Weston,
This is wonderful news. I will be at your residence at dawn tomorrow.
Sincerely,
Burns
Oliver took his first unrestricted breath since discovering Phoebe had disappeared. Her letter had offered some relief, and knowing there was a rescue plan in place brought even more comfort. He broke the seal of the other note.
Your Grace,
You have no idea how relieved I am to have received your note. Thank goodness she will be safely back in London in no time. May luck be with you and Mr. Burns tomorrow as you bring Miss Windham home.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Dove-Lyon
Oliver poured himself a generous amount of brandy and drank it quickly with trembling hands. His lungs might be taking in air easily, but his body still battled with emotions. It was as if every nerve in his body and even in his skin vibrated and tingled. He ran his fingers through his messy, thick hair. How the hell was he going to get any sleep tonight?
He tried not to let his mind drift into dark thoughts, but he couldn’t stop himself. Much of his adult life had been filled with darkness, sadness, and tragedy. He was terrified he would spend the rest of his life in darkness. And what right did he have to drag another, an innocent young lady, into its black depths?
No matter how he felt about Phoebe, he wasn’t sure if he could marry her. The days he’d spent terrified for her safety dragged him back into his darkness. Without rational thought, he believed he might be responsible for her disappearance. That Lady Greenwich was punishing him for not choosing one of her daughters. It didn’t matter that he’d asked to court Lady Emma and was refused. All she seemed to think of and be offended by was that he refused when she offered. She was a vile, petty, and dangerous woman—someone he would watch closely for the rest of his life.
The next morning, Oliver stepped outside his townhome to find not only his carriage, but Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s small carriage. As well as Wind and Burns on his own horse. Slightly dismayed, he made his way to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s coach with Puck in the tiger’s seat, and opened the door to find her inside and a large basket on the floor, from which he smelled something delicious. “Good morning,” he said in greeting.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said behind her black veil, which she never seemed without, at least not that he recalled. “I thought a chaperone was needed for Miss Windham. I am also eager to ensure that the young lady is safe and unharmed.”
“Splendid idea.” He closed the door and went over to talk with his driver. “Your services are no longer needed, Hebert.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Before he mounted Wind, he passed the hand-drawn map to Burns. “How are you at reading crudely drawn maps?”
“Excellent,” he said as he snatched it from his hands, examined it, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “I’m familiar with the area.”
“Well, let’s not waste any more time then,” Oliver said as he mounted Wind and rode alongside Burns, with the carriage right behind them. What a strange riding party they made—a Bow Street Runner, the Black Widow of Whitehall, and the Duke of Weston. An unusual trio headed to rescue a young lady in danger at the hands of her own aunt and uncle. His life had certainly taken an interesting turn. And a dangerous one if Lady Greenwich would go so far as to kidnap her own niece. His insides cramped. What else was she capable of?
Travel was slower than it could have been without the carriage carrying Mrs. Dove-Lyon.. Initially, Oliver had considered bringing a mount with a sidesaddle for Phoebe, but honestly, he wasn’t sure if she could ride. She hadn’t exactly been raised like most of the young ladies he knew. When would she have had the opportunity or the funds to learn to ride?So bringing a carriage was a wise decision.
A stabbing pain shot through his heart, shocking him into realizing he truly loved Phoebe. And that was the tragedy. Marriage to her was impossible. Given his past, he wouldn't be selfish and risk her life. If she died, as his three previous wives had, he would never recover. His heart would shrivel and die a slow, torturous death. Even though he yearned to marry her beyond reason, even though he’d taken her innocence, he wouldn’t. He didn’t believe in the curse. Yet, what if it was true? How could he risk Phoebe’s life?
When she married someone else, it would be the end of his line. He would not marry again. An heir to the dukedom wasn’t more important than Phoebe’s life. Until it was time for her to marry, she would stay with Hudson, pretending to be Julia’s companion. It was the only way she wouldn’t be ruined by living in a townhome with a bachelor. She wouldn’t truly be a companion but a friend in need of a place to stay. All her expenses would be sent to him for payment. It was the least he could do after asking her to marry him and then backing out.
After she married, he would retire to the country estate he hoped to purchase. Spend his days overseeing his properties andhis nights in the library, a book in one hand and a fine brandy in the other. His feet on an footstool near the fireplace, close enough that the flames made his feet itch from the intense heat.
He would grow old, gray, and decrepit, often dreaming of a time when his heart was connected with Miss Phoebe Windham. And when he passed away one night in his library, never to breathe again, it would be with her sweet, young face in his eyes.
“Weston, did you hear me?”
Burns’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“Based on my estimate, we’re halfway there. Let’s pause, rest the horses, and enjoy whatever Mrs. Dove Lyon has in her basket.”
“Yes.” Up ahead, there was enough of a clearing for them to pull over without blocking any other carriages from passing. Before Oliver could reach the carriage, Puck had jumped down off his perch and opened the door, helping the widow out of the vehicle. The handle of the picnic basket was in her free hand, along with a blanket. When she was free from the coach, she made her way to the clearing and, with Puck’s help, spread out the blanket and sat down, her legs to the side. She fidgeted with her skirts to make sure her ankles were sufficiently covered.
With one hand, she opened the top of the basket and handed two large sandwiches to Puck, who then left to eat with the driver. She then removed three plates and dished out the sandwiches and fruit onto them. Inside the basket were also a bottle of wine and three glasses, which she balanced on the blanket before pouring. “Well, don’t just stand there watching until the glasses fall over—come sit and eat so we can go find Miss Windham while the sun’s still out.”
Swallowing a chuckle, Oliver picked up the glass of wine, plopped his behind on the blanket, and dug in. The roastedchicken sandwich with stuffing disappeared faster than light for both him and Burns. The widow picked at her food. They drained the bottle of wine. Mrs. Dove-Lyon packed what was left back in the basket, then stood up. “Will you gentlemen be dears and shake out the blanket and fold it up nice and tight?”
