They’d taken less than ten steps when she heard a dog bark. ‘I can see the smoke.’ She raised her chin.
‘Walk in the woods alongside the road,’ he told her. ‘Follow me from a distance, so if we aren’t greeted well you’ll still be hidden.’
She hesitated, but moved to be covered by the trees, and the rain and mud scent of the road was lost among the smells from the chimneys and stoves from the morning meal preparation.
As they rounded a curve, they came upon a clearing with a larger house and two smaller ones further along, plus a church barely big enough to hold more than a dozen people.
She saw Chalgrove stop and study the woods until he located her, but instead of waiting, she ran towards him.
‘Wait,’ she called out.
She touched his arm and pointed to the next house. ‘That one has a child who’s already spotted us. A boy with a dog is watching us.’
‘I see the dog, but no child.’ Chalgrove put a hand to shade his eyes.
‘He jumped behind the tree and now he’s running into the house.’ She could see the little boy dart away, trousers too short and barefoot feet.
‘I guess since we’ve been announced, we should visit there.’
She nodded. ‘The grass is worn away under the tree from children playing. A family who lets their children play instead of working all day would be gentle.’ When she heard the words she’d spoken, she realised she’d been repeating something her grandmother had told her from long ago. Words she’d never thought of since her grandmother had abandoned her.
Together they walked to the house, following the worn path.
Before they could get to the door, a thin woman opened it, with two girls at both sides of her faded skirt and a little boy propped on her hip, and a whiff of their breakfast surrounded them. The woman nodded briefly to them.
Chalgrove smiled at her. ‘I’m Lord Chalgrove, and I hoped we might talk with your husband. I’ve been robbed and we escaped our captors on foot. We’re needing assistance to return to our homes in London.’
The woman clutched her children closer, fear flashing across her face.
‘Don’t worry. They were after me. They’d planned this for a long time and I will be able to have them apprehended quickly once I return home.’
She stepped back so they could enter. This house was half again bigger than the cottage, but still small. Surprisingly, a homemade sofa sat at one wall, but Miranda surmised the furniture had been made so it could also be used as a bed.
The woman called to the boy, ‘Get Papa.’
He nodded, eyes wide, and was out the door before she’d finished speaking. ‘I don’t know what we can do for you, except take you to London.’ She gave them a tentative smile while she wiped her hands on her apron. ‘My husband has to work from daylight until dark in the field because of last night’s rains. One of the fields is under water and they’re hoping to open up a dirt bank they’d built because it’s causing a flood.’
She indicated two chairs, then picked up the youngest girl and held her on her hip.
‘I’ll see he’s paid.’
‘Oh, no.’ She shifted the baby. ‘We must assist you. It’s our duty. We would want someone to do the same for us. Just last season, Elbert Daddle broke his leg right before harvest and my husband worked to cut his hay as well.’
While Miranda waited for the husband to arrive, Chalgrove reassured the woman that the culprits were after him, most likely in the hopes that they could steal more money.
A few minutes later, a man entered the room, hay sticking to his clothing.
In seconds, he’d agreed to arrange travel to London.
As soon as she reached London, she’d get back to her post. She’d explain to Mr Trevor that she’d not been able to return as quickly as she’d hoped and he’d understand.
No one could trace her back to her grandmother. Only she knew the connection. She’d treat this as a nightmare, best forgotten, except...
She stole a look at Chalgrove. He still talked to the woman and he had her entire attention.
Even the children watched him. Rapt.
Unkempt, he still had the confidence of a king, and charmed like a fallen saint.
Her grandmother had chosen well. Miranda couldn’t take her eyes away from Chalgrove, but she’d have to forget him. And soon.
The surprise in the driver’s face amused her when he stared at all the fine homes as they trundled along, travelling closer to their destination.
Then she realised the servants in the houses had bigger living quarters than the wagon driver was used to.
After Chalgrove directed him to stop in front of his house, Miranda glanced at him, but she didn’t have to commit Chalgrove’s face to memory. It would always be there.
‘I’ll travel by hackney to my post.’ Miranda stared at the ducal residence, regretting the moment of saying goodbye to him.
‘No need.’ His voice could have lulled the wind. The words were too calm, showing nothing of underlying emotion, yet hinting of tempest beneath them. ‘I’ll see you’re taken care of.’
He jumped from the cart and told the driver to wait.
Chalgrove secured funds from the butler for the driver and the man took the money after a few refusals. Miranda knew it would be more real coin than the tenant would see in a year.
Before she knew what he was doing, the driver was leaving without her. She turned to Chalgrove, again feeling lost beside the road.
He must have sensed it or seen it written on her face. ‘You’re not alone...’ He paused, taking time with his words. ‘No matter what you’ve done, you’ll still have me. I’ll make sure you aren’t harmed.’
She clung to the words and the compassion in his eyes, but she could also see the mistrust.
He swept the back of his knuckles against hers, spending a moment longer than was necessary, giving her strength.
‘You must come inside,’ Chalgrove said. ‘My mother will see to your care and you’ll have the best. This is much more comfortable than an old cottage, I promise you.’
Chalgrove offered her his arm, seeming to know she needed support to enter his home. In that second, a smile teased his eyes. ‘You won’t need an ale bottle, or even a duelling pistol, but I’m sure Mother can find a pair for you if you’d like. Father once had to get rid of the powder because she’d been reading novels again and she’d been begging him to let her learn to shoot.’
She hesitated.
‘You’ll be safer with me,’ he said. ‘No matter what has happened in the past.’
She bolstered herself with his words, understanding that he could help her grandmother better than anyone else could once the magistrate was involved. But she would have to win him over.
Wearing clothing she’d slept in, she walked through the doorway of the finest home she’d ever seen.
A high-pitched screech from a woman’s lips sent shards into Miranda’s ears.
‘What has happened to you?’ An older woman hurried down the stairs, squinting, feet moving as fast as her delicate shoes and tight corset would allow. In a quick appraisal, Miranda could tell this woman never sacrificed fashion for comfort. Even the weight of the dress should have hampered the woman’s movements, but she didn’t slow as she rushed towards him.
He stepped forward and she stopped in front of him, clouding them both in scent.
‘Your face?’ She put her knuckles to her lips, while staring at her son. ‘What dire circumstances have you been in? Were you thrown by a horse? Knocked unconscious?’ She put fingertips over her lips. ‘And has your valet seen you? I hope not. This would terrify him.’
She patted his cheek. ‘I didn’t realise you could grow a beard,’ she mused, eyes teary. She let her hand rest on his arm, holding on to reassure herself.
He bent to give a kiss to her cheek. ‘Since I was a young man, Mother.’
‘What happened?’ She appraised him again. ‘Your clothes are destroyed.’
‘I was detained...’
‘Detained?’
‘Locked in an old cottage. Have you received a ransom note?’
The older woman swayed and Chalgrove caught her, keeping her upright.
‘A ransom?’ he repeated.
Her eyes fluttered. ‘No. No note. You cannot be serious?’ She clasped him in a hug, then moved away, stretching her arms, holding him back so she could examine him.
‘Very much so.’
‘Send for the magistrate and constables,’ she called, suddenly alert, running to the stairway and bending over the banister. ‘And a physician.’
The sounds of footsteps running up the stairs were followed by a woman calling out, ‘A physician as well?’
His mother put a hand to her heart. ‘Yes. I may need one.’
The maid rushed away.
His mother’s chin quivered as she turned around and rushed back to her son. She noticed Miranda for the first time. ‘And was this miss...abducted with you?’
‘By coincidence, we shared an ordeal.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ His mother seized Miranda’s arms, studying her, now completely taking her in. She trapped one of Miranda’s hands in both of hers.
She examined Chalgrove. ‘How could this happen?’
‘I was walking to see Edward and fell in with the wrong crowd, face first. A man had crouched in the shadows, with a club to knock my feet from under me.’
She appraised Miranda, but chose her words. ‘Was—Were the two of you taken together?’
‘We’d never met before we were captured...individually,’ Chalgrove answered. ‘We came here because I wanted to be certain Miss Manwaring had your chaperonage immediately so that no aspersions are cast on her character. She has been my sustenance during the ordeal.’
‘Sustenance?’ His mother’s eyes widened.
‘A friend. She helped me find the way back to London and I don’t want her to be inconvenienced in any way.’
‘No one would dare insult a guest in my house,’ the Duchess reassured Miranda.
Then she focused on her son again. ‘I cannot... I simply cannot accept that you were taken and I did not get a premonition. Of any sort. My life went on as if everything was as normal. What if you’d not escaped? What if you’d been buried alive? What if you’d been thrown in the Thames with rocks tied inside your clothing?’
‘Rocks, Mother?’
‘Yes, I read about it in a novel. You must put rocks in a bag along with the poor soul you wish to dispose of. Dreadful. Or you could have been sold into some sordid group. Gift to the Egyptian Princess explained how such things happen.’
‘Mother, you must start reading poetry. Something soothing.’
She clutched her chest. ‘I cannot be soothed knowing someone could have hurt you.’
‘I was detained, Mother, but all is well now.’
‘Your coat is dreadful, and...’ she carefully examined his clothing ‘...your hat?’
‘Sadly, it’s gone. The criminals took it.’
‘The hat? You’re sure?’
‘Yes. Taken.’
Her voice rose. ‘By thieves?’
He nodded.
The older woman’s shoulders sagged. ‘Such desperation.’
She moved to touch his cheek and her eyes softened. ‘Chalgrove, I am so happy you are well.’ She sniffed.
Then she continued, putting on a brave front, even though her lip trembled. ‘You must tell me exactly what happened.’ Then her eyes darted to Miranda, and one eyebrow raised. ‘You’re sure the two of you weren’t captured—together?’
‘No, Mother. I was near Gentleman Jackson’s. She was taken from another location.’
‘The world is a sad place. I told your father it would come to this.’ She took one of Chalgrove’s hands and one of Miranda’s. ‘But you’re both safe now.’
‘Mother...’ his voice held a patience which suggested years of practice ‘...I’m home. Happy. Hungry. And with a guest. Let us show her the best hospitality. I’m sure Miss Manwaring would like a room and a maid to attend her.’
‘Well, I’ve sent the servants scurrying, but I’ll find someone for her.’
His mother placed a hand on Miranda’s upper arm, giving a light squeeze of support.
‘Miss Manwaring, my personal maid will attend you. I’ll also see if we can find a suitable gown for you to wear while your clothing is cared for. It will be an honour to have you.’
Then she bustled away.
Chalgrove whispered so close to Miranda that his breath brushed her ear, filling her with warming sensations. ‘We’ll speak later. After you’ve had a chance to get settled.’
The sound of footsteps on the stairway caused Chalgrove to pull away. He spoke to the servant who arrived. ‘See that Miss Manwaring wants for nothing and that she does not even have to lift a finger to summon anyone. Let me know of all her requests because I want to be certain she has the finest care.’
His voice lowered, almost caressing, and he said. ‘She’s very dear to me.’
Miranda’s heart thudded. She didn’t know if he meant the words, but her traitorous body accepted them as if he’d had them engraved in stone.
The servant’s shoulders straightened. Then she gave a brisk nod as she led Miranda into the hallway.
They moved up the stairs and stopped at a room, and the maid opened the door for her.
The room did have the flair of a princess’s dream. At the top of the walls, a vine of roses traced the space and each bloom seemed created on a different day in the life of one flower, from bud to vibrancy to fade. The vine continued on, with another rose of a different hue.
All the linens in the room were of different shades, but coordinated with the similar flowers that were running along the top of the walls. Windows stretched tall, but didn’t fight for attention. They were covered in flowing curtains, the pastels matching hues from the roses.
The tester bed rested serenely among the gentle covers, snuggled in among the other furnishings, all soft and gentle, with smaller roses painted on the canopy.
No silver or gold or gilt, but only a few glass figurines sat on the surfaces, and the framed paintings were as serene and gentle as the rest of the room, and their frames had been painted pastel.
She’d never seen a room so delicate, or even realised one could exist.
She pivoted to thank the maid and realised another servant had arrived. The second person curtsied and said she had but to ask and it would be done.
Chalgrove had put her in his house and she doubted she could move one foot outside the house without being observed.
The servants fluttered around Miranda, seeing that she had warm bathing water for a hip bath, a dressing gown and the choice between an herb-or rose-scented soap, and told her they’d be back after securing her a clean garment and to ring when she was ready.
She bathed, trying to wash the memories of the past from her body and the knowledge of Chalgrove’s touch, and trying to immerse herself in the confidence that she would be able to return to the children soon.
After rising from the water, she donned the gown and called for the maid.
The servant helped with dressing Miranda’s hair. Later, the other brought in a day dress and left again.
The gilt that had been saved on the room adorned the dress. The garment was lovely, even if it was a few years behind fashion.
Golden thread ran in patterns on the capped sleeves and on an off-white band below the bodice.
‘An old one of Her Grace’s daughter’s. She never wore it because it didn’t fit her well,’ the maid explained, ‘although she kept it thinking it would fit her again.’
Before Miranda had completely dressed, Chalgrove’s mother whooshed in, her skirt gathered in one hand so she could move rapidly.
She waved the maid away and started talking the second they were alone.
‘Were you taken prisoner by bloodthirsty cut-throats? You can tell me, dear. I will not swoon. Chalgrove is trying to spare me the details, I’m sure, for fear I’ll be too weak to withstand it. But I will have the truth and justice. Justice is best served quickly and swiftly.’
His mother ran a hand under her own chin, mimicking the movement of a sword across the neck.
‘I appreciate your help. But, please, don’t put yourself to any trouble.’ Miranda relocated closer to the wall, hoping to extricate herself from the questions and the overpowering presence of the Duchess. The move didn’t work.
‘I need to be on my way so I can put this behind me. I want to get back to my duties. My employment.’ She certainly didn’t want her connection to the old woman to be discovered.
‘Don’t worry, my dear. You’re safe at my home. Chalgrove has everything under control. We have sturdy footmen and good stablemen. We have a small coterie of assistants and we’ll find those cut-throats before you know it, then you’ll not have to worry again.’
Chalgrove’s mother’s smile fluttered and lodged into a vengeful curve.
She took her handkerchief and dabbed at a tear which never materialised. ‘They’ll have a quick drop.’
‘I would like to reassure everyone I’m well.’ Miranda spoke in the same voice she used to soothe Dolly after promising her that Willie would not feed a baby rabbit to the cat.
‘Oh, I do like a dutiful daughter.’ She edged forward. ‘Now I must spoil the surprise. I asked Chalgrove about your family and I have already sent a note to the Manwarings inviting them. People often think it’s grand to visit a duchess. Novelty for them.’ She laughed. ‘Sometimes, I jest with them that we put on our bejewelled slippers just the same as anyone else.’
Miranda stared at the Duchess, a woman whose wishes were almost met before she spoke them and who had grown accustomed to getting her way. Chalgrove’s mother had a spirited streak and she was very much like her son in that.
Miranda would find a way to leave quietly and, once she did, she would be putting Chalgrove behind her for ever. But she had no other choice.
She remembered the look in his eyes when he’d promised she wouldn’t be harmed. That would be a memory she would cherish for ever. Even if she could remove everything else of the ordeal from her mind, that gaze would be held close.
Chalgrove listened to the rasp of the razor over his cheek as he removed the scruff.
He had to become presentable quickly. He needed to discover Miss Manwaring’s secrets. The woman was becoming too enmeshed in his thoughts and he needed to remove her from them.
He’d sent for Wheaton immediately, but he’d not been able to wait on the valet before he had begun shaving. Now, Wheaton waited behind him with a flannel, watching. Chalgrove nicked himself and swore.
No ransom had been requested. His mother hadn’t been contacted in any way by the culprits. It was almost as if he’d been taken for no reason. He’d been gone over twenty-four hours, imprisoned and taunted by a mad woman.
The culprits had had time to request a ransom. What good would it do to take someone, yet let no one know he was gone?
Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity. He would have the magistrate speak with Beau Brummell’s tailor. He glanced in the mirror and spoke over his shoulder to Wheaton. ‘Do I look like I could be a tailor? I was mistaken for one.’
Wheaton bowed as he spoke. ‘They do not dress as well as you are attired, Your Grace.’
Chalgrove took the flannel and dotted the remnants of the soap from his face, before returning the cloth to Wheaton.
He strode to the door.
He’d asked his mother to keep Miss Manwaring nearby and now her parents were invited to visit. Miss Manwaring didn’t think her stepmother as devious as to kidnap them, but she might not see the truth of the other woman.
Plus, his companion knew more than she admitted and he intended to do whatever was needed to do to find out.
‘When we finish, I want you to send someone around for a hat for me. One like the one I wore last. If you need to go for it, I don’t mind. As long as I get another one.’
‘It was certainly a fine hat and quite the crack. I’m deeply distressed it is gone. It made you one of a kind. A true find. But...’ he paused ‘...perhaps not up to the standards required by a duke. I am sure the maker meant well, but if it had been a small amount less elegant, it would have been suitable for a tailor. Perhaps that is how you were mistaken for a tradesman.’
Chalgrove paused.
‘An exemplary hat, sir. I am proud to work for a man who has the best of taste.’
Chalgrove took an extra second to stare at Wheaton. ‘Have I ever got angry at you for giving me your honest opinion on my clothing?’
‘Never. I am completely awash with amazement at how faultless your taste in fashion is. It echoes my own.’
‘But the hat was...suitable for a tradesman?’
‘I would never assume such a thing. Ever. But a man of the criminal sort is not as discerning as I.’
‘You’re a good valet. You’ve been my valet for five years. In my life for all of my life. You could have been sacked had anyone discovered you were trying to scare me when I was a child.’
‘I was foxed that night, sir. It seemed like a good idea at the time and you’d become adept at filling my life with all matter of reptiles and rodents. I needed the job and you were a trial.’
‘You can tell me the truth, now. Surely.’
‘If you insist. You are still a trial—but one I am blessed to have.’
‘Hector.’
One shoulder fell and the words seemed pulled from him. ‘Your Grace, I know you enjoy flaunting hats to see how they will be received, but that may have been nearing a step too far.’
If it had caused him to be mistaken for a tailor, then perhaps Wheaton had a point.
‘When the magistrate arrives, make certain I am informed immediately.’
‘I will see if he is here now, sir.’
Privately, he would make sure the man hadn’t heard of Miss Manwaring before. But he already knew the answer to that.
At least, he hoped he did. He’d been misled once by a woman’s beauty and, in truth, his old sweetheart was nothing compared to Miss Manwaring.
He remembered pulling her through the roof and taking her into his arms after they’d tumbled.
Even with the rain, the roof and the uncertainty around him, he’d been aware every moment their bodies had touched.