Page 29 of Truly, Madly, Daring

“Not a dare, it’s a promise,” Sefton said in disgust. “You help me find that boy and get the marriage dissolved, and I’ll hold my tongue. No one will know your daughter is no better than she ought to be. She’ll be untouched by the scandal, and I’ll get Wrexham back under control, where he can do no one any harm.”

Gabe lunged before Helena could stop him, grabbing hold of the duke’s lapels and hauling the man’s considerable bulk to his feet. There was the ominous sound of seams tearing.

“You listen here, and you listen good,” Gabe said, his voice quiet and angrier than Helena had ever heard it. “I had my doubts when I heard the news, but I ought to have known better. If Emmeline married Wrexham, it was for good reason, and I reckon I’ve got a fair idea what that reason was, having listened to you spewing lies since the moment you arrived. I know a shyster when I see one. If our daughter decided to stand by Wrexham, then it’s because she’s judged him worthy. Emmeline is no fool, Sefton, and I promise you, neither am I. You’ve got it in for Wrexham and I can guess why. You and I both know you’ve made some disastrous investments of late. Short of ready funds, are you, your grace? Might be nice to declare your son unfit and take control of his fortune, mightn’t it? He was always a canny one, even as a lad. He was one of the first to invest in the railways. Reckoned it was worth a punt. A pretty penny that investment has made him by now, though, eh? He’s worth a damned fortune and you know it.”

The duke said nothing, not that Helena needed confirmation, never having doubted Gabe when it came to finance.

Gabe looked down at the duke, who was at least a foot shorter than he was, his expression one of disgust. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from annulling this marriage, Sefton, and I’ll make sure anyone who cares to listen knows you’re up the River Tick without a paddle. And an awful lot of people listen to me, your grace, so I suggest you think twice about making an enemy of me.”

“It’s you who ought to think on, Mister Knight,” Sefton exploded, his colour high and his eyes bulging so furiously Helena wondered if he might suffer an apoplexy. “You’re nothing but a jumped-up barrow boy, and don’t think we all know it! I’ll see you shunned in society, you see if I don’t.”

“The devil you will,” Helena said, her crisp voice cutting through the toxic atmosphere. “Gabriel, put it down before you catch something. One never knows where such a creature has been, always scuttling about in the filth.”

“You dare!” Sefton choked out, so outraged he seemed hardly able to breathe.

Helena stalked to the door and snatched it open. “His grace is leaving,” she said in carrying tones. “Please escort him to the door at once.”

The butler and two burly footmen arrived with pleasing efficiency. Really, she must congratulate Harriet on her excellent staff. The duke took a moment to straighten his waistcoat and settle his lapels, which were looking sadly mauled, Helena noticed with satisfaction.

“You’ll regret this,” he sneered, looking at them both with contempt before he slithered out of the room like the snake he was.

The door closed behind him and there was a taut silence before Helena smothered a sob and ran into her husband’s arms.

“Oh, Gabe,” Helena said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’m so very proud of you, but… whatever shall we do?”

Chapter 9

Dear Felix,

Dashed sorry I missed you before I left. I would have stayed longer had I known but my father demanded I attend some dull family affair and I can never bring myself to refuse him.

No need to give me details, old man. If you’re asking, I know there’s a good reason. Always liked Wrexham as it happens. He was very decent to me, nicer than my brothers ever were, not that it’s a difficult thing to accomplish. I know he had a reputation as a troublemaker and petticoat chaser. To be honest, though, the petticoats chased him as far I ever saw, and any trouble usually stemmed from him sticking his oar in when someone else was getting bullied or if he felt the need to even the odds, if you get my drift.

In my opinion he’s a good sort and I was never sorrier to hear what happened to him. I called on him a few times at Buxton Hall, but I was always told he wasn’t at home, which I knew wasn’t true. I was never certain if he didn’t want to see me, or if his family were keeping me out. So, I don’t know, is the truthful answer. I heard he took losing his sight hard, and it affected his mind, but I don’t put much faith in gossip. If ever I get to speak to him, I shall decide for myself.

I don’t know if this has helped or not, but I am at your service if you need me. You might remind Lady Catherine of that fact, too. I should be pleased to be counted as a friend if ever she requires one.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Peregrine Bancroft to Mr Felix Knight (Son of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

16th of February 1845, Holbrook House.

The carriage took them at breakneck speed to Carlisle, where they arrived just in the nick of time to catch the train to Newcastle. The speed and frantic nature of the journey left Emmeline with a headache, her stomach churning unpleasantly after an hour of being jostled and jolted over difficult roads. The train hardly soothed her and by the time they reached York the headache had intensified and the oddly shaped bright shapes dancing before her eyes told her it was only going to get worse. Yet she held her tongue and endured, too aware of how white and tense Wrexham was and how badly they needed to reach his home before his half-brother caught up with them.

They were forced to wait an interminable two hours at York for the next train, which at least meant Emmeline could sit still and keep quiet, closing her eyes against the sudden glare of a day that was overcast yet far too bright for her suddenly sensitive eyes. Just breathe, she told herself sternly, concentrating on each breath in and out as the pain intensified.

Finally, they were moving again, and Emmeline drew on every reserve of strength and determination to keep herself upright and not to be sick as the megrim worsened and her stomach roiled. The desire to remove her own head and set it aside might not be a reasonable one, but she longed for it all the same as the carriage rocked and jolted and the brakes screeched. At each stop, whistles blew, and excited passengers chattered and sometimes screamed with alarm, as many of them were travelling for the first time at speeds they found difficult to comprehend.

Her father's foresight in investing so heavily in progress meant Emmeline had long since become accustomed to such a mode of transport, so she was not alarmed. She could have cheerfully murdered anyone who spoke above a whisper, however, let alone squealed, screamed or made any other disturbance. By the time they reached their journey’s end at Scunthorpe, and were reduced to taking another carriage, she had reached the end of her endurance. It was almost six in the evening and the light was fading, a day which had been merely overcast becoming colder as a chill wind whipped up and the first drops of rain pattered heavily upon the flagstones where they waited.

Emmeline swallowed, trying hard to still her rebellious stomach. She sucked in a deep breath and let it go again, slowly, raising her face to the cold air and sighing with relief as the rain wet her skin.

“Lady Wrexham?”

Humboldt’s voice seemed a long way off and Emmeline struggled to focus upon it.

“Humboldt, what is it?” Wrexham demanded, his voice sharp with concern.

“My lady, are you quite…?”