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As moonlit night gave way to dawn, he’d been able to change horses without further incident, but having lost so much time, Will had dared not stop for a meal. After disposing of the bread and cheese he’d brought with him, since early morning he’d existed on a few meat pies and several tankards of ale, as his growling stomach reminded him.
Just then the official walked out. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my lord. With what can I assist you?”
“Thank you for receiving me in all my dirt,” Will replied, following him into his office. “I’ve just ridden in from London and urgently need some information. Could you tell me which ships in port are bound for Italy?”
“Certainly.” The Wentworth and the Westmoreland are bound for Genoa and Livorno, respectively, and the Pride of Sussex sailed this afternoon for Rome.”
Will felt the pang of trepidation echo through his empty stomach. “Can you tell me if Pride of Sussex carried any passengers? I have vital news to convey to someone who arrived at Portsmouth yesterday and must discover whether or not they have already sailed.”
The man nodded. “If you’ll wait, I’ll check my log.”
Too agitated to sit despite his fatigue, Will paced the office while the harbormaster pulled a volume from the bookcase beside his desk and flipped through it. “According to my notes, that vessel carried a Sir Henry Malvern, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eliza, her nurse Harris, her governess Miss Antinori, the lady’s maid Dorset, the gentleman’s valet Stanley…”
The harbormaster continued to rattle off names, but Will stopped listening. Sagging back against the wall, he closed his eyes.
She was gone. From Portsmouth. From England. He would not be able to hurry her back to London and coerce Lynton, who’d already been positioning himself to disavow the bargain Will had forced, into honoring its terms.
“Are you all right, my lord?” The official’s concerned voice penetrated his cloud of weary despair.
Will hauled himself upright. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a coin and pressed it into the harbormaster’s hand. “Thank you for your trouble, sir.”
“Happy to be of service, m’lord,” the man said, pocketing the coin. “Hope you find that gent.”
Slowly Will trudged out to retrieve his horse. Once the ton learned Allegra had left the Lynton family to take a post as a governess—news Sapphira would spread about gleefully—Lynton would contend ’twas next to impossible to reestablish her in society. Having thus recklessly cut herself off from the world he’d tried to help her enter, Lynton would doubtless feel justified in refusing to squander any more assets on someone who’d behaved in what he considered to be an over-hasty, irrational manner.
Lynton wouldn’t want Allegra back—but Will did. He could still go after her.
The idea fired through him, burning away his fatigue. He’d take the next ship for Rome and continue his search. Granted, he hadn’t much to offer her at present, but surely getting a home of her own—albeit crumbling into ruin—and the title of Lady Tavener was preferable to spending the rest of her life as a low-paid, unappreciated servant.
She’d have a place to belong—and his undying love. Maybe, once she’d cleared Rob Lynton from her heart, he might have a chance of winning it.
Electrified by the image of placing his wedding ring on Allegra’s finger and settling with her at Brookwillow for the rest of their days, he pulled up his horse. He’d go back to the harbormaster’s office, ask him on which ship he’d need to book passage.
Even before he could turn his mount, the flame of excitement guttered. Baron Penniless of Rack-and-Ruin Manor hadn’t the cash to book passage on a ship, much less to fund the rest of a potentially long and costly journey.
There could be no further pursuit. Allegra had chosen to go abroad as a governess and a governess she would remain. As he would remain alone, cut off from her by a sea of poverty and loneliness.
Through all the weary miles and hours, Will had spurred himself on by imagining Allegra claiming the brighter future he’d envisioned for her. As he let go of that dream, a weight of discouragement and fatigue heavier than a Corinthian’s multi-caped greatcoat settled over him.
Instead of following the lady he loved, he’d look for an inn, use some of the modest reserve he’d hoarded to purchase Allegra’s room and dinner to obtain those comforts for himself, then get some sleep before making his solitary way back to London.
Exhausted and heartsick, Will stopped at the first inn that looked respectable, engaged a chamber, wolfed down a bowl of the cook’s hot stew and fell into bed.
SETTING OUT the next morning, Will spent the long hours in the saddle considering what he should do next.
First, finish his note to Lucilla—or better yet, deliver an apology in person. Perhaps he’d take along Allegra’s list and solicit Lucilla’s advice about it.
The mere thought inspired a wave of revulsion. Having so clearly envisioned Allegra as his wife, he couldn’t imagine going through the travesty of paying court to another, nor did he feel capable of dredging up the charm necessary to captivate any of the ladies on that list.
Neither did the idea of resuming his previous life hold any appeal. He’d had enough of living from gaming win to gaming win, relieving the loneliness of his life by trysting with matrons eager to add his name to their list of conquests.
He craved rest and quiet and peace, a period of solitude in which to wean himself from the love he should somehow have prevented from developing in the first place.
He needed Brookwillow. Immersed in the soothing balm of its woods, river, and fields—fallow and growing up in weeds as they were—perhaps he could find himself and a new sense of purpose. He craved the company of honest folk like the Phillipses who valued him for who he was, not the arrogant Lyntons of the ton or the idle beauties who would seduce him to wound a former lover, to inspire jealousy in a potential one or simply to alleviate their boredom.
Perhaps he’d try taking Allegra’s advice and see what he could do about restoring Brookwillow without the influx of funds from a rich wife’s dowry. The Phillipses would assist him, he knew. Maybe there was a carpenter among the tenants who could work on the roof.
Will smiled. Maybe he could learn carpentry. Stone-masonry. Farm management. All useful skills that just might, over the course of years, allow him to gradually coax Brookwillow out of penury and ease it back along the road to becoming a productive estate.
A flicker of interest stirred in his despondent soul. He could observe the tenants’ cottage gardens, visit the neighboring estates and talk to their managers. Read some books on agriculture; attend the Fall Meeting at Holkham…
If he spurned Lucilla’s kindly-meant assistance, he’d never be a wealthy baron, Lord Tavener of Brookwillow, escorting his heiress wife to all the fashionable events of the London Season. But he also wouldn’t have to spend a lifetime with a lady he couldn’t love and didn’t want.
A lady who wasn’t Allegra.
As the miles passed by under the hoofs of one job horse after another, resolution became purpose and the sharp edge of his heartache eased. He would call on Lucilla, make arrangements to leave London, and be done with the ton, society and men like Lynton for good.
THE AFTERNOON AFTER his arrival back in London, Will set out to visit Lucilla. Replying this morning to the note he’d scrawled before falling into bed upon his return, she’d invited him to come by after the promenade hour in the park and remain for dinner.
He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset when he turned down her offer after scarcely giving it a try, but the more he pondered returning permanently to Brookwillow, the more right and proper the decision seemed.
He also hoped Lucilla wouldn’t question him too closely about why he suddenly had no interest in pursuing lovely women. The quiet agony smoldering in his soul at losing Allegra wasn’t something he could bear to expose, not even to Barrows or his sympathetic cousin.
To his surprise, as he entered the parlor, Domcaster rose to greet him. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” Will said, returning the earl’s handshake. “I thought you’d returned to Waverley Hall for the rest of the spring.”
“There’s a matter before Parliament that needed my attention,” his host said, waving him to a seat. “Besides which, you’ve turned out to be so indifferent an escort that Lucilla’s threatening to cajole me into remaining for the rest of the Season. Instead of shaking your hand, I ought to box your ears.”
Before Will could reply, his cousin entered in a rustle of skirts. “Will, dear, so nice of you to call—at last!” she exclaimed, offering him her cheek to kiss before joining her husband on the sofa. “What of our agreement? I excuse you for a few evenings when I was preoccupied elsewhere and you disappear!”
“You’ve every right to scold, and I do apologize. I didn’t mean to be so neglectful. But…events transpired, and then I made that long-overdue trip to Brookwillow.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “In the company of a certain young lady, I understand.”
“And her chaperone, who wished to visit a dear friend who lives in seclusion near Hemley. I thought it only courteous to offer my escort, since I was going in that direction anyway.”
