AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I will. Meet me at Lady Charlotte's later and we shall plan what to do next. Now, use your vast experience to good advantage and creep back out of here undetected."
He gave her fingers another hard squeeze before releasing them, then stood, hesitating as if he wished to say something more.
In the end, with a "God be with you," he limped out.
Over the next few hours as the new day brightened, having given up the fruitless effort to sleep, Jenna dressed and discussed strategy with Sancha. By morning, they'd decided to modify the plan.
They would leave together, but not with a bandbox- an irregular item that would surely be noticed and cause speculation among the staff. Having agreed that, not knowing the extent of the conspiracy, it would not be wise to trust the grooms or any of the staff, they would announce they wished to take a morning walk.
Once safely away from the house, they would hail a hackney to convey Jenna to Lady Charlotte's house. Sancha would return to Fairchild House with a tale of having met Lady Charlotte in the park, after which her mistress had been invited back to breakfast. During the meal, while discussing her imminent departure to spend the holidays at her country house, Lady Charlotte had begged Jenna to accompany her, and at length, her mistress agreed. Sancha was to pack her trunks and return with them.
Though Jenna was pleased with the plan, the wait for full morning light seemed endless, both she and Sancha starting at every small noise. Her nerves were worn raw when at last, they descended the stairs, her back prickling with a sense of threat as they walked away from the house.
They halted a block away, Jenna's breath as shallow as if she'd run every step. ' Madre de Diosf"
Sancha said with a triumphant chuckle. "Mistress, we have done it!"
A few moments later, she helped hand Jenna into a hackney. "Come quickly, Sancha," Jenna murmured, giving the maid a hug. "I will not rest easy until you too are safely out of Fairchild House."
"Nay, my lady, the plan is sound, nor am I in danger. I will pack quickly and join you soon."
Jenna nodded and, after giving the driver her direction, settled back against the squabs, her mind moving forward to the next challenge.
How could they prove Lane Fairchild's part in this?
After reviewing all her dealings with him since arriving in London, she had to admit it still seemed incredible.
His concern for her welfare, unless he was the most skilled actor she'd ever met, appeared genuine.
That Lucinda Blaine had bribed the groom to change horses, on Lane's recommendation, was the only fact definitely linking him to the events-assuming they could trust Lucinda's word.
Frankston's belief that he intended to dispose of his cousin was unproven speculation, though a speculation that made the shot fired at her and the groom's fatal accident fit into some logical order.
Though free for the moment from menace, a shiver traveled down her spine. Had Lane truly designed this elaborate scheme? Was he capable of murder? Or might someone else be responsible?
She was still mulling over that disturbing question when it suddenly occurred to her that by now, she should have reached Lady Charlotte's. Had the driver not understood her directions?
She banged on the forward wall. When the vehicle did not slow, she banged again, then reached over to put up the window shade, latched to keep out the morning chill, so she might determine their location.
Only to find the curtain nailed into place.
For a shocked second she sat immobile. Then, dread gathering in the pit of her stomach, she seized the door handle.
She wasn't surprised to discover that it, too, was bolted shut.
*CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE*
Panic swept through her, swiftly succeeded by a rage that tempered her fear. After a few moments speculating about how their plan had gone awry, she set her mind to determining what she would do when the carriage arrived at whatever destination to which she was being taken.
Her abduction could, she decided, be an advantage, for whoever had arranged it was likely responsible for all the rest. If she were lucky enough to be able to face the perpetrator, rather than being held or dispatched by hirelings, she would discover the true face of her enemy.
It must be either Bayard or Lane. Having caused her pain and cost her Garrett's child, Lucinda Blaine would have little to gain by killing her. Indeed, she would probably prefer Jenna alive, her grief-stricken presence among the ton a constant reminder of Lucinda's cleverness in punishing the woman she held responsible for "stealing" the man she claimed to have loved.
Bayard or Lane? The new viscount would appear to have had the most to gain. She'd not searched to discover whether the tray Frankston had carried that night held something more lethal than food. Both Bayard and his valet were odd enough that she had no real grasp of how vile a crime they might be capable of committing.
Setting her mouth in a determined line, she patted the pistol in her reticule and adjusted the knife in her half-boot. Whomever-Bayard or Frankston or Lane-she encountered once freed from this prison would find her much more difficult to eliminate than her unborn child.
Despite her perilous position, with a soldier's appreciation for resting when he could before the battle to come, she dozed. So when the vehicle finally halted, she was not perfectly sure how long they'd traveled.
She could make a break immediately when the door was opened. But she had only one shot in the pistol and her knife would not prove adequate against a crowd of brigands. Better to wait, assess the odds against her, and pray she found another chance.
And to improve that possibility, better to appear the terrified, trembling female they were no doubt expecting.
So when the door was opened, she shrank back. "What is the meaning of this outrage? Where are we?"
"Get out with ye now, so's I kin get back to Lunnon," the driver replied, motioning to her.
"You will return me immediately," she said, ending on a frightened squeak that belied that demand.
"Nay, the gent only paid me to transport ye here. Out, or I'll have to pull ye out."
"Don't you dare touch me," she said, clutching her reticule and feeling for the grip of her pistol.
Avoiding the man's hand, she swung down, scanning the scene outside.
They had stopped before a well-kept country manor bordered by a small wood that obscured the drive as it stretched away from the house. Allowing an occupant to hear approaching vehicles before those within it could observe him.
In addition to the hackney driver, two burly men approached from the house, their mounts tethered nearby. Even if she made a dash for the box and tried to drive away, on horseback they would swiftly overtake the carriage.
No, for the moment she must acquiesce. "Who are you?" she asked. "You-you had better do me no harm or my cousin, Viscount Fairchild, will see you hang!"
One of the men laughed. "Feisty little filly, ain't she?" he asked the other as he paced closer.
She backed away with a strangled sob. "P-please, I beg you, do not h-hurt me!"
"No need to turn on the waterworks," he said, stepping by her to pay the driver, who quickly remounted the box and set his team in motion. "Ye'll be safe here. Fact is, yer cousin hired us to protect ye. 'Twas why he had you removed from London, he said."
"Why did my cousin say nothing to me of this?"
"Didn't want to frighten you, I suppose. Come in, now. Inside there's food and a woman to wait on ye."
"When will I see my cousin?"
"I expect he'll be along directly," the man replied.
Which cousin? Jenna wondered as she followed him. Had she been sent here in someone's misguided attempt at protection-or so she might fall victim to a conveniently fatal accident, far from the interested gaze of the ton?
Far from the friends who might help her. Like Nelthorpe, she thought despairingly, whom she had forced from her side.
For a moment, panic seized her, but once again she called on anger to loosen its grip.
It appeared she would not be bound or molested. She would have time before her cousin-whichever cousin- arrived to assess her surroundings, the number and intent of her captors. And to prepare for the confrontation to come.
About midafternoon, as near as she could tell by the position of the sun outside the room to which they conveyed her, a knock sounded at the door. A moment later, Lane Fairchild strode in.
"Jenna, you are safe," he cried, advancing toward her. "And not too frightened, I hope. I apologize for removing you so...abruptly from London, but given the doubts you'd expressed about Bayard, I dared not let you remain. Should he have learned of your suspicions, I fear he might have made another attempt to do away with you."
"So the accident was his doing! How can you be sure?"
'"Tis true, I'm afraid. I've just returned from tracking down the groom I'd dismissed. Under threat of the magistrate, he confessed that Bayard paid him to change you to a horse he felt certain would unseat you."
Except, Nelthorpe had told her, the man had been dead for more than two weeks.
A coldness settled in her bones. Liar, liar, she thought contemptuously. Just what other lies will you spin to try to tangle me in your web?
"But that's dreadful! What are we to do?"
He stepped closer and took her hands. It required every ounce of her soldier's discipline not to snatch them away when he raised them for a fervent kiss.
"I know 'tis still so soon, but will you not grant me the privilege of protecting you forever? With us wed, I would be much better able to safeguard you. Together we could work to insure Bayard was held accountable for his dastardly acts, perhaps even force him to quietly renounce the title and live in exile where he could no longer threaten you."
