When Lord and Lady Toucher had joined him at the breakfast table and they had exchanged civilities for a while, Nicholas grew impatient. He turned to the butler, who was replacing lids on the hot dishes.
“What time has the carriage been ordered for Mrs. Mannering?” he asked.
Russell looked back at him in some surprise. “The carriage has not been ordered, sir,” he said. “I understand that Mrs. Mannering is to leave on the stagecoach at noon.”
“On the stagecoach?” Nicholas said. “Are you sure, Russell?”
“I think it quite a shame things turned out the way they did,” Lady Toucher said. “She seemed a genteel-enough young lady.”
“Seemed?” said Nicholas. “Is she not genteel?”
“We heard only last night,” Lady Toucher continued. “My brother had been close-lipped about the whole thing out of deference to dear Thelma’s feelings, I suppose. Did you not know, Sir Harry? It seems that Clive was forced to dismiss Mrs. Mannering for misbehavior. Lord Uppington caught her and a lover together, you know, and tried to beat the man off with his whip. But it seems that Mrs. Mannering did not want such kindly meant help. She threw herself in front of her lover and got caught by the whip herself. And that poor half-witted son of the Pickerings also attacked his lordship. He must have been keeping watch for her. A very sordid affair indeed.”
“Indeed,” Nicholas echoed.
“When the poor marquess went that night to punish the lover, he was ambushed and beaten for his pains,” Lady Toucher said. “Clive had no option but to give Mrs. Mannering her notice, of course. I am amazed that he was kind enough to allow her to stay for a week. She cannot have been a good influence for Thelma.”
“I see,” Nicholas said. “So Mrs. Mannering is to leave on the stagecoach. Has anyone given any thought to how she is to reach the village, Russell?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir,” the butler replied with a bow.
“You will see that Dalrymple’s curricle is ready before the door by eleven,” Nicholas said. “And let me know when Mrs. Mannering comes down to breakfast. I shall be in the chapel.” He got up abruptly from his chair and left the room.
“Well, bless my soul,” Lady Toucher said to her husband, “I always did think that Sir Harry had something of a tendre for Mrs. Mannering.”
Nicholas could not pace inside the chapel. Although it had not been used as a church for many years, there was still an unmistakable atmosphere of holiness about it that demanded reverence. He sat on a faded wooden chair and tried to force his mind to relax.
Poor Katherine. Why had she not told him the truth? He had even accused her of some heartlessness toward the Pickerings in not telling her story to the earl. And all the time she had had the same doom hanging over her head as they. What a very independent woman she was. Was she afraid that he would create a big stir on her behalf to vindicate her character and restore her employment? Rather than owe that to him, she had kept quiet about the whole thing and borne the burden alone.
He would make it up to her. He would persuade her to stay, and then he would see how Clive Seyton and the Marquess of Uppington would react when he presented her as the future Countess of Barton, mistress of Barton Abbey.
Nicholas became convinced eventually that the butler must have forgotten about him. Even if the stagecoach did not leave until noon, surely Katherine should be up by now. Of course, it was possible that she would not come down to breakfast. Probable, in fact. She had not done so for the previous five days. He had forgotten that. And now that he thought about the matter, he realized that she had probably been ordered to keep to her room. Surely she would not slip away without anyone’s noticing. But she must have a trunk too heavy to carry with her. He left the church and hurried into the house.
“Where may I find Audrey?” he asked the butler.
“I shall send her to you, sir,” Russell said.
The answers Audrey had to his questions, though, were far from comforting. Mrs. Mannering had gone, she said. All her belongings had been taken from her room too.
Nicholas had already turned to speed to his room before the maid finished speaking. There was still an hour until the stage left. She could not have left any other way. He would catch her yet before she left.
“Sir,” Audrey said timidly, “Lady Thelma’s maid says that she has gone too.”
Nicholas stopped in his tracks. “Lady Thelma?” he said with a frown. “Gone? Do you mean out for a ride?”
“No, sir.” The girl was twisting her apron around one finger. “She has taken clothes and other things with her.”
The foolish girl was running from Uppington, Nicholas thought, and Katherine had gone with her. And if they were running away, they had probably not waited until some respectable hour of the morning. Was that why Katherine had not stayed longer in his room last night? Thelma was going to come and tell her all about the ball, she had said. Damnation!
“Have you seen Moreton, Tate?” Lord Poole asked as he passed them in the great hall. “We were supposed to ride this morning. But he hasn’t been to breakfast and he ain’t in his room.”
“No, I haven’t,” Nicholas replied, “but I don’t think you will find him in the house.”
Lord Poole disappeared, muttering something about finding Stoughton and whiling away the time until luncheon with a game of billiards.
“Thank you, Audrey,” Nicholas said, dismissing her with a nod. There was only one thing to be done, it seemed. He had nothing against his cousin Thelma beyond the fact that she was somewhat insipid. She certainly deserved better than a marriage over the anvil. Especially since it was probably unnecessary. He did not think Uppington would be quite as eager to marry the girl once he heard of her suddenly reduced circumstances. And perhaps her father’s plans for her would not be quite as ambitious either.
And he was certainly not going to allow Katherine to be dragged all the way to Scotland on such a mad journey if he could do anything about it. He found the earl in the library.
