Chapter Eighteen
Late afternoon was Claire’s favorite time to be alone in the garden. There was still enough sunlight to keep the temperature pleasant and enough natural light to see the print of her book with ease.
The gardens were in keeping with the luxury of the mansion and were far more substantial than many others in London. There were pebble paths bordered by large trees, numerous neatly tended flower beds, secluded areas furnished with comfortable garden benches, and even several fountains.
This expanse of the open air and greenery reminded Claire of home. Though the sights and sounds of London had more than met her expectations, there were times when she felt homesick. She missed her parents, her sisters, even the family dog—a scamp of indeterminable breeding who was loyal, playful, and loving.
It was time for her to return. When she had broached the subject with Jasper last night, not a muscle had moved in his face. He did not deny her request outright, but did woodenly express concern at the idea of her traveling.
She had been surprised, even a bit hurt, at his response, believing they had progressed beyond such stiff formality.
“I miss my family, Jasper,” she had insisted.
“Then send one of my coaches for them,” he countered, his voice sounding gruff. “The house is large enough for everyone. I am certain we can make them welcome in London.”
It was a generous offer, but impractical, especially considering her naturally disorganized family.
“It would take them weeks to be ready to make a journey to Town,” Claire replied. “It will be far easier for the two of us to travel to see them. I prefer a long visit, but promise we shall leave as soon as you grow restless.”
“You want me to accompany you? And then stay?”
A flurry of tenderness had engulfed Claire’s heart at his flustered expression. He thought she meant to journey to Wiltshire without him? And stay there for an extended time on her own? Silly man. Did he not yet realize the extent of her commitment to him? Did he not know she could never bear to be parted from him for any length of time?
“I would never consider making the trip without you,” she had answered.
She had looked at his face, into his eyes and saw relief in their depths. So, to further prove her point, Claire had swiftly removed her nightgown and walked naked into her husband’s arms.
It had been an exhausting night. Again and again they had joined their bodies, nearly drowning themselves in the most exquisite pleasure imaginable. Passion had fueled their ardor, but there was something else, too, something more that connected their very souls.
Claire smiled now at the memory. They would leave for the country within a fortnight. She was looking forward to the trip. She was anxious for Jasper to meet her mother and father, yet nervous over having to explain the very bizarre condition of her marriage and to clarify the identity of her husband.
A breeze gusted by, rustling the treetops and murmuring the leaves. The hour was growing late. Claire retied the loosening strings on her bonnet; then turned to collect the book she had set beside her on the garden bench.
When she picked up the novel, the ribbon she had been using to mark her place slipped from the pages. Muttering to herself in annoyance, Claire bent to retrieve it, hoping it would not be too difficult to locate the last page she had read.
As she reached into the grass, something shiny caught her eye. A coin? A piece of jewelry? Curious, she brushed aside the long blades of grass and bent closer to the ground to examine the object.
A voice in the distance called out her name—a female voice, vaguely familiar, yet not easily placed. Still bent over, Claire turned her head toward the sound, but saw nothing on the horizon. Distracted by the object in the lawn, she returned her attention to the ground.
There was a whisper of movement behind her, but by the time Claire lifted her head to investigate, it was too late. Something hard struck her behind her ear. The pain exploded in her brain with a flash of color, and then darkness consumed her utterly.
Jasper gave the waiting footman an uncharacteristic smile as he handed over his hat and gloves. It seemed he was doing a fair amount of that lately—smiling. Oftentimes for no good reason. He supposed that was something else he could blame on his wife. She was making him ridiculously happy.
“Is Lady Fairhurst at home?” he inquired.
“She is in the garden, my lord.”
Nodding his head in thanks, Jasper headed toward the back of the house. Tonight was the Henson’s ball, an affair he would normally be looking forward to attending. Instead, the idea of a quiet, cozy dinner for two and a rousing evening of bedsport with his alluring wife held far greater appeal.
Hopefully, it would be an easy task to persuade Claire that this alternative plan was an excellent idea.
It was a novel experience for Jasper to have such tender feelings stirring almost constantly within him, to have a need nearly burning his blood to hold her and kiss her and feel her warmth and softness against his skin.
Allowing himself to feel that need instead of burying it beneath a stiff formality still gave him a sense of danger, but the fear was lessening each day. Being with Claire gave Jasper a feeling of bliss that went beyond the physical, and he had come to realize it was a risk worth taking, for it gave him the freedom to be with the one woman who filled his soul.
He suspected there were some in his family who believed he had completely changed, but Jasper did not see it that way. He believed he had finally grown up and realized that donning the manner of distance and stiff formality had been a fatally flawed plan, for it hid the best part of his nature: his passion.
With Claire’s help, he had at long last come to believe he could trust that side of his nature; he could experience it without having it dominate his every movement; he could rejoice in the pleasure it brought him.
As he strode farther into the garden, Jasper reached into his jacket pocket and closed his hand over the jeweler’s box snuggled inside. The ring he had commissioned for his wife was finally completed, and he was anxious to present it to her—the moment after he declared his unwavering love for her and his steadfast devotion to her happiness.
The first prickling of uneasiness struck when Jasper discovered Claire’s favorite garden bench empty and her book left behind. She shared his passion for reading and cared for each novel she read as though it were a treasure. It was therefore odd to find a book of hers left out in the elements, unprotected.
Still, it might have been an oversight. Grasping the leather bound missive in his fist, Jasper bounded out of the garden and reentered the house. None of the servants were certain where Lady Fairhurst had gone, so he sent four footmen scouring through the rooms on the first and second floors in search of her, while he continued on to the chambers on the third floor.
He opened Claire’s door and walked through the empty bedchamber to glance in the dressing room. It was also empty.
Pacing the floor with impatience, Jasper tugged on the bellpull. A young maid answered the call.
“Where is Lady Fairhurst’s maid?”
“I have not seen her since lunchtime, my lord. ’Tis her half day off.”
Frowning, Jasper dismissed the maid and instructed her to tell the butler, Mr. Brinks, he was needed immediately. Within minutes the butler arrived, flush faced and out of breath. Following close on his heels were the four footmen. Their grim expressions told Jasper what he did not want to hear—Lady Fairhurst was not in the house.
“When was the last time any of you saw her?” Jasper asked.
A stout, dark-haired footman stepped forward. “Following Mr. Brinks’s instructions, I asked her Ladyship if she would like tea served in the garden fifteen minutes ago. She was sitting in the rose arbor, reading a book. She told me she would prefer to take her refreshments in her chamber and instructed them to be sent up at half past the hour.”
All eyes turned toward the clock on the mantel. Jasper felt a chill rush through him. In just a few moments it would strike the appointed time. Where was Claire?
A knock came at the chamber door. Jasper half expected to see a servant carrying a ladened tea tray, but instead Jason casually strolled into the room. Jasper met his brother’s gaze.
Instantly, Jason became alert. “What is wrong?”
“It’s Claire. She’s gone missing.”
“Are you certain?”
“We have just combed the house and the grounds looking for her. She is not here.”
“Perhaps she went out on an errand,” Jason suggested. “Are any of the carriages gone?”
Jasper turned to his butler.
“Only the one that drove the countess to Bond Street late this morning,” Mr. Brinks answered.
“Claire knows that I have been very worried for her safety,” Jasper said. “She would not have left the house without telling someone. At least not of her own free will.”
He gripped the book he still held in his hand so tight it began to bend, all the while trying to force his mind to remain calm while he tried to formulate a plan. But concentration was nearly impossible. God, where was she? What had happened to her?
“Assemble the household in the front foyer,” Jason ordered. “Lord Fairhurst and I need to speak with the entire staff.”
Jasper cast an eye of gratitude at his brother. The edges of fear were curling around his heart, making it difficult to keep a clear head.
The brothers entered the front foyer together, standing side by side before a curious and subdued household staff. Jason wasted no time informing the servants of Lady Fairhurst’s disappearance and requesting information.
But the staff remained eerily quiet. All seemed visibly distressed; many had their mouths open in shock.
Jasper rubbed his face with his hands. “Anything you can remember, no matter how small, might be of help.”
The seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. Then a worried looking footman stepped forward.
“It might not seem like much, but since you’ve asked, there was a black coach parked at the top of the street earlier this afternoon. I took note of it because it was in an awkward spot, nearly blocking the corner. It seemed odd, too, since none of our neighbors or their visitors would choose such an inconvenient location to leave their coach.”
“Did you see anyone disembark or enter this carriage?” Jasper asked.
“No.”
Jason turned to the footman. “Was there a coat of arms on the door, or anything else distinct about the vehicle?”
The servant shook his head slowly, then lowered it in despair.
“Did anyone else see this carriage?” Jason asked.
There was a moment of silence, and then one of the underfootman said, “I think I did.”
“How could you have seen the carriage?” Mr. Brinks asked in an indignant tone. “You were supposed to be in the pantry polishing the silver all afternoon.”
The servant dragged in a breath, held it for a second, then spoke. “I went out for some fresh air. ’Twas only for a moment, but I do remember that coach.”
“Was Lady Fairhurst inside?” Jasper asked.
“Not that I could see. The driver was on top of the box, and there was at least one person inside because they stuck their head out of the window for a few seconds.”
“Can you describe that person?”
“I only caught a fleeting glimpse, but it was a female. A lady, by the look of her bonnet.”
“Did you know this woman?”
“I . . . uhm . . .” the man stammered, blushing slightly. There were a few beads of sweat forming at his hairline. “I believe it was Miss Manning, though I cannot be one hundred percent certain.”
“Miss Manning?” Jason exclaimed.
Jasper let loose the curse that rose to his lips. This was not good news. If Claire was with Rebecca, then Dorchester would not be far behind. But where could they have taken her? And why?
“There is no need to jump to dire conclusions,” Jason whispered. “A coach carrying Rebecca Manning is hardly a suspicious occurrence. Even if Claire were with her, it could all be very innocent.”
“With Claire missing, everything is suspicious,” Jasper countered.
He was practically numb with fear, distracted from everything by the worry of finding his wife. He had underestimated the danger, and that was inexcusable. Though Jasper longed to believe this was all an innocent mistake, he knew he must act as if the worst had occurred.
Giving no further explanation, he stormed from the house, leaving behind his greatcoat, hat, and gloves. Jason followed quickly on his heels.
“Jasper, wait! You can hardly go chasing after every black coach in London. You might as well be searching for a needle in a haystack. Besides, if your servants are correct, this carriage left at least a half hour ago. We have no idea of its direction, or if Claire was even inside.”
Jasper grimaced. “I am not going to try and find this carriage. I am going to Dardington’s. Our brother-in-law arranged for the runners to keep a watch on Squire Dorchester. If Rebecca is involved, then the squire will also be a part of it. I pray to God that one of the runners can tell us where he is and that will, in turn, lead me to Claire.”
“I’m coming with you,” Jason declared. “We can take my phaeton. ’Tis the fastest carriage in London when I’m at the ribbons.”
Minutes later, the brothers were careening through the crowded streets. Jason was indeed an expert whip, and Jasper was grateful for his brother’s help, though he could not help but think that with every passing minute, the mysterious coach was slipping farther and farther away. Hanging on grimly to his seat, Jasper’s mind was filled with thoughts of Claire. Where was she? Was she frightened? Hurt?
“Try not to worry,” Jason murmured as he hauled on the reins and skillfully negotiated a sharp curve. “We’ll get her back.”
Jasper nodded. The confident words reminded him he was not alone. That thought helped renew his hope and focus his mind on rescue. They would discover Claire’s whereabouts, assemble a plan, and bring her safely home.
The alternative was simply unimaginable.
The noisy rattle of carriage wheels crunching on a gravel path pulled Claire back to consciousness. Groggily, she lifted her head, and then winced as a searing pain shot through her skull. Gingerly, she reached to touch the most tender area, her fingers encountering raw skin and a growing lump.
She began to sit up, and for a moment, everything spun around sickeningly. Claire waited until it stopped, and then she gradually lifted herself upright.
“Ah, so you are finally awake. Good. I had to pay the driver an extra shilling to carry you from the garden to the coach. You must outweigh me by at least a stone. But now that added expense can be saved once we reach our destination.”
Claire blinked furiously, and the woman sitting on the opposite side of the carriage slowly came into focus.
“Miss Manning?”
“You do know my name! Richard claimed you would not, but I knew better.” Her voice was smug, superior, as was her grin.
“Richard?” Claire mumbled in confusion.
The smug smile vanished. “Squire Dorchester to you.”
Dear Lord! Claire’s heart began pounding with dread. Her head hurt terribly, and her body felt so weary she could barely move. Yet Claire knew she must struggle to keep her wits about her.
“Is that where we are going? To meet the squire?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rebecca Manning’s laugh was short and brittle.
Claire’s nerves jangled in her stomach at the sound. What was happening? She doubted very much that she had been kidnapped to be held for ransom. Miss Manning certainly had reason to dislike her, but this seemed an extreme action for a woman.
Claire did not know Rebecca Manning at all, yet she could not credit this was entirely her plan. This seemed more like an act Richard Dorchester would devise, and it was his involvement and intentions that Claire truly feared.
They soon stopped in a wooded area, in what might have been a park. Since she had lost consciousness, Claire was unsure of how many miles they had traveled. Judging by the position of the sun, it had been at least an hour, maybe longer. She wondered how far from the city they had come.
“Get out.”
Claire lifted her chin defiantly and stared at her captor. “No.”
Rebecca Manning sputtered unbecomingly; then she reached beneath the folds of her cloak and extracted a lethal-looking knife. The long blade flashed menacingly in the fading light of the carriage interior.
“Get out,” Miss Manning repeated.
Claire swallowed involuntarily, her eyes never leaving the knife blade. Though it seemed impossible to believe a lady would ever use such a diabolical weapon, Claire knew she could not risk further injury. With great reluctance, she obeyed the command.
After they exited the carriage, Claire glanced up at the coachman. Though she expected no less, her spirits sank further when he deliberately avoided her eyes. There was no help to be found from him.
“Return for me at the appointed time, in the appointed location,” Miss Manning commanded, tossing up a small leather pouch of coins. “You shall be paid the rest then.”
The pouch disappeared beneath the driver’s cloak. Then he flicked the reins, sparing them no further glance. Miss Manning stood close by Claire’s side as the carriage slowly disappeared. Claire shivered, rubbing her arms. Her head continued to throb, and she felt woozy. Even if she had the strength to flee, she had no idea where to run.
“Walk.”
With the tip of a knife blade placed firmly in her back, Claire started walking, and they immediately entered a thick forest of large oak trees. For a moment, she felt as though she were back home in the country. There were no city sounds of carts or carriages or pedestrian traffic to be heard. It was eerily quiet all around them, an almost silent woods.
They rounded a bend and the trees thinned, forming a clearing. They crossed a wide lawn, then headed down a long slope toward a lake. There were a few large trees scattered along the banks, their slouching limbs dipping into the water.
Raising her head, Claire anxiously scanned the darkening horizon. Miss Manning had planned well. Even if someone was in the vicinity, with twilight fast approaching, little could be seen of them.
There was no one in sight when they reached the water’s edge. For a fleeting moment, Claire dared to hope that she would simply be abandoned in this secluded area and forced to find her way out alone. But a rustling behind one of the large oak trees soon dashed that hope.
“You’re late.”
Both women whirled in the direction of the voice.
“Why are you here?” Rebecca screeched in annoyance.
“I could ask you the same question, dear sister,” the female voice replied. “You told me that you were going to Gunther’s for an ice.”
Hope surged through Claire. She had expected to find the odious Squire Dorchester, but instead Miss Manning’s sister Anne stood before them, apparently much to Rebecca’s surprise. Was it too much to hope that the plan had been foiled and rescue was in sight?
Rebecca scowled. “Where I go is none of your business. Stop meddling in my affairs and leave at once.”
“Not without Lady Fairhurst.”
Rebecca lost her temper. “You stupid cow! Be gone or you will ruin everything!”
“How can I ruin what I have planned?”
The words brought Rebecca up short. She paused, gazing at her sister as if she’d never seen her before. “What nonsense are you babbling?”
Anne’s feverish eyes gleamed viciously. “For once I am in control, little sister. How I have relished outwitting you. And now you will listen to me. You will do as I say!”
Anne advanced steadily with each word. When she stood close enough, she slapped Rebecca across the face, sending her reeling to the ground, the force of the blow knocking her bonnet askew.
Her hand pressed to her reddened cheek, Rebecca stared up at Anne, shock etched on her face. “You hit me!”
Rebecca’s cry was loud enough to send the birds scouring from the trees.
“Be glad that is all I have done, dear sister.” Anne pulled a small object from the pocket of her gown. It was a pistol, small and deadly, made for a woman’s hand. “If you anger me further, I shall not hesitate to use this.”
Claire swallowed the gasp that rose in her throat as Anne brandished the weapon in front of Rebecca’s nose.
Rebecca, however, had not yet grasped the magnitude of the danger. Her palm still resting against her bruised cheek, she glared at her sister with undisguised disgust.
“I will tell you one final time. Leave here immediately. This matter does not concern you.”
“I am staying.”
Rebecca’s gaze skittered around. “The squire will be furious when he arrives and finds you here,” she threatened. “I shall not protect you from his wrath. In fact, I shall enjoy watching him punish you when he discovers that you have struck me.”
Anne made a clucking noise with her tongue. “I have seen the bruises you try so hard to conceal. Why should the squire care if someone else hits you? Or does he reserve that privilege only for himself?”
Claire noticed Rebecca’s hand move to her shoulder and caught the shadowy glimpse of a fading bruise. It sickened her to realize that Anne spoke the truth. Claire felt no sense of triumph at the verification of Dorchester’s true character, for even she would never have believed he was capable of such brutality.
Rebecca slowly straightened, and then rose to her feet. “Your ignorance has sealed your fate, Anne. I shall do nothing to spare you. Nothing.” She bared her teeth in a cruel smile. “He will laugh when he sees your little gun. And then he will beat you until you are bloody and begging for mercy.”
Anne did not appear frightened at her sister’s threats. “You are starting to bore me,” she announced as she circled around Rebecca’s left side. Then, suddenly, Anne lifted her arm high in the air and brought the butt end of the pistol sharply down on the back of Rebecca’s head.
Claire heard a dull thud as the blow sent Rebecca crashing to her knees. She struggled for a moment, swaying drunkenly, shaking her head, and trying to rise. But, instead, she fell forward. Once she hit the ground, she remained still.
Her head will ache even more than mine, Claire thought with a flash of sympathy.
Anne nudged Rebecca’s inert form with the toe of her walking boot. There was no sound or movement from the prone form. Anne turned toward Claire and let out a nervous giggle. Claire tensed.
“You seem upset by my actions,” Anne said in a puzzled voice. “I do not understand why. My sister and her lover would have made you suffer great physical pain. I would never do anything so cruel.”
“I never thought that you would.” Claire felt herself flinch as the lie crossed her lips. “But Rebecca spoke the truth about the squire. I fear his anger, as should you. We must leave immediately, before he arrives and discovers us.”
Anne giggled again. “There is nothing to fear from Dorchester. I have already taken care of him.”
With a cryptic smile, Anne beckoned Claire closer. Fearfully, Claire approached. Needles of panic drove into her when she saw Anne’s handiwork. Anne had indeed taken care of the squire. He sat hidden from view at the base of a huge tree, his back pressed against the trunk. His hands and feet were bound with a thick rope, his mouth gagged and his head slumped forward at an unnatural angle.
“Is he dead?” Claire whispered.
“Not yet.” Anne let out a small sigh. “You know, I have never murdered anyone. You shall be the first. Then Dorchester. Then Rebecca.”
The blood drained from Claire’s head and a buzzing filled her ears. She fought to keep her expression impassive and her gaze level, but she could not control the icy chills that ran up and down her spine.
Anne sounded perfectly reasonable, but her words were lunacy. Panic beat in Claire’s chest, making it difficult to think. Still, she knew her only chance of survival was to stall for time.
“You told your sister that all of this was your plan.”
“Yes. I arranged everything very cleverly.” Anne bowed her head demurely. “How unseemly of me to be so boastful. But all has gone even better than I expected.”
“It has?”
Anne nodded, clearly eager to tell her story. “You see, I needed to get you alone, and I could not manage that without help. So I tricked Rebecca into coming to my aid.”
“You tricked her?” Claire prompted.
“I did!” A bubble of laughter escaped from Anne’s thin lips. “I sent Rebecca a note, instructing her to bring you here, and signed it in Dorchester’s hand. Though it was a difficult task to remove you from your home without being seen, I knew she would find a way to get it done. She has fallen completely under the squire’s spell and will do anything he asks of her.”
“And what of Dorchester? How did you get him here?”
“I brought him here on the pretext of a tryst and sent him a letter forged with Rebecca’s signature.” Anne snorted disgustedly. “They have met before in this very spot. I followed her one afternoon and watched them fornicating on the banks of the lake like a pair of wild animals. ’Twas nearly inhuman.”
Claire shuddered at the disturbing image, knowing she could not possibly comment. Yet she had to keep Anne talking. “Is that why you want to . . . to kill them? Because you disapprove of their relationship?”
Anne tilted her head back and laughed. The sound chilled Claire to her bones.
“My sister and the squire are a well-matched pair. Spawns of the devil, both of them. They do not deserve to live.” Anne lifted her chin and struck a righteous pose. “Dorchester tried to provoke a fight with Lord Fairhurst at the duke’s ball. And my sister was unforgivably cruel to Lord Fairhurst when he tried to explain how he had inadvertently found himself married to you.”
Claire stared at Anne in confusion. “I can assure you these incidents did not unduly disturb my husband.”
Anne’s face crumpled. “You don’t understand. I would have been content to be his sister-in-law—to stand in the shadows, to receive only brotherly affection and regard. It would have been enough. He would have been a part of my family, a part of my future, but my sister could not even manage that, the damn fool.”
Claire watched in fascination as tears of anguish brimmed in Anne’s eyes.
“I do not wish to harm you,” Anne continued. “But there is no other way. I must do what is necessary to be near him. Once you are dead, he shall turn to me in his grief.” Anne gulped in a large breath and a dreamy, faraway look entered her eyes. “Then, after a proper phase of mourning has elapsed, I shall become Lord Fairhurst’s wife.”