CHAPTER TWENTY
“Rules are designed to contain the feebleminded so as to prevent them wandering into trouble. A woman of good sense knows when to cast aside these arbitrary admonitions and wander into trouble on her own.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her son, Charles, regarding her intervention in a private matter between an earl and his unexpected relation.
Henry was going to be very, very cross.
Maureen swept aside her widow’s veil and leaned toward the carriage window to get a glimpse of the sea. “Have I mentioned that this must remain—”
“Strictly confidential,” Sarah said wryly. “Yes. You did.”
Hannah hadn’t spoken a word the entire journey. But every so often, her gloved hand would steal across the seat and grasp Maureen’s. She then would allow Maureen to stroke her hand comfortingly a minute or two before withdrawing again, staring out the window at the rolling valleys of the lush Dorsetshire landscape.
Now, Maureen watched soft, misty rain bejewel the grass along the road to Primvale Castle. She hadn’t intended to thwart Henry’s wishes. In fact, she’d taken every precaution she could devise—Stroud and five more of her Palace Guard rode in front and behind Lord Colin’s travel coach. Colin himself was armed with both a knife and pistol. And Maureen was garbed in top-to-toe widow’s weeds, courtesy of Sarah’s mother. No one would recognize her, save Phineas.
But she was reasonably certain both Henry and not-Henry would find her precautions insufficient. In fact, she anticipated much displeasure. Perhaps growling. While in certain instances, growling could be quite enjoyable—even tingly—this would be the angry, fearsome sort. Her one hope was to prevent him discovering she had ever made the trip at all. She sighed. Sarah had agreed to keep her secret, as had Eleanor. Colin had not. Neither had Stroud. All the men, it seemed, did not approve.
Before departing, Colin had nearly barred her from coming along. “I cannot allow it, Maureen,” he’d said, looking more like his older brother, Harrison, than the boyishly handsome scoundrel she’d known for years. “Dunston will be apoplectic.”
Maureen had argued vociferously that she was the only one among them whom Phineas knew and trusted. Who better to perform introductions? Additionally, Hannah needed her, and she needed to be there for Hannah. Her heart would not let her do otherwise.
Eventually, she’d won agreement from Colin, and she’d used a combination of bribery and threats to persuade Stroud.
Henry would be another matter entirely.
The carriage turned inland and rounded a rise, bringing Primvale Castle into view. Again, Maureen shoved aside her veil.
It was remarkable. Rising five stories, the castle was a perfect square braced by four rounded towers. The gray stone appeared velvety—almost polished. She thought it must be due to the uniform color, a soft, medium gray. Many castles sprawled outward in an ungainly fashion. This one was a study in symmetry. As they drew closer, she glimpsed the surrounding gardens and sighed. Good heavens. Phineas had done magnificent work, indeed.
“Is that a glass house?” murmured Sarah, her face inches from Maureen’s as they gazed out the window. “I’ve never seen one so large before.”
“Neither have I. Phineas spoke of it, but he was modest in his descriptions.”
The carriage rounded the fountain at the center of a circular drive and stopped at the foot of stone stairs leading up to the castle’s enormous arched entrance.
A small, gloved hand grasped hers. She squeezed and turned toward Hannah, who gazed up at the entrance with little expression.
“He is a good man,” Maureen said quietly. “He may be surprised at first, but he is a good man.”
The girl took a shuddering breath and nodded.
The carriage door opened, and a damp Stroud inclined his head. “My lady. Your veil, if you please.”
Maureen lowered her veil and, together with Hannah and Sarah, climbed from the carriage down onto cobbles. Colin descended after them, grumbling, “Dunston will kill me for this.” Ignoring him, Maureen looked to Sarah and Hannah, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs.
Inside the shadows of the archway stood a set of towering wood doors. Stroud, having come alongside them, used a knocker in the shape of a dragon. The sound echoed sharply.
Hannah squeezed Maureen’s hand spasmodically, and Maureen tucked it close, giving her reassuring pats. Slowly, the heavy door swung inward. A liveried, bewigged footman tall enough to make Genie sigh greeted them with an inquiring lift of his brows. “Good day to you.”
Colin came forward. “Good day. We are here to see Lord Holstoke.”
“I am afraid his lordship is not at home to visitors. Perhaps you would care to—”
“Give him this,” Maureen said, extending the note she had prepared in advance. “He will wish to see us, I assure you.”
The footman blinked then surveyed the coach and her Palace Guard and, finally, lingered long on Hannah. His eyes flared and sharpened. He accepted the envelope before stepping back and waving them inside. “Do come in. I shall inform his lordship at once.”
The entrance hall was a massive, two-storied affair with a marble floor patterned in gray and white squares.
Hannah’s hand tightened painfully. Maureen pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “All is well, little one. He will see us soon.”
The footman led them past another archway, down a corridor, and through a set of doors into a receiving room. This room featured a wall of arched windows looking out upon an open central courtyard. The walls were yellow. Beautiful, sunny silk. The chairs and settees were upholstered in darker shades of the same color, along with a few pieces in white and cerulean.
Maureen could scarcely credit the castle’s perfection. Phineas had often commented on how much he thought she would like his country estate. If anything, he had understated the matter.
The briefest of twinges struck—a flickering stroke of wistfulness. Not regret, precisely, for she loved Henry with all her heart. Wanted Henry with every fiber of her body. Missed Henry like she would miss air, were she deprived of it. But as they were seated in a room seemingly conjured from her dearest fantasies, inside a castle she’d never dared imagine, surrounded by gardens she itched to explore, she could not help envisioning a different future than the one she’d chosen.
“Appears Holstoke is fatter in the purse than rumor suggests.” Colin’s low murmur to Sarah floated to Maureen’s ears.
Sarah hummed her agreement. “A magnificent place. I am curious why so little is known of it. Have you ever met him?”
Colin shook his head. “We are close in age, but he attended Harrow and Cambridge, whilst I attended Eton and Oxford.”
Their murmuring conversation faded from Maureen’s notice as she cast a glance at Hannah, who had gone even paler than usual, her lips colorless, her skin white. Maureen stroked her hand, giving what solace she could.
In time, the doors opened. It was not Phineas, but the butler, a tall man with a full head of white hair. He led them all out of the lovely yellow room through a series of doors and corridors, around the perimeter of the central courtyard, past another archway covered in ivy and trellised roses. After two walled gardens, they arrived at the astonishingly large glass house, positioned several hundred yards from the castle.
“Is it too much to ask for a man to receive his guests in proper fashion?” grumbled Colin, shaking his head to dispel the droplets of rain.
For her part, Maureen stood in awe, lifting her widow’s veil just inside the door of the massive conservatory. Everywhere around her were leaves and blooms, plants both large and small. The space was warm, humid, scented with soil and water and sunlight. She sighed, the pang of wistfulness striking again.
“Is Dunston dead already? I should have thought he’d have the decency to wait at least a year.”
She spun toward the familiar voice. Tall and unsmiling, he strode toward her. He was in his shirtsleeves, the linen rolled up to his elbows, a plain brown waistcoat the sole nod to formality.
“Lord Holstoke.” She grinned wide. “Oh, how good it is to see you again.”
As he moved closer, it grew increasingly evident he did not share her sentiments. In his hand was her note. He waved it in a sweeping motion to indicate her black ensemble. “What is this all about?”
She shook her head and kept smiling. “Never mind that. I have someone I should like for you to meet.”
Coming to a stop several feet from her, he glanced to Colin and Sarah and gave a brief nod. “Is that all? Seems a long journey for that purpose.”
Worrying her lip with her teeth, she recognized signs that perhaps he was less amenable toward her than she might have hoped. She had, after all, rejected him in favor of another man. But this was not about Henry or even her. This was about a girl who deserved the chance at a family and a man who deserved to know about her existence.
Quickly, she introduced Colin and Sarah, explaining her connection to them through the Duke of Blackmore, explaining that they operated a girls’ school in Devonshire. All the while, Phineas maintained an opaque expression. Beneath it, she sensed his impatience.
“I am pleased to make Lord and Lady Colin’s acquaintance, Lady Dunston, but I’m afraid I have matters to—”
“Phineas,” she interrupted. “Please listen.”
Turning around, she retrieved Hannah from her position tucked behind a broad-leafed potted palm, taking the girl’s hand and drawing her forward. “Come, darling. It is all right.”
The girl moved slowly, cautiously. Ghostly green eyes fixed upon Phineas, her chest pumping on rapid breaths.
“Phineas Brand, this is Miss Hannah Gray,” Maureen said gently, watching his astonishment dawn. “Hannah, this is Phineas. Lord Holstoke.”
Hannah’s mouth moved, forming a word, but no sound emerged. She tried several times, her lips opening and closing, before the word finally sounded. “Papa.” She drew a shuddering breath, and those extraordinary eyes sheened. “Y-you look exactly like my Papa.”
His reaction was not what Maureen had expected. Those ascetic features tightened. Hardened. He turned his back and strode several steps before pivoting and returning to stare at Hannah. Finally, he glanced to Maureen. “Who is she?”
“I have given you her name.”
“Not her name. You know what I am asking.”
Maureen shook her head. “I only know she looks remarkably like you. Too much for coincidence.”
He inched forward, frowning fiercely now. “Miss Gray,” he said, his voice low and calm despite his obvious confusion. “You say I resemble your father?”
It took several heartbeats for Hannah to nod. She hadn’t removed her gaze from him, her eyes roving his long frame again and again.
“Is your father alive?”
She shook her head.
“Your mother?”
The girl went whiter. Shook her head again.
Colin stepped forward. “She has a guardian, Holstoke. Mrs. Fisher. Her mother’s sister.”
Phineas tilted his head, keeping Hannah’s gaze locked with his. “Is this true?”
This time, the shake of her head drew everyone’s attention, including Maureen’s.
“Mrs. Fisher is not my guardian. She is in my employ.”
Maureen glanced to Sarah who peered back with alarm.
“Neither is she my mother’s sister. Mama had no family that I remember. I regret the deception, but it was necessary.”
As the only one among them capable of speech, it was left to Phineas to clarify, “Who is your guardian, then?”
“Nobody. The man who pretended to be my Papa is dead. I am most grateful for that.”
Each placid statement detonated Maureen’s assumptions one by one, leaving her reeling. Given Colin and Sarah’s expressions, she was not alone in feeling as though a series of explosions had blasted the ground from beneath her feet.
And Hannah was not finished. Abruptly, the girl turned to Colin.
“I never thanked you,” she said softly.
Colin blinked before responding with a single, hoarse word. “For?”
“Killing him.”
Maureen’s stomach dropped from her body. Her fingers lost their grip on Hannah’s hand, her vision graying at the edges.
Distantly, she heard Sarah speaking, asking Hannah for details, begging her to reveal the name of the man who had kept her. Hannah said she did not like to speak his name, but Sarah pressed her, insisting that it was important.
With a small frown, the girl answered. But Maureen already knew. As inconceivable as it seemed, she knew the name before it was ever spoken.
“Horatio Syder.” Hannah once again addressed Colin, her voice thinning to a ribbon. “Never was a man more deserving of death. At last, I can thank you properly. Thank you, Lord Colin. Thank you for freeing me.”
*~*~*
Henry and Reaver didn’t bother with a carriage. They rode furiously through the night, exchanging horses only as often as they must and stopping for few other reasons. By the time they arrived at Yardleigh, both were filthy from mud and dust and rain. Henry slid from his mount, alarmed at the exhaustion in his legs. He hadn’t been able to stop. She needed him. That was all he knew.
To his credit, Reaver had kept pace without a single complaint. Now, as they entered the manor house, he stood silently at Henry’s back, a solid, looming shadow.
Mrs. Poole bustled forth, yelping when she saw the giant.
“Calm yourself,” Henry said. “He is a friend. Is Lady Dunston at the hunting lodge?”
The housekeeper kept her rounded gaze on Reaver.
“Mrs. Poole!”
“Oh! No, m’lord.”
“Is she here, then?”
“No, m’lord.”
“For God’s sake, woman, take your eyes from Mr. Reaver for one bloody second, and tell me where my wife is!”
“I … I …”
“Lord Dunston? Is that you? My word, you are caked in mud—”
He glanced beyond Mrs. Poole’s shoulder to see Sarah Lacey’s mother, Eleanor Battersby, exiting the drawing room with a pile of correspondence in her hand. “Mrs. Battersby. I must see my wife. Where is she?”
The woman’s mouth pursed before she answered. “Er—she made me promise not to tell you.”
His mood went from dark to pitch in one plummeting heartbeat. “Where? Tell me now.”
Reaver’s hand gripped his shoulder, holding him in place. “It is best you tell him, madam. Now.”
Mrs. Battersby clutched the papers to her bosom. “She departed this morning with Colin and Sarah. They are traveling to Primvale Castle to see Lord Holstoke.”
A thick, muddy arm locked his neck in an unbreakable hold. “Easy, now, ye mad nob. Let us discover what’s happened before we hie off into the storm again.”
Having no desire to gut the giant, Henry nodded and held his hands up in surrender.
“Better.” Reaver released him. “What would cause them to make for Holstoke’s estate?”
Mrs. Battersby had gone quite pale, either from seeing Henry nearly lose his mind or from seeing Reaver’s brute response. But she managed an answer. “We have a pupil here at the school. Hannah Gray. She bears a remarkable resemblance to Lord Holstoke, according to Lady Dunston. The girl is only sixteen, and quite … fragile. Lady Dunston insisted on accompanying her to meet Holstoke, and given that she is the only one acquainted with him—”
“Who is this girl?” The question came from Reaver.
“We—we do not know, precisely. She arrived here a year ago. An orphan, by all accounts. Lady Dunston hoped that Lord Holstoke, if he is, in fact, her kin, might wish to care for her.”
Henry could scarcely think. He needed to find Maureen. But he also realized the import of Mrs. Battersby’s revelations. This girl—sixteen, orphaned, related to Holstoke—must be the ward. There was no other explanation.
And Maureen was escorting her straight into the devil’s sanctum.
He needed to regain control. He’d never needed it more. Yet, he felt every ounce of madness Reaver had accused him of. It drove him like a gun to his temple. Chanted like a maniacal chorus: Find her. Find her. Find her.
He paced outside, turning his face skyward and letting the steady rain wash his skin. Think. He must think. She’d taken Colin and Sarah with her. Colin, for all his appearance of charming uselessness, was both capable and astute. He would not allow harm to come to either Sarah or Maureen. Or the girl, for that matter.
The ward. He shook his head. After all this time, he’d found the ward. What the devil was she doing at Colin and Sarah Lacey’s school? The coincidence was simply not credible.
He lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. Glancing back to the open door, he reentered the house to find Reaver questioning Mrs. Battersby about the girl. The woman was now explaining about her eyes, how they were an unusual color, and about her guardian, whom they’d not seen in a year.
“Did my wife take Stroud with her, at least?”
Mrs. Battersby blinked. “Yes, actually. Your five footmen, as well. That is in addition to the coachman and another two footmen from Yardleigh.”
It eased him slightly. At least she was surrounded by guards.
“She knew you would be distressed, my lord. But you should be aware that Lady Dunston would not have risked her safety without cause. She has such a way with that poor girl—no one else has ever been able to touch Hannah. If you had met her, you would understand. Lady Dunston … she felt …”
“Like a mother.” He knew. He knew Maureen’s heart better than his own. She had never been able to resist mothering anyone, including him.
Mrs. Battersby’s eyes widened. “Yes. Like a mother. Determined to comfort and protect. Determined to help Hannah find her family.”
He nodded. It was everything he loved about Maureen. And it may have put her directly in the Investor’s grip.
Reaver eyed him warily then asked Mrs. Battersby if they might refresh themselves and exchange their horses before departing.
Less than a half-hour later, they were galloping for Dorsetshire. Henry scarcely remembered a moment of the long journey. He was tipping on a knifepoint between exhaustion and enervation. His thoughts were consumed with a single focus—Maureen. He must get to her and keep her safe.
If he killed Holstoke in the process, so much the better.
*~*~*