Page 9 of Better Off Wed

“Betty,” the footman scolded, and she turned, first wary, then with surprised, eager eyes for the lad, and finally casting a mistrustful glance at Jeremy’s uniform. She had the worn, wan look of a girl who had seen far too much for her years. He judged her sixteen at most.

“What brings you here, Wally? What is it you’d be wantin’ with the likes of me?”

“Now, Bets,” Walter protested, lovelorn and pathetic. “I’ve come all this way to speak with you.” Joy flared into her face, restoring some of the girlishness Penhurst had taken from her.

“But, first, I’m afraid I have some less pleasant business,” Jeremy said. “My name is Captain Jeremy Addison, and I had reason to pay a call on your former master this morning. I daresay you’ve heard that he was robbed at Vauxhall last night?”

At that, her gaze shuttered, and she turned away, with a pointed glance at Walter. “I’ll be wanted at home.”

“Wait.”

She flinched, as if expecting to feel Jeremy’s hand on her arm, arresting her movement. He reached instead into his breast pocket, withdrew the calling card, and showed it to her, first her own name, handwritten on its reverse, and then the name that had been embossed upon it. “Do you know where I might find the woman who left this card?”

She glanced from the card first to Walter and then to him. “What is it you want from her?”

He swallowed hard and forced himself to make some answer. “I’ve been ordered to—”

Marry her.

General Scott’s jest had a way of sticking in his mind, though Jeremy had never felt less like laughing. He refused to let himself be intrigued by the woman, no matter the nobility of her cause. The more efficiently he dealt with the Lady Sterling problem, the sooner he could return to figuring out the cypher contained in that damned cookbook.

“To ask her a few questions,” he finished. “I assure you, I mean her no harm.”

Which was true, although he could not speak to Scott’s intentions for the woman. Spying on behalf of the Crown was always dangerous business.

Now it was Betty’s turn to hesitate. “I oughtn’t to say anything—she risked her life for me.”

“Come now, Betty,” Walter prompted. “Captain Addison may be a gentleman but he’s no friend to Penhurst and his sort. Can’t you see it in his eye? Sure an’ that red coat is enough to earn your trust?”

Once more, she looked Jeremy carefully up and down and passed a hand surreptitiously over her belly, though it had not yet begun to round. “Well, that’s just it, i’nit? Who knows better than I the dangers she might face? She—she’s gone all alone to help a young lady,” she offered at last, “governess to the children of Lord Thornton. An’ oh, I’m afeared for her, sir.”

The name Thornton was unfamiliar to him, but if Lady Sterling was involved, he could guess the sort of man to whom it belonged and the sort of danger she might be putting herself in.

“If’n you hurry, you might catch her,” Betty urged, pointing down the street. He stared eagerly in the direction she indicated. Had Lady Sterling come in person to Clapham to deliver the stolen goods to the maid? He’d had her in his grasp last night. Could he once more be so close on the mystery woman’s heels? “She’s just left for Kent on the one o’clock stage.”

His momentary flare of excitement fizzled like a damp squib. The public stage? Kent?

Jeremy was a planner, a thinker. He took notes. He made lists. Bad enough to have spent his morning darting through London, not knowing what he might find. The very idea of haring off across the countryside, the hound to Lady Sterling’s fox, went against his nature. Why, any fool could see that his chances of overtaking her were slim at best.

But of course, he had to try. Because he was also the sort of man who did his duty.

Even when he would much rather not.

“Much obliged,” he said with a nod to Betty and to Walter. “I’ll leave you to your conversation. Something about a walk in the park, wasn’t it?” No sooner had the words been spoken than the rain began to pelt down. As Betty grabbed Freddy’s hand and dragged him into the shelter of a doorway, Jeremy flipped up the collar of his greatcoat and resigned himself to a miserable, pointless journey.

Chapter 3

When the storm began in earnest, Laura tried to ignore it. Its steady drumbeat on the roof only lulled the squire into a deeper slumber. The tutor too began to doze, leaving the brothers to engage in mostly silent wagers regarding the progress of raindrops chasing down the glass on either side of the coach.

Only the widow’s face showed any sign of alarm as her gaze—indeed, her whole body—grafted itself to the window. Pressed close to her by the sleeping squire, Laura heard a low moan rise in the woman’s throat and could just make out the words that shaped her lips: a muttered prayer.

This is England, Laura wanted to remind the woman, as her father had so often, and so unfeelingly, reminded her. Rain was to be expected, after all.

Time for a distraction. Laura mustered some of her usual charm and asked the woman whether she’d been visiting family.

“No,” came the wary answer, but when Laura gave her an encouraging smile, the woman explained that she was on her way to visit her sister. “She lives near Dartford. She’s been ill all summer, on account of that dreadful heat, but I wasn’t able to leave my shop until now. I’m a milliner, you see.”

“A milliner? I might’ve guessed from that lovely bonnet you’re wearing,” Laura replied, a compliment rewarded with a surprisingly lengthy dissertation on the season’s most popular trims.