Page 43 of Much Ado about a Widow

See. He could depend upon it. Brack would know what the chit was up to. The marquess scowled as he continued reading.

I have learned from my friend, Lord St. Just, that my sister was kidnapped on her way to Blackham Castle and taken to Portsmouth.

The marquess’s eyebrows shot up. Kidnapped? What a bag of moonshine. Brack was as noddy-headed as they came if he thought his sister had been kidnapped. Oh, no. She’d gone and run off with a man other than the one she was supposed to wed, just like before. Well, she’d better hope her nest was better feathered this time than last, because he would wash his hands of her completely. He glanced back at the letter, disgust pulling his mouth askew.

She managed, by great good luck, to escape her captors and ran into Lord St. Just. In order to keep her safe from her abductors, he is taking her to Cornwall, to his primary estate where she will be under his protection and the chaperonage of his mother, Lady St. Just.

“Cornwall!” Lord Blackham tossed the letter onto the table and leaned back in his chair. Of all the idiotic things to have happen. How did Georgina manage to get herself constantly embroiled in such bizarre doings? Of course, she could simply be eloping with St. Just, but why go all the way to Cornwall? The girl was of age and a widow to boot. Any clergyman could have performed the nuptials in Portsmouth, although her contract to wed Travers might have been deemed an impediment. Still, could there be some truth in Brack’s statement?

But then who would want to kidnap his daughter? Did they believe he would pay to ransom her? Hah. More fools they. Travers might be so foolish, or Brack, but not him. He grabbed the letter up again.

I will leave this instant, with Elizabeth, for Portsmouth. St. Just suggests a sea voyage will be more expeditious than an overland journey, so we will secure passage as quickly as may be and follow them to Cornwall. Once there I shall take charge of Georgie, procure a conveyance, and bring her swiftly back to Blackham.

Inform Lord Travers of this matter at your discretion. However, I fear when he learns of this turn of events he may wish to withdraw from his suit—which may in the end be a blessing.

I will write you as soon as my sister is secure.

Yr ob’t son,

Brack

Lord Blackham tossed the letter down again, scowling. Brack didn’t deceive him for a moment. Having gained some favor with him, his heir had tried to persuade him to call off the arrangement with Lord Travers for Georgina, citing her dislike of the gentleman and her desire to marry for love. Pah. Blackham narrowed his eyes to mere slits. Love matches were the absolute bane of Polite Society these days.

Marriages in the upper classes had always been, heretofore, affairs of business contracted by the sensible parents of the couple to best benefit the families involved. A business transaction, no more, no less. If affection ensued—as with his second marriage—then that could be considered a boon. He stared at the small polished quartz statue of an owl that always sat on his desk and sighed. His late wife, Louisa, had given it to him during their first year of marriage. Athena’s owl she called it, to remind him of the value of wisdom. Quite a remarkable woman.

Shaking off the chill that had unaccountably settled on him like a cloak, Blackham pulled a sheet of stationery toward him. With short, precise strokes he mended the pen, then dipped it in the silver standish. Brack was a simpleton if he thought his father didn’t see what had actually happened. Georgina had taken Travers in dislike and had persuaded her gullible brother to aid her in her scheme to be rid of her betrothed. They had concocted this ploy with Brack’s friend in order to take the girl out of her father’s reach and hopefully thwart the marriage.

If true, then they had seriously misplayed their hand. Once the deal with the duke’s son had fallen through, Travers had held claim to Georgie, before her marriage to that thieving Kirkpatrick. As a man of his word, Blackham would see to it that justice was served, with a vengeance. He had promised Georgina to Lord Travers, by God, and he would deliver her to him.

Putting his pen to the paper, he swiftly but exactly framed a letter to the steward at his estate in Somerset.

Buckley,

Events have transpired to thwart me in my purpose. To which I instruct you to raise a group of men—tenants, footmen, grooms, day laborers—to ride to Cornwall, to the estate of the Marquess of St. Just with the express purpose of securing my daughter, Lady Georgina, who was taken there against her will, and my wishes, by ruffians. Any men who agree to assist me will be handsomely compensated. This is a grave and secret matter that I trust to your discretion. Furthermore, no one is to know about this journey, including my son, Lord Brack.

Blackham signed the letter, sanded it, and sent for a running footman. When the man arrived, he stood before Blackham, eyes trained straight ahead. A good man to have on your side. Well-trained. Blackham insisted on that in his servants. “George, you will take the fastest horse in my stable, Dobson will tell you which one, and you will ride as swiftly as the animal will take you. You are going all the way to Somerset to deliver this letter directly into the hands of my steward, Mr. Buckley. When you are sufficiently recovered, return home.” He stared hard into George’s eyes, while the footman still stared straight ahead, until at last the man blinked. “Do not fail me, George.” He held out the letter until the servant took it. “Do not fail!”

George’s eyes widened, but he straightened his shoulders and grasped the missive. “I will not, milord.”

Blackham waved him away and pulled out the next letter from his pile. If Georgina was a willing participant in this debacle, he would drag her from Cornwall to Blackham Castle where he would lock her in her room and literally throw the key away.

Chapter Fourteen

The sun shone brilliantly on the craggy coast of St. Just as the Justine sailed into a small inlet early on the morning of their fourth day at sea. Georgie stood on deck, Lulu clasped securely under one arm, dazzled by the bright light shimmering off the waves of the blue water. After the extremely rocky start to the voyage, yesterday had been calm sailing indeed. She and the marquess had enjoyed each other’s company on deck and again at dinner, making Georgie almost wish the journey would never end. That, sadly, was not to be.

They seemed to be making for a sheltered part of the cove where she could just make out a landing at the foot of towering rock cliffs. At the top of the cliff to her left, massive rock structures jutted out of the ground, soaring straight into the sky. On the other side sat a massive, gray stone castle that looked to be carved out of the cliff itself.

“Castle St. Just, my lady.”

Rob’s voice in her ear made her jump and Lulu bark.

“Do not tell me you brought me all this way just to frighten me to death before I can see it properly, my lord.” She cut her eyes toward him, trying to look severe, but laughing instead. She’d laughed quite a lot with Rob in the past couple of days.

“Never.” He stared up at his home. “It is rather impressive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you trying to impress me?”

“Perhaps.”