My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) (15 page)

She could see no other way out—she would have to break her word to Adrian and leave before he found a replacement governess. On that fourth day, when Huntington came to assert his claim, she would simply no longer be around.

As a governess, she had hoarded her wages, spending very little on “fripperies” that Lady Elinor would not have thought twice about. If she still had not heard from Mary MacGregor in three days’ time, she would board a stage for the north anyway. Once there, if she were turned away, surely she could find
someplace
to hide for the few months until her birthday. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Meanwhile, she would savor each moment she had left with Adrian and the children. She looked forward to the promised outing. It would be her last chance to share a positive experience in their lives.

 

 

The following morning at breakfast, Adrian informed her the proposed outing was to be postponed until the
next
evening by his sister’s request.

“Well, then, we should postpone mentioning it to the children,” she said. “I am quite sure the prospect of viewing a fireworks display tomorrow would totally eclipse any lessons today.”

Adrian chuckled. “I suppose you are right. We will tell them tomorrow. Meanwhile, you may have their undivided attention.”

“I would never be so overly confident as to assume that,” she said, smiling, “but I need no additional competition for their attention.”

As it turned out, there were few distractions that day. Overcast weather, threatening showers, discouraged outdoor activities. The children contentedly devoted themselves to the three Rs, though Elinor thought reading and ‘riting took precedence over ’rithmetic on this day.

She made a mental note to leave detailed accounts of each child’s strengths and weaknesses in their various studies, since she would not be available to ease the new governess into the job. This thought saddened her, but what could she do?

Lessons finished for the day, Elinor regularly turned her charges over to the nursery help. Occasionally, she shared the children’s “tea,” but more often than not, she pursued some interest of her own. Sometimes that was reading; sometimes she played the pianoforte in the music room; and often she would take a long walk. At Ostwick Manor, she mused, she would be in the garden encouraging some fragile specimen to survive and produce. Governesses, however, did not usurp the Trenville gardeners’ chores. So, on this day, she walked.

She was accompanied by Millie, one of the upstairs maids who was often her companion on such ventures since Trenville had decreed that she never go out alone here in the city. In truth, Elinor welcomed the girl’s company. Millie chatted amiably about gossip belowstairs and about her family back home in Staffordshire.

The two had left Trenville House with Millie carrying an as yet unnecessary umbrella. They had gone about a quarter of mile, neither paying much attention to the traffic on the street, which, in any event, was not very heavy at that time of day.

“Now me younger brother is a dreamer,” Millie was saying, “Mum says he musta been a changeling, but she be only teasin’, o’course.”

Elinor was only half listening, but murmured seemingly attentive sounds as Millie chattered on. Suddenly, the sound of a team’s hooves on the cobblestones sounded very close and a carriage stopped just in front of the two young women. Elinor noted it was a plain, closed vehicle, sporting no crest, nor uniformed attendants.

The door opened and a large man jumped out, grabbed Elinor by the arm and shoved her toward the open door. Surprise and terror seized her.

“No! Stop! Let me go!” she screamed, while frantically jerking away from the iron grip on her arm.

“ ’Ere, now,” Millie shouted and swung her umbrella at the attacker.

The man gave Millie a hard slap, knocking her to the ground. Then, effortlessly, he lifted Elinor, shoved her into the coach, climbed in after her, and even as he closed the door, the vehicle was moving away at a fast clip. Stunned, Elinor raised herself to her knees.

“What . . . ? Who ... ?
You!”
she shrieked.

“Now is that any way to greet a long absent relative?” her uncle asked with a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Do get off the floor, my dear. It is a most unladylike position.” She ignored the hand he extended and took the seat opposite him and his henchman.

“Stop this coach immediately and let me out of here,” she demanded, thinking a show of bravado might carry the day.

It didn’t.

“I am sorely afraid that is not possible,” Brompton said smugly. “You just relax. We will reach our destination in due time.”

“Which is
where
? Where are you taking me?”

“Your bridegroom awaits.”

His words came like a splash of icy water. She sucked in a deep breath and longed to smash the smirk off his face.

“If you think for even an instant that I will marry that degenerate old roué you have chosen for me, you can just jolly well think again,” Elinor said through gritted teeth. “Now, stop this coach, or I will jump out as it moves.”

“Burt.” Brompton nudged his man who moved over to the seat beside Elinor. “If you don’t behave yourself, my dear, Burt will have to tie your hands and feet. Pity if that should be necessary. He is not a gentle fellow.”

Elinor swallowed the panic that threatened to engulf her. Her immediate thought was that she had to keep her hands and legs free. There might still be opportunity for escape. Her shoulders slumped as she moved farther back in the seat.

“Good. You are beginning to see reason,” her uncle said.

“I see you have the power to hold me against my will, but there is no way you can make me marry against my will.”

“Oh, I think there is.” Brompton’s voice was deceptively soft, but carried an undercurrent of triumph and menace. “If you care about your brother at all, you will be eager to marry exactly where I tell you.”

“Peter! What have you done with him? If you’ve harmed him . . .”

“You will do what?” he sneered. “I am calling the shots here, my dear. And unless you do exactly as I say, your brother is likely to suffer a very serious accident. This is not the way I wanted to do this, but you have given me no choice, my girl.”

“Where is Peter? I want to know he is safe.”

“You will see him soon enough. He will serve as an additional witness as you become the baroness, Lady Pennington, before the night is over.”

Adrian was sitting in the library with Nathan Olmstead, going over details of the plan to catch their spy in the act, as it were.

“If our man takes the bait, I don’t see how this can fail,” Adrian said.

“You are sure the main culprit is a male of the species?” Olmstead’s voice was even.

“Not absolutely. But I
am
sure that it is not Miss Palmer.” Adrian had decided to confide this much about Elinor.

“You have proof then?”

“Not the kind that would stand up under scrutiny, but I know I am right.”

Olmstead measured his words carefully. “Adrian, you are not allowing your feelings for her to cloud the issue, are you?”

“My feelings? Is it that obvious, then?”

“Only to someone who has known you since boarding school days—twenty years, more or less.”

“Well, my feelings—”

At this point, they were interrupted by a clatter of noise in the hall and a hurried knock on the door which opened to reveal an agitated footman and a disheveled maid.

“She’s been nabbed, sir,” the footman said. Both the servants were breathing hard as though they had been running.

Adrian stood. “Get hold of yourselves. Who has been nabbed?”

“Miss Palmer’s been snatched, my lord,” the maid said with a sob.

Adrian felt an iron fist reach into his innards and twist hard. Fear held him for only an instant. Then the mind that had seen a naval officer through terrible battles and a diplomat through Machiavellian subtleties took over. Knowing it was important to get the details immediately, Adrian poured two glasses of sherry and handed them to the footman and maid, ignoring their surprise.

“Here, drink this. And tell me exactly what happened. Rowlands, isn’t it?” he asked the male servant.

“Yes, sir. Graham and Seaton followed the coach what took her. Said Millie and me should come back and tell you what happened.”

“Begin at the beginning.”

Millie squared her shoulders. “Me an’ Miss Palmer was jus’ takin’ a walk when outta nowhere this carriage ...”

With an occasional interruption from Rowlands, she related the events of the last half hour.

Even before they were finished, Adrian issued an order to have his and Olmstead’s carriages brought around and he named another servant who was to report to him immediately—with weapons. At the end of the narrative, he and Olmstead asked a few questions to refine details, then dismissed the maid.

“They saw clearly only the man who shoved her into the carriage,” Olmstead said. “Big. A shock of red hair. Not much to go on.”

“And another man in the coach, but Millie did not get a good look at him. She
guessed
he was Quality.”

“I seen that redheaded feller somewhere,” Rowlands said. “But danged if I remember where. Mebbe Graham or Seaton will know ’im.”

“Graham, Seaton, and Rowlands are Bow Street Runners,” Adrian explained. “And there are more. They have been helping in our investigation.”

Olmstead whistled in appreciation. “Well, that should be to our advantage.”

“The coach is ready, my lord,” a figure at the door announced.

“Nate, I am going after Elinor.” Adrian unlocked a drawer in the desk at one end of the room and took out a set of pistols. “You are on your own tonight. Can you handle it?”

“I think His Majesty’s forces can muddle through,” Olmstead said dryly.

“Rowlands, you come with me. I have a couple of stops, then we will be on our way after that coach.”

 

 

He was lucky. Harriet Palmer was at home when Adrian pounded on her door moments later. Miss Palmer stood in the doorway of her drawing room.

“All right—who is she?” he demanded without preamble. “I have to know. Now. Elinor has been kidnapped.”

“Kid—oh, my goodness.” She put her hand to her throat.

“No. Don’t you faint on me.” Adrian reached out to steady her.

“I shall not fall victim to the vapors, young man,” she said primly. “Allow me to catch my breath.” She led him into the room and took a seat. He refused the one she offered him.

“Please. Just tell me what I need to know. I have to go after her.”

She looked at him steadily, apparently weighing his words.

“Good heavens, woman. This is serious. You must help me.”

“Yes, I think I must,” she conceded.

“Well ... ?”

“Your Elinor is Lady Elinor Richards, daughter of the tenth Earl of Ostwick. Her younger brother is the current earl.”

Adrian was stunned. “A title? She is a member of the
ton?”

“Her lineage is probably as noble as your own, my lord.” Miss Palmer’s voice was matter-of-fact.

“So why is she masquerading as a governess? There must be some profound reason for such behavior. And who would kidnap her?”

“I doubt not that Brompton—with his monumental debts—is behind this,” Miss Palmer said. “He and that horrid old lecher, Pennington. Lady Elinor is heiress to a considerable fortune when she marries—or when she reaches the age of five and twenty.” She proceeded to give him an abbreviated version of Elinor’s problems since her father’s death.

“Pennington. Pennington. I know that name.” Adrian searched his memory. “Good grief! Pennington?!”

Miss Palmer nodded. “The two of them plan to divide her inheritance, though the money alone is not Lord Pennington’s only motivation.”

Adrian hadn’t the heart to tell this nice old lady just how much danger her former charge was in. Stories of Pennington’s depravity were rampant among certain male enclaves.

“I thank you, Miss Palmer.” He strode over to her, picked up her hand, and aimed a kiss at it. “You will not be sorry you confided in me.”

“Just bring her back safe.” There was a catch in her voice.

“I will. I promise.”

His next stop was a gentleman’s club that operated on the fringes of respectability. It was frequented by people who would know Pennington well. He brushed by the doorman who was, in any event, obsequious in his welcoming such a high-toned newcomer to his establishment.

A few minutes later, Adrian was back in his carriage, having obtained the information he required in the most blatantly undiplomatic manner of his entire career. Amazing how effective an out-and-out threat could be when it came from one of the most powerful men in the realm.

He had, in fact, learned more than he wanted to know. Pennington had a hunting box about three hours out of London, though Adrian’s informants doubted it had lodged genuine hunters in some decades. It was, however, a well-used trysting place for Pennington and his cronies and their ladybirds. Occasionally, there were rumors of more sinister goings-on there, debaucheries of the most reprehensible sort.

Adrian was worried, but refused to allow himself to panic. It was highly likely that Brompton, whose own resources were apparently quite limited, would avail himself of his friend’s property. Adrian also trusted that Graham and Seaton were on the scene. But they were only two men—against how many?

Could not be too many, Adrian reasoned. One did not go around kidnapping ladies of the
ton
with a whole army to spread the tale later. He checked his pistols for the tenth—or twentieth—time. The waiting as the coach bumped and swayed along was interminable. He envied Rowlands and the other man, both of whom seemed to be catnapping.

Elinor. Elinor. Her name beat a silent, steady refrain as his imagination conjured all sorts of ugly images. The usually cool diplomat was gone. If those bastards had harmed her . . .

Well, one thing was clear. Her masquerade had nothing to do with French spies. But why had she not come to him for help? Surely, she knew he cared for her? And she was not precisely indifferent to him—if one could judge by her response to his kisses. An heiress. And she had been in his household for months as little more than a servant!

They had been riding well over two hours and it had long since grown dark, though a nearly full moon gave erratic light through masses of clouds. Feeling the coach slow and stop, Adrian opened the door and put his head out.

“Seaton,” he said, recognizing the man who approached.

“I been waitin’ for yuh, my lord. Rec’nized the team,” said Seaton, who had been working in Adrian’s stables for weeks now. “Thought yuh’d be along soon.”

Adrian climbed down, momentarily glad to stretch his legs. “Where is she?”

“There’s a fork in the road ‘bout a hundred yards yonder.” Seaton gestured. “Take the left an’ about two miles on is a lodge—they got her there.”

“How many?” Rowlands leaned out to ask.

“That big redhead, a coachman, an’ one other. But about ten-fifteen minutes ago, another coach took that fork. Two men in it, I think. Couldn’t tell for sure. Too dark.”

“Pennington, probably,” Adrian said. “Where are they holding Miss Palmer?” He could not yet think of her as Lady Elinor.

“In a downstairs room. Lit up like a palace, it is. Seem to have someone upstairs, too, though. See shadows on a window up there now an’ then. Graham’s on watch.”

“Climb up there and direct John Coachman,” Adrian ordered. “Stop before we get there—no sense announcing our arrival. Then the four of us will go in and John can follow a bit later.”

“Yes, sir,” said Seaton and John simultaneously.

 

 

Elinor sat at the table in a combined dining room-drawing room of what had once been a modest hunting lodge. She was cold and hungry and terrified. She drew her shawl more closely about her.

The brutish Burt had shoved her into a chair as soon as they arrived.

“Bring the lad down,” Brompton growled. He stood over her.

There were awkward sounds on stairs and Peter was pushed into the room ahead of Burt. Her brother’s hands were tied and there was an ugly bruise on his cheek.

“Oh, Peter, I am so sorry.” She tried to rise to go to him, longing to hug him. Her uncle’s fingers bit into her shoulder, forcing her back onto the chair. Peter’s face was drawn with anger and frustration. A memory of him as a child of eight refusing to allow tears to come when he had been punished flashed across her mind. Only this was much more serious.

“I’m all right, Ellie. We’ll get out of this. You’ll see. They cannot make this work.”

“That’s enough outta you,” Burt growled and cuffed him lightly above his ear.

“Leave him alone!” Elinor shouted.

“Take him back upstairs,” her uncle ordered. When Peter was gone, he said to her, “Now you’ve seen him. You do as I tell you and he will survive as the eleventh Earl of Ostwick.”

“And if I don’t? You’ll kill him? I cannot believe even you would stoop so low.”

“No. Got no stomach for murder. Burt has friends on the docks. Ships’ captains are always looking for extra hands, no questions asked. Some of them pay dear for pretty young fellows.”

“You monster!”

“Tut, tut. No name-calling. It does not become your ladyship.” He grinned malevolently. “Now you just sit tight and wait for your bridegroom to arrive.” He went to the door and yelled, “Toby!”

“Aye!” a voice called.

“Bring us some wine and something to eat.”

“Be right there.”

A few minutes later a short, wiry fellow with thin black hair entered the room bearing a tray with a flagon of wine, several glasses, and some bread and cheese, already sliced.

“Rather simple fare, but eat up,” Brompton said, helping himself. “You’ll have a fancy wedding supper later, I’m sure. Here’s a toast to your coming nuptials.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute.

That comment nearly turned her stomach, but she reached for bread and cheese. If she did manage to escape, her first worry should not be getting a bite to eat.

Presently they heard the arrival of a carriage. A few minutes later, Pennington and another man walked into the room. Pennington was attired in clothing that might have been fashionable on a man thirty years younger. On him it merely looked ludicrous. In contrast, his companion was dressed in serviceable, sober black and carried a Bible.

“Ah, my dear, you are looking lovely—as usual.” Pennington grabbed her hand and bent over it just as he might in a duchess’s drawing room. She jerked her hand away and he frowned. “Didn’t you explain the way things are to her?” he asked Brompton.

“She knows. She’s just stubborn.”

“I’ll take that out of her,” Pennington said with a look at Elinor that promised retribution. “This is the Reverend Mr. Porterman. He will do the honors.”

“It won’t be legal,” Elinor said. She turned to the clergyman. “I am shocked that a man of the cloth should be party to such a travesty.”

“Lord Pennington has assured me he has a special license,” the reverend said. “I daresay you would be very surprised at what a clergyman can do—given the right incentive.”

“Enough guineas, you mean,” sneered Pennington. He pulled a paper from his pocket and laid it on the table in front of Elinor. It was the special license, signed and sealed by a bishop. “All right and tight, my love. Now, can we get this over with?”

“I need a drink first,” the minister said, reaching for the wine.

“Good grief.” Pennington gave out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what comes of getting a drunk to do a job.”

Fascinated, they all watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Now—get on with it,” Pennington ordered. He grabbed Elinor’s arm to jerk her to her feet beside him.

“This cannot be happening,” she wailed, trying to free herself from his grip. “Please ...” Her eyes appealed first to her uncle then to the minister.

“Just do it,” Pennington ordered the clergyman.

“Ah ... dearly beloved,” the minister intoned with a loud belch, “we are gathered here to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”