CHAPTER NINETEEN
SMYTHINGTON BALL, LONDON – MID-MAY, 1814
Damon hurried to the main ballroom. They’d found Sephe, safe and unharmed, playing billiards with several female friends. It had taken more time than he’d wished, as they’d first checked the more private areas, fearing she’d been spirited away to one of them. He’d disrupted a number of amorous couples, but luckily his sister hadn’t been part of one of them.
Cassie had insisted on accompanying him, delighting in making pointed jests about the people they’d spied in compromising positions. “I mean, truly, Lady Chesterson? With Lord Plumperset? Widow or not, is he not thirty years her senior?”
“Please don’t tell Mother,” Damon implored. “I would never hear the end of it for having furthered your education in such a manner this evening.”
“Fear not, dearest brother; this is not the kind of information a lady shares freely. At least not with elders.”
He’d raised an eyebrow at that, but they’d hurried along until they reached the billiards parlor. Cassie had pressed him to check it, though he’d insisted they’d find only gentlemen present.
“Women do not play, do they?”
Cassie had rolled her eyes, throwing open the door her only other response. It’d been full of ladies, Sephe at their center.
Damon was glad to have been wrong in this case, since it meant his sister was unharmed. That hadn’t stopped Cassie from giving her a tongue lashing, however.
“Bother!” Sephe had exclaimed with a pout. “Why am I never allowed any fun?”
Her friends had quickly scuttled out of range, casting furtive glances at Damon. He scowled for extra effect, as Sephe reluctantly took his arm to return to the ballroom. One of the ladies had yipped, a noise so high-pitched she might have been a frightened pup.
Now, as they entered, he looked to the spot where he’d left Grace, but she wasn’t there. Not entirely surprising; he’d been gone far longer than intended. He searched where the matrons sat to see if she were speaking to someone there, and when that yielded no results, he scanned the dancers. Her blue dress wouldn’t be hard to pick out in this sea of white, but she was nowhere to be found.
“Do you see Grace?” he demanded of his sister Cassie.
“Grace, is it?” she teased him, before joining in on searching the room.
Spying Rebecca, he hurried over. “Lady Grace? Have you seen her?”
Rebecca gestured toward the terrace. “She stepped outside a moment ago. I think she wanted some air.”
“And she hasn’t come back in?”
“No, not that I’ve seen, but it hasn’t been long. Why? Is something wrong?” Rebecca’s blue eyes rounded in apprehension.
“No, no. I’m sure everything is fine. She had promised me this dance, is all. I will check the terrace.” He gave Rebecca a smile meant to put her at ease, though his own gut twisted.
Rebecca nodded, making to follow him until the young woman at her side distracted her with a question.
Damon sauntered to the terrace door, not wanting to give Rebecca cause for alarm. Two missing women in one night was too much. She is merely outside and all is well. He repeated the thought over and over. All had been well with Sephe, and all would be well with Grace.
But when he exited the ballroom to no sign of Grace, his heart began to pound. The terrace was deserted. Surely she wouldn’t have ventured onto the garden paths? Perhaps Rebecca simply hadn’t seen her return. He turned to reenter the ballroom when something sparkling at the edge of the terrace caught his eye.
He neared it, squatting down to retrieve the item. It was the flower brooch he’d given Grace earlier. What was it doing here? Fear crawled its way up his throat, robbing him of breath as he looked around for further evidence of her. A bush nearby had a number of bent branches. Hooked onto its bottom was a jagged piece of a silver-shot gauzy material. Grace’s dress. Terror engulfed him. He ran partway into the gardens, but couldn’t see much in the inky darkness. He raced back to the terrace, where Rebecca was peeking out from the ballroom in concern.
“Did you find her?”
“No.” Damon’s voice was hoarse with panic. “It may be that something has happened. I need a lantern.”
Emmeline came up behind Rebecca, a pleasant smile on her face. “Good evening, Your Grace.” Her mouth fell at his ragged breathing. “Is something wrong?”
“We don’t know where Grace is,” Rebecca said.
Damon held up the brooch and the piece of fabric he had found. “She was wearing these. I found them near the bushes. I am concerned something nefarious has happened.”
Emmeline looked at the brooch. “I don’t remember Grace having a piece of jewelry like that.”
“I gave it to her,” Damon bit out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get a lantern, a torch, something so that we can search the gardens.”
“What should I do?” Rebecca interjected.
“Stay here in case she comes back; Emmeline, go and find help. I need men and lights.”
Damon sprinted out into the darkness, a lantern he’d pulled off a terrace table in his hand. Holding it high, he scanned the terrain for Grace. Nothing.
Soon other lights joined his.
“What has happened?” said Arthington as he appeared by Damon’s side.
“It’s Lady Grace. She’s disappeared.”
Arthington’s face whitened.
Emerlin dashed up to them both. “How can I help?”
“I … don’t know.” Damon pinched his nose with his fingers, willing Grace to come back, to be unharmed, to be safe.
“I shall alert the local night watchman,” Arthington said, his tone brisk and authoritative. “We will find her, Malford. We will find her.”
Additional guests filtered out onto the terrace as rumors of Grace’s disappearance spread like wildfire. A number of the gentlemen combed the gardens, but besides flushing out a few cats and one clandestine couple, they found nothing more.
When Damon neared the house again after a fruitless search, Rebecca scurried over, a female servant in tow. “She saw a man and a lady get into a carriage in the alley behind the gardens a short time ago. She noticed, she said, because the man seemed to be handling the lady roughly.”
“Was the lady wearing a blue gown?” Damon demanded, his eyes boring into those of the serving girl’s.
“I-I think so, Your Grace,” the girl stammered. “It were pale, I know.”
“Did you see in which direction they went?”
“No, Your Grace, though the carriage were facing to go north on the street. I had to get back inside afore I saw it leave.”
He nodded tersely. “Thank you.”
The serving maid bobbed a curtsy and then looked at Rebecca. “Yes, you may go,” Grace’s sister said. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”
Damon’s lungs constricted as if clamped in a vise and he struggled to breathe.
Rebecca and Emmeline stood together, clasping each other’s hands.
Arthington reentered the room, a night watchman in tow. “A carriage flew past him heading west on Piccadilly about fifteen minutes past,” the Duke exclaimed.
“Carriages on Piccadilly are hardly an unusual site,” Emerlin interjected.
“Yes, but this one was racing at breakneck speed,” the watchman said. “Nearly crashed into a second carriage turning out of Berkeley Street.”
All music and dancing had ceased as everyone circled around Damon and the Mattersley sisters. Speculation as to what could have happened was rife, and a number of ladies swooned at the idea of being taken from a ball in such a manner.
“What if he means to kill her?” one young woman exclaimed.
“Or worse,” said another. “Dishonor her?”
Damon closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe in and out. He couldn’t lose her. Not his Grace. Not now, when he’d finally found someone with whom he’d made a true connection.
The jostling of the crowd thrust Rebecca against him. He needed to take action, needed to end this spectacle as best he could. And he needed to find Grace.
“Arthington, Emerlin,” he called. “I shall escort the Mattersley ladies home. Alert me if you hear of anything.”
“Of course.” Arthington’s face was a mask of grave concern. He cast his eyes at Emerlin, and the message they conveyed infuriated Damon.
“We will find her,” he roared. “And she will be all right. She will be.” He would find her, alive, if it was the last thing he did.
Disregarding the looks—some curious, some frightened, some suspicious—around him, he offered an arm to each of the Mattersley sisters, and they clung to him as he led them to their carriage. After assisting them inside, he leapt in and took a seat next to Emmeline. The carriage sped off to Claremont House.
No one spoke. At length, Emmeline said, her voice tremulous, “Do you think we will find her? Truly, Damon? Who could have done this? Why?”
“Yes. Yes. I don’t know. And I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. His head wanted to move, wanted to jerk, his body’s reaction to extreme duress. He fought it with all he had. Concentrating on controlling his body helped keep the panic at bay. Temporarily. For he was panicking. He had no idea who had taken Grace, or why. Nor did he have any clue as to where, except somewhere west. But in town? Or worse, out of London? He clenched his jaw, willing his body to stay in control.
Rebecca began to weep, not the loud, obnoxious wails he’d heard from young women, but more a quiet shuddering. The sound closed around his heart, crushing it like a piece of soft fruit.
After arriving at Claremont House, the two girls flew from the coach and into the house, calling for the dowager, who, Emmeline had said in the coach, had claimed a headache and remained behind that evening. Damon followed more slowly, averse to facing Grace’s mother, given the situation.
He waited in the hall. The servants were in too much of a dither to pay him any mind. After a few short minutes, Matilda Mattersley, Dowager Duchess of Claremont, came flying down the broad staircase, clothed only in her nightgown and wrapper. Her face was white, her mouth pinched. Anger erupted when she spied Damon.
“What has happened? What have you done?” she burst out, marching up to him. She was a good half a foot shorter than he, but at that moment Damon Blackbourne, Duke of Malford, felt about two inches tall.
“I—” he began, but Emmeline cut him off.
“Mother! His Grace had nothing to do with Grace’s disappearance, and you well know it. He has been most excellent in his response, enlisting the aid of all he can and sending men out to search.”
“Then why is he here instead of with them?”
“I came,” Damon said, an edge to his voice, “to see your daughters home safely and to break this news to you. I came because I care for your daughter. And she for me.”
The dowager’s shoulders sagged at his words. It was as if the reality of Grace’s disappearance had suddenly sunk in. “Who would do this?” she asked, her voice a shell of what it had been moments earlier. “Who would harm my child?”
“We shall find her, and justice shall be served. I promise you that, Your Grace.”
“Have you sent for Deveric? He should be here. We need his help.”
“Of course,” Damon said, beckoning to a footman. “Send a carriage for Claremont, as quickly as possible.”
Though the man was not in his employ and this was not Damon’s house, the servant instantly obeyed the barked command.
Grace’s mother’s face had aged twenty years in five minutes. She clasped her arms around her waist, teetering as if she might fall over. “Thank you,” she managed to say.
“Mama, let me lead you to the parlor. Let us sit down,” Emmeline said, reaching for her mother’s elbow.
“Yes,” was the dowager’s only response.
Rebecca turned to Damon. “Find her. Please. Find my sister.”
“I will. I will.”
With that, he headed out into the night.