The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

Christian opened the carriage door and vaulted down to the ground. “Move the cart out of the way else I’ll smash the blasted thing to pieces.” In anger, he kicked the apples strewn across his path, much to the horrified gasps of the passersby.

The grey-haired man doffed his shabby hat. “I can’t, my lord. The wheel’s come off, and it won’t budge.”

Stanton marched around the carriage. He took one look at the mess on the road. “Jackson, climb down and help us with this damn thing.”

The coachman obliged. Between them, they carried the cart and set it down on the pavement. Stanton jerked his head to Jackson who happened to understand the silent nod and so removed a few coins from his coat pocket and thrust them into the old man’s hand.

“Much obliged to you, my lord.” The man beamed and flashed them a mouth full of rotten teeth. “And may the Lord bless you all this fine day.”

They climbed into the carriage, relieved to hear Jackson crack the reins and to feel the violent rumble of the wheels as the conveyance picked up speed.

Christian whipped his watch from his pocket. “Rose has been alone with Taylor for almost twenty minutes.” He stared at the delicate gold hands, convinced they were moving faster than usual. Why hadn’t they called for him sooner?

“Taylor? You’re sure the doctor is the one responsible for sending the note?” Stanton raised a dubious brow. “The man is so considerate, so generous to his patients.”

“What other explanation is there?” Deep down, Christian had always known something wasn’t right. He blamed himself. They’d had him chasing his tail for nigh on two years. But then who would suspect a reverend of adultery? Who would suspect a doctor of murder? “Taylor’s not what he professes to be, of that I’m certain.”

A heavy silence filled the small space. Jackson’s impatient cries to those who happened to get in their way conveyed the sense of desperation hanging in the air.

“We’re nearly there.” Lady Stanton kept her nose pressed to the window, only moving to rub away the patch of mist that appeared every few seconds. “Did Jackson not say it was the next road after Paradise Row?”

“The entrance to the garden is on Swan Walk,” Stanton replied.

Christian closed his eyes briefly. “I still can’t believe you let her go alone. What the hell were you thinking?” Images of Rose lying face up in the shrubbery flooded his vision.

“What else could I do? She’s not the timid woman she was before my father locked her in the manor. And I couldn’t take the risk of her sneaking off without my knowledge.”

Lady Stanton dragged her gaze from the window and gave her husband a reassuring smile. “Rose is determined to solve Lord Farleigh’s problems. Yes, I’m worried, but I can’t help but admire her tenacity.”

The lady’s thoughts mirrored his own. Rose risked her life to bring him peace. And by God, he would worship her with every breath in his body until the end of his days.

“We’re here,” Lady Stanton cried, opening the door before the carriage rumbled to a stop.

“Wait!” Stanton grabbed his wife’s arm. “Just because you’re wearing breeches doesn’t mean you can leap out of a moving carriage.”

With a huff of impatience, Lady Stanton waited, though the last few rolls of the wheels seemed to take forever. As soon as their feet touched the pavement, they made a dash for the Physic Garden.

Christian reached the iron gate first only to find it locked. “The garden’s closed today. Are you certain we’re at the right place?” He rattled the metal bars and peered through the gaps at the deserted path. Panic surfaced.

“Here, let me try.” Stanton stepped forward and fiddled with the handle. He put his hands on his hips and frowned. “So how did Rose get inside?”

Christian glanced down the length of Swan Walk. Other than a boy lingering near an oak tree and a woman pushing a perambulator, there wasn’t another person on the road. “You’re certain the note said Chelsea? Are there other botanic—”

“This is the right place,” Stanton interjected.

“When you’ve finished debating will one of you give me some assistance?” Lady Stanton stood before the wall,

the toe of one boot wedged into a gap between the brickwork, her fingers lodged into another gap higher up. “Hurry, before someone sees us and goes looking for a constable.”

“Good God, woman, are you planning to scale the wall?” Stanton strode over to his wife. “When we return home, remind me to hide all the spare pairs of breeches.”

The lady sighed. “Take hold of my foot and push me up.”

With no time to argue, Stanton gave his wife a boost, and she hauled herself over the wall.

A few moans and groans accompanied a dull thud. “I’m over, but I may have killed a plant in the process.”

“Don’t move until we join you.” Stanton turned to Christian. “She’s liable to go tearing off looking for Rose.”