Author: Anne Stuart
“Begging your pardon, your lordship,” the man said. “Miss Elinor and Miss Lydia—they’re back at your house, aren’t they? They’re safe?”
Rohan looked at him. Jacobs, that was his name. The question was, who did he serve? The Harrimans? Or the new heir? “Why do you ask?” he said in a more civil tone than he usually used with servants. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Dorset, seeing to the burial of Lady Caroline and the old nanny?”
“I didn’t wait, your lordship. I came back here as soon as I could. There’s trouble a-brewing at the old estate. The man who says he’s her cousin—no one knows anything about him. He’s turned off all the old servants, and when I tried to find out what was going on no one would talk to me. They were all scared, my lord, even with the man hundreds of miles away in France. ”
“Indeed,” Rohan said, his face a mask. “And what do you suggest I do about this?”
“Make sure he doesn’t come sniffing around my lady again,” the old man said with some dignity. “I don’t trust him. There are stories—people have gone missing. I don’t want her in any danger. I promised Nanny Maude. ”
Rohan looked at him for a long moment. “I’m afraid we’ve failed,” he said finally, deciding to trust him. “He’s already got Miss Harriman. ”
“Oh, no, my lord,” Jacobs wailed. “He can’t…I…”
“I’m going after her, though I pray it isn’t too late. I’ve got a boat waiting for me in Calais. Am I correct in assuming you wish to accompany me?”
“Yes, m’lord,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I can show you the best way to get to Dunnet. I know places where…”
“Do you have a horse?” Rohan interrupted him.
“Me, sir? No, sir. I’ve been riding on the stage. ”
“Get this man a horse,” he ordered the nearest hostler. “And be quick about it. ” He looked at Jacobs. “You can ride, can’t you?”
Jacobs drew himself up as tall as his stooped figure could manage. “I’m a Dorset man, born and bred. Of course I can ride. ”
“Then stop talking and get moving,” he snapped, his voice icy.
It took but a moment for a fresh horse to be saddled and brought forward. Long enough for Jacobs to peer into Rohan’s face. “Er…your lordship?” he had the temerity to begin. “Are you allowed back in…?”
“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern,” he said, mentally cursing the Harrimans and their talkative family. Did he have no privacy left? “Concentrate on Miss Elinor, and I’ll worry about myself. ”
“Yes, my lord. And Miss Lydia?”
“Happily married,” he said, waiting impatiently as Jacobs scrambled onto the horse.
“To that doctor fellow?” He sounded disapproving.
“To Mr. Reading. ”
A broad smile wreathed his face. “That’s all right then. ”
“That,” said Rohan, “remains to be seen. ”
To his amazement Jacobs kept up with him. It was close to midnight by the time they reached Calais, and three hours till the next tide. Rohan paced the deck of his hired yacht, unable to sit still, when he heard a voice from the quay. He strode to the side and looked down into Charles Reading’s determined face.
He should have known. He leaned over the side. “You’re not going to make me have to kill you?” Rohan called. “I’d really prefer not to. ”
Charles stood looking up at him. “I’ve got orders from my wife. I’m supposed to bring you both back safely, or it won’t be worth coming home at all. At least I can watch your back while you commit suicide. ”
Rohan grinned at him, sober, clear-eyed, determined. For the first time he had the sense that this desperate, crazy mission might not fail. “Then welcome aboard, old friend. ”
“You’re going to end up on Tower Hill, minus your head,” Charles grumbled as he followed Rohan onto the deck.
“Then you’ll have two Harriman women to look out for,” he said lightly.
“Presuming we get there on time and presuming we manage to get back to France without running afoul of the King’s men, what do you plan to do with your Miss Harriman?”