Never Love a Lord, page 19
part #4 of The Wedding Vow Series
“I know,” she told Charlotte. “And I am hopeful.”
“You should be,” Matty said. “He asked for my blessing, and I gave it. I expect the fellow to follow through.”
She sucked in a breath. “He asked for your blessing? When was this?”
Matty shrugged, as if it weren’t a momentous occasion that might change the course of her life. “The other day. He seemed sure of himself.”
Oh, but she hoped so!
“Good,” Charlotte said. “For if he fails to come up to scratch this time, I don’t think Matthew will be the only one who wants to take him out in the garden and pummel him flat.”
That forced a laugh out of her.
Still, the day played out in her mind as she lay down to sleep that night. His devoted attention to the service, the way he’d deflected Lady Wellmanton’s barbs, their conversation that had wandered nearly as far as the coach in its topics, the look in his eyes—part pride, part hope—as he’d shared his home.
And the adorable way his staff had watched out for him, as if every bit as hopeful of a match.
A match with her.
If she wanted that, she had to trust him. She had to believe he truly cared. So, when he came tomorrow, if he asked to marry her—when he asked to marry her—she would say yes.
He didn’t come.
She waited a good portion of the morning in the sitting room, and no fancy carriage pulled up before the door. Charlotte stopped by twice before returning to Daphne and Rose. Her nieces played quietly, as if they knew she was listening for the sound of horses being reined in. Matty seemed to think Ash’s coachman had mistaken the way, for he went outside and looked up and down the street.
What time was Ash’s meeting with the king? Surely he wouldn’t neglect his duty. So was he neglecting his duty to her? Had he changed his mind after all?
Did she truly mean so little to him?
The doubts surrounded her, poking, prodding.
No! She would not think that way. He’d made her a promise, and she knew he would keep it. She believed in him and their future together.
She turned from her latest trip to the sitting room window to eye Keller, who had emboldened himself to join her instead of standing in the entry hall as he usually did.
“Something’s wrong,” she told him.
Immediately he drew himself up with a fearsome frown that made his black uniform look entirely appropriate. “Is someone outside, your ladyship?”
“No one,” she said. “And Lord Ashforde should have been here by now.”
His frown cleared. “His lordship is on his way to see the English king.”
“He said he’d stop here first.” She started for the door. “We need to find him. You know as well as I do how much is depending on this meeting with the king today. We must make sure Ash isn’t hindered from attending.”
“But it is my duty to see to your protection,” Keller protested. “Not his.”
Tuny gave him a grim smile. “Then you had better keep up, for I intend to see that he’s safe.”
First, however, she located her brother. He and Charlotte had retired to the rear garden and were pointing out various species of plant to the girls. How Charlotte had experimented when she’d first married Matty, trying to find the perfect combination of flowers and herbs that would thrive in the small, north-facing space. Now Rose was doing her best to look interested. Daphne was already skipping from stone to stone up and down the path.
“Ash should have been here,” Tuny told her brother without roundaboutation. “I want to make sure nothing’s happened to him.” As Matty frowned, she turned to her sister-in-law. “I’ll hail a hack to Mayfair, but do you think we could borrow the Worthington coach if we need to go farther?”
“I’ll write a note for you to take,” Charlotte said. She hurried for the house.
“May I come too?” Rose asked. “I like riding in the coach.”
“I know you do,” Tuny said. “But we’re not sure how long we’ll be out. I need you and Daphne to do something very important, though.”
Immediately the five-year-old came pelting back to their sides. “What?”
Tuny crouched on the path and met their wide-eyed gazes. “Someone must stay and watch for Lord Ashforde. I am counting on you to tell him where I’ve gone and wish him all good fortune on his meeting with the king.”
Rose nodded solemnly.
“Where are you going?” Daphne asked.
“Good question,” Matty put in, crossing his arms over his chest.
Tuny rose. “To his house to make sure everything is all right. But he might have already left and could come here while I’m on my way there.”
Daphne shook her head. “That’s confusing.”
“Very,” Tuny told her. “Thank you both, and I promise to bring you stories when I return.” She dropped a kiss on each head.
Matty followed Tuny to the door even as Charlotte came back out.
“Here,” her sister-in-law said. “Give this to whoever’s on duty. With Worth and Lydia out, some of the staff will have been given a holiday. Betsy’s gone to hail a hack. I expect it might take a few minutes.”
“Do you mind staying with the girls while I go with Tuny?” Matty asked her.
Rose came up to them. “We have an important job, Mama. We are to tell Lord Ashforde where Aunt Tuny has gone.”
“And say happy birthday,” Daphne added, joining them.
“Say good luck,” Rose corrected her.
Daphne pouted. “Birthdays are better.”
“Much better,” her mother said with a smile. “But we must tell him what Aunt Tuny asked, not what we wish.”
“Why?” Daphne asked.
Charlotte turned to her husband. “I’ll stay with the girls. But please, be careful.”
He pecked her cheek before following Tuny into the house, leaving Charlotte to explain the importance of telling the truth.
By the time the hack arrived, Tuny had added a blue wool spencer to her muslin gown and topped the outfit with a simple straw bonnet that framed her face. Keller still did not look convinced of her quest, but he climbed up beside the coachman as Matty handed Tuny inside.
“You think he’s in danger,” her brother said as the coach took off.
“It may be nothing,” Tuny demurred. “But Leo and Fritz thought it necessary to assign a guard to me. I can’t help wondering whether they assigned him to the wrong person.”
“That fellow Huber spotted following us after services,” Matty mused. “Perhaps he was watching Lord Ashforde, not you.”
She shivered, for all the day was warm. “Oh, I hope not. But there was a man in Hyde Park as well. I must be sure Ash is safe.”
His townhouse did not look any less stately than the last time they had visited, but as they approached the front door, Tuny could hear what sounded like a woman wailing. Matty stepped around her to pound on the door.
“Open, in the name of the king!” he shouted.
Tuny stared at him.
Matty shrugged. “I didn’t say which king. I imagine King Frederick wants to know how today goes as much as his sons.”
A pale-faced footman yanked open the door. “Who’s there?”
“Sir Matthew Bateman, appointed agent of the King of Batavaria,” Matty said, shouldering him aside. “Take me to your master, immediately.”
“He likes to be forceful,” Tuny explained as she slipped in behind her brother in time to see a lady who was likely the cook disappear down the stairs.
“I can’t,” the footman lamented.
Her brother drew himself up and widened his stance. “You will. Unless I find him first.” He raised his voice. “Hoy, Ashforde! You’re wanted.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Peaves demanded, coming down the stairs at a clip that did not bode well for his safety. As his gaze met Tuny’s, some of his usual starch leaked back in.
“That is, good day, Sir Matthew, Lady Moselle,” he said, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, head high and chin thrust out. “I regret that his lordship is not at home to visitors.”
“That’s a polite excuse,” Tuny informed him. “If you tell him we’re here, I’m sure he’ll see us.”
Peaves sighed. “That’s just it, your ladyship. He isn’t here. He received a note last night and left immediately in response. We haven’t seen him since.”
Chapter Twenty
Tuny must have swayed, for the butler put out a hand to steady her. Matty went one further.
“What note?” her brother barked. “Who brought it? What did it say?”
Peaves seemed to shrink in on himself further with each question. “A footman brought it,” he finally squeaked out. “I didn’t recognize him, nor did his lordship see fit to share the contents of the note.”
Matty squared his shoulders, always an impressive sight. “Show me where he took possession of it.”
What a blessing her brother knew what he was about, for her mind was whirling as she followed him and the butler down the corridor to the library. For once, even the sight of all those books failed to move her.
Something had happened to Ash.
Why? How? Who could have done such a thing?
More importantly, how could she save him?
Matty went to the desk and rummaged about in the documents on top.
“Now, see here,” Peaves said, rallying. “Those are his lordship’s private thoughts. You have no call to rifle through them.”
“If I end up saving his life, I doubt he’ll quibble,” Matty said. He thrust a piece of parchment at Tuny. “Looks like he had some ideas on what to tell the king.”
She forced herself to scan the words, and her heart leaped. “Oh, my! This is brilliant! It will solve so many problems.” She lowered the paper. “But, Matty, the fact that he found a resolution to the Batavarian question is all the more reason to suspect someone wanted to stop him from speaking with the king.”
“Apparently so.” He handed her another note.
This one stole her breath. But only for a moment.
“Wellmanton,” she growled. “Thank you, Mr. Peaves. My brother and I will take matters from here.”
The butler hesitated, hands wringing in front of his immaculate waistcoat. “You will bring him home, won’t you, your ladyship?”
“I promise,” Tuny said. “But you can help. Send word to Weyfarer House, the home of the Duke of Wey on Clarendon Square. Prince Otto Leopold and Count Montalban should have arrived by now, and with them a contingent of the Imperial Guards. Tell the guards we will be retrieving them shortly, and let them know that their future is at stake.”
Peaves’ head snapped back and up. “At once, your ladyship.”
Keller also straightened as they all came back into the entry hall, then followed Tuny out the door. Matty called up directions to Clarendon Square to the waiting hack driver.
“Are we going to fight?” Keller asked her.
“Very likely,” Tuny told him. “But we should probably start with a little diplomacy.”
The hack deposited them in front of the double-townhouse the Worthingtons owned, and the footman on duty hurried to take word to the coachman in the mews behind. Leaving Matty to wait, Tuny and Keller walked the short distance up the square to Weyfarer House.
She was not surprised to find it in an uproar. Ash’s footman had barely beat them to the door and was now huddled in the corner; Count Montalban was barking orders to the Imperial Guards while Prince Otto Leopold and Larissa debated strategy and Callie, Belle, and Aunt Meredith plotted staffing. Fortune wound her way through the melee. Tuny bent to pick her up.
“We could all use a little of your insights about now,” she murmured.
Matty put two fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp whistle.
“Thank you, Sir Matthew,” Underhill, the butler, said beside them, rubbing an ear. “Lady Moselle and Sir Matthew to see you, your ladyships.”
Larissa came to join Tuny by the door, blue eyes soft. “I’m so sorry, Petunia. We will find him.”
“Of course we will,” Tuny said, though something inside still fretted like a bird tugging at a worm. “I know where to go. I’d just like a little extra support at my side.”
Both Count Montalban and Prince Otto Leopold stood taller. Roth, who had been guarding them that day, stepped forward before they could, Huber and Tanner at his side. They all clapped fists to chests.
“We are at your command, Lady Moselle,” Huber said.
“I knew you would be,” Tuny assured them.
^^^
A short while later, they exited the Worthington coach in front of the Wellmanton townhouse. Her brother had known the way. Unfortunately, the Wellmanton butler took one look at Matty beside her and the four Imperial Guards behind and was even less inclined to allow them entrance than Peaves had been. Tuny intervened as Matty swelled up.
“My brother was once known as the Beast of Birmingham,” she said apologetically. “We never could dissuade him that speech was preferable to fists. And I’m afraid he’s been tutoring Mr. Keller, Mr. Roth, Mr. Huber, and Mr. Tanner, here.”
Matty cracked his knuckles for emphasis. Roth’s smile had an edge to it. Tanner, Huber, and Keller stepped closer, hands on the hilts of their swords.
“I will see if Lord Wellmanton might be available,” the butler said, moving off as quickly as dignity allowed.
“Stand ready,” Tuny murmured, “but don’t start a fight. That’s how they nearly imprisoned Count Montalban early this Season, by claiming him the aggressor.”
“Better aggressor than victim,” Roth grumbled.
“Best to keep a level head,” Tuny countered. Then she straightened as Lord Wellmanton himself came down the corridor to meet them.
“Lady Moselle, Sir Matthew,” he greeted, “to what do I owe this honor?”
How convenient for him to ignore the guards at her back. “We’re here because you kidnapped Lord Ashforde,” Tuny said. “Release him to our custody now, and no one need know.”
Lord Wellmanton put a hand to his heart and staggered. Keller rushed forward to support him. His butler goggled.
“Ashforde, kidnapped?” the viscount wheezed as the other guards exchanged glances. “This cannot be! And just when I managed to secure his family jewels to return to him.”
This couldn’t be an act. His face was pasty, his jowls quivered, and sweat stood out on his forehead.
“A footman came to his house last night,” she told the viscount as Keller helped him regain his footing. “He brought a note claiming that the man who had the jewels was about to leave the country and Lord Ashforde must come now if he wished to save them. The note was signed with your name.”
He shoved Keller away as if burned. “Scurrilous! I would never stoop so low!”
“Low enough,” Matty muttered.
“I am innocent, I assure you,” he protested. “Oh, what a shame his lordship will not be able to present his case to the king.”
“He’ll be there,” Tuny told him. “I’ll make sure of it. Just see that you keep the other advisers from closing the conversation with the king until Lord Ashforde arrives.”
His smile wasn’t in the least supportive. “Oh, certainly, certainly, and may I wish you every fortune in finding him.”
Tuny glanced to her contingent. “Mr. Roth, I would hate for anything to happen to Lord Wellmanton the way it has Lord Ashforde. Please accompany him to the meeting.”
“Oh, no need,” Lord Wellmanton protested, but Roth inclined his head.
“Your servant, Lady Moselle. I will see that his lordship reaches the meeting and nowhere else.”
One look at the guard’s determined face, and Lord Wellmanton subsided.
Matty and the other three guards joined her in starting for the coach.
“You believe him?” her brother asked.
“I’m afraid I must,” she replied. “But he won’t be able to do more damage with Roth nipping at his heels.”
“Where next?” Tanner asked as they reached the coach.
Tuny met their gazes in turn. Huber was frowning, Tanner was tense, and Keller was gripping his knife hilt as if he would never let go.
“Only one other person might have a reason to prevent Ash from presenting his thoughts to the king,” she told them.
She looked up at the Worthington coachman, who was watching. “Take us to the home of the Envoy for Württemberg.”
^^^
There! With a highly satisfying snap, the last of Ash’s bonds separated. He shook his hands free of the rope and set to work on the hood that had been wrapped around his head.
What a fool! One word from Wellmanton, and he’d dashed off in a coach that had taken him to his doom. As soon as it had stopped in a dark corner of London, he’d been set upon by three men, bound, and hooded. He hadn’t been able to tell where they’d taken him, but he’d heard first one, then another thank the third for payment right before being deposited in this cell. The last thing he’d heard from his remaining captor was the thud of the door closing.
How long had he been here? Hours? Days? There was no light to be had. As it was, he’d managed to sit, then scoot his way around until he’d bumped into enough pieces of wood to conclude he was in a storage room of some sort, surrounded by crates. Thankfully, one of those crates had had a loose nail, and he’d spent the last while working it against his bonds until he was free.
Now he climbed to his feet. Sleep would have been welcome; he felt his weariness to his bones. But not until he escaped.
He felt his way forward until his hands hit stone. The outer wall? Turning, he took several more cautious steps until he hit a solid wood surface again. Likely the inner wall. That meant his prison was about ten feet from side to side. His experiment in the other directions yielded the same result as well as a bruised shin from hitting the crates. He’d also located the door, which was made of stout wood with no latch on the inside. The air was becoming stale enough that he could almost guarantee there was no window and likely only the single door.
