The following day, after getting Anne settled as a proper guest in his household, Daniel set out to pay a call upon Sir George Chervil.
As expected, it hadn’t been difficult to find his address. He lived in Marylebone, not far from his father-in-law’s Portman Square residence. Daniel knew who Viscount Hanley was; indeed, Daniel had been at Eton at the same time as two of Hanley’s sons. The connection was not terribly deep, but the family would know who he was. If Chervil did not come around to his way of thinking with appropriate speed, Daniel had every confidence that a call upon his father-in-law—who undoubtedly controlled the purse strings, including the deed for the tidy little Marylebone home upon whose steps Daniel was now ascending—would do the trick.
Within moments of knocking on the front door, Daniel was ushered into a sitting room decorated in muted shades of green and gold. A few minutes later, a woman came in. From her age and attire, he could only deduce that she was Lady Chervil, the viscount’s daughter George Chervil had chosen to marry instead of Anne.
“My lord,” Lady Chervil said, offering him an elegant curtsy. She was quite pretty, with light brown curls and clear, peaches-and-cream skin. She could not compare to Anne’s dramatic beauty, but then again, few could. And Daniel was, perhaps, somewhat biased.
“Lady Chervil,” he said in return. She looked surprised by his presence, and more than a little bit curious. Her father was a viscount, so she must be used to receiving high-ranking visitors, but at the same time, he imagined it had been some time since an earl had called upon her in her own home, especially if it had been only recently that her husband had become a baronet.
“I have come to call upon your husband,” Daniel told her.
“I am afraid he is not home just now,” she said. “Is there anything with which I may assist you? I am surprised that my husband did not mention your connection.”
“We have not been formally introduced,” Daniel explained. There seemed no reason to pretend otherwise; Chervil would make as much clear when he returned home and his wife mentioned that the Earl of Winstead had paid a call.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, not that there was anything for which to apologize. But she seemed like the sort of woman who said I’m sorry whenever she wasn’t sure what else to say. “Is there anything with which I might assist you? Oh, I’m so sorry, I asked that already, didn’t I?” She motioned to a seating area. “Would you care to sit? I can have tea brought out immediately.”
“No, thank you,” Daniel said. It was an effort to keep his manners polite, but he knew that this woman bore no blame for what had happened to Anne. She likely had never even heard of her.
He cleared his throat. “Do you know when your husband is expected back?”
“I shouldn’t think it would be too long,” she replied. “Would you like to wait?”
Not really, but Daniel didn’t see any other alternative, so he thanked her and took a seat. Tea was brought out, and much small conversation was made, interspersed with long pauses and unconcealed glances at the mantel clock. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of Anne, and what she must be doing at that precise moment.
While he was sipping tea, she was trying on clothing lent to her by Honoria.
While he was tapping his fingers impatiently against his knee, she was sitting down to dinner with his mother, who had, much to Daniel’s pride and relief, not batted so much as an eyelash when he announced that he planned to marry Miss Wynter, and oh, by the way, she would be staying at Winstead House as their guest, since she couldn’t very well continue on as a governess to the Pleinsworths.
“Lord Winstead?”
He looked up. Lady Chervil had her head tilted to the side and was blinking expectantly. She had clearly asked him a question—one he had not heard. Fortunately, she was the sort of woman in whom good manners had been ingrained since birth, and so she drew no attention to his lapse, instead saying (and presumably repeating), “You must be terribly excited about your sister’s upcoming nuptials.” At his blank look, she added, “I read about it in the newspaper, and of course I attended your family’s lovely musicales when I was having my season.”
Daniel wondered if that meant that she was no longer receiving invitations. He hoped so. The thought of George Chervil sitting in his home made his skin crawl.
He cleared his throat, trying to keep his expression pleasant. “Yes, very much so. Lord Chatteris has been a close friend since childhood.”
“How lovely for you, then, that he will now be your brother.”
She smiled, and Daniel was struck by a tiny arrow of unease. Lady Chervil seemed to be a most pleasant woman, someone with whom his sister—or Anne—would be friendly were she not married to Sir George. She was innocent of everything, save for marrying a scoundrel, and he was going to upend her life completely.
“He is at my house right now,” Daniel said, trying to assuage his disquietude by offering her slightly more charming conversation. “I believe he has been dragged over to help plan the wedding.”
“Oh, how lovely.”
He gave her a nod, using the opportunity to play the game of What-Must-Anne-Be-Doing-Now? He hoped she was with the rest of his family, offering her opinion on lavender-blue and blue-lavender and flowers and lace and everything else that went into a family celebration.
She deserved a family. After eight years, she deserved to feel as if she belonged.
Daniel glanced at the mantel clock again, trying to be a bit more discreet about it. He had been here an hour and a half. Surely Lady Chervil was growing restless. No one remained in a sitting room for an hour and a half, waiting for someone to come home. They both knew that propriety dictated that he offer his card and depart.
But Daniel wasn’t budging.
Lady Chervil smiled awkwardly. “Truly, I did not think Sir George would be gone so long. I can’t imagine what is keeping him.”
“Where did he go?” Daniel asked. It was an intrusive question, but after ninety minutes of chitchat, it no longer seemed importune.
“I believe he visited a doctor,” Lady Chervil said. “For his scar, you know.” She looked up. “Oh, you said you had not been introduced. He has . . .” She motioned to her face with a sad expression. “He has a scar. It was a riding accident, just before we were married. I think it makes him look dashing, but he is forever trying to minimize it.”
Something unsettling began to roil in the pit of Daniel’s belly. “He went to see a doctor?” he asked.
“Well, I think so,” Lady Chervil replied. “When he left this morning, he said that he was going to see someone about his scar. I just assumed it was a doctor. Who else would he see?”
Anne.
Daniel stood so quickly he upset the teapot, sending lukewarm dregs running across the table.
“Lord Winstead?” Lady Chervil asked, her voice laced with alarm. She came to her feet, too, hurrying after him as he strode for the door. “Is something wrong?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. He did not have time for niceties. He’d already sat here for ninety bloody minutes, and God only knew what Chervil was planning.
Or had already done.
“May I help you in some way?” she asked, hurrying after him as he made his way to the front door. “Perhaps I can convey a message to my husband?”
Daniel turned around. “Yes,” he said, and he did not recognize his own voice. Terror had made him unsteady; rage was making him bold. “You may tell him that if he touches so much as a hair on my fiancée’s head, I shall personally see to it that his liver is extracted through his mouth.”
Lady Chervil went very pale.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded unsteadily.
Daniel stared at her. Hard. She was terrified, but that was nothing compared to what Anne would be feeling if she was now in the clutches of George Chervil. He took another step toward the door, then paused. “One more thing,” he said. “If he comes home tonight alive, I suggest you have a talk with him about your future here in England. You might find life more comfortable on another continent. Good day, Lady Chervil.”
“Good day,” she said. Then she fainted dead away.
“Anne!” Daniel bellowed as he ran into the front hall of Winstead House. “Anne!”
Poole, the longtime butler at Winstead House, materialized as if from nowhere.
“Where is Miss Wynter?” Daniel demanded, struggling for breath. His landau had been stalled in traffic, and he’d run the last few minutes of the journey, tearing through the streets like a madman. It was a wonder he had not been run down by a carriage.
His mother emerged from the sitting room, followed by Honoria and Marcus. “What is going on?” she asked. “Daniel, what on earth—”
“Where is Miss Wynter?” he panted, still gasping for air.
“She went out,” his mother said.
“Out? She went out?” Why the devil would she do that? She knew that she was supposed to remain at Winstead House until he returned.
“Well, that’s what I understand,” Lady Winstead looked over at the butler for help. “I wasn’t here.”
“Miss Wynter had a visitor,” Poole said. “Sir George Chervil. She left with him an hour ago. Perhaps two.”
Daniel turned on him in horror. “What?”
“She did not seem to care for his company,” Poole began.
“Well, then why on earth would she—”
“He was with Lady Frances.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
“Daniel?” his mother said with rising concern. “What is going on?”
“Lady Frances?” Daniel echoed, still staring at Poole.
“Who is Sir George Chervil?” Honoria asked. She looked at Marcus, but he shook his head.
“She was in his carriage,” Poole told Daniel.
“Frances?”
Poole nodded. “Yes.”
“And Miss Wynter took his word on this?”
“I do not know, my lord,” the butler said. “She did not confide in me. But she walked out to the pavement with him, and then she entered the carriage. She appeared to do so of her own volition.”
“Bloody hell,” Daniel swore.
“Daniel,” Marcus said, his voice rock solid and steady in a room that was spinning. “What is going on?”
Daniel had told his mother some of Anne’s past earlier that morning; now he told all of them the rest.
The blood drained from Lady Winstead’s face, and when she grabbed Daniel’s hand, it felt like a panicked claw. “We must go tell Charlotte,” she said, barely able to speak.
Daniel nodded slowly, trying to think. How had Chervil gotten to Frances? And where would he—
“Daniel!” his mother nearly screamed. “We must go tell Charlotte now! That madman has her daughter!”
Daniel jerked to attention. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, at once.”
“I’m coming, too,” Marcus said. He turned to Honoria. “Will you stay? Someone needs to remain here in case Miss Wynter comes back.”
Honoria nodded.
“Let’s go,” Daniel said. They raced out of the house, Lady Winstead not even bothering to don a coat. The carriage that Daniel had abandoned five minutes earlier had arrived, and so he put his mother inside with Marcus and took off running. It was only a quarter mile, and if the roads were still clogged with traffic, he could reach Pleinsworth House faster on foot.
He arrived moments ahead of the carriage, breathing hard as he raced up the steps to Pleinsworth House. He slammed the knocker down three times and was reaching for the fourth when Granby opened the door, stepping quickly aside as Daniel practically tumbled in.
“Frances,” he gasped.
“She’s not here,” Granby told him.
“I know. Do you know where—”
“Charlotte!” his mother yelled, yanking her skirts up well over her ankles as she ran up the steps. She turned to Granby with wild eyes. “Where is Charlotte?”
Granby motioned toward the back of the house. “I believe she is seeing to her correspondence. In the—”
“I’m right here,” Lady Pleinsworth said, hurrying out of a room. “My heavens, what is going on? Virginia, you look—”
“It’s Frances,” Daniel said grimly. “We think she may have been kidnapped.”
“What?” Lady Pleinsworth looked at him, and then at his mother, and then finally at Marcus, who was standing silently by the door. “No, that can’t be,” she said, sounding far more confused than worried. “She was just—” She turned to Granby. “Wasn’t she out for a walk with Nanny Flanders?”
“They have not yet returned, my lady.”
“But surely they have not been gone so long as to cause concern. Nanny Flanders doesn’t move very quickly any longer, so it will take them some time to get ’round the park.”
Daniel exchanged a grim glance with Marcus before telling Granby, “Someone needs to go look for the nurse.”
The butler nodded. “At once.”
“Aunt Charlotte,” Daniel began, and then he related the events of the afternoon. He gave her only a very brief account of Anne’s background; there would be time for that later. But it did not take long to tell her enough so that her face went ashen.
“This man . . .” she said, her voice shaking with terror. “This madman . . . You think he has Frances?”
“Anne would never have gone with him otherwise.”
“Oh, my heavens.” Lady Pleinsworth swayed and became unsteady on her feet. Daniel quickly helped her to a chair. “What will we do?” she asked him. “How can we find them?”
“I’ll go back to Chervil’s house,” he said. “It’s the only—”
“Frances!” Lady Pleinsworth shrieked.
Daniel turned around just in time to see Frances come tearing through the hall and hurl herself at her mother. She was dusty, and dirty, and her dress was torn. But she did not appear to have been injured, at least not deliberately.
“Oh, my dear girl,” Lady Pleinsworth sobbed, clutching Frances to her with frantic hands. “What happened? Oh, dear God, have you been hurt?” She touched her arms, and her shoulders, and then finally showered her small face with kisses.
“Aunt Charlotte?” Daniel said, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “I’m sorry, but I really do need to talk with Frances.”
Lady Pleinsworth turned on him with furious eyes, shielding her daughter with her body. “Not now,” she snarled. “She’s been through a fright. She needs to bathe, and eat, and—”
“She is my only hope—”
“She is a child!”
“And Anne might die!” he nearly roared.
The hall went silent, and from behind his aunt, Daniel heard Frances’s voice. “He has Miss Wynter.”
“Frances,” he said, reaching for her hands and pulling her toward a bench. “Please, you must tell me everything. What happened?”
Frances took a few deep breaths and looked to her mother, who gave her a terse nod of approval. “I was in the park,” she said, “and Nanny had fallen asleep on the bench. She does that almost every day.” She looked back up to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I should have told you, but she’s getting so old, and she’s tired in the afternoon, and I think it’s a long way for her to walk to the park.”
“It’s all right, Frances,” Daniel said, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice. “Just tell us what happened next.”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I was playing one of my unicorn games,” she explained, and she looked at Daniel as if she knew he would understand. “I had galloped off quite a ways from where Nanny was.” She turned to her mother, her expression earnest. “But she would still have been able to see me. If she were awake.”
“Then what?” Daniel urged.
Frances looked at him with the most bewildered expression. “I don’t know. I looked up, and she was gone. I don’t know what happened to her. I called for her several times, and then I went over to the pond where she likes to feed the ducks, but she wasn’t there, and then—”
She started to shake uncontrollably.
“That is enough,” Lady Pleinsworth said, but Daniel shot her a pleading look. He knew this was upsetting for Frances, but it had to be done. And surely his aunt would realize that Frances would be far more upset if Anne were killed.
“What happened next?” Daniel asked gently.
Frances swallowed convulsively, and she hugged her arms to her small body. “Someone grabbed me. And he put something into my mouth that tasted horrid, and the next thing I knew I was in a carriage.”
Daniel shared a concerned glance with his mother. Next to her, Lady Pleinsworth had begun to silently cry.
“It was probably laudanum,” he said to Frances. “It was very, very wrong for someone to force it upon you, but it will not hurt you.”
She nodded. “I felt funny, but I don’t now.”
“When did you first see Miss Wynter?”
“We went to your house. I wanted to get out, but the man—” She looked up at Daniel as if only just then remembering something very important. “He had a scar. A really big one. Right across his face.”
“I know,” he said softly.
She looked up at him with huge, curious eyes, but she didn’t question him. “I couldn’t get out of the carriage,” she said. “He said he would hurt Miss Wynter if I did. And he made his driver watch me, and he didn’t look very nice.”
Daniel forced down his rage. There had to be a special place in hell for people who hurt children. But he managed to remain calm as he said, “And then Miss Wynter came out?”
Frances nodded. “She was very angry.”
“I’m sure she was.”
“She yelled at him, and he yelled at her, and I didn’t understand most of what they were talking about, except that she was really, really angry with him for having me in the carriage.”
“She was trying to protect you,” Daniel said.
“I know,” Frances said softly. “But . . . I think . . . I think she might have been the one to cause his scar.” She looked over at her mother with a tortured expression. “I don’t think Miss Wynter would do something like that, but he kept talking about it, and he was so angry with her.”
“It was a long time ago,” Daniel said. “Miss Wynter was defending herself.”
“Why?” Frances whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said firmly. “What matters is what happened today, and what we can do to save her. You have been very brave. How did you get away?”
“Miss Wynter pushed me from the carriage.”
“What?” Lady Pleinsworth shrieked, but Lady Winstead restrained her when she tried to rush forward.
“It wasn’t going very fast,” Frances said to her mother. “It only hurt a little when I hit the ground. Miss Wynter had whispered to me to curl up like a ball before I hit the ground.”
“Oh, dear God,” Lady Pleinsworth sobbed. “Oh, my baby.”
“I’m all right, Mama,” Frances said, and Daniel was amazed at her resilience. She had been kidnapped and then tossed from a carriage, and now she was comforting her mother. “I think Miss Wynter chose the spot she did because I wasn’t very far from home.”
“Where?” Daniel asked urgently. “Where were you, exactly?”
Frances blinked. “Park Crescent. The far end.”
Lady Pleinsworth gasped through her tears. “You came all that distance yourself?”
“It wasn’t that far, Mama.”
“But all the way through Marylebone!” Lady Pleinsworth turned to Lady Winstead. “She walked all the way through Marylebone on her own. She’s just a child!”
“Frances,” Daniel asked urgently. “I must ask you. Do you have any idea where Sir George might be taking Miss Wynter?”
Frances shook her head, and her lips quivered. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was so scared, and most of the time they were yelling at each other, and then he hit Miss Wynter—”
Daniel had to force himself to draw breath.
“—and then I was even more upset, but he did say—” Frances looked up sharply, her eyes wide with excitement. “I remember something. He mentioned the heath.”
“Hampstead,” Daniel said.
“Yes, I think so. He didn’t say that specifically, but we were heading in that direction, weren’t we?”
“If you were at Park Crescent, yes.”
“He also said something about having a room.”
“A room?” Daniel echoed.
Frances nodded vigorously.
Marcus, who had been silent throughout the questioning, cleared his throat. “He might be taking her to an inn.”
Daniel looked over at him, gave a nod, then turned back to his young cousin. “Frances, do you think you would recognize the carriage?”
“I do,” she said, her eyes wide. “I really do.”
“Oh, no!” Lady Pleinsworth thundered. “She is not going with you to search for a madman.”
“I have no other choice,” Daniel told her.
“Mama, I want to help,” Frances pleaded. “Please, I love Miss Wynter.”
“So do I,” Daniel said softly.
“I will go with you,” Marcus said, and Daniel shot him a look of deep gratitude.
“No!” Lady Pleinsworth protested. “This is madness. What do you think you’re going to do? Let her ride on your back as you go traipsing into some public house? I’m sorry, I cannot allow—”
“He can bring outriders,” Daniel’s mother interrupted.
Lady Pleinsworth turned to her in shock. “Virginia?”
“I am a mother, too,” Lady Winstead said. “And if anything happens to Miss Wynter . . .” Her voice fell to a whisper. “My son will be broken.”
“You would have me trade my child for yours?”
“No!” Lady Winstead took both of her sister-in-law’s hands fiercely in her own. “I would never. You know that, Charlotte. But if we do this properly, I don’t think Frances will be in any danger.”
“No,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “No, I cannot agree. I will not risk the life of my child—”
“She won’t leave the carriage,” Daniel said. “You can come, too.”
And then . . . he saw it on her face . . . She was beginning to relent.
He took her hand. “Please, Aunt Charlotte.”
She swallowed, her throat catching on a sob. And then, finally, she nodded.
Daniel nearly sagged with relief. He had not found Anne yet, but Frances was his only hope, and if his aunt had forbidden her to accompany him to Hampstead, all would have been lost.
“There is no time to lose,” Daniel said. He turned to his aunt. “There is room for four in my landau. How fast can you have a carriage readied to follow? We will need seats for five on the return.”
“No,” his aunt said. “We will take our coach. It can seat six, but more importantly, it will support outriders. I am not allowing you to take my daughter anywhere near that madman without armed guards on the carriage.”
“As you wish,” Daniel said. He could not argue. If he had a daughter, he would be just as fiercely protective.
His aunt turned to one of the footmen who had been witness to the entire scene. “Have it brought ’round at once.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, before taking off at a run.
“Now there will be room for me,” Lady Winstead announced.
Daniel looked at his mother. “You’re coming, too?”
“My future daughter-in-law is in danger. Would you have me anywhere else?”
“Fine,” Daniel acceded, because there was little point in arguing. If it was safe enough for Frances, it was certainly safe enough for his mother. Still—
“You are not coming in,” he said sternly.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I have skills, but they do not include fighting madmen with weapons. I am sure I would only get in the way.”
As they rushed outside to wait for the carriage, however, a phaeton rounded the corner of the square at far too fast a speed. It was only due to the skill of the driver—Hugh Prentice, Daniel realized with shock—that it did not tip over.
“What the devil?” Daniel strode forward and took the reins as Hugh awkwardly got himself down.
“Your butler told me you were here,” Hugh said. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”
“He called at Winstead House earlier,” his mother said. “Before Miss Wynter left. She claimed not to know where you went.”
“What is going on?” Daniel asked Hugh. His friend, whose face was normally an emotionless mask, was pinched tight with worry.
Hugh handed him a piece of paper. “I received this.”
Daniel quickly read the missive. The handwriting was neat and tidy, with an angular masculinity to the letters. We have an enemy in common, it read, then gave instructions for how to leave a reply at a public house in Marylebone.
“Chervil,” Daniel said under his breath.
“Then you know who wrote this?” Hugh asked.
Daniel nodded. George Chervil was unlikely to know that he and Hugh were not, and never had been, enemies. But there was ample gossip that might lead one to reach that conclusion.
He quickly related the events of the day to Hugh, who glanced up at the Pleinsworth carriage as it rolled up and said, “You have room for one more.”
“It’s not necessary,” Daniel said.
“I’m coming,” Hugh stated. “I may not be able to run, but I’m a bloody good shot.”
At that, both Daniel and Marcus swiveled their heads toward him in disbelief.
“When I’m sober,” Hugh clarified, having the grace to blush. A little. Daniel doubted his cheeks knew how to do more than that.
“Which I am,” Hugh added, obviously feeling the need to make this clear.
“Get in,” Daniel said, jerking his head toward the carriage. He was surprised that Hugh hadn’t noticed—
“We’ll put Lady Frances on her mother’s lap on the way home to make room for Miss Wynter,” Hugh said.
Never mind, Hugh did notice everything.
“Let’s go,” Marcus said. The ladies were already in the carriage, and Marcus had one foot on the step.
It was a strange band of rescuers, but as the coach sped away, four armed footmen serving as outriders, Daniel could not help but think that his was a most marvelous family. The only thing that could make it better would be Anne, by his side, and with his name.
He could only pray that they reached Hampstead in time.