After dinner, Louisa and Georgie changed into their traveling clothes while their father arranged for the porter to fetch their trunks. Together, they went down to await the coach with the other passengers. There were six of them—three gentlemen and three ladies.
Louisa’s thoughts turned to Theo for the millionth time that day. By now, he would have gone to the meeting spot and found she wasn’t there. What did he do afterward? Go home to sulk?—or head straight to Craven Castle to carry her away with him?
Well, whatever he did, she had no doubt he was as miserable as she was right now.
Beside her, Georgie asked their father: “Why do you not take us to London yourself instead of sending us with the post?”
Louisa wanted to pinch her thoughtless sister hard enough to leave a bruise. Dreadful as being wedged between strangers would be, it could not be half as disagreeable as spending that time trapped in the confines of the chaise with their father.
“Because, my dear,” said he, “I have magisterial duties to attend to this week—not the least of which is swearing out a warrant for the arrest of my eldest daughter’s seducer.”
“Oh no, Papa!” Louisa’s heart was in her throat. “You cannot be thinking of having the Captain arrested.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow in challenge. “Give me one good reason why I should not.”
“I shall give you the best reason,” she riposted. “He did not break the law.”
“That shows how little you know of the laws of rape.”
Outraged by his accusation, Louisa offered an answer she trusted not to indict her. “I know enough to assure you no rape occurred.”
The subject was dropped and, at length, the post-coach arrived. The shield of the imperial arms was emblazoned on the door and four mismatched horses were hitched to the front. To Louisa’s astonishment, there were already trunks strapped to the roof and two ladies seated inside.
A uniformed gent with a pistol in his belt climbed down from the rear seat, dropped the steps, and opened the door. As the same man began to load the luggage, Papa said by way of farewell, “Behave yourselves if you know what is good for you!”
Louisa, shivering, climbed inside. The benches were large enough to accommodate four in relative comfort. The two ladies already aboard were seated together on the forward-facing seat. Taking the one across, Louisa smiled and said, “Good evening.”
They returned her greeting as Georgie took her place beside her sister. To Louisa’s dismay, two more ladies climbed in, forcing them to squeeze together. Suffocated by the closeness and clash of perfumes, Louisa put the window down to let in some air.
Beside her, Georgie said under her breath, “This is going to be insufferable, I fear.”
“I cannot imagine otherwise,” Louisa whispered in return, “in such tight conditions.”
The woman across from Georgie asked in a Welsh accent, “Have you young ladies never traveled by mail-coach before?”
Louisa smiled at her, despite her misery. “Is our inexperience that obvious?”
When the last of the outside riders were in place, the coach set off, rocking more violently than any equipage Louisa had ridden in hitherto. As it was too cramped and dark to read, she leaned against the window and closed her eyes, imaging she was curled up in Theo’s arms.
How happy she was to be with him again. How happy they both were. What a shame it was only a fantasy.
At length, she dozed off, only to be awakened sometime later by a blasting horn. Bleary-eyed, she peered out the window. The coach was stopping outside a country inn.
She craned her neck to look at her sister, who was trying to look out over her shoulder. “Why are we stopping here?”
“To change horses, I can only presume,” Georgie answered.
“Are we supposed to get out?”
“Only if you have a cramp or need to make water,” the Welch lady offered. “And, if you should, you had best be quick about it, for we shall be off again in a jiffy.”
As it happened, Louisa did need the privy—rather urgently. She climbed out into the cold night air and crossed the courtyard, which was bustling and aclatter with activity. Pulling her cloak around her, she hurried into the inn, located the water closet, and did her business.
She made it back to the coach just as the fresh horses were in place. Scrambling back inside, she took her seat and off they went at break-neck speed. Leaning against the window, she let the wind cool her face. When tears leaked from her eyes, she arranged her hood to cover her face.
After many more miles and many more stops, the coach finally reached its destination—a venerable-looking London coffee-house. Louisa and Georgie bid a hasty farewell to their travel companions before exiting the conveyance. The foggy, lamplit street was teeming with horse, coach, and foot traffic.
“What do we do now?” Georgie asked.
“I have not the slightest inkling.”
Georgie looked crestfallen. “I cannot believe Papa sent us off so little prepared for what to expect.”
“Nor can I.” Louisa took her sister by the arm and pulled her toward the coffee house. “Come on. This might be my only chance to write to Theo.”
At the door, a dark-haired man in an apron greeted them. “Good evening, ladies. How may I be of service?”
“I have two transfers my father purchased in Ludlow,” Louisa explained, “but I know not where they are to or the time of departure.”
He examined the vouchers. “These are for Bath…and the coach is here now, being loaded with the mail.”
“When will it depart?” Louisa asked with alarm.
“Momentarily.”
Louisa’s heart sank. If the coach was setting off so soon, she would have no time for a letter. The landlord pointed out the coach and they made their way over. The outside riders were already aboard, including two ladies wearing cloaks and veiled bonnets to protect their faces from the dust of the road.
When their time came to board, Louisa followed Georgie into the coach with considerably less hope in her heart than had been there in Ludlow. If she could not get word to Theo, how would he ever know where to look for her?
* * * *
Rather than race off to Somerset in a sweat, Theo decided to wait until his head was cooler and his carriage in better shape for travel. Yesterday, on the ride home from their fact-finding mission in the village, one of the rear wheels began to wobble.
Upon closer inspection, it was discovered the hub had come off and the elliptical spring wanted replacing. The local wheelwright was sent for and, by the time the needed part was obtained and installed, it was twilight. Thus, Theo was left with the choice of traveling through the night or postponing his departure until morning. Disinclined to wait, he and Lt. Churchill—who came along to provide companionship, moral support, and back-up—set off for Somerset just after supper.
From the atlas in his library, Theo ascertained that Midsomer Park was in Glastonbury, a carriage ride of roundabout twelve hours—if he made no stops along the way to rest and water the horses. That, of course, was out of the question, as horses needed a break every ten or so miles to replenish their strength and stamina.
Thus, the trip to Aunt Hildegarde’s estate would take above fifteen hours. Not that he minded the distance, for he would readily travel to the ends of the earth to make Louisa his bride. And God help any man who tried to stand in his way, be he cousin or father. He was determined to do whatever he must to take her back, short of committing murder. For he could hardly protect Louisa from her detestable relations if he was in prison awaiting his turn on the gallows.
Over the past three hours, the disappointed bridegroom bared his soul to his friend, who sat opposite with his arms crossed and his long legs stretched out. When Theo’s sad soliloquy drew to a close, Churchill said, “Did I hear you say Miss Georgianna is traveling with her sister?”
“You did indeed,” Theo replied with a scowl, “though why it should matter to you, I cannot fathom. Or have you forgotten you are already engaged?”
Five years ago, when they had only just returned from the war, Churchill made the mistake of proposing to a serving wench in a drunken moment of passion. When he returned to his senses and attempted to break the engagement, the lady threatened to sue him for Breach of Promise.
Gaze fixed on his boots, Churchill said, “Whatever you might think, I have done nothing beyond standing up with the lady at public assemblies, which I consider my social duty.”
“Bollocks,” Theo replied, assuming a posture similar to his friend’s. “You know as well as I that you have given her reason to hope, which is very bad form indeed.”
“I might have shown her a smidgeon more attention than the other ladies in attendance,” Churchill returned defensively, “but I give you my word I have done nothing to raise her expectations. I enjoy her company and she, mine, I presume, and there is an end to our connection. We are friends and nothing more.”
Theo dropped the subject and looked out the window. He felt on edge. They would not reach Glastonbury before seven o’clock in the morning, leaving them at least two hours to kill before good manners permitted them to call at Midsomer Park.
Would Charles be there? As much as Theo longed to cut that snake into pieces, he would prefer to avoid a confrontation that might end in bloodshed, particularly if the blood being spilled was his own. Since losing his leg, he was not as nimble at swordplay as he’d once been.
That, more than anything else, was the reason he left the Royal Navy.
The thought brought to mind more recent events. Less than a week ago, Napoleon Bonaparte, who’d escaped exile, was defeated by the armies commanded by the Duke of Wellington and Prince Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher of Prussia, who, together, commanded the allied forces.
Theo looked at Churchill, who was cleaning his fingernails with an ivory manicure tool, despite the low, undulating light. “Have you heard about the victory at Waterloo?”
The Lieutenant’s head came up, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you serious? We have beaten Little Boney at last?”
“We have indeed.” Theo grinned. “The war is finally over.”
“Has Bonaparte abdicated?”
“He has indeed, and the allied armies are marching into France as we speak.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Churchill said. “Very glad indeed. For too many British lives have been lost already.”
“I concur…but such is the cost of putting down despots.”
The sentiment might be applied just as accurately to Louisa’s father and cousin. Would he put his life on the line to save her? Of course he would, though he would much rather live on to enjoy the spoils of his victory.
Churchill went back to his nail-cleaning and, as the carriage bounced along the lane, Theo pressed his face against the cold window. Eventually, he dropped off and did not awaken until they reached Glastonbury, where they passed an hour at a quiet tavern before making their way to Midsomer Park.
The house was a stately brick manor with more windows and chimneys than Theo could count in the time it took the team to climb the path from the carriage road to the hilltop mansion. When the landau stopped out front, Theo got out, leaving Churchill to wait.
Determined to rescue Louisa at any cost, he went to the front door and rang the bell. An elderly lady in a cap and apron answered. She eyed him with undisguised suspicion before brusquely asking what he wanted.
Startled by her rudeness, he attempted to formulate a reply. At length, he said, “I have come to call upon Miss Louisa Bennet. Do I have the good fortune of finding her at home this morning?”
“You’ve got the wrong house,” she replied with a face like a ferret. “Midsomer Park is the home of Lady Hillsworth and her son, the Earl of Glastonbury.”
“Yes, I know,” he told the unhelpful servant. “Miss Bennet is Lady Hillsworth’s niece, who I have been given to understand is visiting her at present. Have I been misinformed?”
“It may well be.”
Theo narrowed his eyes. “How can it be that you know not if the lady is a guest of this house?”
“I know she is not a guest of this house,” said the woman with obvious irritation. “But my mistress is from home at present.”
“I see.” He pulled on the fingers of his gloves. “May I inquire as to where she can be found?”
“You can inquire.” She fixed him with a fearsome scowl. “But it will do you no good. For I am under strict orders not to disclose the dowager’s whereabouts to any who might ask after her.”
Theo eyed her narrowly. “Under whose orders, pray?”
“’Tis not my place to say.” Defiance gleamed in the old woman’s dark, beady eyes. “Nor yours to ask, you ill-mannered blackguard.”
Theo, growing more desperate by the moment, could think of only one way he might extract the information (short of wringing her neck, which, while tempting, would likely get him nowhere but the local jail). “Is there a sum I might offer to loosen your tongue?”
The old lady grinned, showing him stained and missing teeth. “No less than a fortune could persuade me to put my situation in jeopardy.”
“Name your price.”
Locking gazes with him, she said, “Fifty thousand pounds—and not a penny less.”
He nearly choked. If he paid her such an enormous sum, he would have nothing left to live on. And how could he help Louisa then? “I can pay you as much as one thousand pounds, but no more.”
Rather than answer, she stepped back and shut the door on him. Not ready to give up, he knocked again, but in vain. Leaving the porch, he hobbled around to the back of the house in search of another servant he might bribe. His hopes rose when a door opened and closed. Then, he heard a sound that made him prickle with fear.
The barking grew ever-louder. Good God. Had the old bat really set the dogs on him? He turned to flee, but could manage no more than a fast limp. He could not say which he feared more at that moment, being mauled by the dogs or being divided from Louisa forever.
The dogs were now on his heels, nipping and growling. Then, something heavy struck his back, knocking him off his feet. The impact of the fall jarred his bones and voided his lungs. The hounds were on him in an instant, snarling and snapping. They had him pinned to the ground with his cane trapped beneath him.
Sharp teeth scored his flank. He cried out in pain. Adrenaline surged in his veins, giving him strength enough to roll onto his back. He could not gain his feet, could not escape. His only hope was to knock them senseless, but, damn his luck, he could not access his only weapon.
He fought them off as fiercely as he was able. As he swung at them wildly, he saw that his trouser leg was slashed and bloody. The flesh beneath the shredded gabardine burned like hellfire. He called out for help, but no one came.
Then, suddenly, he was back in Trafalgar, crossing swords with a French Captain whose ship he and his crew had boarded. Mangled bodies lay everywhere and blood and gore stained the deck, masts, and rigging. While he was good with a blade, the Frenchman was better.
Pinned against the deck rail, he fought for his life. He felt sure he was done for. Then, the Frenchman froze with a look of surprise. With a cry and a curse, he dropped to the deck like a sack of grain. That was when Theo saw Lt. Churchill, wiping down his bloody saber with his shirttail.
And here was his friend again, standing over his fallen comrade, slashing at the enemy with his blade. Gratitude and relief flooded Theo’s chest. When the dogs retreated, he retrieved his cane and gained his feet.
Blinking at Theo in bewilderment, Churchill asked, “What the devil happened?”
Upon hearing the story, the Lieutenant cried, “That wicked old witch!”
“My sentiments exactly.”
As they headed back to the carriage, Churchill said, “Before we return to Greystone, we should find a physician to patch you up. It will not do for me to have saved you from the dogs only to lose you to blood-poisoning.”
Theo did not argue with the idea of seeking medical help. They returned to the carriage, whereupon Churchill instructed the driver to take them to the village. Once they reached the High Street, Theo sought a sign displaying a caduceus. After a time, he spotted one outside a stone house with quoined corners and a gabled roofline.
When the coach stopped, Churchill got out. Through the window, Theo watched his friend go up to the door and knock. Within moments, a woman in a white cap and simple blue frock emerged. They had a brief exchange before the Lieutenant returned to the carriage to fetch Theo, who he helped up the porch steps and into the house.
They were shown into a surgery furnished with a chair and footstool, a table-like apparatus for setting bones, and a glass-front case displaying jars of leaches and the accoutrements of blood-letting.
The sight of a bone-saw took him back to Trafalgar. Through eyes distorted by delirium, he peered up into the face of the ship’s surgeon—a warrant officer who’d joined his crew in Gibraltar. Dr. Dickerson was a well-favored man under normal circumstances, but right at the moment looked as grotesque as a gargoyle in the flickering light of the room’s single candle.
“We’re going to have to take your right leg, I’m afraid. Your right leg. Do you understand?”
The ship rolled under Theo. Not far off, he could hear cannons booming and men cursing in rage and frustration.
“Can you give me something for the pain?”
The neck of a bottle was pressed to his lips. Brandy flowed over his tongue, hot and intrusive. He drank gulp after gulp. He would have swallowed arsenic to ease the agony in his leg. The thought of losing the limb was equally unbearable. How did one have sex with one leg? He imagined himself spinning like a pinwheel as he tried to gain traction with his remaining leg.
Flinging the dreadful thought away, he turned his mind to Edwina. Should he send word to her now?—or should he wait to spring it on her when they were face-to-face?
The doctor said something about a prosthesis. He pictured himself hobbling about on a peg-leg—or worse, making do with a crude pair of crutches with his right trouser leg pinned up. Blinking the images away, he turned to study the room, which smelled like a butcher’s stall. There was blood everywhere and a pile of severed limbs in one corner. Soon, his right leg would join the others. His right leg. Oh, yes. He understood. He understood all too bloody well what it meant.
He would never be the same again.
Nor would his life.
When the new physician came in, Theo returned to the present. An elderly gentleman with wiry gray hair and milky blue eyes, the doctor clicked his tongue as he took in the state of his patient. “What the devil happened to you?”
“I was set upon by dogs,” Theo told him.
The doctor furrowed his brow. “While hunting?”
“No,” Theo said. “While calling at Midsomer Park.”
A knowing look came into the man’s cataract-clouded eyes. “Were you set upon by the dogs?—or were the dogs set upon you?”
“The latter.” Theo was surprised by the doctor’s insight. “How did you know?”
“This is not the first time I have treated a victim of Lord Hillsworth’s hounds.”
The doctor knelt and pulled off Theo’s boots. Upon seeing his patient’s prosthesis, he observed, “You have a false leg—and a very good one from the look of it. If you will forgive my asking, how did you lose the limb?”
“To a ship surgeon’s saw at Trafalgar.”
“I am sorry,” the doctor said, “and thank the Lord that dreadful business in France has finally come to an end.”
“I daresay there will be another war soon enough, men and nations being what they are,” Theo muttered cynically. “So I see little cause for rejoicing.”
Picking up a pair of sewing shears, the doctor cut open the damaged leg of his trousers. The doctor then examined his wounds before cleaning them all with vinegar, which stung something fierce. “What business did you have at Midsomer Park?—if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I went to the house in quest of Lady Hillsworth’s niece,” Theo explained, “who is a neighbor of mine in Shropshire.”
The doctor met his gaze briefly before returning to his work. “Would this, perchance, be the same niece who is to wed the dowager’s son?”
“Not if I can help it,” Theo bit out.
“Ah.” The doctor lifted his gaze. “So you went there to press your suit with the lady, which explains Lord Hillsworth’s vindictiveness.” The doctor shook his head. “So, you came all this way, poor fellow, only to have your leg bitten and your trousers torn?”
Theo sighed heavily. “That appears to be the case.”
As the physician set about bandaging Theo’s wounds, he said, “You seem like a decent sort, which is far beyond what anyone can say about Lord Hillsworth. I would, therefore, offer a suggestion, if I may.”
“Please do,” Theo said.
“You might look for your sweetheart at Lady Hillsworth’s residence in London.”
Theo’s hopes rose from the dead. “She has a house in London?”
“Indeed she does.”
Grateful as he was for the intelligence, locating someone in London with so little information would be akin to finding a particular fish in the ocean. “Do you know the address?—or even the neighborhood?”
“I do not, I’m sorry to say. But knowing Lady Hillsworth, it’s sure to be a fashionable one.” Moving nearer the door, the doctor called into the hall: “Mrs. Shipley, would you be good enough to fetch a pair of trousers from my closet and deliver them at once to the surgery?”
After putting on the trousers the housekeeper brought, Theo paid the doctor his fee, plus a few extra shillings for the information he provided.
As he hobbled toward the landau, Theo said to Churchill, “Do you think it wiser to go on to London directly than to return to Much Wenlock and cover all this distance again?”
“I do,” his friend answered. “Much wiser—and vastly more expedient.”