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Chapter Nine
The carriage drewto a halt outside Pengarron. Ross climbed out, then offered his hand to Miss Claybone. She took it with a smile and let him help her out.
Though Ross had missed his wife tonight, Miss Claybone had proved to be a surprisingly good dance partner. Intelligent, and in possession of a sharp wit, she was the sort of woman who only spoke when she had actually something tosay, instead of most ladies who felt the need to fill any silence with inane chatter. It was clear to see why she detested polite society and all its artifice, and why she preferred to avoid single men who viewed a single woman as a means to an end—namely a fat dowry. She was unlikely to find her perfect partner at a society party where she’d be hunted for her fortune, rather than valued for herself.
He glanced up at the drawing room window, but no light shone from within. Alice must have retired already. He smiled at the prospect of curling up against her warm body, ripe and round with his child.
With Miss Claybone on his arm, he approached the door. It opened to reveal the housekeeper, her eyes bright with distress.
“Whatever’s the matter?” he asked.
“It’s the mistress!” she cried.
Alice…
Icy fingers clenched round his stomach.
“What’s happened?” he asked. “Has she been taken ill?”
“No, Mr. Trelawney, sir, she’s gone!”
“Gone where?” Miss Claybone asked.
At that moment, hurried footsteps approached and the cook appeared, together with the head groom.
“Oh, thank the lord!” she cried. “Mistress Alice has gone to Boscarne House!”
“What the devil for?” Ross demanded.
“She was chasing after Miss Amelia’s dog,” the cook said. She gestured toward the groom. “Jacob and I tried to stop her, but you know how determined she is. She told us to remain here in case the little mite came back.”
“And you listened to her?”
“She’s gone out for walks before, sir,” the housekeeper said.
“Not in the middle of the bloody night!”
“She said she’d be back within the hour,” Mrs. Bascomb said. “I saw no harm in it.”
“When was this?”
The cook colored and looked down. “About an hour after you left, sir.”
“But that was almost three hours ago!” Ross cried.
The second carriage drew up beside the first, and Westbury and Stiles climbed out, together with their wives.
“Anything the matter, Trelawney?” Stiles asked. “You look upset.”
“It’s Alice,” Ross said. “She’s taken it upon herself to go traipsing about the moors by herself. And these bloody fools…” He gestured toward the three servants, “…saw fit to let her go.”
“She told us to stay…” Jacob began.
“I don’t bloody care what she said!” Ross roared. “I ought to dismiss the lot of you for this—I trusted you to take care of her!”
“Sorry, sir…”
“Don’t apologize,” he growled. “Fetch me a lantern. I’ll go and look for her myself.”
