Chapter Five

 

 

 

The carriage jolted forward, turned sharply and sped off with a lurch that sent her tumbling on to the cushioned seat. Sophie fumbled for the door handle but the catches on both sides were locked fast. Nor could she see where they were headed, she discovered, for the blinds were firmly drawn down and secured in some way. With her clenched fists she pounded on the panelling above the front seats until her gloves split, but although the noise must have been audible on the box, the coachman paid no heed to it, instead seeming to whip the horses up.

Now she was becoming frightened. Sophie forced herself to sit down, hold on to one of the straps and think calmly. She lived a sheltered life, but she knew about the existence of houses of ill repute and the stories of how young women were entrapped into working in them. True, these tales usually concerned innocent country girls newly arrived in the capital, but perhaps such unfortunates were also snatched from the streets – and, loitering alone on a dark street, she must have appeared an easy target.

Sophie wrenched off a shoe and began hammering on the window with it, shouting ‘Help!’ at the top of her voice. But the thick blinds protected the glass and the heavy upholstery muffled her cries. Defeated, she sat down again and pulled off her gloves, breaking a nail as she tried futilely to unpick whatever fastened the blind.

Gradually, despite the near darkness that enveloped her, a sense of the luxury in which she was trapped penetrated her alarm. She pulled off her hood but she could see virtually nothing. Her fingers kneaded the heavy silk of the upholstery, where she could feel wood it was polished to a fine lacquer and underfoot was a thick, warm carpet. Hardly the sort of conveyance a brothel would employ, surely?

On reflection the thought was no comfort. A brothel keeper confronted by a lady of quality would soon realise his mistake and the danger of detaining her and would speedily release her. But what if she had been kidnapped by some dissolute madman? She could be kept a prisoner and no one would know.

Fighting her panic, Sophie pulled on her shoe again and began to search her reticule for a weapon. The best she could find was a nail file. Determinedly she clutched it and tensed herself to react the moment the door was opened.

After what she judged was about three miles the sound of the road surface changed, potholes became more frequent and she realised they were out in the country. The pace quickened, then slowed as the carriage swung round a corner and on to a gravel drive. It came to a halt amid a crunching of stones and she took a deep breath, poised to spring.

The door opened slowly on a dark figure blocking her escape. ‘Now, miss,’ the man began as Sophie launched herself at him, nail file raised to strike. She collided with a broad chest, found herself enveloped by a pair of strong arms and was bundled unceremoniously back against the cushions with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.

‘Miss! Miss! Be still, do, you’ll hurt yourself. Oh, I tell you, the master will be powerful angry with you if we keep him waiting. Now, come along and put that thing down. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.’

Sophie realised she had dropped her nail file on the floor of the carriage. Now she was confused as well as disarmed. Who? What? Who was the master, and why was this bear of a man convinced he was waiting for her?

‘Come along, miss, you climb down and get on into the warm. Look where you’re putting your feet now, it's a little slippery underfoot.’ The man pulled her out of the carriage, tucked her hand firmly under his arm and began to walk her towards the house, grumbling away in his deep voice as if she were a naughty child. ‘Putting everyone to all this trouble, carrying on this way.’

Sophie stared up at him from under the brim of her hat, but he was so tall that she could not see his face. A more unlikely kidnapper she could not imagine: his tone was that of a trusted old retainer, used to being indulged when he chose to scold his employer.

Scrabbling to make some kind of sense of it, she allowed herself to be helped up a short flight of steps as the front door swung open to reveal the silhouette of a man standing there, arms crossed like some implacable deity. The light from the hallway flooded across the porch into her eyes and she could not make out his features.

‘Miss Haydon? What the devil?’ a familiar voice demanded.

‘Your Grace?’ What on earth was Hal Wyatt doing here – wherever they were?

He had sounded as surprised as she felt, but surely that must be a pretence in front of the servants? He was the master here: no one was going to kidnap young women off the street without his knowledge. He stood aside to allow them inside and she saw his face, set in a deep frown.

She stumbled over the threshold into the warmth and light, the reality of the situation she was in sickeningly clear. After all the warnings delivered by George and Lavinia, which she had disregarded and scorned, it turned out that they had been right all along. She had been ruined, that ruin was known – and here was a man who, on discovering it, was prepared to treat her as a loose woman.

‘Why am I here?’ Sophie asked, hoping against hope that she was wronging him. ‘And why,’ she added, despising the way her voice shook, ‘have you abducted me?’

‘What? You had better come inside, Miss Haydon, I have no wish to stand here in the draught exchanging words with you for the edification of the servants.’ He must have realised her apprehension and added, in a slightly softer tone, ‘It is quite safe, you know, my housekeeper will chaperone you.’

Sophie, still in a daze, stepped into the hall, blinking in the blaze of light from the branches of candles on every surface as a small figure in black bustled down the stairs, scolding as she went. ‘Bad, bad girl and foolish too. You never listen to a sensible word that is said to you – and see what happens as a result! I shudder to think what might have become of you. You are fortunate indeed to have such a resourceful and forgiving brother.’ The woman’s tirade stopped abruptly and her eyes widened in astonishment as she caught sight of Sophie. ‘But you are not Lady Elizabeth.’

Sophie’s fear was turning into indignation. Someone was going to explain to her what was going on, and do it now. ‘No, I am not Lady Elizabeth, whoever she might be.’ She drew herself to her full, unfashionable, five foot six inches. ‘I do not know who you are, ma'am, but I am Miss Sophie Haydon – as this… this gentleman very well knows.’

She turned, furious now, on Hal. ‘I insist that you tell me what this is about, Your Grace. Why have you seen fit to snatch me from the street, bundle me into a carriage and jolt me for miles without so much as a by-your-leave? Or are my suspicions of your ungentlemanly behaviour and dubious reputation correct?’

She batted at an escaping curl and realised that her cheeks were hot, her bosom was heaving and she probably looked the opposite of a respectable lady. She thought, but she could not be sure, that there was a gleam of appreciation in Hal Wyatt’s eyes, and his lips were certainly curving into that smile which had first attracted her to him. But those signs only overlaid an expression of anger and concern which confused her still further.

‘You are obviously labouring under a misapprehension. It would certainly appear that you are owed both an explanation and an apology, Miss Haydon, but you are chilled and naturally alarmed. Please come into the salon, there is a fire there and I will explain everything. Mrs Wood, fetch our guest some tea and cake.’

There seemed to be little choice but to agree. It was that or try and flee into the night when she had no idea where she was and had only a few coins in her reticule. Sophie allowed herself to be settled in front of a briskly burning fire. She removed her bonnet, patted vaguely at her tumbled curls, and shrugged off the heavy cloak.

The housekeeper came in, set down a tray and looked at her anxiously. ‘Are you all right, miss? Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘No, thank you.’ Sophie ignored the tea tray and sat silently until Hal closed the door behind the housekeeper. She was no longer frightened – whatever the Duke of Weybourne’s intentions, they could hardly include ravishment or seduction with such an eminently respectable upper servant in attendance. But it was only now that the enormity of what had been done to her was dawning. She had been abducted, stolen from the streets of London, and now found herself, goodness knows where, in the power of a man.

He came and sat in the chair opposite her, his long legs stretched out. He steepled his fingers and gazed at her over them. His brow was furrowed and his lips were tight: once again she had the clear impression that her arrival on the scene was a complication to another story altogether, something which had been absorbing all his attention and concern until he was forced to deal with her. The realisation that she did not even have his full attention was the last straw.

‘I had better be frank with you, Miss Haydon – ‘

‘Frank?’ she stormed at him, jumping to her feet. ‘You have the effrontery to talk of frankness, Your Grace? You are an abductor and a rake and a criminal and my brother will set the law on you, I do not care how great your rank.’ She subsided into the chair again, her cheeks burning and her heart thumping and found, absurdly, that she was pouring herself a cup of tea. The cup rattled in the saucer and the liquid slopped over.

The Duke extended one hand as though imploring her silence. ‘Miss Haydon, I know you must have been very frightened, but what has happened is really the most outrageous coincidence.’ Sophie put down her cup with a clatter and glared at him, but he persisted. ‘You will probably feel you owe me nothing but reproaches after what has befallen you, but I beg your discretion for my sister’s sake.’

‘Your sister?’

‘Elizabeth, my younger sister. I know I have no right to ask it, but I can only ask you to keep secret what I am about to tell you.’ His voice was grave and there neither laughter, nor anger, in his eyes.

Suddenly what the housekeeper had said, how she had addressed her, made sense. Sophie guessed they were dealing with an elopement. She shivered slightly, this was too close for comfort. ‘Please, Your Grace, whatever my feelings about this, I would not dream of doing anything which might harm your sister.’

‘Thank you.’ He broke off, obviously weighing what he could tell her, how much he could rely on her. He seemed suddenly to come to a conclusion, his face changed and relaxed. ‘Miss Haydon, I feel I can trust you, although you have no reason to show me any consideration or favour after this. I am placing my sister’s honour entirely in your hands. You were mistaken for Elizabeth. John, my coachman, knew where she would be and acted on my instructions in snatching her from the street. But obviously, in the dark, he mistook you for her.

‘I can’t blame him. In the dark one lone young lady in a cloak must look very like any other, and,’ he added apologetically, ‘you must admit it is unorthodox for a young woman of your class to be abroad at night on foot and unchaperoned.’

‘Oh, forgive me, Your Grace,’ Sophie remarked caustically, her anger resurfacing. ‘Naturally I would not have set foot in Portman Square if I had realised it would interfere with your plans.’ She broke off, seeing the look in his eyes. ‘I am sorry, that was ungenerous of me – this incident has… has shaken me. Please go on.’

The Duke ran his hands through his somewhat overlong dark hair and met her eyes with a rueful smile. ‘I will speak plainly: the little minx fancies herself in love and has been plotting to elope with the object of her desire. The young man, I need hardly tell you, is thoroughly unsuitable.’

Sophie’s stomach lurched. This was far too close to home.

‘My cousin Venetia Lovell suggested to me that instead of leaving her here in the country it would be better to bring her up to London where Venetia could take Elizabeth to a few young person’s parties – give her mind another direction, divert her from this unfortunate attachment. It seemed sensible because Elizabeth was certainly doing nothing but making wild plans out of sheer boredom. But Venetia has been called away to her sister’s home. I had not realised just how serious this flirtation of Elizabeth’s had become, and I am sure my cousin had not either.’

‘Young women who fancy themselves in love can be surprisingly cunning,’ Sophie commented wryly. I certainly was.

The Duke nodded. ‘Her maid came to her senses, thank goodness, and realised that this would ruin her mistress. She sent me word that an elopement was planned for tonight and I thought a sharp scare and a dose of reality might make Elizabeth realise that this sort of thing is not romantic. I also hoped to frighten off the young man. But, as you see, with John’s mistake it has all gone disastrously wrong.’

She could hardly argue with him. Disastrous seemed absolutely the right word.

‘I do not ask you to forgive me for embroiling you in this. I will make it right somehow and, of course, you must stay here with Mrs Wood while I go after Elizabeth, you will be quite safe. But first let me have your direction. If you write a note to your family, I will send a groom with it. They must be beside themselves with anxiety.’

He got up and fetched inkwell and paper and set them beside her on a small table. Sophie looked up at him as he stood, head bent, mending the point of a quill for her with a small penknife. He handed it to her, but she made no move to take it, and managed to meet his gaze steadily. It was her turn to be frank. She took a deep breath and prepared to put her honour in his hands, just as he had trusted her with Elizabeth’s.

She found she could not look at him after all. What she was about to confess was shocking and she did not want to see Hal Wyatt’s expression change if he thought the worse of her for hearing it. ‘Thank you, Your Grace, but I will not write to my family, there is no need. They will not be worrying, not until the morning. They have no idea I am not in my chamber.’

There was silence and she risked a glance, saw that his eyebrows had shot up.

‘But how can that be? When your maid reached home without you, surely they would set up a hue and cry? I would not be surprised if they have called out the Bow Street Runners.’

‘Your Grace, I can assure you that will not be the case. No one knows I am not at home except for my maid, who is waiting to let me in.’ Sophie got to her feet, smoothed down her dress, finding it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes. ‘But we are wasting time. We cannot delay while your sister is out there somewhere, presumably with this man. She will be ruined if you cannot stop her. There is not a moment to be lost, I am feeling quite myself again and Lady Elizabeth’s situation can be our only concern.’

The Duke took Sophie’s hand. ‘Please, sit again, Miss Haydon, you must stay here. My silly sister has at least brought this on herself, you are an innocent passer-by. Please, let me send a message to your family before I go, because I cannot delay any longer.’

Sophie resisted his attempt to make her sit. ‘No, you must take me with you.’ She saw the stubborn look in his eyes and thought rapidly. ‘You can take me home on the way – I presume you will first have to go into Town?’

‘Yes, I must see if any news of her has been found. But you cannot travel that distance with me in a closed carriage at night. Miss Haydon, think of it, it would be social ruin. Things are bad enough, I can’t risk compromising you further.’

Sophie took a deep breath. If the Duke of Weybourne could trust her with his sister’s reputation, then she could trust him with hers, or what remained of it. ‘You see, I am already ruined. In theory, you understand. I have no reputation to maintain. That is why my brother and sister-in-law… It is why I had to cut short my come-out and retire to the country.’

The Duke crossed the room and stood looking down into her face. After a long moment he took her hand in his. She made no move to free it: his grasp was warm and strong and he continued to look at her, apparently weighing up the evils of the situation. ‘So be it. If we can get you home without it being discovered, then that has to be better than this. Come, then, if you are certain.’

In the hallway he called for a footman and shrugged into the heavy coat the man brought. 'A lap rug for the lady, and tell John to bring round the carriage with fresh horses.'

‘He has already done so, Your Grace, presuming you would wish to return to Town immediately.’

‘Good. Come, Miss Haydon, if you are determined on this, let us not delay a minute longer.’ He slammed the carriage door and, as the vehicle gathered speed, said, ‘I cannot thank you enough for your understanding and your generosity in overlooking what has happened to you. I would not have had this happen for the world, Miss Haydon.’ It was so dark in the carriage she could not see his expression, but his voice was warm.

‘Can you not open those blinds, Your Grace?’ Now she was alone with him her composure was deserting her.

He touched a tiny catch and the blinds flew up, flooding the carriage with moonlight. The rain clouds, chased by the stiffening wind, had dispersed, leaving the night cold but clear. ‘Is that better? Now, I am sorry to press you, but I must have your exact direction if I am to return you home.’

‘The house is at the eastern end of Bruton Street, but we must go around to the mews so that I can enter through the back gate. But should we not go first to your house? I will not be able to sleep if I do not find out what has happened to your sister – perhaps she has thought better of it and returned home.’

‘Very well.’ He dropped the window and leaned out, shouting instructions to the coachman on the box to go first to Portman Square. When he sat down again he remarked, ‘I suppose twenty minutes is hardly going to make any difference to your reputation if you truly have been ruined, will it?’

Sophie felt that she was beginning to read the Duke’s mood more clearly and now they were moving he seemed to relax a little and the spark of humour was back in his voice. His teeth shone fleetingly white in the semi-darkness. ‘I really feel you are going to have to explain exactly how one can be ruined in theory, Miss Haydon.’