She shook her head. “I cannot see Sybil traipsing along the road any distance. She likely would have waited here in the carriage for the servants to handle the problem.”
“If so, she would have been caught in the storm…” Marcus glanced around, searching the countryside. “There.” Beyond a grassy field stood the ruins of an old hay barn with the roof half missing. “They might have taken shelter in that abandoned barn.”
Arabella sent him an admiring glance as he retrieved his pistols from the coach, knowing she never would have thought to look in a wayside barn for the elopers. Nor
had she thought to come armed. She was indeed very grateful to have Marcus along.
He handed one pistol to her coachman and carried the other himself as he took Arabella’s arm to help her negotiate the uneven, slippery ground. With the grooms following, he led the way across the field toward the crumbling barn.
They were still some dozen yards away when Arabella heard voices raised in argument. A surge of relief washed through her as she recognized Sybil’s plaintive utterances. Gesturing for her coachman and grooms to wait, Arabella glanced up at Marcus. “Let me speak to her first, please?”
“Very well,” he agreed, although he remained close behind her and kept his pistol at the ready.
She quickened her pace but came to a halt when she reached the large barn door that hung drunkenly on its hinges.
In the gloomy interior, she could see Onslow pacing the floor impatiently. Sybil was nowhere in sight, but her shrill voice floated over the edge of the loft above, declaring both her presence and her unhappiness as she carried on about what a cruel man Mr. Onslow was.
Onslow gave a visible start when he spied Arabella, but to her surprise, an unmistakable look of relief swept over his face. He came up short, however, when he saw Marcus standing directly behind her, holding a pistol.
His face paled, but then he squared his shoulders and strode determinedly forward. “Miss Loring,” he said fervently, “you cannot know how grateful I am to see you.”
At his greeting, Sybil’s tirade stopped abruptly; a heartbeat later, she peered over the loft’s edge, searching the gray gloom below. “Oh, Miss Loring! Thank heavens you have come to rescue me. That villain abducted me!”
Onslow shot a scathing glance upward at the girl. “Abducted you! I did no such thing.”
“You refused to take me home when I asked you to! What is that if not abduction?”
“I refused because we were in the middle of a thunderstorm, you demmed little twit!”
Her face contorting with fury, Sybil rose to her knees and planted her hands on her hips. “There is no need to curse me, you…fiend! If you were not such a nip-cheese, you would have hired a coach with better wheels. And decent springs! I vow I am black and blue from being tossed about all day yesterday.”
“The coach I hired was perfectly adequate. It was only ill-luck that the wheel broke. And you cannot blame me for your stubbornness. You could have been warm and dry at an inn, but no, you refused to dirty your slippers to walk to the next village.”
“Of course I refused!” Sybil screeched. “I didn’t wish to be seen in public in such a bedraggled state.”
She did indeed look bedraggled, Arabella thought. Her raven hair was disheveled and littered with hay, as was her pelisse. And no doubt she was cold and hungry.
Before Arabella could speak, though, Sybil went on ranting at Onslow. “Nor did I wish to spend the night alone with you without even my maid to act as chaperone! But no, you insisted upon leaving Martha at that posting inn twenty miles back because you were too closefisted to spend a few more shillings to put her up for the night.”
“It was your idea to dismiss your maid and send her home! And the storm was hardly my fault.”
Onslow glanced apologetically at Arabella. “We did not intend to spend the night here, Miss Loring. My coachman was supposed to return last night with a new wheel, but then the gale struck, so we were forced to take shelter here.”
“It was still inexcusable of you to treat me so abominably!” the girl sputtered. “You made me sleep in a barn!”
Arabella quelled a smile. Sybil’s indignation might have been amusing if the situation were not so serious, but at least the girl was regretting her rash action in eloping with Onslow, since he apparently couldn’t afford to keep her in her accustomed luxury.
Summoning a stern expression, Arabella moved farther into the barn. “Sybil, pray quit shouting and come down here.”
“I will once that villain leaves.”
Onslow raised his gaze to the crumbling roof, as if pleading to Heaven for deliverance. “Thank God you are here, Miss Loring. You can take that vixen off my hands.”
“Yes, thank God, Miss Loring,” Sybil seconded. “I was a fool to ever think I wanted to wed Mr. Onslow. He deceived me so dreadfully. I am quite convinced now that he was only after my fortune all along.”
At that superfluous assertion, Arabella stifled the urge to utter a sardonic reply and merely repeated her command. “Sybil, come down this instant.”
The girl disappeared for a moment, then eased over the loft edge to descend the rickety ladder, a maneuver which was made more difficult since she had a bandbox with her and refused to drop it.