“I thought you’d want to leave right away, my lord.”
“When did you receive the note from Mr Joseph?”
“Minutes before I sent it up with Pierre. Hungerford is on the move. Seems the gentleman asked for the post-chaise to be ready to depart at three o’clock instead of six. Mr Joseph said he dropped his luggage there earlier.”
Vane dragged his watch from his pocket. “It’s almost two. Get me to Whitecombe Street as quickly as possible.”
“Aye, my lord. The Devil himself won’t stop me when I’m in a mind to hurry.”
Vane climbed into his conveyance. As soon as the footman closed the door, the vehicle jerked forward. Wickett’s cries to the team of four rent the air. The tension mounted.
What was Hungerford about?
Was it a case of him growing frustrated by the competition and so he’d decided to leave? Or would Vane arrive at Whitecombe Street to find Estelle clutching her valise?
He pressed his fingers to his closed lids to relieve the pressure.
Would there ever be a day when life was simple?
Would he ever wake in the morning with a clear mind?
The carriage raced at breakneck speed, jolting, swerving around corners. Vane sat forward and clung to the leather strap overhead to steady his balance as he watched for the familiar buildings of Whitecombe Street. Wickett’s curses reached Vane’s ears as the coachman weaved around handcarts and dodged crossing sweepers.
The vehicle creaked to a halt opposite the apothecary shop. Vane composed himself. After all, the stories he had concocted in his head were just that — figments of his wild imagination. Until he spoke to Estelle, he knew nothing of her true intentions.
He strode up to Mr Erstwhile’s door and pasted a smile. Good God, his heart was beating so hard against his ribs he feared the organ might burst from his chest.
The bell tinkled as he entered. Mr Erstwhile stood behind the counter grinding a sweet-smelling herb with a mortar and pestle. With a steady hand, Mrs Erstwhile decanted liquid into a blue bottle. They both looked up to greet their customer.
“Good afternoon, my lord.” Mr Erstwhile smiled. “I hoped we might see you today.”
Why? Did he plan on putting Vane out of his misery once and for all?
“I did say I would return to see Miss Brown.” Noting the lady’s absence in the shop, he added, “I trust she is well.”
“Indeed, she is.”
“It was just a little chill,” Mrs Erstwhile said. “Nothing that a day in bed couldn’t cure.”
They stared at him for a moment as if waiting for him to speak.
Mr Erstwhile wiped his hands on the brown apron tied around his waist. “Would you care to come through to the parlour and take tea, my lord?”
Vane’s racing heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Will Miss Brown be joining us?” Or was this the part where he discovered she had already left.
“As you know I am a man of truth, my lord. It pains me to call the lady Miss Brown when we both know that is not her name.”
So, he knew everything.
“Miss Darcy told you about our history?”
“The lady has been through so much. We all need someone in whom we can confide, someone impartial.” Mr Erstwhile gestured to the hall. “Come. Let us sit for a while and wait for Miss Darcy to return.”
Vane’s heart sank to his stomach. “You mean to tell me the lady is not here?”
Panic gripped him by the throat. She promised she would inform him should she be inclined to run again.
Mr Erstwhile must have sensed his despair for he gave a reassuring smile. “She has not left on the mail coach if that is what you fear. No, she has gone out with Mr Hungerford for an hour, merely to decline his offer of marriage. After all, a lady cannot marry a man when she is in love with someone else.”