Page 142 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘She left, my Lord. Her and the other Lady Westcroft.’

For a moment Simon could not move.

‘Ah, you are home, my Lord,’ Miss Stick said, emerging from the darkness of the stairs that led to the kitchen below. ‘The Ladies Westcroft left a little earlier this morning. They took the carriage with Drummond and were heading for Northumberland.’

Simon reached out and steadied himself against the wall. She’d gone. After everything he had put her through, she had finally had enough and left.

He did not blame her. He had behaved terribly yesterday, abandoning her when she was at such a low point. That would not be the worst part for Alice, though. Recently he had let her think that she could rely on him, and when she had started to trust he would not leave her again, he had disappeared without any regard for her.

‘Will you pack for me, Miss Stick? I must follow my wife immediately. I will go and saddle Socrates.’

‘Of course, my Lord.’ Miss Stick hurried upstairs, and Simon made his way to the small stables. If he were quick, he would catch them on the road, although he would prefer privacy for what he needed to say to Alice.

It was a journey filled with peril and disaster. Only five miles out of London, Socrates threw a shoe. It was on a quiet stretch of road, a good mile out from the nearest village. Simon dismounted immediately and led Socrates by the reins to the village, hoping they had a farrier.

The farrier was able to fit Socrates with a new shoe, but the whole process took much longer than it should have. Simon wondered if the farrier was in league with the local tavern-keeper, for he delayed and delayed until it started to get dark, then suggested Simon rest Socrates overnight whilst he lodged in the tavern.

The next morning was no better with Simon coming upon an overturned carriage. The front wheel had splintered and flown off, and the carriage looked to have been dragged for some distance before the horses had been brought under control. Thankfully there were no fatalities, but one of the occupants, a young boy of eight, had fallen awkwardly on his arm, and the limb was bent at a strange angle.

Once he was satisfied no one else was badly injured, he put the boy on his horse and allowed him to ride to the next town where Simon sought out the local doctor and paid for his services. It meant he didn’t begin his journey proper until after lunch and the distance he could cover before nightfall was limited.

When the third day of his journey dawned, he had only travelled fifty miles out of London and still had the prospect of many days ahead of him. It also meant the likelihood of catching up with Alice and Maria was very low, even though he could travel much quicker on horseback.

His third day of the journey was uneventful, but on the fourth disaster struck again as the inn where he was staying caught fire. He spent the morning stripped down to his shirtsleeves in a chain of men and women passing buckets of water from the river to throw on the blazing inn roof.

They were there for hours, and by the time the flames were under control the tavern had been decimated and half collapsed in on itself. Thankfully, due to the tireless efforts of everyone involved, the fire had not spread to any other buildings in the village.

Simon continued on his way much later that day, feeling as though his journey was cursed.

He arrived at Westcroft Hall in the early afternoon of a blustery, overcast day. There was a chance Alice had decided to go straight to one of the other properties he owned or to stay with Maria, but he felt she would have returned here first.

The door was opened by one of the young footmen who quickly took Simon’s jacket and hat.

‘Is my wife in residence?’

‘She is, my Lord. She arrived yesterday.’

‘Where is she?’

‘I am here, Simon,’ Alice said, her voice cool, with none of her usual affection.

He wanted to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her as if it were his last day on earth.

‘I will ask Mrs Hemmings to prepare a bath.’

He looked down at his soot-stained clothes and grimaced. In his hurry to leave London he had packed light, but both his shirts had ended up grimy after the day spent fighting the tavern fire.

‘Thank you.’

Alice nodded, holding his eye for just a second, and then she turned to leave.

‘Alice,’ he said, closing the space between them. ‘Wait.’

As she spun to face him, he saw the sadness in her eyes and hated that he was the cause of it.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, his words quiet but clear. ‘Please forgive me.’

There was a flare of something conciliatory in Alice’s eyes, and then she looked away. ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she said quietly. Without any fuss and without looking at him again, she walked away.