But Edward Buchanan was not yet defeated. ‘Easy to say, m’dear. But even if he is in town, who’s to say he’ll hear about it? No, I’m afraid I really can’t let you leave.’
His stubborn belligerence ignited Dorothea’s temper. ‘Oh, you silly man! I hope Hazelmere doesn’t hear about it. The only reason I came down here is so that there’s no reason for him to be involved. And if only you’d see sense you’d be assisting us to leave with all speed!’
‘Hah! So he doesn’t know!’
‘He didn’t know when I left, but I wouldn’t wager a groat that he doesn’t know by now.’
‘There’s still time to get married,’ mused Mr Buchanan. ‘I’ve a special licence and there’s a clergyman of sorts in the village.’
Cecily’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re quite mad,’ she informed Mr Buchanan.
‘Mr Buchanan!’ said Dorothea in tones of long suffering. ‘Please listen to me! I will not marry you. Not now, not tonight, not ever.’
‘Yes, you will!’
Dorothea opened her mouth to deny this charge but it remained open, her words evaporating, as a calm voice drawled from the doorway, ‘I’m shattered to disappoint you, Buchanan, but in this instance Miss Darent is quite correct.’
All eyes turned to see the Marquis of Hazelmere, standing in the doorway, shoulders negligently propped against the frame.
Chapter Fourteen
Dorothea would have given everything she possessed to know how long Hazelmere had been standing there. Across the room her eyes locked with his. Then, smiling faintly, he straightened and crossed to stand before her, taking her hand and kissing it, as was his habit. Dorothea struggled to master her surprise as the usual light-headedness swept over her. Under the warm hazel gaze she blushed. Hazelmere retained his clasp on her hand as he turned to view Edward Buchanan.
Fanshawe had been standing immediately behind Hazelmere and had entered the room in his wake, pointedly shutting the door after him. Cecily, with a suppressed squeal, had run to his side.
The arrival of their lordships left Edward Buchanan, at least temporarily, with nothing to say and nowhere to go. He was barely able to believe the evidence of his eyes, and all trace of intelligence had left his face, leaving it more bovine in appearance than ever. With the rug effectively pulled from under him, he stared in mute trepidation at Hazelmere, who stood, calmly regarding him, a considering light in the strange hazel eyes.
‘Before we continue this singularly senseless conversation I should point out to you, Buchanan, that, on her marriage, Miss Darent’s estate remains in her hands.’
Cool and precise, Hazelmere’s words affected Edward Buchanan as if a bucket of iced water had been dashed in his face. For a matter of seconds sheer astonishment held him silent. Then, ‘Why, that’s…that’s… I’ve been grossly deceived!’ he blustered. ‘Lord Darent has misled me! And Sir Hugo!’
Cecily, Fanshawe and Dorothea received these interesting revelations in fascinated silence. Hazelmere said, ‘Precisely. That being so, I think you’ll need a holiday to recover from your…exertions, shall we say? A long holiday, I should think. On your estates in Dorset, perhaps? I have no wish to see your face again, in London or anywhere else. If I do, or if it comes to my ears you are again indulging in the practice of abduction or in any way inconveniencing anyone, I’ll send your letters to the authorities with a full description of what took place. As all the notes are in your handwriting, and one is very conveniently signed, I’m sure they’ll take a great interest in you.’
The steely words effectively reduced Edward Buchanan’s grand plan to very small pieces. With his great chance fast disappearing downstream, he glanced wildly, first at Fanshawe and Cecily, and then at Hazelmere, Dorothea at his side, her hand still firmly held in his. ‘But the scandal…’ His voice trailed away as he encountered Hazelmere’s eyes.
‘I’m afraid, Buchanan, you seem to be labouring under a misapprehension.’ The tones were icy enough to chill the blood in Edward Buchanan’s veins. He suddenly recalled some of the other stories about Hazelmere. ‘The Misses Darent are on their way to visit Fanshawe’s and my families on our estates, escorted by their maid and coachman. Fanshawe and I were delayed in leaving town and so arranged to meet them here.’ There was a slight pause during which the hazel eyes calmly surveyed Mr Buchanan. ‘Are you suggesting there is anything in that which is at all…improper?’
Edward Buchanan paled. Thoroughly unnerved, he hastened to reassure the Marquis, the words fairly tripping from his tongue. ‘No, no! Of course not! Never meant to imply any such thing.’ One finger had gone to his neckcloth as if it was suddenly too tight. Retreat, disorderly or otherwise, seemed imperative. ‘It’s getting late. I must be away. Your servant, Misses Darent, my lords.’ With the sketchiest of bows he made for the door, slowing as he realised that Fanshawe still stood with his back to it. At a nod from Hazelmere, Fanshawe opened the door, allowing an agitated Edward Buchanan to escape.
Instantly the sounds of a hurried departure reached their ears. Then the main door of the inn slammed shut and all was quiet.
Inside the parlour the frozen tableau dissolved. Cecily openly threw herself into Fanshawe’s arms. Dorothea saw it and wished she could be similarly uninhibited. As things were, she felt barely capable of preserving her composure.
‘Oh, God! What a nincompoop!’ said Fanshawe. ‘Why’d you let him escape so easily?’
‘He’s not worth the effort,’ replied Hazelmere absentmindedly, his eyes searching Dorothea’s face. ‘Besides, as he said, he’d been misled.’
Dorothea, trying to look unconscious of his meaning and failing dismally, tried to steer the conversation into lighter fields. ‘Misled! I’ve been trying for weeks to get rid of him. If only I’d known!’ It suddenly dawned on her to wonder how Hazelmere had known. She felt strangely giddy.
Hazelmere saw her abstracted gaze. Noticing the assorted objects on the table, he seized on the distraction. ‘Have you been using the abominable Mr Buchanan for target practice?’
Dorothea, following his gaze, was diverted. ‘No. That was Cecily. But she only threw a vase of flowers at him.’
Looking to where she pointed, he saw the shards of the shattered vase. ‘Does she often throw things?’ he asked faintly.
‘Only when she’s angry.’
While he considered her answer Hazelmere picked up Dorothea’s cloak and draped it over her shoulders. ‘More to the point, does she hit anything?’