“If you were to set out for Shropshire, it wouldn’t stir a breath of scandal if Olivia goes with you. I could tell my mother that Lucy was taken ill and you asked her to accompany you to the country with the two children. That will explain her absence as well as that of Prescott. The ton won’t think twice about accepting the story—it’s known that the two of you are friends from the Royal Historical Society.”
“So far, so good,” said Olivia. “Go on.”
“Lady Silliman will order her coachman to drive neck and leather—four horses should outpace Lord Wrexham’s cabriolet,” explained Anna. “Then, when you catch up with him, Olivia can transfer to his vehicle with no one in London being the wiser.”
Cecilia blinked. “My goodness, you have quite a knack for plotting! I vow, that’s nearly as good as one of Sir Sharpe Quill’s novels.”
“Yes, well, my sister is quite well acquainted with such tales.” Olivia quirked a tiny smile before once again turning deadly serious. “She’s right—it will work. And it makes sense that you return to Shropshire, where Wrexham’s former soldiers can keep a close eye on you and Lucy. It will also help ensure that the public does not learn that Prescott has gone missing. Once we have him back,” she added resolutely, “the earl can decide how to deal with the matter.”
“I—” Cecilia hesitated, but only for a moment. “I think what you have suggested is a thumping good plan—but again I must ask you, are you sure you wish to take such a hellish risk?”
“Have your coachman ready the horses as quickly as possible. Then fetch Lucy,” answered Olivia. “A hamper of provisions would be wise as well. And perhaps a valise of extra clothing for the earl. I shall need to borrow some garments as well, along with a traveling cloak. Wrexham and I will want to travel fast.”
As Cecilia hurried away to make the arrangements, she turned to her sister. “Let us hope you are as convincing a storyteller with Mama.”
“Leave it to me,” assured Anna.
“One last thing,” said Olivia. “If you put this in your novel, I shall throttle you.”
The road twisted sharply and then dropped into a steep incline, forcing John to rein in his impatience and slow his lathered team to a more moderate speed.
Perseverance, he counseled himself grimly. I must remain coldly calm and calculating. Sliding into a ditch or breaking an axle would end any chance of catching up to the men who had Prescott in their clutches.
He was halfway down the hill when the sound of pounding hooves coming up behind him wrenched an oath from his lips.
“The damn devil is driving like a banshee! If he’s not careful, he’ll get us both killed.” He ventured a look over his shoulder. It was a coach and four, coming on at a reckless pace.
John swore again, then was forced to turn his attention back to his own team. Few men were skilled enough to attempt such speed on this stretch of the road…
He darted another quick glance to the rear, confirming his sudden suspicion.
As the road flattened, he drew over, allowing his sister’s coachman to rumble by him before drawing the larger vehicle to a skidding stop.
Scottie. His heart lurched against his ribs, and for a long moment John couldn’t bring himself to breathe.
The coach door flew open and a cloaked figure scrambled down the iron rungs.
“Cecilia!” he called. “In God’s name, what…”
It wasn’t his sister, he realized, and yet the hooded garment was one he recognized as hers. Shading his eyes, he stared in mute consternation, wondering whether worry for his son was addling his wits.
“John!”
That was unmistakably his sister’s voice, and sure enough, an instant later her face appeared in the open doorway. Important news…change of plans…hurry—gesturing wildly, she shouted out a jumbled explanation that was half-lost in the gusting wind.
As Cecilia tried to make herself heard, the cloaked figure hoisted a valise and hamper up to the storage nook beneath his front seat.
“What in the name of Hades…” The sound of feet climbing over the running boards caused him to wrench his gaze from the coach to his own cabriolet. “You!” he exclaimed as the hood slipped back, revealing a pair of molten jade green eyes.
“Yes, me,” said Olivia. “I shall
explain everything, but first let us turn around. We need to go back several miles and take the road for Exeter.”
“We are not going anywhere, Miss Sloane.”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, “we are.” Taking a sheet of paper and a felt bag from inside the cloak, she held them under his nose. “I’ve learned where the dastards are likely taking Prescott, sir. Here’s a map. And I’ve some special instruments that may give you an advantage in planning a strategy for stopping them.”
“Thank you,” snapped John a little roughly, his anger with her still painfully raw. “You may hand them over and be gone.”