Page 82 of The Gentleman’s Leading Lady

“Yer Pa’s not taking any rackety genmum out this eve’n, and he ain’t takin’ no tawdry ladies, neither,” a woman screeched from inside. “He’s been driven all day, high and low, and the man needs his rest and his denner.”

Dante found himself strangely touched by the domestic scene. A family at home, about to sit down to dinner. A wife protectively guarding her husband’s well-being. His stomach twisted again. He hadn’t known he’d wanted that, too, until Cerys.

Evans limped up the small stoop and gave the boy a crooked smile.

“You’d be the young master of the house, aye? We need your Pa to ask him about a lady he drove earlier today. Won’t be a moment.”

“Oh.” The woman charging up the short hall indoors, wiping her hand on a cloth, stopped short at the sight of Evans leaning on his crutch, her expression of belligerence faltering into dismay.

He offered a polite nod. “Terribly sorry to intrude at dinner time, Missus, but I believe your husband drove my daughter earlier today. I’ve just a quick question about where he set her down, and then I’ll leave him to his mutton.”

“Lord have mercy, he didn’t cause no trouble, did’ee? My Amos is a good man, and he s’ports this family. I can’t have him in no trouble.”

“No trouble if I can help it,” Evans said genially, but his smile dissolved as boy and mother withdrew into the house. “Steady on, man. You look like you’re about to take all of them apart at the joints, and you’re big enough to do it.”

Dante thought he had been conducting himself with admirable restraint. “He’ll know something.” His voice emerged a growl. “But Bathsheba will have bribed him. If he won’t tell us⁠—”

“Then we’ll be searching, and I can’t have you put in the watch house for assaulting a man. I say stand down.”

Dante tried to step backward off the small stoop. He couldn’t. He flexed his hands at his sides, trying to force open his fists.

“Does she mean that much to you, then?” Evans asked softly, still not looking his way.

“I—” He didn’t have the words to explain, but he didn’t need them. “Yes.”

“All right, then.”

A man approached from inside, shrugging into his leather coat and trying to tie a neckcloth at the same time. “What’s this about, eh?”

“You drove Lady Baeccon and another woman away from the Chalybeate Spa earlier today,” Dante said. “Where did you take them?”

The coachman stepped backward, eyes flaring. “Aye, what’s it to ye, then?”

Evans didn’t shift, but Dante sensed his restraint. “The one with her ladyship is my daughter.” He kept his tone even. “Slender girl of twenty, darkish skin, clouds of hair?”

The coachman nodded. “And the prettiest green eyes I ever did see.”

“Where is she?” Dante growled.

“Her la’yship? She sent me off and told me to drive about, she did, the strangest thing. Then all at once I sees her comin’ up alone on the path and she says th’other gel took off with a lad, and her la’yship’s for home.” He held up his hands, palms out. “I took her la’yship to the Great House and dropped her there, and that’s all, I swear.”

“The girl!” Dante barked. His heart shrank at the mention of another man. Blood pounded in his ears. He would find them. He would make Cerys see he loved her more. He loved her more than any other man could. “Where did you set her down?” He imagined that Bathsheba would have bribed and threatened him, that Dante would have to wring the information⁠—

“The Royal Spa,” the coachman yelped, falling back further as Dante stepped forward. “The old one as is closed up now. By Bayshill Lodge, that’s the Fauconberg House. Where the King stayed when Their Majesties was here.”

Penrydd spoke over Dante’s shoulders. “Do you know where it is?”

“I’ve a notion, but I thought Lad Lane was shut up. The last Earl died a year ago, and the well dried up before that.”

The coachman tugged at his neckcloth. “Her la’yship said there might be a stir over the gel goin’ off. She says I might get a call or two, but she tole me I wasn’t to say a word. Gor, she didn’t say you’d be so big or so angry. Or there’d be so many of ye.” Sweat beaded on his brow, visible even in the dim light of the hallway. “She’ll have my hide if she finds out I squeaked. I won’t work again.”

“How much did her ladyship pay you to keep silent?” Dante asked coldly.

“An extra quid.” The coachman turned up his hands.

One pound. Bathsheba was stingy, or desperate, or both. Dante dug into his pocket. “Here’s a guinea as a promise that you’ll keep your job, and no one will trouble you further. It’s her ladyship we’ll deal with.”

“A yellowboy? Mercy!” Mrs. Coachman poked her head over her husband’s shoulder. “Take ’em, Amos.”