“What time is it?” he asked.
Her gaze lowered to the carpet, and there it remained. “It was a little after five o’clock when I came upstairs, so it must be past six o’clock, Your Grace.”
He’d slept the entire afternoon away.
I knew I shouldn’t have been so heavy-handed with the laudanum.
Robert frowned for a moment, wondering why the maid wouldn’t look at him. When he glanced down, he realized why. He was buck naked. He dashed back into the bedroom and shut the door.
When he returned fully dressed to the hallway a short time later, the maid was nowhere to be seen. Robert made a mental note to seek out the housekeeper and ask her to apologize to the poor young miss. Seeing a naked duke was not the sort of thing she should ever have to endure.
Speaking of women who should be seeing me naked, where the hell is Victoria?
He searched the library and its adjoining sitting room without success. His further hunt for his wife revealed no sign of her on the entire second and third floors of the house. Down on the first floor, he encountered the butler. “Ah, Mister Ross. I am trying to locate Her Grace. Have you seen her?”
The butler did much the same as the maid had done and lowered his gaze to the floor. Robert made a quick check of his own attire. Not naked. Fully dressed. Still smelling of cardamon but no inappropriate parts of his anatomy on show.
So why is Mister Ross not wanting to meet my eyes?
The butler cleared his throat. “Her Grace left the estate earlier this afternoon. She was going to meet the London bound coach at Bishop’s Stortford later tonight.”
Robert bit on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He didn’t care; it was just more pain. What truly hurt was the knowledge that Victoria had made good on her promise and had left him.
His bride was going back to London, and their marriage was all but over.
Chapter Forty
The royal mail coach was crowded and uncomfortable. While the people themselves were quite polite and well-mannered, their sharp elbows and knees were somewhat less civilized.
Victoria had never had to travel by public coach before. Her family’s private carriage had always been the comfortable way to journey between London and the Duke of Mowbray’s country estate. She could only pray this was her first and last trip in a cramped mail coach.
Her plan, which she could admit had been hatched whilst she was in a furious rage, involved several parts. First there was the journey of some twelve miles from the Tolley estate to the Boar’s Head Inn at Bishop’s Stortford, a trip undertaken in the comfort of Robert’s private carriage.
After arriving at the coaching inn, she had purchased a ticket for the London bound mail coach using the name Mrs. Brown for the passenger manifest. Upon reaching the capital, she intended taking up residence once more at Tolley House, and employing a small retinue of servants. Once she was settled in, she’d buryher nose in all of her husband’s cookbooks and wait for Robert to make his next move.
While her injured pride at her husband’s duplicity had played its part, it was the shocking events in the laneway which had been the eventual catalyst for Victoria’s decision to leave the estate. Robert had been wounded and a wife really should have stayed, but she couldn’t stomach the idea of putting on a brave face and pretending that she hadn’t killed a man.
But by the time the fully laden coach was ready to pull out of the mounting yard of the Boar’s Head a little after nine o’clock, Victoria was beginning to have second thoughts. She was alone, and her life was crumbling all around her. It was only her stubborn Kembal blood which saw her press on.
Once I get to London, then I shall have time and space to think.
The other passengers in the coach were a rather jolly bunch, laughing and sharing various tins filled with homemade food amongst themselves as the mail coach made its way south. Victoria sat quietly staring at her hands, doing her best to forget that less than a day ago she had held a loaded pistol in them. She couldn’t imagine what her fellow travellers would say if they knew that a killer was seated in their midst.
Resigned to her fate, she had just settled in for the long, uncomfortable night ahead when the driver of the coach let out a loud cry. “Villainy is afoot!”
The coach came to a sudden, shuddering halt, tossing the passengers about in their seats. The gentleman seated nearest to the door swung it open and jumped out. He returned seconds later, closing the door firmly behind him. He whispered a hurried, “We are being bailed up by a highwayman. Hide your jewels and coins.”
Victoria glanced at her travel bag. She had a small purse with some coins in it, but no other valuables. If they wanted her wedding ring, they were more than welcome to it.
A loud rap on the side of the coach had heads turning. The lady seated next to her, muttered, “Lord save us.”
When the door swung open once more, she caught sight of the driver standing on the side of the road, holding a lantern. The man, who wore an expression on his face which said he was used to being held up at gun point, calmly announced, “I’m terribly sorry about this folks, but the highwayman who is currently holding a pistol to my head insists that you all climb out.”
In the dark someone else spoke, and the driver looked away. He nodded, then turned back to the passengers. “And he suggests that you all make haste.”
The first of the passengers did as they were asked, followed by the rest of the group who also shifted along on the bench before stepping down from the coach. Clutching her small travel bag, Victoria joined her fellow travellers on the roadside.
They were ordered to stand in a long line. The group, which totaled fifteen people, included the passengers who’d been seated on top of the coach, the driver, and the man in charge of the royal mail box who had been seated at the back.
