, too, and that she’s never forgiven herself. Blames herself for her father’s stroke.’
Had he courted her? Had she fallen in love with him? That’s what it sounded like to Vernon. ‘Thank you, Bickling.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you, milord?’
‘There is no need, I can take care of myself and, besides, you’ll be on edge the entire time if you have to leave my blacks in anyone else’s care.’
Bickling was even fussier about Vernon’s horses than he was, if that were possible. And he knew that Bickling would be forever saying ‘milord’, and that would mean no chance of staying discreet.
‘I could always take one of the men from here, but they appear short-staffed already. I will be fine going alone, do not worry.’
‘Very well, milord.’ Bickling’s glum face said it all.
Vernon glanced at the front door. Still no sign of Thea. He did not want to leave without saying goodbye so he went back inside. Immediately he heard hurried footsteps approaching from the nether regions of the house. Thea soon appeared, slightly breathless.
‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘There is something you need to see.’
Chapter Four (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea had to give his lordship credit: he followed her without question to the gunroom. Once inside, he turned a full circle, eyeing the rows of shotguns, rifles and muskets that lined the walls. The windowless room was illuminated by the three lanterns Thea had lit on her earlier visit. Somehow, with Vernon inside, the room seemed to have shrunk and Thea wrapped her arms defensively around her torso and stepped away from him, putting a little more distance between them.
Vernon tilted his head as he met Thea’s gaze and those penetrating green eyes of his glinted as they caught the light. They felt as though they reached deep into her soul. She just prayed he could not read her thoughts.
‘I trust you do not plan to hold me hostage down here, Miss Markham.’
His comment startled a laugh from her. The thought had crossed her mind. Not to hold him hostage, but to force him at gunpoint to take her with him—a crazy thought that she had dismissed the minute her whirling thoughts, desperate to find a way to go with him, had seized upon it. That crazy idea had, though, led to another plan.
Which was why she had ventured down here to the gunroom in the first place.
‘Have no fear, my lord,’ she said. ‘None of these weapons is loaded. You are quite safe.’
‘Then why are we here?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder if Daniel was armed,’ she said.
‘Would he normally go out with a gun?’
‘He had a blunderbuss that was always buckled to his saddle, in case of an attack,’ she said. ‘There have been a few robberies on the roads hereabouts, over the past year or so. Daniel said there has been an increase in vagrants wandering the countryside—former soldiers, he reckoned, although others like to blame the gipsies. But a blunderbuss is not a weapon he could carry in his pocket. Look—’ she pointed to the table in the centre of the room ‘—I found that pistol case in the cabinet. It should have two muff pistols inside, plus the flask and balls. Firearms are Daniel’s passion. He bought this case and pistols at an auction in Birmingham a few weeks ago.’
She tilted the case to show the single remaining pistol to Vernon. He whistled.
‘So...your brother went out expecting trouble. Or even danger.’
‘It would appear so, although I cannot understand why he would take that particular pistol. It is very small.’
Vernon moved closer as he peered at the contents of the case, his sleeve brushing Thea’s arm, sending a tingle of awareness racing through her. She shivered in reaction, fighting the urge to leave the room. Her discomfort was unimportant...she must do this for Daniel.
‘Small but deadly,’ Vernon said. ‘I should imagine he took it precisely because its size means it is easily concealed. I see he has several cases of duelling pistols...’ He selected one case at random and opened it. He whistled again, lifting out one of the guns and sighting along the barrel. ‘Manton’s. A fine piece. But, too big to conceal and...’
‘And what?’
He shot her an apologetic look and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I was thinking out loud.’
‘But, having begun to speak, you must now finish,’ Thea said, irritation at her physical reaction to his proximity making her sharp.
She had no wish to be aware of him as an attractive man. Men were not to be trusted.
‘I told you before,’ she went on, ‘I am not one of your fine ladies who needs mollycoddling. I have dealt with hard reality and survived. Please do not patronise me. Do me the courtesy of dealing with me as an intelligent adult, not a child.’
He sighed. ‘Very well. I was about to say that a duelling pistol is not as handy at close quarters.’
Her stomach churned at his words, but she tamped down her fear. She had asked him and he had replied. She could not now blame him because she did not like what she heard. Besides, that was an interesting point to remember. She had already selected and primed a duelling pistol, ready to pack in her saddlebag along with her spare clothing. Daniel had other small pistols—she would take one of those along as well.
‘I thought you should see this for yourself,’ she said to Vernon. ‘As you said, it suggests Daniel was expecting trouble when he left.’
Just speaking those words made her throat constrict with unshed tears but Thea forced her emotions to lie low, knowing she must keep a cool head if she was not to hinder the search for her brother.
‘It is time to go,’ she said, ‘but there is also something else I must show you.’
Vernon raised a brow but, again, followed her unquestioningly. Up the stairs this time and along the upper corridor to the long gallery, where the family portraits hung and where Thea and Daniel practised fencing manoeuvres. The physical exercise had helped Thea to exorcise some of her anger and guilt after Jasper Connor had betrayed her and near bankrupted both Stour Crystal and her family.
Vernon headed straight for the portrait of Thea. ‘It is a good likeness.’
For a second, admiration glowed in his eyes, but Thea ignored the answering tug deep in her core. She could not help but be aware of Vernon’s allure. She’d wager there were ladies galore in the ton who regularly swooned at his feet, given one look from those green eyes, or one of his smiles, brimming with charm, but she was not interested. Not in Lord Vernon Beauchamp nor in any man. Being jilted at the altar tended to have that effect.
‘That is not why we are here,’ she said and led the way to the portrait of Daniel.
Apart from the portraits of Thea and Daniel, and an earlier one of Mama and Papa—painted before Papa had his stroke—there were only landscapes on the walls. Papa had harboured such grand dreams: dreams of building a dynasty, dreams of using his wealth to ensure his grandchildren might be accepted into the ranks of the upper classes, dreams of this gallery being filled with portraits of the generations to come. Now it might all come to naught. Thea would never give him grandchildren and, if Daniel... She choked off that thought, afraid her precarious control would shatter again if she followed her fears to their natural conclusion.
‘That is Daniel,’ she said, feeling another lump form in her throat as she looked up at his strong, dark features. ‘I thought it would help for you to know what he looks like.’
Vernon examined the portrait in silence.
‘He has your eyes,’ he said, eventually, ‘but I see no further resemblance.’
‘He gets his colouring from Mama, but he is tall like Papa,’ Thea said. They headed for the door. ‘I get my red hair from Papa, but my height—or, rather, my lack of it—from Mama.’
Back in the entrance hall, Vernon picked up the saddlebag by the front door.
‘I shall have to hope,’ he remarked, regarding his reflection in a mirror with a grimace, ‘that I do not meet anyone with whom I am acquainted. They will think I have run quite mad, dressed like this.’
Thea bit back her scathing retort.
‘I shall write to let you know what I find out about your brother and how my cousin is connected to him.’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘I still find it hard to believe Henry has anything to do with your brother’s disappearance. I have every hope of discovering the two things are unconnected.’
Which, again, proved Thea was right to follow him as she planned. If Henry Mannington was found to have no connection with Daniel’s disappearance, Vernon would go chasing off after Henry and what chance then would Thea have of finding Daniel?
She followed Vernon down the front steps, where Bickling, his groom, held the reins of Warrior, one of Daniel’s favourite hunters. Vernon swung into the saddle, raised his hand in farewell and set off down the carriageway at a brisk trot.
Thea watched until horse and rider disappeared from sight, then spun on her heel and raced up to her bedchamber. There was no time to lose. She had already told her mother she was going to visit a sick friend for a few days and Mama, as usual, showed little interest in Thea’s activities; she had never forgiven her daughter for the disaster that had befallen their family.
Thea had also written to Charles Leyton, the manager at Stour Crystal, to warn him he would not be able to contact either her or Daniel for a week or so. She hoped she would not be away as long as that, but it was best to err on the side of caution.
It was a relief to be taking action—she had been near paralysed with indecision until Lord Vernon’s visit, afraid of the consequences should Stour Crystal’s customers, or—God forbid—their rivals, learn that Daniel was missing. Uncertainty was bad for business. If she was responsible for spreading rumours and Daniel turned up unscathed, he would, rightly, be furious with her. She had caused enough trouble for the business six years ago. She could not bear to be the cause of more.
She had slipped across to the stables earlier, whilst Vernon was eating, and taken Malky—the groom who had taught her and Daniel to ride—into her confidence about her plan. He had not been happy but, in the end, he had agreed to saddle Thea’s favourite mare, Star, with a conventional saddle so she could ride astride and to meet Thea, with Star, on the edge of the copse behind the walled kitchen garden, out of sight of both the house and the stables.
She changed hastily into the clothes she had kept from Daniel’s boyhood, the ones she wore for their fencing bouts and for riding astride. She wondered whether or not she should take Malky with her. It would be the sensible thing to do, at least until she caught up with Vernon, but it would leave the estate short-handed at a busy time.
She examined her appearance in the mirror. She had bound her breasts to flatten them and had dusted fine ash from the fireplace across her skin, dulling it. She was dressed the same as countless young lads around the country, in jacket, shirt, waistcoat, breeches and boots. Her hair...she leaned closer to her reflection. She could pass muster as a lad during one cross-country ride—with her hair plaited and pinned and bundled into a cap—but would that suffice for a longer masquerade?
She reached for her scissors. It would grow again. She unpinned her hair and gathered it together. She swivelled her head from side to side as she gazed into the mirror, considering. Some lads had hair that grew to the nape of their necks, or even longer. She set her jaw. Time was wasting. She cut, hacking again and again at her thick hair until the bunch came free in her hand. She stared at it, lying limp across her palm, trying and failing to quash her distress.
It cannot be helped.
She pushed the hair under her mattress where it would not be discovered, and turned again to the mirror, biting back a cry at the sight that met her eyes. She pushed her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out—her curls more unruly than ever—then ruthlessly scraped it back and tied it with the length of twine she carried in her jacket pocket for emergencies. Her reins had snapped once, several miles from home, and since then she had always been prepared. Never had she envisioned using it for this purpose, however.
It is just vanity. Who cares what you look like?
Unbidden, Vernon’s face arose in her thoughts.
Hmmph. She thrust his image aside. He is a means to an end: finding Daniel. Nothing more.
It was time to go. Malky would have Star ready by now. Thea cast a last look around her bedchamber, sucked in a deep breath to quell her nerves and picked up her saddlebag. A quick visit to the gunroom for pistols, powder and shot and then she would be gone. As she crept down the back stairs she prayed none of the servants would see her. Her stomach roiled all the way to the gunroom and for the entire time it took her to load the smaller pistol she had decided to take with her.
She slipped out of the side door and hurried along the path to the kitchen garden, following the outer stone wall around until she reached the far corner. Then she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was no longer visible from the house. She stood still, leaning back against the wall, feeling the sun’s warmth, stored in the stones, radiating through her twill jacket, and waited for her nerves to settle. They did not. Her stomach continued to churn until she felt sick and she realised, with a jolt, that it was not the adventure to come that frightened her so very much but the thought of Lord Vernon Beauchamp’s reaction when he discovered she had followed him. Contrarily, that thought irritated her, which then had the effect of finally grounding those butterflies fluttering around inside her stomach.
It was not his place to dictate her movements and it was not incumbent upon her to obey him. She was her own woman. Seven-and-twenty years of age. Intelligent. She had no reputation to sully—it simply was not important to her. She would never marry and she was long past the days when she worried about how many partners she might attract at the assembly room in Bewdley. Come to think of it, she could not remember the last time she had visited the assembly room. Losing everything, including a fiancé and, very nearly, her father had effectively put an end to all such frivolity. They had—both she and Daniel—put their heads down and worked, with no thought other than to pull the family back from the precipice of bankruptcy. They had teetered upon the brink of that chilling state for a very long time.
Those years... That lump ached once more in Thea’s throat. She and Daniel had worked in partnership and they had not given up until the manufactory was safe. They had worked with Charles Leyton and the other men to develop new products that were now eagerly sought after by customers keen to decorate their homes and to display their wealth.
And now, when it seemed they could finally begin to breathe again, Daniel had vanished.
Thea pushed away from the wall. She could see Malky waiting, with Star and another horse, at the top of the opposite bank of the stream, on the edge of the trees. Gratefulness hummed through her. Malky clearly intended to accompany her and she saw now that was the best solution, at least until she caught up with Vernon. Her guise as a lad would protect her a little on the ride between Stourwell Court and Stourbridge, but not completely—a solitary youth might prove fair game for any manner of rogues on the road. She would believe that was what had befallen Daniel, but for the fact his horse had not returned: Bullet would always return to Stourwell Court. He had been foaled here.
She ran down the bank, jumped the narrow channel of water and hurried up the slope to Malky.
‘Afore you say aught, miss, I’m coming with you and there’s an end to it.’
Malky...he had taught her to ride. Solid. Dependable. Unflappable.
‘Thank you, Malky.’ Thea turned to Star, put her foot in the stirrup and was soon settled astride the spirited black mare. ‘Just until we catch up with his lordship, mind.’ Or, actually, before. Or his lordship would merely order her to return home with Malky. That would not suit her purpose at all. ‘Let’s go.’
They rode across country, taking the shortest route to Stourbridge, and Thea began to breathe a little easier at the knowledge they had made up time. Finally, they arrived at the outskirts of the town and they halted.
‘I will be safe enough now,’ she said to Malky. ‘You should return home. No!’ She held up one hand as Malky started to protest. ‘You cannot come further. You are needed at Stourwell Court. I shall be quite safe... I intend to let myself be known to his lordship before nightfall. It will be too late by then for him to send me home.’
‘And what do you intend to do while his lordship is inside the Nag’s Head?’
‘I shall go inside, too. It is a respectable enough inn. It will be an opportunity to find out if my disguise will stand casual scrutiny. You cannot deny it is better I begin here—in full daylight—than enter some low alehouse after dark when it is like to be filled with men in their cups.’
Malky sighed. ‘I don’t like you going inside such places, Miss Thea.’
‘Theo, Malky. I told you, I am now Theo. And I must go inside or how shall I discover—?’
‘I’ve bin in and out of such places all me life, mi—’ He clamped his lips together with a scowl. ‘You told me you were going to follow his lordship. You never said you’d be risking your reputation and worse besides by going inside such places.’
She touched his arm. ‘You cannot stop me, Malky. You know me. You know how stubborn I can be.’
‘Never a truer word,’ he muttered.
‘Must I order you home, Malky? You and I cannot ride into town together, or someone will recognise you and wonder who I am. Trust me... I will stay safe. I shall follow his lordship and, as I said, I shall make myself known to him before nightfall. He is a gentleman. He will protect me.’
‘And that’s another thing to worry about,’ Malky muttered. ‘His sort...they think nothing of debauchery and such like and you an innocent and all.’
‘I am well able to protect my virtue, Malky,’ she said grimly. ‘You need have no fear on that score.’
After several more grumbles, Malky finally left her and Thea rode Star up New Street towards High Street and the Nag’s Head, her stomach twisting with nerves at what she was about to do and at the thought of Vernon’s likely reaction when he discovered she had followed him. But then she thought of Daniel. She was doing this for him. And her nerves steadied as she left Star with an ostler and approached the door of the inn. She hadn’t planned much further than simply catching up with Vernon and then tailing him, but she had faith everything would work out all right. She patted her pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the pistol. She could take care of herself and, whatever might have happened to Daniel, she would make certain she, at least, returned home to her parents.
She followed a man in through the door and turned left, as did he, into a taproom. A sweeping glance took in the dingy walls and ring-marked tables. She watched carefully how the man she had followed in behaved. He slid on to a settle and caught the attention of a serving woman by the simple expedient of raising one finger. The girl brought him a tankard, presumably of ale or porter.
Thea took a seat in an empty corner, where she could take in the whole room and see the door at the same time. As the woman turned from the other customer, Thea raised her hand. The woman acknowledged her and soon delivered a tankard, setting it on the table with a bang that sloshed its contents over the rim. She scooped up the coins Thea had tossed on to the table with a brief grin that made Thea suspect her tip had been overly generous. Nevertheless, she breathed a little easier. The woman had barely looked at her and neither had the other customers.
She sipped her ale—wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste—and allowed her gaze to slide around the room, examining each occupant in turn. The taproom was not full, with around eight customers, including Thea and the other newcomer, and a man behind the bar whom she assumed was Perrins, the publican—she knew his name from occasional comments Daniel had made about the place. But there was no sign of Vernon.
Where is he?
On the heels of that thought, the door opened and in strolled Lord Vernon Beauchamp.
Chapter Five (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
There was a lull in the conversation as the men in the taproom eyed up this newcomer. There had been no such reaction when the other man and Thea had entered and she took heart that the other customers had taken her appearance at face value. One single glance confirmed the newcomer was Vernon, but his appearance, far from offering relief, wound Thea’s tension a notch tighter as she kept her head bent and her attention on her drink. In her head, as she had planned her first venture into this alien world, she had entered the taproom and Vernon was already seated. She had not reckoned on him following her in. What if he sat at her table?
From the corner of her eye, she watched as he paused inside the door and swept the room, his gaze lingering on each man in turn before moving on to the next. She clenched her teeth as he scrutinised her, wrapping her fingers tightly around her tankard as she fought the urge to check that her hair was still tucked up inside her cap. The colour, surely, would give her away in an instant. After what seemed an age, Vernon’s gaze moved on and Thea released her held breath as he sauntered deeper into the room, and selected a seat at a table with three other men. He looked every inch the gentleman he was, despite Daniel’s clothing, and Thea sensed the sudden unease of the men he had joined. Even Perrins watched Vernon with suspicion.
‘Good afternoon,’ Vernon said.
His voice, well-modulated and...well...superior, carried around the room, prompting another pause in the various conversations. Now the immediate danger of him recognising her had passed, Thea began to enjoy herself. Vernon might be a lord, and the brother of a high and mighty duke, but he was out of his depth in this world. She fully expected the three men he had joined to finish up their ale and to leave, but they did not. Vernon reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of cards, looking around the table with his brows lifted in invitation. The men exchanged glances and nodded, and Vernon dealt the cards.
Perrins called across the bar, ‘Mind you keep them stakes low, gents. I don’t want no trouble in here.’
Vernon laughed. ‘I have no choice but to keep them low, landlord. My luck has been out for too long, I fear. But I harbour hopes it is about to change.’
His smile encompassed his three companions, who appeared to perk up, exchanging eager looks.
* * *
They played cards for nigh on an hour, while Thea nursed her drink in the corner, growing steadily more indignant. She could hear their banter. Not once had Vernon mentioned Daniel. Or Henry Mannington. Instead, he fed them scraps of information about himself—none of it true, from what Thea knew of him—as he steadily lost, hand after hand. Then, he won a hand and, jubilant, he ordered a bottle of gin and four glasses. Thea could not fathom his strategy. Time was wasting. They needed clues. Why did he not just get on with it instead of throwing his money around? If he had experienced the dread of ending up in debtors’ prison, he would not be so careless of his money.
Then, with the gin bottle half-empty—the level in Vernon’s glass, she noted, had barely dropped—he said, ‘That’s it. I’m done, lads. You’ve cleaned me out. Landlord...what time do you have?’
‘Half-past four,’ Perrins called in reply.
‘Half-past four, you say!’
His words slurred a little, but Thea did not believe he was in the slightest bit foxed. Vernon swore an oath that made Thea blush, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
‘Have I the wrong place, I wonder? I made sure he said to meet here at four.’
‘Who’re you meeting, then? Anyone we know?’
‘Friend of mine. Daniel Markham. Business matter, don’t y’know?’
He tapped one long forefinger against the side of his nose and winked at his companions, who promptly vied with each other to suggest other places Vernon might conceivably have arranged to meet Daniel. Thea found herself revising her opinion of his lordship and a grudging respect crept through her. Even the customers who had not played cards proffered suggestions. It seemed they all knew Daniel, but none of them appeared aware he was missing.
‘No, no,’ Vernon said, in response to each suggestion. ‘They do not sound familiar. I’ll know the name when you say it, I am sure. Perhaps...’ He paused, staring at the table, frowning. He shook his head. Looked around at his companions. ‘Maybe it was not in Stourbridge at all? Was it somewhere near Birmingham? Or in Birmingham itself?’
‘It could well be,’ Perrins said—the first time he had ventured a suggestion. ‘He hasn’t been in here for the last few nights—I dare say we’m not grand enough for him, now he’s consorting with them nobs at the Royal Hotel.’
Royal Hotel! R.H!
Thea gripped the edge of the table to stop herself leaping from her chair, as Vernon pumped Perrins by the hand.
‘The Royal! I remember! He did speak of the Royal—that must be the place. Now, how could I have got it so wrong? But he definitely spoke of the Nag’s Head as well—I must have confused the two.’
‘He’ll be long gone by the time you get to Birmingham,’ one of the other men said. ‘You might as well play another hand. He might call in on his way home tonight—it’ll save you a long ride.’
‘No...how far is it? Ten, twelve miles?’
‘Nearer thirteen.’
‘We had plans to meet up and spend the evening together. I cannot believe he will give up on me so easily. My horse is fresh. I can cover that in less than two hours. Now, I must make haste...only, before I go, does anyone know a place called Willingdale?’
His question met with shaking heads.
‘A man called Henry Mannington?’
As further denials rang around the room, Thea became aware she was now the only customer not taking an active role in the discussion. She stood quietly and, when Vernon’s attention was on Perrins, she slipped quickly and quietly from the bar. She did not wish to attract Vernon’s curiosity, convinced she would not pass too close a scrutiny from those astute green eyes of his. She retrieved Star from the yard behind the inn, mounted and then waited around a corner for Vernon to emerge. He strolled into the street, still looking every inch the nobleman, surrounded by his customary aura of assurance and entitlement. The ostler must have been watching, for he soon appeared, leading Warrior, and Vernon mounted with a fluid grace that made Thea’s mouth go dry. He was so very...male. She licked her lips to moisten them, irritated by her involuntary reaction. What was it about this man that touched her in ways no one else had ever done? Even Jasper. The man she had been going to wed, before he had left her standing at the altar.
She tore her thoughts away from that wretch. It had happened long ago. She was older and wiser now, and Jasper was dead—killed in a fire at a wayside inn—and buried. She would never...never...put her trust in another man, no matter how handsome his face and no matter what feelings he had aroused as he’d wrapped her in his arms and comforted her, his strong embrace reassuring, his heartbeat steady in her ear.
Thea gave Vernon a head start and then she followed.
* * *
By the time dusk began to fall, Thea was beginning to regret her foolhardy decision to follow Vernon. She was bored and she was saddle sore. Vernon appeared in no hurry to reach Birmingham and that irritated Thea beyond measure. Surely the sooner they reached the Royal Hotel the sooner they might discover what had happened to Daniel? She’d made the connection immediately, but had Vernon linked the Royal Hotel with R.H? Certainly he appeared unaffected by the sense of urgency that snapped at Thea’s heels—he paused at every wayside inn they passed.
After following him into the second such inn—where, again, he quietly questioned the publican about Daniel, Willingdale and Henry Mannington—Thea realised that unless he was totally oblivious to his surroundings Vernon would soon notice a young lad shadowing his every move. So, of necessity, she’d remained out of sight as he had visited further public houses. She supposed she must be grateful he did not waste as much time as he had at the Nag’s Head.
Now, as she rode Star at a discreet distance behind him, she was also hungry and thirsty and—
Thea straightened in the saddle, drawing Star quickly to one side of the lane they rode along. Vernon’s form was indistinct in the distance as the light faded, but Thea could just make out two shadows—humped, awkward-looking creatures—moving swiftly parallel with the lane, on the far side of group of bushes from Vernon and his horse. Thea pushed Star into a trot, trusting that her mare’s black coat and Thea’s own dull clothing would render them invisible to any backward glance. The two—and she could now make out they were men, crouching as they ran—had overtaken Vernon, who appeared not to have noticed he had company.
She recalled all the recent reports of footpads in the area and she realised how reckless she had been in following Vernon in this way. Suppose it had been her they had spotted and now stalked? She had been blind to everything other than finding her brother. The gap between her and Vernon had closed. Without taking her eyes from the two men, she eased Star back to a walk and fumbled with the buckle on her saddlebag. She withdrew the duelling pistol, thanking God she’d thought to prime it in advance. She pulled the hammer to full cock and pointed it skywards. Even though she was a fair shot, she could not risk hitting either Vernon or Warrior.
There was a break in the bushes a few yards ahead of Vernon and the two men paused at that point, still hunched over. Thea could just make out they both held weapons—one short and thick, like a club, the other longer and very slim—and Thea prayed it was not a blade of some sort.
Vernon rode on at an easy walk.
It happened very fast. The two men erupted from the bushes. One grabbed at Warrior’s reins as the other, thick club upraised, went for the rider.
Thea dug her heels into Star but, even as she yelled a warning, she saw Vernon’s leg jerk sideways. His boot collided with his assailant’s head and a scream of pain rent the air as the man staggered back, clutching his face, his club discarded. Vernon shot a swift glance behind him, in Thea’s direction, before launching himself from the saddle at the second man, who had come alongside Warrior, still clutching his reins. Vernon cursed viciously as the man jabbed his stick at him. Thea hauled Star to a halt, leapt from the saddle, and ran towards the struggling men, pistol in hand. She stopped a few yards away, pistol still pointing into the air.
Vernon threw a punch, catching his attacker on the jaw with satisfying crack. As the man staggered back, Vernon shot another glance at Thea.
‘Don’t stand gawping, lad. Guard the other one.’
Thea gulped and pointed the pistol with a shaky hand in the general direction of the first assailant, still moaning on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Vernon stalked after the second attacker, who was stumbling backwards, his eyes riveted to the menacing figure that followed. He gripped his stick—which Thea could now see had been sharpened at one end—with both hands, pointing it at Vernon. A movement from the man on the ground then secured Thea’s attention and she saw no more, but the cries and the curses coming from two men behind her suggested they now grappled and finally, unable to bear the suspense, she glanced round. Vernon, his hand clutched to his side, was bent over, but there was no sign of his assailant.
Vernon’s head lifted and she felt the force of his gaze upon her. ‘Look out!’
Desperation leant an edge to his shout, but his warning was too late. A solid mass thumped into Thea from behind, knocking her aside. She stumbled, desperately trying to stay on her feet and to keep hold of the pistol, her stomach clenching tight as bile rose to choke her throat.
By the time she steadied herself, the two assailants were disappearing amongst the bushes by the side of the road, one man’s arm draped across the other’s shoulders as he was dragged along. She aimed her pistol at the bushes, following the rustling sounds, using her left hand to steady her shaking right one.
‘Leave it!’ That voice brooked no disobedience.
Thea lowered her arm, gulping with relief that she would not have to use the firearm, although she would have fired had she been forced to. What if those ruffians had not run away? What if Vernon had been incapacitated? The enormity of her decision to follow him in this way suddenly hit her. And now...she realised how likely it was Vernon would see through her disguise and her relief seeped away to be replaced by fear at the thought of facing him. He would not be happy. She sucked in a breath.
‘Thank you.’ Vernon’s attention was still on the spot where the two men had disappeared into the bushes. ‘I am in your debt.’
In the spot where they stood, where trees overhung the road, the light had all but gone. Thea kept her face averted from Vernon and muttered, ‘Glad to help.’
Vernon crossed slowly to Warrior and reached into his saddlebag, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding bushes. All sounds of the men’s retreat had faded away, but Thea still breathed a thankful sigh when Vernon withdrew his own pistol. At least they were both now armed and ready for anything.
‘How far is Birmingham? I need a bed for the night.’
Thea pointed ahead. ‘Two or three miles.’
He grunted. ‘I’ll stop at the next inn. There must be another between here and the town.
* * *
Vernon rubbed his hand across his jaw, the rasp of whiskers against his palm reminding him of the long, weary day behind him. He shoved his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself up to the saddle. He was knackered even before those two had jumped him, but now... He pressed his hand to his side and winced. That bastard had caught him with his stake, but he was sure it hadn’t punctured anything vital. When he had first become aware of the two figures lurking in the undergrowth, energy had flooded him, banishing his weariness and helping him to fight them off. But now that unnatural surge had dissipated and all he wished for was a hot meal and a comfortable bed. He hoped the next inn would be a decent place. Some of the places he had stopped at since leaving Stourbridge had left much to be desired.
Vernon glanced round at the lad, riding a little behind, out of Vernon’s direct line of sight. He was not the talkative type and that suited Vernon very well, but he was aware how fortunate it was that the lad had seen what was happening and come to Vernon’s aid. He wondered idly if the boy was local...that was a very fine mare he was riding. Vernon frowned, staring at the road ahead as suspicions stirred. Such a quality, fine-boned animal was an unusual choice for a country lad. He glanced back again. The combination of the dim light and the lad’s cap pulled low over his eyes rendered his face all but invisible.
They had ridden into a village and around a curve in the road. There before them was a small inn, the Bell, set between a churchyard and a row of neat cottages. Vernon could just make out the church itself, set back from the other buildings, its square tower silhouetted against the night sky.
‘Do you know anything about this place?’
The lad shook his head.
‘No matter,’ Vernon said. ‘Go in and see if it looks respectable, will you, lad? I’ll hold the horses. Oh, and enquire for the local constable, while you’re there, will you?’ Once he left the saddle he feared it would be more than he could manage to remount. ‘I must report that attack—I was informed earlier there has been a spate of such incidences in the area. I make no doubt the constable will be interested in the information, especially as one of those men looks unlikely to go far.’
The boy merely grunted by way of reply and did as he was bid as Vernon clenched his teeth against the pain in his side and battled the urge to slump in the saddle.
The boy soon emerged, with a couple of men. He nodded at Vernon, who took that to mean the inn was acceptable. He slid to the ground, relieved he need ride no further.
‘I’m Joseph Deadly, constable here,’ the taller of the two men said. ‘What’s been a-happening?’
Vernon told Deadly how the two men had jumped him.
‘I’ll wager it’s them gipsies that set up camp by the woods. They often come through this time of year, picking up odd jobs, and we allus seem to get a spate of thievery and such like when they’re around.’
Vernon recalled Thea’s earlier remark, that Daniel had suspected former soldiers of local attacks rather than the gipsies commonly blamed. His immediate impression of his two attackers meant he was inclined to agree with Daniel.
‘I am not sure you are correct, Deadly,’ he said. ‘Whilst gipsies are not unknown for petty thieving, the ones I’ve met in the past have not struck me as violent men, unless they perceive themselves under threat. The men who attacked me appeared more like vagrants.’
Deadly shrugged. ‘One and the same thing, as far as I can see. You say one of them’s injured, sir?’
‘He is. I suspect my boot in his face will leave a visible clue to identify the culprit.’
Several men had by now joined them outside the inn, tankards in hand.
‘Any volunteers to come with me and pay them gipsies a visit?’ Deadly said.
A chorus of enthusiasm met his words and Vernon’s heart sank. He hoped he hadn’t been the instigator of a lynch mob. Still, that was for the constable to control.
‘Never fear, sir,’ Deadly added, clapping Vernon on the shoulder and making him wince, ‘we’ll go to the scene first and scout out from there. But, you mark my words, it’ll be them gipsies.’
‘Before you go...’ Vernon tossed his horse’s reins to the lad—who had shrunk back into the shadows—and then took the constable to one side to tell him about Daniel Markham’s disappearance. ‘Will you make a few enquiries, but discreetly, please? Mr Markham’s family do not wish his disappearance to become common knowledge. He was riding a light grey horse. I also need to know if you have any knowledge of Willingdale or of a man called Henry Mannington. You may attend me here in the morning, if you will, to let me know if you have any news for me and to tell me if you’ve had any luck in tracking down my attackers.’
Deadly touched the brim of his hat. ‘Very good, sir.’
Vernon was relieved to call a halt to his enquiries, even though his original intention had been to reach Birmingham and the Royal Hotel that night. He felt in his gut that the Royal Hotel would hold the clue he needed to unravel what had happened to Daniel Markham.
He turned back to Warrior. The lad who had been holding him had gone, leaving the horse’s reins weighted with a large stone. Vernon frowned. He had wanted to thank him properly. He looked along the street and there, in the distance, he could just make out the lad riding away on his black mare. His body screamed at him to let the lad go, but his suspicions about the quality of the horse, coupled with the lad’s reluctance to look Vernon in the eye and his lack of conversation, set warning bells jangling in Vernon’s head. Then he recalled the lad’s pistol. How many country lads like him would own a duelling pistol?
Is he a runaway?
And those few words decided him. His nephew, Alex—Leo’s youngest son—had run away only a few months previously, and Vernon remembered the worry and the grief of the entire family as they had imagined the worst. And then there was Thea—her anxiety over her brother’s disappearance had touched Vernon as he saw how bravely she tried to shield her parents from the knowledge. The thought of another family going through the same horror of not knowing what had become of their loved one made the decision for him: he could not allow the lad to ride off into the night without at least trying to discover his story.
Vernon clenched his teeth and, sweating with the effort, hauled himself into Warrior’s saddle. He put his hand to his side again, reaching inside his borrowed moleskin waistcoat, feeling the sticky warmth of blood. He inhaled—he should get it seen to, but then the boy would be long gone and, if he was a runaway, Vernon would have lost his only chance to help.
He set Warrior into a trot, biting back a gasp as the gait jolted him and pain scorched across his ribs.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, beneath his breath. ‘Let’s get this done,’ and he dug his heels in.
Warrior broke into a canter—a smoother pace but still agony to Vernon. He hooked his left hand under the pommel and forced his thoughts away from the pain and on to the lad. As they neared the black mare, the lad glanced back and, for a moment, it seemed as though he would take flight. He did not, however, but reined to a halt and waited, staring fixedly at his horse’s mane.
‘Why did you leave?’ Vernon said as he pulled his horse round in front of the mare.
‘Need to get home.’
There was something about that gruff voice...but it hovered just out of Vernon’s reach. He watched the boy as he studiously avoided meeting his gaze.
‘And where is that?’
A cough took Vernon unaware. Pain forked through him and he sucked an involuntary breath in through his teeth. The boy’s head jerked upright and he stared through the darkness at Vernon.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘Merely a scratch,’ he gritted out. ‘You left before I could thank you properly.’ He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a half-sovereign. ‘Here. I am—’
Vernon bit off his words. The boy had reached out for the coin, muttering Thanks, and something about that disgruntled, near-sarcastic tone of voice jogged a memory. He did not stop to think about it...about how unlikely it was...he nudged his horse closer to the dainty black mare and took hold of her reins. The fresh scent of roses assailed his senses.
It cannot—
In one swift movement he snatched the cap from the boy’s head. Even though it was too dark to see the colour, there was no mistaking the spring of the curls that tumbled about her forehead, nor the delicate oval of her face, nor the plump softness of the lips that formed a silent Oh! of horror. Vernon lifted his gaze to meet a pair of large, startled eyes that he just knew were hazel in colour.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?’
Chapter Six (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea shrank from the utter fury in Vernon’s voice, the blood stuttering through her veins. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say. The only sound was of the early stirrings of nocturnal wildlife rustling in the still evening air. She suppressed a shiver. She was unafraid of the dark, but she could not begin to guess how Lord Vernon Beauchamp might now react. She had not trusted him to concentrate on finding Daniel, but had never stopped to wonder about her own safety if...when...he discovered her presence.
A growl sounded, muted at first, as though contained deep within him, but it grew and grew until, with a hasty gesture that made Thea flinch, Vernon snatched his hat from his head, thrust his other hand through his hair and then, swinging his right leg over Warrior’s neck, he jumped to the ground and strode away. After a dozen paces, he stopped and then hunkered down, his head hanging.
Thea chewed her lip. It was too late to ride away. He knew it was she and therefore she had no choice but to face him. She dismounted and approached the still figure. His breath came in hoarse rasps and, with a flurry of concern, she recalled that fight and his earlier hissed intake of breath.
‘Are you injured?’ She dropped a timid hand on his shoulder.
‘I said it is but a scratch.’
He stood and Thea staggered back several paces as he towered over her. He held up his hands, palms facing her, in a gesture of peace.
‘It is all right.’ There was still a hard edge to his voice, but that raw anger had softened. ‘I might be furious, but I have never in my life offered violence to a woman and I am not about to start now, no matter how tempted I am to put you over my knee and spank you.’
Thea gasped, but shock soon gave way to her own anger. ‘You cannot dictate my movements, Lord Vernon. You are neither my father nor my brother—’
‘Thank God for that small mercy.’
‘And I do not answer to you.’
‘Again, thank God. I can think of nothing worse than being responsible for a little firebrand such as you.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Except, of course, I am now responsible for you.’
‘You are most certainly not responsible for me. I am a woman grown. An adult. And a perfectly capable one at that.’ Thea moved closer to him, stretching to her full height and thrusting her face as close to his as she could manage. ‘I am responsible for myself. It is nothing to do with you.’
He huffed a laugh of disbelief. ‘Then...’ he put his hat back on and started back towards the horses ‘...I shall leave you to it, Miss Markham.’ She heard him chuckle as he walked away. ‘Dorothea! Dotty is more like it. Yes, that is it.’ He spun to face her, continuing to move away, walking backwards. ‘Dotty by name, dotty by nature.’
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Janice Preston
A scandalous journey…Glassmaker’s daughter Thea Markham is devastated when her brother Daniel goes missing. Then a mysterious lord turns up asking questions about Daniel and offers to find him. Unsure she can trust the handsome peer, Thea dresses up as a boy and follows him!Lord Vernon Beauchamp feels his life lacks direction. Meeting Thea gives him a renewed purpose. And when they are thrown together on their scandalous adventure, friendship soon gives way to desire…
A scandalous journey...
Glassmaker’s daughter Thea Markham is devastated when her brother Daniel goes missing. Then a mysterious lord turns up asking questions about Daniel and offers to find him. Unsure she can trust the handsome peer, Thea dresses up as a boy and follows him!
Lord Vernon Beauchamp feels his life lacks direction. Meeting Thea gives him a renewed purpose. And when they are thrown together on their scandalous adventure, friendship soon gives way to desire...
Vernon stood at the washstand, shirtless, his back to her as he bent over the bowl.
The candlelight danced across unblemished skin and she watched, fascinated by the play of muscles across his shoulders and back, as he continued his ablutions. Her hands itched to touch, to stroke, to discover if his skin was as smooth as it looked. His breeches were stretched tight, outlining taut buttocks—thrust temptingly in her direction—and long, lean thighs. Her mouth dried as her skin heated. A thrilling sense of anticipation swirled in her belly, then slowed, arrowing in to the juncture of her thighs and provoking a strange restlessness.
An insistent need.
Thea resisted the urge to move, to turn onto her back, to push aside the covers, to extend her arms and invite him to hold her. How would it feel to throw aside morals and caution and pride and follow that craving? She lay motionless, still watching as Vernon hummed a tune she did not recognise under his breath, seemingly perfectly relaxed.
Desire.
She recognised it instinctively, although she had never before experienced it.
Author Note (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Scandal and Miss Markham is the second of The Beauchamp Betrothals linked books, but it is a stand-alone story and it’s not essential to read Cinderella and the Duke first.
It is time for Lord Vernon Beauchamp—handsome, wealthy, darling of the ton and younger brother of Leo, Duke of Cheriton—to meet his match. But his life seems almost too perfect. A man like him—and he has featured in other books of mine, apart from Cinderella and the Duke—would surely just need to snap his fingers to win any woman he chose? But then I thought a bit more about his life and I realised he has always been Leo’s sidekick, always the second in command, and he is bored. He needs shaking out of his perfect life, and I knew just the woman to do it.
Enter Dorothea Markham, a glass manufacturer’s daughter with fascinating springy copper curls, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a penchant for acting first and repenting later—or not, as the case may be. She doesn’t need help from anyone when her brother fails to return home—least of all from a spoilt, wealthy aristocrat with a tendency to tease her...and to make her pulse leap alarmingly.
Enjoy the trip as Vernon and Thea embark on an adventure to find her missing brother and end up finding more than they bargained for.
Scandal and
Miss Markham
Janice Preston
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police callhandler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats, and has a part-time job as a weight management counsellor—vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!
Books by Janice Preston
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Beauchamp Betrothals
Cinderella and the Duke
Scandal and Miss Markham
The Governess Tales
The Governess’s Secret Baby
Men About Town
Return of Scandal’s Son
Saved by Scandal’s Heir
Linked by Characterto Men About Town duet
Mary and the Marquis
From Wallflower to Countess
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
To Mum.
I like to think you would be proud.
Contents
Cover (#u1515e2ed-714f-5ab6-bc40-c48c6a42478f)
Back Cover Text (#ud9875fdb-dcdd-5b83-bfae-730ece7d34c6)
Introduction (#u08b4ba83-6f63-5eed-b759-0d2986b545f8)
Author Note (#uf0d56132-e044-5ea7-86e8-e1b96551d87c)
Title Page (#ua7e1d470-e725-5105-b7a6-d16a07b641b6)
About the Author (#u4a6fd9a0-cdeb-55f7-a92e-ae96dfaa76eb)
Dedication (#u27ebf7b9-7266-5714-9485-79cc2fc242c0)
Chapter One (#u73009820-8122-5d1b-bedd-3be15680515d)
Chapter Two (#uc9c448a0-0674-5a12-831c-e5d74433233b)
Chapter Three (#ue0326a9f-8e0b-516f-b13d-fa267f60ce6e)
Chapter Four (#u049650fc-0d79-5082-9f0e-41c8f8185542)
Chapter Five (#uc48eb665-9950-5673-b443-84f1eed3e899)
Chapter Six (#u76718a25-cab0-5f33-bf2e-bb5ededea2c8)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea’s head snapped up at the sound of wheels crunching across the gravel outside Stourwell Court.
Daniel!
Hope erupted through her...it had been five days since her brother had gone out one day and not returned. She leapt to her feet and hurried to the salon window. A glimpse of a curricle drawn by a pair of blacks set her heart racing, and she flung her embroidery aside, gathered her skirts and ran for the door. Across the hall and through the front door she sped.
Please. Let it be him.
Doubts nipped at her as she sprinted down the steps to the now stationary conveyance, but she ignored them. She could not bear to let that prayer of hope fizzle and die. She shut her mind against the evidence of her eyes as she reached the foot of the steps and hurried to the curricle.
‘Daniel—’
Her eyes met those of the driver—a stranger—and she skidded to a halt, gravel spinning from beneath her feet.
‘Who are you? Where is Daniel?’ She raked the driver with her eyes and then switched her gaze to the horses. ‘Those are his—’
Her jaw snapped shut and her cheeks scorched. ‘Oh!’ Those doubts had caught up with her and knocked her flat. She bit her lip as sick disappointment flooded her, followed by the fear that had dogged her ever since her brother had failed to come home.
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I mistook your horses for those of my brother’s but I see, upon closer examination, they are not his.’
They were a pair of blacks, yes, but of far superior quality to Daniel’s, and a groom—another stranger—perched on the back of the curricle. And besides...
Fool! Daniel didn’t even take his curricle. He was on horseback.
And that had been her one ray of hope in this desperate mess, one that she clung to with all her heart: her brother had ridden away and not returned, but neither had Bullet, his grey gelding, whose homing instinct was powerful and who in the past had often carried his foxed rider safely home after a night spent drinking. Thankfully, though, Daniel had soon outgrown that wild behaviour.
And now Thea clung to her belief that whilst Bullet was missing, there was still hope.
The stranger appraised her with raised brows and she scowled back at him, irritated by the amused curl of his lips. She quashed the tug of attraction she recognised deep in her core. It was a very long time since she had allowed herself to be attracted to any man.
‘Your brother being Mr Daniel Markham?’
His voice was deep and cultured—that of a gentleman born. Thea had been subjected to enough elocution lessons to recognise that aristocratic drawl. She studied the driver, from the brim of his tall beaver hat to the toes of his shiny boots. What business could a man like this have with Daniel? Suspicions swirled. Did this stranger have something to do with Daniel’s disappearance? Daniel had been troubled before he disappeared, that much she did know. But, unusually, he had refused to confide in her.
‘He is,’ she said. ‘And you are?’
He frowned, clearly put out by such a brusque demand. Well, Thea had more pressing concerns than a strange gentleman’s sense of his own importance.
‘I am Lord Vernon Beauchamp, here to speak to your brother.’
‘A lord? What on earth do you want with Daniel?’
A muscle leapt at the side of his jaw. ‘Bickling, hold the horses.’
He tied off the reins and the groom jumped down and ran to the horses’ heads. Lord Vernon Beauchamp climbed in a leisurely fashion from his curricle and walked across the gravel to Thea, not stopping until he was so close he towered over her, radiating confidence and power. Thea set her jaw and stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated even though his commanding air and his raw masculinity rattled her from her head to her toes.
‘I suggest that is a matter between your brother and me, madam. Am I to understand he is not here?’
‘No, he is not.’
She glanced back at the house. No sign of her mother. Good...no doubt she was with Papa; she often read to him in the morning after he awoke. Heaven knew how much longer Thea could protect them from knowing the full truth of Daniel’s absence. She looked up at Lord Vernon.
‘If it concerns Stour Crystal, I assure you that I am perfectly able either to assist you myself, or to refer any query to the appropriate individual at the manufactory.’
‘Stour Crystal?’ Lord Vernon surveyed the frontage of Stourwell Court before looking back along the carriageway, to the wrought-iron entrance gates in the distance. Thea bridled as she fancied she detected a slight curl of his upper lip as he stripped off his driving gloves. ‘Your family manufacture lead-crystal glassware?’
‘We do.’
And I am proud of it.
Her father had built the business from scratch, manufacturing some of the finest quality cut lead crystal in the land. His Lordship might have been born into the aristocracy but that did not give him the right to look down upon her. But with that defiant pride came the realisation that she had not offered her visitor the customary hospitality due a visitor. She had allowed her disappointment he was not Daniel to override her manners and that would surely only add to his lordship’s low impression of her and her family. She bit back any further comment and moved away from Lord Vernon to smooth her hand over the haunch of the nearest horse. She smiled at the groom.
‘He is hot,’ she said, ‘and you must be tired and in need of refreshment.’ After the heavy rains of a week ago, the weather had turned unseasonably warm. ‘Take the horses around the back—you will see the way to the stable yard and you may care for them there. Come to the kitchen afterwards. Cook will give you some food and something to drink.’
The groom waited until his master gave him permission—granted by a flick of the head—to proceed before leading the horses away. Lord Vernon, a look of irritation on his face, swished his driving gloves against his palm. No doubt he was unhappy at his groom and horses’ needs being considered before his own: yet more evidence of his sense of entitlement. Mentally, Thea shrugged but she took care to conceal her scorn. She had neither the strength nor the heart to engage in a verbal sparring session.
‘You, too, must be weary, my lord. Shall we continue this discussion indoors?’
As the scrunch of hooves faded, his lordship inscribed an arc through the air with his arm and then bowed.
‘After you.’
Thea marched to the front porch, feeling much like a cat whose fur had been rubbed the wrong way, but she vowed to remain polite; she had no wish to reinforce his prejudices. The man had been neither rude nor derogatory, but—she pictured again that subtle curl of his lip—she knew how his sort viewed ordinary business folk who must work for their living.
She led him across the hall and into the study.
‘Would you prefer ale or wine, sir?’
‘Tea,’ he said.
She was certain he was being deliberately awkward. Their aversion was mutual then. So be it. She had more pressing concerns than how some spoilt aristocrat viewed her and a handsome face and a manly physique meant nothing to a woman who had forsworn all men. She jerked at the bell and a footman soon attended.
‘Bring tea for the gentleman, please, George, and a glass of Madeira for me. And some of Cook’s fruit cake.’
As George turned to leave, Thea said, ‘Is Mama with Papa?’
‘She is, miss. Shall I inform her we have a visitor?’
Thea glanced at Lord Vernon, who had removed his hat to reveal a full head of auburn hair that curled around his ears. A little flutter deep in her stomach taunted her: perhaps she wasn’t as immune to an attractive man as she thought. She wrenched her attention away from her treacherous body.
‘No. That will not be necessary, George.’
‘Very well, miss.’
Thea then sat in a chair by the window and gestured to a nearby chair.
‘Please, take a seat, sir.’
She waited until he was settled, her thoughts whirling. She knew from past experience, through her dealings with other men, that he would be reluctant to discuss business with her simply because of her sex. If she were to learn the truth of his visit, she must try to annoy him into indiscretion and she knew the perfect way to aggravate him: men often found it hard to deal with females who were direct.
‘Is it money?’
His brows lowered into a thunderous frown. ‘Is what money?’ His question almost a growl.
‘Does Daniel owe you money? Are you here to collect on a debt?’
‘I do not—’ He snapped his jaw shut, abruptly cutting off his heated response. His eyes—an arresting shade of green that sparkled in the light of a stray sunbeam filtering through the window pane—narrowed. When he spoke again, his voice was level. ‘Why should you jump to such a conclusion? Is your Daniel a gambler?’
Thea frowned in her turn. This man was clearly not to be easily manipulated.
‘He is not.’
‘Then I ask again, why do you jump to the conclusion I am here to collect on a debt?’
Thea shrugged, stood up and paced to the fireplace. She swung around, to see that her visitor had risen to his feet. She huffed a silent laugh. A lord and a gentleman, trained from birth in correct etiquette. When a lady stands—even a lowly born lady such as she—a gentleman, too, must stand.
‘Please. Sit down.’ She crossed the room to sit in her own chair and his lordship—with a supercilious lift of one brow—followed suit.
He folded his arms. ‘I am waiting.’
His voice was soft. Almost menacing. Thea shivered at her sudden mental image of a wolf: crouching, watching, patient. She thrust aside that picture, silently castigating herself for such a fanciful thought. He was a man...a powerful lord, maybe, but a man none the less.
His question...what was it again? About debt. ‘We are in business, my lord. I wondered if Daniel had overlooked a bill.’
His lips twitched. Thea searched his expression and felt her tension ease and her sense of foreboding lift as she realised he was trying not to laugh. No sign of a menacing predator now. She really must try to curtail her imagination.
‘I cannot decide whether to be amused or offended that you could even suspect I am a debt collector,’ he said. His smile now surfaced fully, his lips parting to reveal white, even teeth.
Heavens, he is a handsome devil.
She quashed that thought and dismissed the accompanying trip of her pulse.
‘Might we, do you think, start this conversation anew and dispense with the suspicion on both sides?’
Thea inclined her head by way of reply. A truce would speed this meeting along and give her the opportunity to discover if Lord Vernon Beauchamp knew anything that might shed light on Daniel’s disappearance.
George came in with the refreshments and Thea poured a cup of tea for her visitor before handing him the cup and saucer. He captured her gaze as he murmured his thanks, his deep voice vibrating through her. Then he brushed her fingers as she handed him a plate with a slice of cake. A whiff of cologne arose to tease at her senses: spicy, with notes of cinnamon. Musky and expensive. The resulting flicker of desire deep in her stomach exasperated Thea all over again.
She recognised his tactic. This was an attempt to use his charisma to wheedle information from her. He was a handsome aristocrat, experienced in the art of flirtation and accustomed to having his own way...well, he would soon find she was too shrewd to allow weasel words and admiring glances to fool her.
She had been burned before.
Never again.
Besides, she had neither the time nor the inclination to engage with him in this particular game. There was far too much at stake.
‘I do not know your name.’
His statement startled her. ‘But...of course you know my name. Daniel is my brother. I, therefore, am Miss Markham.’
He cocked his head to one side. ‘But I did not know whether or not you were married, Miss Markham. For all I knew, you could be Mrs Wilful, or Lady Copper Curls.’
He smiled. Charmingly. A fan of crinkles formed at the outer corner of each eye. Thea raised her chin and directed a stern look at him.
‘You were about to tell me your business with my brother, sir.’
Lord Vernon set his teacup and saucer on to a side table and settled back into his chair, his elbows propped on the arms as he placed his hands fingertip to fingertip beneath his chin.
‘My business is with your brother. It is not proper that I should discuss it with you.’
‘Because I am a female?’ No matter how many times she was told she was unable to understand business matters, it became no easier hearing the same sentiment from yet another male. ‘As I said before—my brother and I collaborate in our father’s business. We do not have secrets.’
‘And yet you have no idea why I am here.’
Thea swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. ‘That is entirely different. I cannot be privy to your whims and fancies in deciding to call upon Daniel.’
‘Whims and fancies,’ he murmured. ‘I cannot say I am flattered at being thought a man subject to whims and fancies.’ His expression hardened and again she was reminded that, beneath his urbane exterior, there lurked an altogether different beast. ‘You boast there are no secrets between yourself and your brother and yet you are unaware it was your brother who wrote to me to request a meeting.’
‘For what purpose?’
He raised a brow. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten me?’
Thea shook her head and a lock of hair sprang loose to dangle in front of her eye. She clicked her tongue in irritation, swept the curl from her forehead and hooked it behind a hairpin, then sipped at her Madeira, her mind working furiously. This conversation was not going the way she intended. She was desperate to find out if this man had any information that might tell her where Daniel had gone.
‘I have not the first idea why Daniel wrote to you. Was it connected with the business?’
‘I can safely say he did not summon me to discuss a matter of business. The only knowledge I have of lead-crystal glassware is the quality of the liquid contained therein.’
‘That comes as no surprise.’
Heavens! When will I learn to curb my tongue?
A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘And such a riposte is entirely predictable. You clearly suffer under the illusion that the idle aristocracy are fit for little other than frittering their fortunes away upon their own pleasures and depravities.’
She couldn’t decide if she felt shame at having insulted him, albeit indirectly, or pride that she could stand her own against such a man.
‘They are your words,’ she responded, raising her brows. ‘Your interpretation of my expressed belief that you would have no knowledge of the manufacture of lead crystal. And I was correct.’
His lips thinned. ‘Where is your brother, Miss Markham? When do you expect him home?’
She bit her lip.
‘I do not know.’
Her stomach clenched into a tight, hard ball of fear. Unable to sit still, she rose to her feet and crossed the room to the desk. Daniel’s desk. But there were no clues there. She had searched it thoroughly and there was no hint of where he had gone or what had happened to him. She fingered a contract that lay on the top of a pile of papers awaiting attention, that same all-pervading sense of dread crawling through her veins. This contract was important to Stour Crystal.
Would Daniel really just...go? Would he really be so negligent?
Of the business? Of her? Of their parents?
‘I do not know,’ she repeated.
Chapter Two (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Lord Vernon Beauchamp eyed Miss Markham. Lines of strain bracketed her mouth and worry lurked in those huge hazel eyes—eyes that had sparked such fire at him only moments ago. In fact, all her fire had fizzled out... This was not merely a case of her brother not being at home this afternoon, of that he was certain. But alongside the worry in her eyes lurked caution. Maybe attempting to flirt his way into gaining her good opinion...her trust...had been a mistake.
He rose to his feet and approached the desk. She tracked his every movement, her wariness plain.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ Vernon said. ‘Will you not sit down and tell me what has happened? There truly is no need to be suspicious of my intentions towards your brother. If it helps to reassure you, you should know that I have never before met Daniel and I know nothing more than he wrote in this letter.’
He reached into his pocket and produced the letter that Daniel Markham had penned, the letter that had prompted Vernon’s journey into Worcestershire. Miss Markham subsided into the desk chair and took the letter, unfolding it to read. Vernon hitched one hip on the far corner of the desk. After a few seconds, she raised her gaze to his.
‘The Duke of Cheriton? This letter is not addressed to you...is it?’
Vernon laughed. ‘No, I am not a duke. Cheriton is my brother. He had every intention of writing to your Daniel with an invitation to call upon him to discuss his concerns, but I formed a sudden desire to visit Worcestershire and so I offered to travel up here to meet your brother myself.’
Leo—Vernon’s brother—had recently married again and the bride’s maternal aunt, Lady Slough, had set her sights on Vernon as a suitable catch for her daughter. Not that Vernon had anything against the chit, but Lady Slough sported all the finesse of a wild boar and he had decided that putting some distance between himself and the lady in question would be best for all concerned. He would not put it past Lady Slough to attempt a spot of entrapment.
Vernon had no inclination to enter the parson’s mousetrap. Not for a very long time, if ever. Leo already had his heir and spare—plus a daughter—from his first marriage, thus securing the future of the dukedom, so there was no absolutely no need for Vernon to wed. And why would he choose to give up his charmed life of a popular, wealthy bachelor? He wanted for nothing.
Except purpose.
He thrust aside that mocking voice, even though he was unable to deny that restlessness had also played its part in persuading him to travel up here to Worcestershire.
Miss Markham had continued to read her brother’s letter, a frown knitting her forehead.
‘Henry Mannington? Who is Henry Mannington?’ Her voice was unusually deep for a woman and slightly gruff—quite at odds with her petite figure and luxuriant curls.
‘You have never heard of him?’
She shook her head and two of those springy, copper-coloured curls of hers bounced over her forehead. She pushed at them absentmindedly, her gaze still fixed on the letter.
‘No. Never.’
‘He is not a friend of your brother’s? A customer? A rival?’
‘No. None of those. I told you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm, ‘I have never heard of him.’ She paused, white teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you know who he is. Or you would not have come all the way up here to speak to Daniel.’
Impressed by her quick uptake, Vernon decided there was nothing to be gained in concealing the little knowledge he did possess.
‘Henry Mannington is a distant cousin of the Beauchamp family, but none of us has seen him or heard of him for several years. He is a classics scholar with a passion for exploring ancient sites and even as a young man he had no interest in socialising in our circle.’
‘The upper ranks of society, you mean?’
There it was again. That hint of disdain in her tone, but recognisable for all that. Miss Markham clearly did not approve of the aristocracy.
‘Yes.’ He would neither apologise for who and what he was, nor feel guilty for it. Her prejudices were her problem. ‘He is my age and we were at university together. Our paths have not crossed since then.’
Miss Markham thrust the letter back at Vernon. ‘I cannot see how this will help me find Daniel.’ She crossed her arms.
‘Find him?’
Her cheeks reddened, clashing with her bright hair. Her lips compressed.
‘How long is it since you have seen Daniel?’
For the first time her composure wavered, her nostrils flared and her hazel eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, sheened.
‘Come.’ Vernon gentled his voice. ‘You are upset. Tell me what has happened. I might be able to help.’
‘I do not need help.’
‘How long?’
‘F-five days.’
Vernon checked the letter. ‘Three days after this was written.’ He re-read the missive. ‘By its wording, Daniel had suspicions about Henry Mannington, but what manner of suspicions? It must be more than Henry claiming kinship with Cheriton, for that much is the truth and easily verified. And Henry is a decent chap, not the sort to become embroiled in matters dastardly enough to drive your brother to beg help from a peer with whom he has no acquaintance.’
Miss Markham stood up and resolutely smoothed down the skirt of the peach-coloured gown that skimmed her petite frame. The colour should have clashed with her hair, which was the colour of an autumn leaf, but the combination put Vernon in mind of the brilliant sunset of the evening before and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She glared at him as he also rose to his feet. She really was a tiny little thing, barely reaching his shoulder. She put him in mind of a cornered kitten, fur fluffed up and claws out, ready for a fight.
‘There is no need to stand every time I do,’ she said, placing her fists on the desk and leaning on them. ‘I am not one of your fine ladies, ready to take affront at imagined slights.’
‘Maybe you are not,’ Vernon said, quashing down the laugh that tickled his throat. That really would infuriate her. ‘But I, you see, am a gentleman. And I therefore stand when a lady does. Whether she considers herself a lady or no. And...’ he added, tweaking his neckcloth and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, merely to irritate her and to see those remarkably fine eyes flash fire again ‘...as for taking affront, I quite see that particular emotion is alien to your sunny nature.’
He smiled at her scowl and her muttered imprecation. Fortunately, perhaps, he could not make out her exact sentiments. She was indeed a little hothead, hardly surprising with that head of hair. His own hair had reddish tones, but it was more of a dark chestnut colour than the fiery hue of Miss Markham’s. He would warrant his temperament was less fiery than hers, too.
‘Have you made enquiries as to your brother’s whereabouts?’
‘Yes... That is, I sent the grooms out to search the countryside around, but I instructed them not to make enquiries. Not yet. I did not want to raise a fuss only to find there was a simple explanation for his absence.’ She sucked in a deep breath and his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts. ‘They found no trace of Daniel or his horse. And so I waited. I kept hoping he would return. Or that he would write to me.’
‘In other words, you have done nothing to find your brother. You shut your eyes to reality and simply hoped for the best.’
She flashed a look of daggers at him. ‘I did not wish to stir up a wasps’ nest of trouble for him if there was no need for it.’
‘Trouble? Why should you suspect he was in trouble?’
She stared down at the desk, fingering the stack of papers in front of her. Then she subsided into the chair.
‘He was preoccupied...upset...in the days before he went missing.’
Her voice was low and husky with a hint of vulnerability and it stirred within him a peculiar urge to protect her. To help. She was nibbling at her full lower lip, her tawny brows creased in a frown as she stared past Vernon, into the distance. Vernon tore his gaze from her mouth, disconcerted by the slow but undeniable tightening in his loins.
‘I knew he was worried,’ she said, ‘and yet I did not make him tell me what was amiss. I allowed him to fob me off.’
‘I doubt you could have compelled him to confide in you.’
Her gaze met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could, had I tried. I should have forced him to tell me where he was going.’
Vernon felt his lips twitch. ‘You have piqued my interest, Miss Markham. How, pray, do you imagine you could have forced your brother to tell you?’
‘I could have threatened to follow him.’
‘And he would have believed you?’
‘Of course.’ She tilted her chin. ‘He knows I never make empty threats.’
His lips twitched again, but he held back his grin. ‘I shall have to remember that,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you are older than your brother?’
‘Yes. By three years.’
‘That explains much.’
Her brows snapped together. ‘This—’ Her lips tightened. ‘I am doing it again. Allowing myself to be diverted, because I am scared... I fear...’ She bent her head.
Vernon waited.
‘You were right... I have been waiting. And hoping. But no more.’ She pierced him with a fierce gaze. ‘You have spurred me into seeing what I must do. I shall go myself and I shall make enquiries. I shall find out where he went, all those days when he was out for hours upon end, returning home to eat and sleep and then leaving again at first light. He must have left a trail. He would have been seen. He had to eat.’ She was on her feet again, pacing. ‘Oh! Why did I not go out that first day? Immediately? What a fool I have been, waiting at home like a...like a...ninny...when Daniel had need of me.’
‘And where do you intend to make your enquiries?’
‘Oh! I do not know.’ She waved her arm as she paced, brushing aside his query as though it were an irritating fly. ‘His usual haunts. The Nag’s Head, in Stourbridge, for a start. He often went there for a drink in the evening. Someone there might know where he went. And they will know of other places he frequented.’
‘The Nag’s Head? A public house?’
She slammed to a halt, staring at him. ‘Do not—’ her voice throbbed with warning ‘—tell me I cannot go there because I am a woman.’
Vernon felt his eyes narrow. ‘That is precisely what I am telling you. Such scandalous behaviour is completely unacceptable. Your reputation would be ruined.’
‘Scandal! What do I care for scandal? My brother is missing and I must—’
‘You should care about scandal. Your good name, once lost, will not be easily recovered.’
‘We are not in your overprotected and rarefied world now, my lord. As I said before, I am not—’
‘Not one of my fine ladies. Yes, you have already made that point.’
Her mouth set in a mulish line and the dogged determination upon her face reminded Vernon of his niece, Olivia, when told she could not do something she had set her heart upon. But Olivia was eighteen years of age. Miss Markham should...must, surely...have more sense.
He’d had enough of this, she was not thinking rationally. She must realise how dangerous such places might be and not only to her good name. He changed tack. Demanding her obedience would not work, that much he had already learned.
‘Promise me you will not go haring off on such an ill-advised crusade.’
‘But I must, for if I do not, who will?’
‘Your father?’
She turned her head aside, but not before he recognised her anguish. ‘He is not well. He must not be upset.’
‘Other male relatives?’
She shook her head, freeing even more of those fascinating curls to bounce around her face. Her hair appeared to have a life of its own, the curls like flaming corkscrews.
‘I am not a fool,’ she said. ‘I would not go alone. I would take a groom. Or even two. For protection. So, you see, there is no need for you to be concerned, or even to stay here any longer.’ She tilted her chin. ‘You said yourself you do not know Daniel and neither do you know the area. You would not know where to begin looking.’
Vernon eyed her with exasperation as he pondered the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance and how, if at all, it was connected to Henry. He should, probably, return to town and wait for Markham to make further contact. But...he considered that option. What was there to return to? Leo would be fully occupied with his new bride and, soon, most everyone would be leaving London to spend summer on their estates or in the seaside resorts.
There was little enticement there to lure him home in a hurry.
And here, in Worcestershire...his blood stirred. All kinds of emotions swirled within him and chief amongst them was intrigue. Not only was there a mystery to solve, but he was needed, whether Miss Markham admitted it or not. That thought gave way to another as he realised, with a sense of shock, that to be needed was a rare feeling in his life thus far. The Beauchamps were a close family, but he was not needed...he was just there.
The spare, of the ‘heir and a spare’ fame.
He had learned the lesson that he would always play second fiddle to his older brother as a young man on the town for the first time. He had fallen in love—or so he had thought—with the Incomparable of the day, but although Lady Pamela had happily flirted with him and even encouraged his attentions, she had made it perfectly clear she wanted a man with a peerage, not a duke’s second son with a mere courtesy title. Had Leo not been married to his first wife at that time, she would doubtless have set her cap at him.
Vernon’s heart had not been broken, although it had been bruised. It was his pride that had been battered.
He loved Leo and he loved his nephews and his niece but he had to admit he still found it hard to find his own place in the world. They ran many businesses in partnership—the estates, their horse-breeding enterprises, the mining interests in Cornwall and the coal mines in the north-east—but, with Leo being the older of the two, as well as the Duke, Vernon was outranked for ever.
He did not want to walk away from the mystery of Daniel Markham’s disappearance. He wanted to be involved, to take action, to help.
‘There is still the question of why your brother wrote to mine,’ he said. ‘You cannot expect me to leave without finding out how my Cousin Henry is involved and it is both senseless and unnecessary for you to risk either your reputation or your safety when I am better able to make the necessary enquiries. So, Miss Markham, I shall be your flagbearer: I shall visit the Nag’s Head and make enquiries on your behalf. And—’ he raised his voice as she opened her mouth...to argue, no doubt ‘—I urge you to remember that other men will tell me things they would not say in front of you.’
‘What sort of things?’
He wagged his head at her, stifling another grin at her clear frustration. ‘You cannot possibly expect me to divulge such secrets, Miss Markham. Suffice it to say that I have a better chance of prising information from them than you.’
The tiniest wobble of her lower lip reminded Vernon that, however brave the face she presented, beneath it, she must be devastated.
‘Do not despair, Miss Markham. I shall find Daniel.’
Hope lit her eyes and, having raised it, he was not about to dash it by voicing aloud the thought that followed: Alive or dead, I shall find him.
Footsteps clacked along the hall outside, getting nearer, and then the door behind Vernon opened. Miss Markham’s expression blanked and she tensed.
‘Dorothea.’ A woman’s voice. ‘There you—oh!’
Vernon looked around. A middle-aged woman, her greying hair bundled into a cap, had entered the room.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said to Vernon. ‘I was not informed we had visitors.’ Annoyance lent an edge to her tone and the look she cast Miss Markham—Dorothea—was...bitter.
Dorothea, meanwhile, had hurried around the desk, but halted before she got too close to the other woman. To Vernon’s eyes, she appeared to stand at attention, her hands clasped at her waist, her fingers twisting together.
‘Mama! There was no need to inform you of L... Mr Beauchamp’s visit. He called in on a matter of business and is about to leave. I am sorry. Did you have need of me?’
This was her mother? Vernon looked from one to the other, wondering at those noticeable cracks in their relationship.
Mrs Markham gave a tight smile, but ignored her daughter’s question.
‘I trust my daughter was able to satisfactorily answer your queries, Mr Beauchamp? It is unfortunate my son should happen to be away from home at present. He is on urgent business, but Dorothea is familiar with every aspect of the manufactory.’
‘She has proved most satisfactory, ma’am.’
‘Good. Good.’ He was clearly of little interest to the woman, for she turned her full attention to her daughter. ‘Your father feels well enough to sit in his chair today, Dorothea, so I shall stay with him. Have a small repast sent up around noon, if you please. Now—’ she flicked a glance at Vernon ‘—I must return to my husband, Mr Beauchamp. I am sure you will excuse me?’
Vernon bowed again as Dorothea walked with her mother to the door. There was no further exchange of words between mother and daughter. Mrs Markham left and Dorothea shut the door, muffling the tip-tap of her mother’s rapidly departing footsteps. She turned to face Vernon.
‘Mr Beauchamp?’ He raised his brows. ‘Might I ask why?’
‘I do not want my parents to wonder why a lord is calling upon Daniel. I cannot allow them to be worried; they have enough to cope with. They believe Daniel is in Birmingham on business—that is another reason I asked the grooms not to spread the news that Daniel is missing, for it would be sure to reach the house servants’ ears and they would tell my mother.’
‘What is wrong with your father?’
‘He had a stroke. Six years ago.’ Her face twisted: grief, guilt. ‘He cannot walk or talk properly. Mama devotes herself to him.’
‘He must require a lot of care. Your parents are fortunate to have you here to help.’
‘M-Mama says my visits agitate Papa; she d-discourages me from attending him.’ For the flash of a second, a bewildered child stared out of those huge hazel orbs. Then it seemed as though a shutter closed and the brisk, efficient Dorothea Markham returned. ‘Daniel took over the running of the business when Papa...when it happened. I help as much as I can, but now Daniel is missing and, somehow, your cousin is involved, and I—Mannington!’
Her voice suddenly rang with excitement and she captured Vernon’s gaze, her eyes sparkling, sending a jolt of heat sizzling through his veins. He could barely concentrate on her words, so taken aback was he by his unexpected physical response.
‘I recall... I am sure I have seen...’
She ran past Vernon to the desk, leaving a trail of floral scent wafting in her wake.
Roses. A summer garden. Quintessentially feminine.
She snatched up a handful of papers from the pile he had noticed before and began to leaf through them. After a few minutes she exclaimed in triumph, extracted a sheet of notepaper, and waved it in the air. ‘It did not resonate with me at first, but then... I remembered.’
‘May I see?’ Vernon reached for the sheet of paper.
Her gaze flicked to his outstretched hand, but she made no move to hand it to him. ‘I thought it was the name of a place,’ she continued. ‘It never occurred to me that Mannington was a person. At last, I have a definite clue.’
Vernon did not retract his outstretched hand, merely waited until she capitulated and handed him the paper.
‘Thank you.’ He scanned the sheet. It took no time at all, for there were only two words, separated by a pair of initials.
Mannington—R.H.—Willingdale?
Vernon frowned. ‘What...or where...is Willingdale? And who, do you suppose, is R.H?’
‘I have no idea.’
Silence reigned. A glance revealed Dorothea seemingly deep in thought as she leaned back against the edge of the desk, her arms folded as she gazed unseeingly past Vernon, a vertical groove between her brows.
Vernon reread the words written on the paper.
Willingdale... A village? An estate? The name of a person?
He was torn from his thoughts by a muffled whimper.
Chapter Three (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea tried so hard to hold back her tears, but she simply could not. She dropped her chin into her chest, hand pressed against her lips as her sight blurred. To her horror a single tear plopped on to her bodice, leaving a damp splodge as the fabric absorbed it. Then another tear fell, and another. A large handkerchief was pressed into her hands. She dabbed at her eyes and forced herself to look up. The sympathy in Vernon’s green eyes almost set her off again, but she gritted her teeth and cleared her throat.
‘I am sorry. I was just thinking...if only I had paid more attention...’
‘You must not blame yourself.’
Thea swallowed her bitter laugh. Blame herself? She had done nothing but blame herself for the past six years.
‘Where is he?’ The words burst from her. ‘Why has he not even wr-written?’ Her voice choked in her throat, and she buried her head in her hands. ‘I fear the worst...’ A sob broke free. Then another. ‘B-but I must know. I c-cannot bear this...this ignorance. I f-feel so...so alone.’
Two arms wrapped around her and her head was pressed to a strong chest, the thud of his heart steady and reassuring in her ear. He held her, and stroked her hair, and she gave way to the storm of tears she had dammed up ever since the morning she had discovered that Daniel had failed to come home.
Finally the tears slowed, leaving empty shame at having succumbed to such womanly weakness. What must he think of her? Her breath hitched as she battled for control.
‘Do not despair, Miss Markham.’ Vernon’s deep voice rumbled into the ear pressed against his chest, reverberating through her entire body. Words he had spoken before but somehow, this time, of even more comfort. ‘You no longer carry this burden alone.’
Thankfulness and hope floated into her heart. Her need to confide, to have somebody on her side, was so strong it almost overwhelmed her innate caution. She felt torn: she wanted so much to believe him...to follow the instincts that told her she could trust him, but...he was a stranger. She could not be certain of what was in his heart.
As she grew calm again a single thought clarified in her mind. She cared not how she managed it but—if Vernon was going to search for Daniel—she was going, too.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, mopping her eyes again with his handkerchief, as she wriggled free of his arms. She blew her nose. ‘I am not normally given to such displays.’
She crossed to the table near the window to finish off her glass of Madeira, then squared her shoulders and turned to face Vernon. It was time to stop moping and take action.
‘Shall we discuss strategy?’
‘Strategy, Miss Markham?’
The laughter lines at the corner of his eyes deepened although his lips remained perfectly straight. Thea scowled at this spoilt lord who clearly found her an object of fun.
‘I have no need of strategy. With this information...’ he picked up the discarded note from the desk, folded it and tucked it inside his jacket ‘...and a quick chat with your grooms, I have everything I need.’
He swung around and strode for the study door and panic swamped Thea.
What have I done?
‘Wait!’
She had handed this stranger information that might help him trace Daniel, but could she trust him? What if he meant Daniel harm? This was happening too quickly. He might have decided he needed no strategy, but she needed time to think. To plan.
Above all, she needed reassurance that this man was precisely what he appeared to be: a charming, cultured gentleman. She recalled her fanciful notion that she had glimpsed a wolf beneath his surface: a wolf that watched and waited. What if he had a hidden agenda? What if he was like Jasper Connor who, for months on end, had duped Thea and her entire family into thinking he was something he was not?
Vernon had halted at her command and he slowly rotated to face her. He raised a brow, the epitome of aristocratic arrogance. An idea started to form in Thea’s brain. If she could but delay his departure a short while...
‘You will stay and have luncheon before you set out?’
‘I thought time was of the essence?’
‘It is. But a few hours will not make much difference. You must eat.’
Doubt—and masculinity—radiated from the man: his booted feet planted a yard apart, his arms folded tight across his chest, his lips compressed.
Inspiration struck. ‘You cannot go to the Nag’s Head dressed as you are.’
He glowered. ‘What is wrong with the way I am dressed?’ He unfolded his arms and took a pace towards her. ‘I’ll have you know this coat is by Weston. It is—’
‘It proclaims you for what you are,’ Thea said. She stepped closer, and held his gaze. ‘A wealthy gentleman. Places such as the Nag’s Head are not patronised by members of the aristocracy, but by ordinary men: businessmen, tradesmen, farmers. They will not speak openly to a man of your ilk. A stranger.
‘Why don’t you go to the stables and speak to the grooms,’ she went on, ‘and by the time you return to the house there will be food ready for you to eat and, after that, I shall find you something appropriate of Daniel’s to wear.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You are of a similar height and build to him. His clothes will help you to blend in.’
That should buy her time to put her plans into place.
‘Very well.’ Vernon paused as he was about to leave the study. ‘I just wish I could be certain Daniel’s disappearance is connected to Henry Manning. If the two things are coincidental, I might end up on a wild goose chase.’
And that proves I am right to be cautious. If the two enquiries lead in different directions, I make no doubt Lord Vernon Beauchamp will go chasing after his cousin and consign poor Daniel to the Devil.
* * *
Vernon strode back to the house half an hour later, not much wiser about how he might discover what had happened to Daniel Markham. The grooms could not tell him who or what was Willingdale and nor did the initials R.H. mean anything. None of them had ever accompanied Daniel on his more recent daily excursions—although they confirmed Dorothea’s story that her brother had been troubled—and nor could they offer any reason for this change in Daniel’s behaviour. They were frustrated that they had been stopped from making enquiries—and Vernon had learned that was mainly due to Dorothea’s concern that any worries about Daniel’s welfare would damage confidence in Stour Crystal—and they had scoffed at the notion that Daniel had run up gaming debts.
‘Mr Daniel ain’t never been a one for gambling, sir,’ the head man, Pritchard, had said. ‘Not since his papa lost all their money. Both Mr Daniel and Miss Thea have worked too hard to save the business to put it at risk again.’
Mr Markham senior would not be the first man to gamble away a fortune, but Vernon’s comment along those lines had resulted in a fierce denial that the money had been lost at the gaming tables. Pritchard had then clammed up, refusing to elaborate further.
Vernon had not pressed Pritchard, but had caught Bickling’s eye and given him the nod before returning to the house, confident his trusty groom would winkle out the truth and pass the information on to Vernon later.
Dorothea—Miss Thea, Pritchard had called her, which was much less of a mouthful—must have been watching for him, because she appeared at a side door and beckoned him inside. He followed her along a passageway, eyeing her neat figure with appreciation, the smell of roses and summer teasing at his senses.
‘I have laid out some clothes for you to change into,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘and there is food for you in here.’
She threw open a door that led into a shabby but homely parlour, the table laid with cold cuts, meat pies, bread, cheese and fruit, reminding Vernon of his hunger. The decor would have been the height of fashion a decade ago—in stark contrast with the ostentatious entrance hall and its grand staircase and even the more subdued but still luxurious furnishings in the study. Vernon recalled his initial scathing assessment of the well-tended surrounds of Stourwell Court as he had driven up the carriageway. The house—relatively newly built, with no passing architectural fashion left unsampled—had screamed new money to one familiar with the sprawling ancient Beauchamp family seat of Cheriton Abbey in the County of Devonshire.
Having learned of the family’s financial loss and subsequent struggle, Vernon was unsurprised by the tactic he had seen many times in the past: a family on its uppers, putting what money they could spare into the public rooms where visitors were entertained in order to keep up appearances.
‘Did you discover anything new?’
Thea came straight to the point as she closed the door behind them. Vernon was unsurprised—she had already impressed him with her directness, as well as her quick understanding.
‘Only the names of some of Daniel’s friends who drink at the Nag’s Head.’ He had no intention of revealing that the grooms had spoken of her family’s past financial difficulties. ‘Pritchard was of the opinion that Daniel had spent much of his time in Birmingham in the days before he went missing. He also reckons your brother called in at the Nag’s Head most nights on his way home. So that will definitely be my first port of call.’
‘Will you drive your curricle, or ride?’
‘I had not thought that far ahead,’ Vernon admitted. ‘If, as you say, my clothing would excite interest, then no doubt my curricle and pair will as well.’
‘A top-of-the-tree rig such as yours? I should say so,’ she said, gravely, but with a twinkle in her eye. When she wasn’t scowling she was an attractive woman. ‘You may take one of Daniel’s horses. They are perfectly decent animals, suitable for a gentleman of your standing.’
Vernon grinned. ‘I am delighted to hear it. A man of my consequence cannot be too careful.’
He might as well pander to her opinion of him as a spoilt aristocrat.
‘We had better eat.’ Thea crossed the room to the table and picked up a plate. ‘It will be more practical to go on horseback. We can take shortcuts across country—’
‘We?’ Vernon strode forward, grasped her arm and tugged her round to face him. ‘What...? Oh, no. No, no, no! Definitely not. You are not coming with me.’
Thea’s tawny brows snapped together, meeting across the bridge of her freckled nose as she drew herself up to her full height. Which was short.
‘You cannot stop me. Daniel is my brother. I want to come.’
Vernon stared down at her mutinous expression and heaved a silent sigh. He was hungry and he was anxious to set off, now he had a definite idea of where to start with his search. First he must deal with this hissing, spitting kitten.
Thea shrugged out of his hold, replaced her plate on the table with a crack that made Vernon wince and folded her arms.
‘You cannot tell me what to do. I am going.’
Vernon squared his shoulders. ‘Not with me you are not.’
‘You cannot stop me.’
‘You are correct. I cannot stop you going anywhere or doing anything you wish. But I tell you here and now...you will not do it with me. I shall return to London and you may never discover what has happened to your brother.’
Her eyes widened.
Good. That has shaken her.
‘You would not do that.’ Her voice lacked conviction.
Vernon lowered his own voice, injecting a silky menace into his tone. ‘If you put me to the test, Miss Markham, I think you will find that I do not make empty threats either.’
Her lips thinned as she glared at him. ‘What about your cousin?’
Vernon shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I shall pay an investigator to track him down and report to me in London. What you choose to forget, Miss Markham, is that I have neither desire nor need to remain here in Worcestershire, or to embark upon a search for a man I have never met. I offered my services because it is unsafe for you, as a female, to go into the places on that list. Which, incidentally, is the exact reason you cannot come with me: it is not safe. I admit to some curiosity as to my cousin’s involvement, but I shall not lose any sleep over it and you will do well to remember that.’
She hung her head, her eyes downcast. Vernon felt like an out-and-out brute, but knew he must not show any weakness for he had no doubt she would quickly seize upon it and, despite what he said, he really was curious to find out what had happened to Daniel Markham.
‘So, are we agreed? I shall leave after I have eaten and changed my clothing and you, Miss Markham, will wave me goodbye.’
‘Very well. I shall not insist on leaving with you.’
Her mouth drooped and he wondered if she were about to cry again. He had been certain that earlier bout was uncharacteristic. He could not abide women who cried at the slightest provocation, using tears as a weapon to get their own way. But, despite that, he still felt sympathy and also a little guilty, knowing how worried she was about her brother. He reached out and nudged one finger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. Respect for her crept through him: she was dry-eyed and he was relieved at this proof she was prepared to listen to and accept his reasoning.
‘Miss Markham, you must also understand that, quite apart from it being unsafe, it would also be entirely improper for you to accompany me. Your reputation would be in tatters.’
A gleam lit those huge hazel orbs and Vernon was disconcerted by the undeniable kick of his pulse and his sudden impulse to kiss her,
His awareness of her as an attractive woman rattled him into speaking more bluntly than he should.
‘We have no idea what has happened to Daniel, but I know you are aware he could have met with foul play. It would be wholly irresponsible for me to allow you to be exposed to possible danger.’
She blinked and her cheeks paled, causing the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks to stand out in contrast. Vernon felt a brute all over again, as though he had kicked a puppy. Or—perhaps more fitting in Thea’s case, given his earlier fanciful thoughts—a kitten. He released her chin and clasped her upper arms, bending his knees to look directly into her eyes.
‘I apologise. I did not mean to shock you.’
Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. He had upset her, but she was struggling to conceal her emotions and his respect grew at the way she handled herself in such a horrible situation.
‘Do not lose hope, Miss Markham.’ He gently rubbed her arms, trying to buoy her spirits. ‘There could still be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Daniel’s disappearance.’
She huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head, her curls bouncing. ‘Such as? No, I cannot be hopeful. He would have written to us. He would not stay away without a word.’
Vernon released her and stepped back from the temptation of taking her into his arms again to offer comfort.
‘He might be too ill to write,’ he said. ‘Or he has lost his memory. Or maybe he has written and the letter has been lost en route?’ He paced the room and then returned to come to a halt in front of her. ‘Whatever the reason, I shall discover it, but you must leave this to me. Do you understand?’
‘I understand. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters requiring my attention.’
‘You will not join me?’
‘I find I no longer have an appetite. Enjoy your luncheon, sir. Ring for George when you have finished eating and he will show you to Daniel’s bedchamber to change your clothing. I shall see you before you leave.’ She left him with a brisk step, leaving the scent of roses lingering in her wake.
* * *
After Vernon had eaten his fill, he was shown upstairs by George.
‘I shall leave as soon as I have changed,’ Vernon told the footman. ‘Could you inform Miss Markham that I will see her downstairs in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?’
He wondered if Thea would come to see him off, or if she would stay away, sulking. No, he decided. Sulking was not Miss Markham’s style.
George bowed and left. Vernon wasted no time in changing into the clothing that would help him to blend in. He donned the fawn-coloured breeches and the respectable linen shirt and neckcloth left on the bed. The boots, however, were too small. He eyed his Hessian boots and their mirror shine with regret as he realised there was nothing for it but to smear them with soil when he went outside, to dull the shine. A moleskin waistcoat and a brown jacket completed Vernon’s transformation from a man of fashion into a respectable country squire.
He ducked to peer into the dressing-table mirror and ruffled his fingers through his hair. At least he would not present himself all neatly barbered at the Nag’s Head and wherever else his enquiries might lead. His hair had needed a trim before he left London, but he had decided to leave it until his return. It was a touch long and unruly, but the less well-groomed his appearance, the less notice he would attract.
He rotated, studying the room: Daniel’s room. Quashing down any guilt—he was trying to help, not snoop—he quickly searched through drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He must hope that someone at the Nag’s Head could either throw some light on the reason Daniel had been riding to Birmingham on a regular basis—if, that is, Pritchard was correct that Daniel had been visiting the city—or that they might solve the mystery of what, or who, Willingdale and R.H. were.
A battered saddlebag had been left on the bed. Inside was a clean shirt and neckcloth, reminding Vernon that this mission might take several days. He slung the bag over one shoulder and, with one last look around, he strode from the room.
In the entrance hall, he waited. The scrunch of hooves on the gravel outside told him that his horse had arrived. He went out to find Bickling holding a dependable-looking bay hunter and sent him running back to the stables to retrieve Vernon’s shaving kit and other personal necessities from his valise in his curricle. When Bickling returned, Vernon stowed the articles in the saddlebag as his groom filled him in on what he’d discovered about Mr Markham’s lost fortune.
‘Seems he raised funds against his business and invested them all in some non-existent scheme through this swindler who befriended the family and then vanished with their money,’ he said. ‘The stress caused Markham senior’s stroke and, although Pritchard clammed up when I tried to get more from him, it seems this fraudster also had something to do with Miss Markham.’
‘In what way?’
Bickling shrugged. ‘The man’s very loyal to Miss Markham. He wouldn’t say more than the bastard took Miss Markham in, too, and that she’s never forgiven herself. Blames herself for her father’s stroke.’
Had he courted her? Had she fallen in love with him? That’s what it sounded like to Vernon. ‘Thank you, Bickling.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you, milord?’
‘There is no need, I can take care of myself and, besides, you’ll be on edge the entire time if you have to leave my blacks in anyone else’s care.’
Bickling was even fussier about Vernon’s horses than he was, if that were possible. And he knew that Bickling would be forever saying ‘milord’, and that would mean no chance of staying discreet.
‘I could always take one of the men from here, but they appear short-staffed already. I will be fine going alone, do not worry.’
‘Very well, milord.’ Bickling’s glum face said it all.
Vernon glanced at the front door. Still no sign of Thea. He did not want to leave without saying goodbye so he went back inside. Immediately he heard hurried footsteps approaching from the nether regions of the house. Thea soon appeared, slightly breathless.
‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘There is something you need to see.’
Chapter Four (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea had to give his lordship credit: he followed her without question to the gunroom. Once inside, he turned a full circle, eyeing the rows of shotguns, rifles and muskets that lined the walls. The windowless room was illuminated by the three lanterns Thea had lit on her earlier visit. Somehow, with Vernon inside, the room seemed to have shrunk and Thea wrapped her arms defensively around her torso and stepped away from him, putting a little more distance between them.
Vernon tilted his head as he met Thea’s gaze and those penetrating green eyes of his glinted as they caught the light. They felt as though they reached deep into her soul. She just prayed he could not read her thoughts.
‘I trust you do not plan to hold me hostage down here, Miss Markham.’
His comment startled a laugh from her. The thought had crossed her mind. Not to hold him hostage, but to force him at gunpoint to take her with him—a crazy thought that she had dismissed the minute her whirling thoughts, desperate to find a way to go with him, had seized upon it. That crazy idea had, though, led to another plan.
Which was why she had ventured down here to the gunroom in the first place.
‘Have no fear, my lord,’ she said. ‘None of these weapons is loaded. You are quite safe.’
‘Then why are we here?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder if Daniel was armed,’ she said.
‘Would he normally go out with a gun?’
‘He had a blunderbuss that was always buckled to his saddle, in case of an attack,’ she said. ‘There have been a few robberies on the roads hereabouts, over the past year or so. Daniel said there has been an increase in vagrants wandering the countryside—former soldiers, he reckoned, although others like to blame the gipsies. But a blunderbuss is not a weapon he could carry in his pocket. Look—’ she pointed to the table in the centre of the room ‘—I found that pistol case in the cabinet. It should have two muff pistols inside, plus the flask and balls. Firearms are Daniel’s passion. He bought this case and pistols at an auction in Birmingham a few weeks ago.’
She tilted the case to show the single remaining pistol to Vernon. He whistled.
‘So...your brother went out expecting trouble. Or even danger.’
‘It would appear so, although I cannot understand why he would take that particular pistol. It is very small.’
Vernon moved closer as he peered at the contents of the case, his sleeve brushing Thea’s arm, sending a tingle of awareness racing through her. She shivered in reaction, fighting the urge to leave the room. Her discomfort was unimportant...she must do this for Daniel.
‘Small but deadly,’ Vernon said. ‘I should imagine he took it precisely because its size means it is easily concealed. I see he has several cases of duelling pistols...’ He selected one case at random and opened it. He whistled again, lifting out one of the guns and sighting along the barrel. ‘Manton’s. A fine piece. But, too big to conceal and...’
‘And what?’
He shot her an apologetic look and grimaced. ‘Sorry. I was thinking out loud.’
‘But, having begun to speak, you must now finish,’ Thea said, irritation at her physical reaction to his proximity making her sharp.
She had no wish to be aware of him as an attractive man. Men were not to be trusted.
‘I told you before,’ she went on, ‘I am not one of your fine ladies who needs mollycoddling. I have dealt with hard reality and survived. Please do not patronise me. Do me the courtesy of dealing with me as an intelligent adult, not a child.’
He sighed. ‘Very well. I was about to say that a duelling pistol is not as handy at close quarters.’
Her stomach churned at his words, but she tamped down her fear. She had asked him and he had replied. She could not now blame him because she did not like what she heard. Besides, that was an interesting point to remember. She had already selected and primed a duelling pistol, ready to pack in her saddlebag along with her spare clothing. Daniel had other small pistols—she would take one of those along as well.
‘I thought you should see this for yourself,’ she said to Vernon. ‘As you said, it suggests Daniel was expecting trouble when he left.’
Just speaking those words made her throat constrict with unshed tears but Thea forced her emotions to lie low, knowing she must keep a cool head if she was not to hinder the search for her brother.
‘It is time to go,’ she said, ‘but there is also something else I must show you.’
Vernon raised a brow but, again, followed her unquestioningly. Up the stairs this time and along the upper corridor to the long gallery, where the family portraits hung and where Thea and Daniel practised fencing manoeuvres. The physical exercise had helped Thea to exorcise some of her anger and guilt after Jasper Connor had betrayed her and near bankrupted both Stour Crystal and her family.
Vernon headed straight for the portrait of Thea. ‘It is a good likeness.’
For a second, admiration glowed in his eyes, but Thea ignored the answering tug deep in her core. She could not help but be aware of Vernon’s allure. She’d wager there were ladies galore in the ton who regularly swooned at his feet, given one look from those green eyes, or one of his smiles, brimming with charm, but she was not interested. Not in Lord Vernon Beauchamp nor in any man. Being jilted at the altar tended to have that effect.
‘That is not why we are here,’ she said and led the way to the portrait of Daniel.
Apart from the portraits of Thea and Daniel, and an earlier one of Mama and Papa—painted before Papa had his stroke—there were only landscapes on the walls. Papa had harboured such grand dreams: dreams of building a dynasty, dreams of using his wealth to ensure his grandchildren might be accepted into the ranks of the upper classes, dreams of this gallery being filled with portraits of the generations to come. Now it might all come to naught. Thea would never give him grandchildren and, if Daniel... She choked off that thought, afraid her precarious control would shatter again if she followed her fears to their natural conclusion.
‘That is Daniel,’ she said, feeling another lump form in her throat as she looked up at his strong, dark features. ‘I thought it would help for you to know what he looks like.’
Vernon examined the portrait in silence.
‘He has your eyes,’ he said, eventually, ‘but I see no further resemblance.’
‘He gets his colouring from Mama, but he is tall like Papa,’ Thea said. They headed for the door. ‘I get my red hair from Papa, but my height—or, rather, my lack of it—from Mama.’
Back in the entrance hall, Vernon picked up the saddlebag by the front door.
‘I shall have to hope,’ he remarked, regarding his reflection in a mirror with a grimace, ‘that I do not meet anyone with whom I am acquainted. They will think I have run quite mad, dressed like this.’
Thea bit back her scathing retort.
‘I shall write to let you know what I find out about your brother and how my cousin is connected to him.’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘I still find it hard to believe Henry has anything to do with your brother’s disappearance. I have every hope of discovering the two things are unconnected.’
Which, again, proved Thea was right to follow him as she planned. If Henry Mannington was found to have no connection with Daniel’s disappearance, Vernon would go chasing off after Henry and what chance then would Thea have of finding Daniel?
She followed Vernon down the front steps, where Bickling, his groom, held the reins of Warrior, one of Daniel’s favourite hunters. Vernon swung into the saddle, raised his hand in farewell and set off down the carriageway at a brisk trot.
Thea watched until horse and rider disappeared from sight, then spun on her heel and raced up to her bedchamber. There was no time to lose. She had already told her mother she was going to visit a sick friend for a few days and Mama, as usual, showed little interest in Thea’s activities; she had never forgiven her daughter for the disaster that had befallen their family.
Thea had also written to Charles Leyton, the manager at Stour Crystal, to warn him he would not be able to contact either her or Daniel for a week or so. She hoped she would not be away as long as that, but it was best to err on the side of caution.
It was a relief to be taking action—she had been near paralysed with indecision until Lord Vernon’s visit, afraid of the consequences should Stour Crystal’s customers, or—God forbid—their rivals, learn that Daniel was missing. Uncertainty was bad for business. If she was responsible for spreading rumours and Daniel turned up unscathed, he would, rightly, be furious with her. She had caused enough trouble for the business six years ago. She could not bear to be the cause of more.
She had slipped across to the stables earlier, whilst Vernon was eating, and taken Malky—the groom who had taught her and Daniel to ride—into her confidence about her plan. He had not been happy but, in the end, he had agreed to saddle Thea’s favourite mare, Star, with a conventional saddle so she could ride astride and to meet Thea, with Star, on the edge of the copse behind the walled kitchen garden, out of sight of both the house and the stables.
She changed hastily into the clothes she had kept from Daniel’s boyhood, the ones she wore for their fencing bouts and for riding astride. She wondered whether or not she should take Malky with her. It would be the sensible thing to do, at least until she caught up with Vernon, but it would leave the estate short-handed at a busy time.
She examined her appearance in the mirror. She had bound her breasts to flatten them and had dusted fine ash from the fireplace across her skin, dulling it. She was dressed the same as countless young lads around the country, in jacket, shirt, waistcoat, breeches and boots. Her hair...she leaned closer to her reflection. She could pass muster as a lad during one cross-country ride—with her hair plaited and pinned and bundled into a cap—but would that suffice for a longer masquerade?
She reached for her scissors. It would grow again. She unpinned her hair and gathered it together. She swivelled her head from side to side as she gazed into the mirror, considering. Some lads had hair that grew to the nape of their necks, or even longer. She set her jaw. Time was wasting. She cut, hacking again and again at her thick hair until the bunch came free in her hand. She stared at it, lying limp across her palm, trying and failing to quash her distress.
It cannot be helped.
She pushed the hair under her mattress where it would not be discovered, and turned again to the mirror, biting back a cry at the sight that met her eyes. She pushed her fingers through her hair, fluffing it out—her curls more unruly than ever—then ruthlessly scraped it back and tied it with the length of twine she carried in her jacket pocket for emergencies. Her reins had snapped once, several miles from home, and since then she had always been prepared. Never had she envisioned using it for this purpose, however.
It is just vanity. Who cares what you look like?
Unbidden, Vernon’s face arose in her thoughts.
Hmmph. She thrust his image aside. He is a means to an end: finding Daniel. Nothing more.
It was time to go. Malky would have Star ready by now. Thea cast a last look around her bedchamber, sucked in a deep breath to quell her nerves and picked up her saddlebag. A quick visit to the gunroom for pistols, powder and shot and then she would be gone. As she crept down the back stairs she prayed none of the servants would see her. Her stomach roiled all the way to the gunroom and for the entire time it took her to load the smaller pistol she had decided to take with her.
She slipped out of the side door and hurried along the path to the kitchen garden, following the outer stone wall around until she reached the far corner. Then she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she was no longer visible from the house. She stood still, leaning back against the wall, feeling the sun’s warmth, stored in the stones, radiating through her twill jacket, and waited for her nerves to settle. They did not. Her stomach continued to churn until she felt sick and she realised, with a jolt, that it was not the adventure to come that frightened her so very much but the thought of Lord Vernon Beauchamp’s reaction when he discovered she had followed him. Contrarily, that thought irritated her, which then had the effect of finally grounding those butterflies fluttering around inside her stomach.
It was not his place to dictate her movements and it was not incumbent upon her to obey him. She was her own woman. Seven-and-twenty years of age. Intelligent. She had no reputation to sully—it simply was not important to her. She would never marry and she was long past the days when she worried about how many partners she might attract at the assembly room in Bewdley. Come to think of it, she could not remember the last time she had visited the assembly room. Losing everything, including a fiancé and, very nearly, her father had effectively put an end to all such frivolity. They had—both she and Daniel—put their heads down and worked, with no thought other than to pull the family back from the precipice of bankruptcy. They had teetered upon the brink of that chilling state for a very long time.
Those years... That lump ached once more in Thea’s throat. She and Daniel had worked in partnership and they had not given up until the manufactory was safe. They had worked with Charles Leyton and the other men to develop new products that were now eagerly sought after by customers keen to decorate their homes and to display their wealth.
And now, when it seemed they could finally begin to breathe again, Daniel had vanished.
Thea pushed away from the wall. She could see Malky waiting, with Star and another horse, at the top of the opposite bank of the stream, on the edge of the trees. Gratefulness hummed through her. Malky clearly intended to accompany her and she saw now that was the best solution, at least until she caught up with Vernon. Her guise as a lad would protect her a little on the ride between Stourwell Court and Stourbridge, but not completely—a solitary youth might prove fair game for any manner of rogues on the road. She would believe that was what had befallen Daniel, but for the fact his horse had not returned: Bullet would always return to Stourwell Court. He had been foaled here.
She ran down the bank, jumped the narrow channel of water and hurried up the slope to Malky.
‘Afore you say aught, miss, I’m coming with you and there’s an end to it.’
Malky...he had taught her to ride. Solid. Dependable. Unflappable.
‘Thank you, Malky.’ Thea turned to Star, put her foot in the stirrup and was soon settled astride the spirited black mare. ‘Just until we catch up with his lordship, mind.’ Or, actually, before. Or his lordship would merely order her to return home with Malky. That would not suit her purpose at all. ‘Let’s go.’
They rode across country, taking the shortest route to Stourbridge, and Thea began to breathe a little easier at the knowledge they had made up time. Finally, they arrived at the outskirts of the town and they halted.
‘I will be safe enough now,’ she said to Malky. ‘You should return home. No!’ She held up one hand as Malky started to protest. ‘You cannot come further. You are needed at Stourwell Court. I shall be quite safe... I intend to let myself be known to his lordship before nightfall. It will be too late by then for him to send me home.’
‘And what do you intend to do while his lordship is inside the Nag’s Head?’
‘I shall go inside, too. It is a respectable enough inn. It will be an opportunity to find out if my disguise will stand casual scrutiny. You cannot deny it is better I begin here—in full daylight—than enter some low alehouse after dark when it is like to be filled with men in their cups.’
Malky sighed. ‘I don’t like you going inside such places, Miss Thea.’
‘Theo, Malky. I told you, I am now Theo. And I must go inside or how shall I discover—?’
‘I’ve bin in and out of such places all me life, mi—’ He clamped his lips together with a scowl. ‘You told me you were going to follow his lordship. You never said you’d be risking your reputation and worse besides by going inside such places.’
She touched his arm. ‘You cannot stop me, Malky. You know me. You know how stubborn I can be.’
‘Never a truer word,’ he muttered.
‘Must I order you home, Malky? You and I cannot ride into town together, or someone will recognise you and wonder who I am. Trust me... I will stay safe. I shall follow his lordship and, as I said, I shall make myself known to him before nightfall. He is a gentleman. He will protect me.’
‘And that’s another thing to worry about,’ Malky muttered. ‘His sort...they think nothing of debauchery and such like and you an innocent and all.’
‘I am well able to protect my virtue, Malky,’ she said grimly. ‘You need have no fear on that score.’
After several more grumbles, Malky finally left her and Thea rode Star up New Street towards High Street and the Nag’s Head, her stomach twisting with nerves at what she was about to do and at the thought of Vernon’s likely reaction when he discovered she had followed him. But then she thought of Daniel. She was doing this for him. And her nerves steadied as she left Star with an ostler and approached the door of the inn. She hadn’t planned much further than simply catching up with Vernon and then tailing him, but she had faith everything would work out all right. She patted her pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the pistol. She could take care of herself and, whatever might have happened to Daniel, she would make certain she, at least, returned home to her parents.
She followed a man in through the door and turned left, as did he, into a taproom. A sweeping glance took in the dingy walls and ring-marked tables. She watched carefully how the man she had followed in behaved. He slid on to a settle and caught the attention of a serving woman by the simple expedient of raising one finger. The girl brought him a tankard, presumably of ale or porter.
Thea took a seat in an empty corner, where she could take in the whole room and see the door at the same time. As the woman turned from the other customer, Thea raised her hand. The woman acknowledged her and soon delivered a tankard, setting it on the table with a bang that sloshed its contents over the rim. She scooped up the coins Thea had tossed on to the table with a brief grin that made Thea suspect her tip had been overly generous. Nevertheless, she breathed a little easier. The woman had barely looked at her and neither had the other customers.
She sipped her ale—wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste—and allowed her gaze to slide around the room, examining each occupant in turn. The taproom was not full, with around eight customers, including Thea and the other newcomer, and a man behind the bar whom she assumed was Perrins, the publican—she knew his name from occasional comments Daniel had made about the place. But there was no sign of Vernon.
Where is he?
On the heels of that thought, the door opened and in strolled Lord Vernon Beauchamp.
Chapter Five (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
There was a lull in the conversation as the men in the taproom eyed up this newcomer. There had been no such reaction when the other man and Thea had entered and she took heart that the other customers had taken her appearance at face value. One single glance confirmed the newcomer was Vernon, but his appearance, far from offering relief, wound Thea’s tension a notch tighter as she kept her head bent and her attention on her drink. In her head, as she had planned her first venture into this alien world, she had entered the taproom and Vernon was already seated. She had not reckoned on him following her in. What if he sat at her table?
From the corner of her eye, she watched as he paused inside the door and swept the room, his gaze lingering on each man in turn before moving on to the next. She clenched her teeth as he scrutinised her, wrapping her fingers tightly around her tankard as she fought the urge to check that her hair was still tucked up inside her cap. The colour, surely, would give her away in an instant. After what seemed an age, Vernon’s gaze moved on and Thea released her held breath as he sauntered deeper into the room, and selected a seat at a table with three other men. He looked every inch the gentleman he was, despite Daniel’s clothing, and Thea sensed the sudden unease of the men he had joined. Even Perrins watched Vernon with suspicion.
‘Good afternoon,’ Vernon said.
His voice, well-modulated and...well...superior, carried around the room, prompting another pause in the various conversations. Now the immediate danger of him recognising her had passed, Thea began to enjoy herself. Vernon might be a lord, and the brother of a high and mighty duke, but he was out of his depth in this world. She fully expected the three men he had joined to finish up their ale and to leave, but they did not. Vernon reached into his pocket and extracted a pack of cards, looking around the table with his brows lifted in invitation. The men exchanged glances and nodded, and Vernon dealt the cards.
Perrins called across the bar, ‘Mind you keep them stakes low, gents. I don’t want no trouble in here.’
Vernon laughed. ‘I have no choice but to keep them low, landlord. My luck has been out for too long, I fear. But I harbour hopes it is about to change.’
His smile encompassed his three companions, who appeared to perk up, exchanging eager looks.
* * *
They played cards for nigh on an hour, while Thea nursed her drink in the corner, growing steadily more indignant. She could hear their banter. Not once had Vernon mentioned Daniel. Or Henry Mannington. Instead, he fed them scraps of information about himself—none of it true, from what Thea knew of him—as he steadily lost, hand after hand. Then, he won a hand and, jubilant, he ordered a bottle of gin and four glasses. Thea could not fathom his strategy. Time was wasting. They needed clues. Why did he not just get on with it instead of throwing his money around? If he had experienced the dread of ending up in debtors’ prison, he would not be so careless of his money.
Then, with the gin bottle half-empty—the level in Vernon’s glass, she noted, had barely dropped—he said, ‘That’s it. I’m done, lads. You’ve cleaned me out. Landlord...what time do you have?’
‘Half-past four,’ Perrins called in reply.
‘Half-past four, you say!’
His words slurred a little, but Thea did not believe he was in the slightest bit foxed. Vernon swore an oath that made Thea blush, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
‘Have I the wrong place, I wonder? I made sure he said to meet here at four.’
‘Who’re you meeting, then? Anyone we know?’
‘Friend of mine. Daniel Markham. Business matter, don’t y’know?’
He tapped one long forefinger against the side of his nose and winked at his companions, who promptly vied with each other to suggest other places Vernon might conceivably have arranged to meet Daniel. Thea found herself revising her opinion of his lordship and a grudging respect crept through her. Even the customers who had not played cards proffered suggestions. It seemed they all knew Daniel, but none of them appeared aware he was missing.
‘No, no,’ Vernon said, in response to each suggestion. ‘They do not sound familiar. I’ll know the name when you say it, I am sure. Perhaps...’ He paused, staring at the table, frowning. He shook his head. Looked around at his companions. ‘Maybe it was not in Stourbridge at all? Was it somewhere near Birmingham? Or in Birmingham itself?’
‘It could well be,’ Perrins said—the first time he had ventured a suggestion. ‘He hasn’t been in here for the last few nights—I dare say we’m not grand enough for him, now he’s consorting with them nobs at the Royal Hotel.’
Royal Hotel! R.H!
Thea gripped the edge of the table to stop herself leaping from her chair, as Vernon pumped Perrins by the hand.
‘The Royal! I remember! He did speak of the Royal—that must be the place. Now, how could I have got it so wrong? But he definitely spoke of the Nag’s Head as well—I must have confused the two.’
‘He’ll be long gone by the time you get to Birmingham,’ one of the other men said. ‘You might as well play another hand. He might call in on his way home tonight—it’ll save you a long ride.’
‘No...how far is it? Ten, twelve miles?’
‘Nearer thirteen.’
‘We had plans to meet up and spend the evening together. I cannot believe he will give up on me so easily. My horse is fresh. I can cover that in less than two hours. Now, I must make haste...only, before I go, does anyone know a place called Willingdale?’
His question met with shaking heads.
‘A man called Henry Mannington?’
As further denials rang around the room, Thea became aware she was now the only customer not taking an active role in the discussion. She stood quietly and, when Vernon’s attention was on Perrins, she slipped quickly and quietly from the bar. She did not wish to attract Vernon’s curiosity, convinced she would not pass too close a scrutiny from those astute green eyes of his. She retrieved Star from the yard behind the inn, mounted and then waited around a corner for Vernon to emerge. He strolled into the street, still looking every inch the nobleman, surrounded by his customary aura of assurance and entitlement. The ostler must have been watching, for he soon appeared, leading Warrior, and Vernon mounted with a fluid grace that made Thea’s mouth go dry. He was so very...male. She licked her lips to moisten them, irritated by her involuntary reaction. What was it about this man that touched her in ways no one else had ever done? Even Jasper. The man she had been going to wed, before he had left her standing at the altar.
She tore her thoughts away from that wretch. It had happened long ago. She was older and wiser now, and Jasper was dead—killed in a fire at a wayside inn—and buried. She would never...never...put her trust in another man, no matter how handsome his face and no matter what feelings he had aroused as he’d wrapped her in his arms and comforted her, his strong embrace reassuring, his heartbeat steady in her ear.
Thea gave Vernon a head start and then she followed.
* * *
By the time dusk began to fall, Thea was beginning to regret her foolhardy decision to follow Vernon. She was bored and she was saddle sore. Vernon appeared in no hurry to reach Birmingham and that irritated Thea beyond measure. Surely the sooner they reached the Royal Hotel the sooner they might discover what had happened to Daniel? She’d made the connection immediately, but had Vernon linked the Royal Hotel with R.H? Certainly he appeared unaffected by the sense of urgency that snapped at Thea’s heels—he paused at every wayside inn they passed.
After following him into the second such inn—where, again, he quietly questioned the publican about Daniel, Willingdale and Henry Mannington—Thea realised that unless he was totally oblivious to his surroundings Vernon would soon notice a young lad shadowing his every move. So, of necessity, she’d remained out of sight as he had visited further public houses. She supposed she must be grateful he did not waste as much time as he had at the Nag’s Head.
Now, as she rode Star at a discreet distance behind him, she was also hungry and thirsty and—
Thea straightened in the saddle, drawing Star quickly to one side of the lane they rode along. Vernon’s form was indistinct in the distance as the light faded, but Thea could just make out two shadows—humped, awkward-looking creatures—moving swiftly parallel with the lane, on the far side of group of bushes from Vernon and his horse. Thea pushed Star into a trot, trusting that her mare’s black coat and Thea’s own dull clothing would render them invisible to any backward glance. The two—and she could now make out they were men, crouching as they ran—had overtaken Vernon, who appeared not to have noticed he had company.
She recalled all the recent reports of footpads in the area and she realised how reckless she had been in following Vernon in this way. Suppose it had been her they had spotted and now stalked? She had been blind to everything other than finding her brother. The gap between her and Vernon had closed. Without taking her eyes from the two men, she eased Star back to a walk and fumbled with the buckle on her saddlebag. She withdrew the duelling pistol, thanking God she’d thought to prime it in advance. She pulled the hammer to full cock and pointed it skywards. Even though she was a fair shot, she could not risk hitting either Vernon or Warrior.
There was a break in the bushes a few yards ahead of Vernon and the two men paused at that point, still hunched over. Thea could just make out they both held weapons—one short and thick, like a club, the other longer and very slim—and Thea prayed it was not a blade of some sort.
Vernon rode on at an easy walk.
It happened very fast. The two men erupted from the bushes. One grabbed at Warrior’s reins as the other, thick club upraised, went for the rider.
Thea dug her heels into Star but, even as she yelled a warning, she saw Vernon’s leg jerk sideways. His boot collided with his assailant’s head and a scream of pain rent the air as the man staggered back, clutching his face, his club discarded. Vernon shot a swift glance behind him, in Thea’s direction, before launching himself from the saddle at the second man, who had come alongside Warrior, still clutching his reins. Vernon cursed viciously as the man jabbed his stick at him. Thea hauled Star to a halt, leapt from the saddle, and ran towards the struggling men, pistol in hand. She stopped a few yards away, pistol still pointing into the air.
Vernon threw a punch, catching his attacker on the jaw with satisfying crack. As the man staggered back, Vernon shot another glance at Thea.
‘Don’t stand gawping, lad. Guard the other one.’
Thea gulped and pointed the pistol with a shaky hand in the general direction of the first assailant, still moaning on the ground, blood pouring from his nose. Vernon stalked after the second attacker, who was stumbling backwards, his eyes riveted to the menacing figure that followed. He gripped his stick—which Thea could now see had been sharpened at one end—with both hands, pointing it at Vernon. A movement from the man on the ground then secured Thea’s attention and she saw no more, but the cries and the curses coming from two men behind her suggested they now grappled and finally, unable to bear the suspense, she glanced round. Vernon, his hand clutched to his side, was bent over, but there was no sign of his assailant.
Vernon’s head lifted and she felt the force of his gaze upon her. ‘Look out!’
Desperation leant an edge to his shout, but his warning was too late. A solid mass thumped into Thea from behind, knocking her aside. She stumbled, desperately trying to stay on her feet and to keep hold of the pistol, her stomach clenching tight as bile rose to choke her throat.
By the time she steadied herself, the two assailants were disappearing amongst the bushes by the side of the road, one man’s arm draped across the other’s shoulders as he was dragged along. She aimed her pistol at the bushes, following the rustling sounds, using her left hand to steady her shaking right one.
‘Leave it!’ That voice brooked no disobedience.
Thea lowered her arm, gulping with relief that she would not have to use the firearm, although she would have fired had she been forced to. What if those ruffians had not run away? What if Vernon had been incapacitated? The enormity of her decision to follow him in this way suddenly hit her. And now...she realised how likely it was Vernon would see through her disguise and her relief seeped away to be replaced by fear at the thought of facing him. He would not be happy. She sucked in a breath.
‘Thank you.’ Vernon’s attention was still on the spot where the two men had disappeared into the bushes. ‘I am in your debt.’
In the spot where they stood, where trees overhung the road, the light had all but gone. Thea kept her face averted from Vernon and muttered, ‘Glad to help.’
Vernon crossed slowly to Warrior and reached into his saddlebag, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding bushes. All sounds of the men’s retreat had faded away, but Thea still breathed a thankful sigh when Vernon withdrew his own pistol. At least they were both now armed and ready for anything.
‘How far is Birmingham? I need a bed for the night.’
Thea pointed ahead. ‘Two or three miles.’
He grunted. ‘I’ll stop at the next inn. There must be another between here and the town.
* * *
Vernon rubbed his hand across his jaw, the rasp of whiskers against his palm reminding him of the long, weary day behind him. He shoved his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself up to the saddle. He was knackered even before those two had jumped him, but now... He pressed his hand to his side and winced. That bastard had caught him with his stake, but he was sure it hadn’t punctured anything vital. When he had first become aware of the two figures lurking in the undergrowth, energy had flooded him, banishing his weariness and helping him to fight them off. But now that unnatural surge had dissipated and all he wished for was a hot meal and a comfortable bed. He hoped the next inn would be a decent place. Some of the places he had stopped at since leaving Stourbridge had left much to be desired.
Vernon glanced round at the lad, riding a little behind, out of Vernon’s direct line of sight. He was not the talkative type and that suited Vernon very well, but he was aware how fortunate it was that the lad had seen what was happening and come to Vernon’s aid. He wondered idly if the boy was local...that was a very fine mare he was riding. Vernon frowned, staring at the road ahead as suspicions stirred. Such a quality, fine-boned animal was an unusual choice for a country lad. He glanced back again. The combination of the dim light and the lad’s cap pulled low over his eyes rendered his face all but invisible.
They had ridden into a village and around a curve in the road. There before them was a small inn, the Bell, set between a churchyard and a row of neat cottages. Vernon could just make out the church itself, set back from the other buildings, its square tower silhouetted against the night sky.
‘Do you know anything about this place?’
The lad shook his head.
‘No matter,’ Vernon said. ‘Go in and see if it looks respectable, will you, lad? I’ll hold the horses. Oh, and enquire for the local constable, while you’re there, will you?’ Once he left the saddle he feared it would be more than he could manage to remount. ‘I must report that attack—I was informed earlier there has been a spate of such incidences in the area. I make no doubt the constable will be interested in the information, especially as one of those men looks unlikely to go far.’
The boy merely grunted by way of reply and did as he was bid as Vernon clenched his teeth against the pain in his side and battled the urge to slump in the saddle.
The boy soon emerged, with a couple of men. He nodded at Vernon, who took that to mean the inn was acceptable. He slid to the ground, relieved he need ride no further.
‘I’m Joseph Deadly, constable here,’ the taller of the two men said. ‘What’s been a-happening?’
Vernon told Deadly how the two men had jumped him.
‘I’ll wager it’s them gipsies that set up camp by the woods. They often come through this time of year, picking up odd jobs, and we allus seem to get a spate of thievery and such like when they’re around.’
Vernon recalled Thea’s earlier remark, that Daniel had suspected former soldiers of local attacks rather than the gipsies commonly blamed. His immediate impression of his two attackers meant he was inclined to agree with Daniel.
‘I am not sure you are correct, Deadly,’ he said. ‘Whilst gipsies are not unknown for petty thieving, the ones I’ve met in the past have not struck me as violent men, unless they perceive themselves under threat. The men who attacked me appeared more like vagrants.’
Deadly shrugged. ‘One and the same thing, as far as I can see. You say one of them’s injured, sir?’
‘He is. I suspect my boot in his face will leave a visible clue to identify the culprit.’
Several men had by now joined them outside the inn, tankards in hand.
‘Any volunteers to come with me and pay them gipsies a visit?’ Deadly said.
A chorus of enthusiasm met his words and Vernon’s heart sank. He hoped he hadn’t been the instigator of a lynch mob. Still, that was for the constable to control.
‘Never fear, sir,’ Deadly added, clapping Vernon on the shoulder and making him wince, ‘we’ll go to the scene first and scout out from there. But, you mark my words, it’ll be them gipsies.’
‘Before you go...’ Vernon tossed his horse’s reins to the lad—who had shrunk back into the shadows—and then took the constable to one side to tell him about Daniel Markham’s disappearance. ‘Will you make a few enquiries, but discreetly, please? Mr Markham’s family do not wish his disappearance to become common knowledge. He was riding a light grey horse. I also need to know if you have any knowledge of Willingdale or of a man called Henry Mannington. You may attend me here in the morning, if you will, to let me know if you have any news for me and to tell me if you’ve had any luck in tracking down my attackers.’
Deadly touched the brim of his hat. ‘Very good, sir.’
Vernon was relieved to call a halt to his enquiries, even though his original intention had been to reach Birmingham and the Royal Hotel that night. He felt in his gut that the Royal Hotel would hold the clue he needed to unravel what had happened to Daniel Markham.
He turned back to Warrior. The lad who had been holding him had gone, leaving the horse’s reins weighted with a large stone. Vernon frowned. He had wanted to thank him properly. He looked along the street and there, in the distance, he could just make out the lad riding away on his black mare. His body screamed at him to let the lad go, but his suspicions about the quality of the horse, coupled with the lad’s reluctance to look Vernon in the eye and his lack of conversation, set warning bells jangling in Vernon’s head. Then he recalled the lad’s pistol. How many country lads like him would own a duelling pistol?
Is he a runaway?
And those few words decided him. His nephew, Alex—Leo’s youngest son—had run away only a few months previously, and Vernon remembered the worry and the grief of the entire family as they had imagined the worst. And then there was Thea—her anxiety over her brother’s disappearance had touched Vernon as he saw how bravely she tried to shield her parents from the knowledge. The thought of another family going through the same horror of not knowing what had become of their loved one made the decision for him: he could not allow the lad to ride off into the night without at least trying to discover his story.
Vernon clenched his teeth and, sweating with the effort, hauled himself into Warrior’s saddle. He put his hand to his side again, reaching inside his borrowed moleskin waistcoat, feeling the sticky warmth of blood. He inhaled—he should get it seen to, but then the boy would be long gone and, if he was a runaway, Vernon would have lost his only chance to help.
He set Warrior into a trot, biting back a gasp as the gait jolted him and pain scorched across his ribs.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, beneath his breath. ‘Let’s get this done,’ and he dug his heels in.
Warrior broke into a canter—a smoother pace but still agony to Vernon. He hooked his left hand under the pommel and forced his thoughts away from the pain and on to the lad. As they neared the black mare, the lad glanced back and, for a moment, it seemed as though he would take flight. He did not, however, but reined to a halt and waited, staring fixedly at his horse’s mane.
‘Why did you leave?’ Vernon said as he pulled his horse round in front of the mare.
‘Need to get home.’
There was something about that gruff voice...but it hovered just out of Vernon’s reach. He watched the boy as he studiously avoided meeting his gaze.
‘And where is that?’
A cough took Vernon unaware. Pain forked through him and he sucked an involuntary breath in through his teeth. The boy’s head jerked upright and he stared through the darkness at Vernon.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘Merely a scratch,’ he gritted out. ‘You left before I could thank you properly.’ He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a half-sovereign. ‘Here. I am—’
Vernon bit off his words. The boy had reached out for the coin, muttering Thanks, and something about that disgruntled, near-sarcastic tone of voice jogged a memory. He did not stop to think about it...about how unlikely it was...he nudged his horse closer to the dainty black mare and took hold of her reins. The fresh scent of roses assailed his senses.
It cannot—
In one swift movement he snatched the cap from the boy’s head. Even though it was too dark to see the colour, there was no mistaking the spring of the curls that tumbled about her forehead, nor the delicate oval of her face, nor the plump softness of the lips that formed a silent Oh! of horror. Vernon lifted his gaze to meet a pair of large, startled eyes that he just knew were hazel in colour.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?’
Chapter Six (#ub9023f9e-87e6-53c1-bac6-8e63428c1502)
Thea shrank from the utter fury in Vernon’s voice, the blood stuttering through her veins. She said nothing. There was nothing she could say. The only sound was of the early stirrings of nocturnal wildlife rustling in the still evening air. She suppressed a shiver. She was unafraid of the dark, but she could not begin to guess how Lord Vernon Beauchamp might now react. She had not trusted him to concentrate on finding Daniel, but had never stopped to wonder about her own safety if...when...he discovered her presence.
A growl sounded, muted at first, as though contained deep within him, but it grew and grew until, with a hasty gesture that made Thea flinch, Vernon snatched his hat from his head, thrust his other hand through his hair and then, swinging his right leg over Warrior’s neck, he jumped to the ground and strode away. After a dozen paces, he stopped and then hunkered down, his head hanging.
Thea chewed her lip. It was too late to ride away. He knew it was she and therefore she had no choice but to face him. She dismounted and approached the still figure. His breath came in hoarse rasps and, with a flurry of concern, she recalled that fight and his earlier hissed intake of breath.
‘Are you injured?’ She dropped a timid hand on his shoulder.
‘I said it is but a scratch.’
He stood and Thea staggered back several paces as he towered over her. He held up his hands, palms facing her, in a gesture of peace.
‘It is all right.’ There was still a hard edge to his voice, but that raw anger had softened. ‘I might be furious, but I have never in my life offered violence to a woman and I am not about to start now, no matter how tempted I am to put you over my knee and spank you.’
Thea gasped, but shock soon gave way to her own anger. ‘You cannot dictate my movements, Lord Vernon. You are neither my father nor my brother—’
‘Thank God for that small mercy.’
‘And I do not answer to you.’
‘Again, thank God. I can think of nothing worse than being responsible for a little firebrand such as you.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Except, of course, I am now responsible for you.’
‘You are most certainly not responsible for me. I am a woman grown. An adult. And a perfectly capable one at that.’ Thea moved closer to him, stretching to her full height and thrusting her face as close to his as she could manage. ‘I am responsible for myself. It is nothing to do with you.’
He huffed a laugh of disbelief. ‘Then...’ he put his hat back on and started back towards the horses ‘...I shall leave you to it, Miss Markham.’ She heard him chuckle as he walked away. ‘Dorothea! Dotty is more like it. Yes, that is it.’ He spun to face her, continuing to move away, walking backwards. ‘Dotty by name, dotty by nature.’
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Janice Preston
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: A scandalous journey…Glassmaker’s daughter Thea Markham is devastated when her brother Daniel goes missing. Then a mysterious lord turns up asking questions about Daniel and offers to find him. Unsure she can trust the handsome peer, Thea dresses up as a boy and follows him!Lord Vernon Beauchamp feels his life lacks direction. Meeting Thea gives him a renewed purpose. And when they are thrown together on their scandalous adventure, friendship soon gives way to desire…