Chapter Twelve

Recovering the Goods

Michael had acquired directions to the earl’s estate while at the inn and was cheered to discover it was only a few miles south of Reading. And so, after less than an hour of riding at a comfortable pace, he found himself at the end of the long drive. What were the chances the earl was in residence? With the opening of Parliament a week away, it was possible he himself had not yet departed for London. Unless, that is, he had plans to court votes the same as Michael.

Best to assume the earl was in residence.

Michael dismounted and walked the horse into the trees so they would not be visible from the road. Damn, Lilly had a point. It would have been convenient to have a second along.

He didn’t like leaving the horse alone.

After securing his mount, Michael remained under cover of the trees as he edged around the perimeter of various sheds and outbuildings. The large brick structure was easily identifiable as the coach house. It was built adjacent to the stables.

A back door was left open, and no servants were in sight. Again, Michael wished he had thought this endeavor through more ahead of time. He’d been too bloody distracted by Lilly to think critically. What if his carriage was, in fact, hidden inside the coach house?

One couldn’t simply hop onto a carriage and drive it away. Horses required harnessing, and that took time. Time Michael wouldn’t necessarily be allowed. In those moments, he could likely be accosted by one or more of the henchman who’d attacked them yesterday.

And yet the thought of locating his team and coach and then abandoning them once again did not sit well with him either. Michael had brought his pistols with him, but he was only one man. Albeit a damned irritated one!

It took a moment for Michael’s eyes to adjust as he peered into the open doorway, but even in the shadowy building, there was no mistaking what he saw.

Parked as though it had recently been out for a Sunday drive sat his very own personal carriage, the ducal insignia displayed prominently. Michael was tempted to march up to the main house and confront the earl. But…again…he was but one man, and already the earl had shown no qualms at resorting to violence.

Creeping into the cool silence of the large structure, Michael quietly peeked into the windows of his coach. It appeared the contents had been untouched. His boots and greatcoat, along with the other men’s hijacked attire, were carelessly tossed on one of the leather benches inside.

His valise and the papers lay on the other.

Unwilling to risk losing the documents a second time, he hastily stuffed the loose papers into his valise and then turned to exit the building.

He could not retrieve the carriage by himself. He was going to have to go back to Reading and return with a magistrate. Hawthorn must be insane! Horse theft was a hanging offence, by God.

“I didn’t think we’d be so lucky as to actually find anything here.”

Michael nearly jumped out of his skin upon hearing Arty’s voice.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Michael’s voice rasped. He’d given the man explicit instructions.

Arty shrugged, sheepishly. “The baroness told me to follow you. She insisted you needed me more than they did and then ordered me off her carriage. Didn’t want to argue with the lady, Your Grace, though I’m sorry not to have been able to carry out your orders.”

Michael tilted his head back and took a slow deep breath. Impertinent wench! Then he glanced over at the carriage again.

“The team isn’t in here. Have you by chance checked the stables?”

“I have, Your Grace, and our team is in there—your team—Your Grace,” he said. Up until the other day, he’d never had much reason to speak with his employer directly.

“Did you see anybody?”

“A couple of boys—grooms.”

Most of the earl’s staff might have travelled with him to London. It was anybody’s guess as to the location of the stable master.

Michael was a duke, however, and he planned to exploit this fact. He explained his idea to Arty, and the two of them marched to the stable.

“You there, boys,” Michael called out. “Why isn’t my conveyance ready for travel? The earl said it would be in good repair and ready for departure today at noon. It’s now half past!”

The boys looked at him in utter confusion and alarm. They then looked at each other.

“Don’t you realize I am the Duke of Cortland, and that is my travelling coach in there?” He pointed at the coach house. “I want it ready for departure in fifteen minutes!”

“The blacks inside are your team, Yer Grace?”

“All four of them! Now move!” Unwilling to draw their employer’s ire, the boys scampered to the coach house. Cortland turned to Arty. “Better make sure they do it right,” he said.

Arty smiled, sauntered into the coach house, and began issuing instruction to the boys.

The conveyance was ready within one quarter of an hour.

Before heading back toward town, Michael and Arty retrieved the hired mounts so they could return them to the posting inn. That was the only stop they would make. With a deadline awaiting them, Michael had no time to waste with magistrates.

All in all, it had been quite a coup.

For later that night, Michael and his footman rode into Mayfair, both of them sitting on the driver’s box, just after sunset. It was not so late, though, that he would miss the first of Danbury’s political dinners.

****

Marveling at the events of the past forty-eight hours, Michael pondered the guests at Viscount Danbury’s table. Danbury, of course, sat at the head of the table while his mother, the viscountess, held up the other end. She was an eccentric woman, known by the colorful plumes she wore in her startling white hair. At times, the feathers added up to twenty-four inches of height and a similar number of inches to the girth of her head. Every time she stood near candles burning in wall sconces, he was fearful she would go up in flames. In that moment, she discoursed avidly with one of Lady Natalie’s older brothers. Michael was uncertain which one, however, as they were all similar in looks. He imagined once married to their sister, he would remember each of them by their given names.

The Earl of Ravensdale had done well securing his line.

Seated beside Danbury was Hector Crone, Baron Riverton. His baroness, Lady Riverton, and daughter, Penelope, sat at the other end, near Danbury’s mother. Riverton was an amiable fellow who hadn’t committed to either side of the issue. Michael and his allies hoped to win him over that evening.

Lady Natalie sat to Michael’s right and her father on his left. He’d spent considerable time engaging his bride-to-be in pleasant conversation, only to find himself repeatedly comparing her to Lilly. It seemed every word Lady Natalie spoke had been rehearsed. Her ability to discuss the weather, fashion, and various events of the season would, nonetheless, keep her above any criticism as a duchess.

He’d be bored to tears if, once married, their conversations remained so limited. Hopefully, after some time as his wife, she would speak what was on her mind and in her heart—to him at least. He intended to grow to love her eventually. He intended to have warmth in his marriage.

His discussions with her father were a great deal more interesting. Lord Ravensdale, through hard work and thoughtful investments, had rejected the concept that aristocrats avoid trade and had successfully increased profits on all of his estates. He’d come into his title unexpectedly while employed as a barrister. Ravensdale’s own father had been a disowned younger son who, after marrying below his station, hadn’t maintained contact with his aristocratic roots.

Michael had met Lord Ravensdale during the first year he’d become Cortland. Upon discovering the older man’s wisdom and strength of character, he’d come to value the earl’s mentorship.

Although the men discussed some politics at the table, they did so only in a general sense. They would wait until the ladies removed themselves before going into any detail regarding their strategies and proposed alliances.

Michael had been pondering what Hawthorn had wanted to accomplish with the highway robbery. It was no secret the man was something of a fanatic when it came to the separation of the classes. Many of his servants had left his employ for that very reason. He’d been labelled an eccentric, a strange character. Michael suspected the man belonged in Bedlam.

Except he was an earl.

Likely, the robbery was not going to be his only attempt to block them. Although neither Michael nor his servants had been injured, Hawthorn had proven he was not above using foul means to accomplish his ends. They would need to keep a watchful eye on the bastard.

Had it not been for Lilly, Michael would have been considerably delayed and his agenda completely upended. He also would not have gone after Hawthorn and, without Arty’s help, would have been unable to recover his coach and team in such a timely fashion. It was difficult to keep his mind off her. He ought to call on her aunt tomorrow to assure himself of their safe arrival. She deserved no less than his gratitude.

And then he would make no further efforts to see her.

****

Arriving at the achingly familiar townhouse, Lilly and Glenda were greeted with enthusiastic affection by Lilly’s aunt, Lady Eleanor Sheffield. Lilly hadn’t seen her since her mother’s funeral and was saddened to see how much the lady had aged. Her eyes still sparkled with mischief, however, as she exclaimed over Glenda that she would be the talk of the ton this season. Aunt Eleanor pulled them into her cozy drawing room and sent Mary and her own servants to assist in bringing in the luggage and unpacking it in the girls’ rooms.

The weather had cooled that evening, and the fire roaring in the overlarge hearth was welcome indeed. Tea and sandwiches were brought in as the three settled in to catch up with one another.

Lilly hadn’t prepared herself for the memories that assaulted her the moment she entered her aunt’s home. Nine years ago, Michael had called upon her often. He’d come during receiving hours and taken tea with Lilly, her mother, and her aunt. He had also dined with them on several occasions with everyone expecting his presence among the family to one day become permanent. There had been a few moments when they had been left alone in this very room and managed to engage in various…other…activities.

A lump lodged itself in Lilly’s throat. She was glad for Glenda to fill her aunt in on the events of their journey. Glenda told her Aunt Eleanor about the duke who had been robbed by highwaymen on his way to town. She told her all about how he had been handsome and very charming and had known Lilly before becoming a duke. She told her he had ridden in their coach with them for a day and a morning and had been very pleasant indeed.

Aunt Eleanor was not so old she did not remember who this duke was. She watched Lilly in concern and then tentatively said, “Captain Redmond, now the Duke of Cortland, is to marry the daughter of a dear friend of mine in May. As I am the bride’s godmother, all of us, of course, shall be invited to the festivities.”

Lilly schooled her features to hide her inner turmoil. She did not want her aunt to suffer guilt for celebrating with her friend. But, oh, God, life could be cruel indeed. Lilly had not bargained for such a complication as this!

“It is Lady Ravensdale, then, who is your friend?” Lilly maintained a peaceful demeanor.

“It is, dear. I’ve known Josephine for years. Along with their daughter, the youngest, there are four sinfully handsome sons.” Pausing in her enthusiasm, she peered closely at Lilly. “This connection, does it cause you distress, my dear? If so, then we must avoid the family. I was hoping enough time had passed, but if not, be truthful. I’ll not cause you torment over it.” The older woman’s eyes regarded her in concern.

Lilly refused to deprive her aunt of her dear friend Josephine Spencer—who just happened to be Lady Ravensdale—who just happened to be Michael’s betrothed’s mother. “I shall be fine, Aunt. I am, however, weary from the long drive today. Would you be disappointed if I excused myself early? I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“Oh, but of course, you must go right up to bed! You remember the room you took before? I have put you in the same. And I still have Betty with me, and she is so pleased to act as your maid again!” Aunt Eleanor rose to her feet and placed her hands on both sides of Lilly’s face before Lilly could exit the room. “I am so very, very happy you have come to stay with me. We are going to have the most delightful of seasons!” She looked Lilly straight in the eyes, searching for any misgivings or second thoughts. “Everything is going to turn out fine. It always does. Get a good night’s sleep, and then we will discuss our plans tomorrow!” She kissed Lilly on the cheek and then shooed her off to bed.

Lady Sheffield, never considered a beauty, even in her prime, was nonetheless attractive in that she was confident in both manner and bearing. Despite having lived alone since her husband’s death, decades ago, she was never seen in any manner of dishabille. With her gray-steaked reddish hair upswept in a regal style, Aunt Eleanor hadn’t really changed at all. A little grayer, perhaps; a few more wrinkles…But she was the same woman who’d brought her Miss Fussy. A heartening warmth welled up in Lilly’s chest upon this realization.

Betty awaited Lilly in the familiar chamber, having already turned down the bed and unpacked her nightgown. Lilly was grateful to see her, but in truth, she wanted to be alone. One of her blasted headaches was threatening.

She needed to recover from seeing Michael again.

Even so, she gave Betty a hug and accepted her assistance in preparing for bed.

The maid confided to her that her ladyship had been thrilled to learn of their upcoming visit. The winter had been drab and dreary. After brushing out Lilly’s long silver-blond hair and plaiting it in one long braid, Betty went about the room, organizing items on the dressing table and collecting the clothing Lilly had worn that day. When she finally departed, closing the door behind her, Lilly sighed in relief.

It had been too much. Too many memories. Too many reminders of what could have been. The headaches had set in shortly after marrying the baron and still came upon her when she was overwrought. Life was cruel and unfair, and the baron had been a monster, but she had survived.

Learning the truth, learning Michael had come back for her after all, shook her to the core. Because she’d learned it was she who was to blame for their separation. She could not blame her father, nor her mother, nor Michael himself.

It had been her own fault.

In this room, she’d experienced both euphoria and devastation. Euphoria early in their romance and devastation when Michael had failed to return—failed to come and speak with her father. They had waited two weeks in London before her father insisted upon returning to Plymouth. Once she was home, there had been another week before her wedding. And when he’d still not contacted her in that time, she gave up hope completely and married a man she did not love.