“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said stiffly, his face perfectly composed. If he was wondering what he had just interrupted then he hid it well. “An urgent message has just come for you.” He nodded to the servant, who held out a sealed paper on a silver salver as if it was an entrée.
Impatiently Sinclair snatched it up and tore it open without a word. Eugenie, watching his face change as he scanned the words, knew at once that something dreadful had happened. All her personal doubts melted away as her generous spirit compelled her to help him in any way she could.
“What is it?” she said. “What does it say?”
He looked at her as if he didn’t know her. “Leave us,” he said icily, jerking his head at the major and his servant. His rudeness was evidently to be excused on this occasion, because a moment later the library door closed and they were again alone.
“Sinclair, please, what is the matter?” she tried. If she hadn’t known better she might think this was another of her mistakes. She even searched her consciousness in case some new piece of reckless behavior had slipped her mind.
Sinclair was speaking in a clipped, precise voice that was as cold as winter.
“My mother arrived at Somerton this evening to accompany my sister to London in preparation for her wedding.”
“The wedding. Of course. Wish her well from me, won’t you?”
His look was baleful. “My sister was not there. She has left a written note saying she has run away to Scotland with your brother.”
Eugenie opened her mouth to refute his accusation utterly. “Terry would never . . . !” she squeaked, and then stopped. Certain conversations jumbled into her head, snippets of things Terry had said, secrets half disclosed, and suddenly she knew with a sinking heart that it was indeed possible. In fact it was more than likely Terry had run off with Lady Annabelle.
“Never fear I will bring them back,” Sinclair said with cold fury. “The rascal will not benefit from his base act.”
“I’m sure if Terry has taken your sister to Scotland then it wasn’t his idea alone,” Eugenie dared to argue.
“We both know who is the villain in this tale.”
He stared at her a moment more, as if there was more he wanted to say but could not, and then he walked out.
Eugenie stood as if turned to stone. She wanted to slump down into one of the leather chairs and cover her face with her hands. She wanted to lose herself in a storm of wailing. But it wasn’t possible. She had to tell her parents what their son had done, and then they must go home. Perhaps he had left an explaining letter for them; perhaps it was all a mistake.
Hope buoyed her up as she hurried from the room.
Sinclair sat slumped in the corner of his coach, seething with such a mass of contradicting emotions that he lurched from fury to rage to self-recriminations and back again. Of course he blamed himself. He should have seen what was happening and taken action to remove Terry Belmont from his sister’s orbit. His mother, in the brief and bitter note she’d sent to Major Banks, had informed him that Annabelle’s maid had known all about it. Of course the poor chit was no match for the dowager duchess, and soon told tearful tales of Annabelle’s evening meetings in the garden and the woods, of plans made and secrets kept, and finally, this evening, the flight north to Scotland with her lover.
As for Miss Gamboni, where was she in all this? Her part was, as yet, a mystery because they could not find her. She had disappeared. Perhaps, too afraid to face her charge’s family, she had fled to the safety of her home.
I blame you, Sinclair.
His mother had only written what he believed to be the truth. If he had never pursued Eugenie, if he had not become so obsessed with having her, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else, then the warning signals would have jolted him into seeing what was happening long ago. Instead, whenever he had felt a faint niggling unease, he had chosen to ignore it and continue on his merry way.
Bleakly, he stared ahead.
There was Somerton, windows ablaze, as though by lighting every candle and lamp in the house his mother could bring Annabelle home. The coach circled the drive and came to a stop. Grimly Sinclair prepared himself for what was ahead.
He would find her. He would redeem himself. No matter how long it took, he would bring his sister home.
Chapter 21
Eugenie was surprised her nerves weren’t shredded by the time they reached Belmont Hall. Her mother was already in a terrible state and when they found a letter awaiting them from Terry, she insisted Eugenie read it.
By now all the family were gathered about, uncharacteristically silent, wide-eyed and waiting.
“My dear mother and father, forgive me for my haste in leaving. I was not planning to go for several days, but Annabelle’s mother sent word she was returning early and we had no choice. We are traveling to Scotland. Loving her as I do, I have no option but to help her. Your fond son, Terry.”
The silence was broken by a shriek from Mrs. Belmont, who promptly threw herself upon the sofa, prostrate. Her husband hovered over her, useless in an emergency, while Jack stared on. Even the twins were subdued, huddled together near the door, ready to bolt to safety.
“He’s eloped!” she sobbed.
Mr. Belmont gave a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t think the boy had it in him. A duke’s sister, eh? That should raise our family’s fortunes.”