Knave's Wager

“It doesn’t matter. Where’s Ezra?”

“You gave him the night off, my lord.”

“Damn.” The marquess briefly considered taking his horse, but quickly discarded that idea. The closed carriage was best. More discreet.

“Cover the crest,” he told Sims. “And I’m sorry to offend your dignity, but you must serve as coachman this night.”

When they reached the Jerseys, Lord Brandon remained within the vehicle and sent Sims round to the servants’ entrance with a few gold coins and a message.

A quarter hour later, Mrs. Davenant was hurrying out the door and up the carriage steps.

She stopped short when she saw who was within.

Quickly he yanked her inside, and the carriage rumbled into motion.

“You—you—”

He put his hand over her mouth. “It’s not a trick, and I’m not abducting you. Your niece is in trouble.” Then he took his hand away and gave her Robert’s note.

“What is this?” she cried. “How am I to read it in the dark?”

“I’ll tell you what it says, but you may read it later if you don’t believe me. They’ve eloped—my blasted fool of a cousin and your niece. That’s why you were strongly advised to come alone. How did you keep your loyal fiancé from following, by the way?”

“He was talking with the Prince of Orange. I only repeated the message: that Cecily had taken a bad turn and Emma had sent Mary in a carriage for me. He offered to come, but I could not see what use he would be.”

“Quite right. Men are useless when it comes to illness. I shall take you home, so that we can make certain Miss Glenwood is gone, and then—”

“She can’t be,” Lilith insisted. “I can’t believe Cecily would do such a thing.”

“Judging by Robert’s purple prose, they consider themselves in desperate case.”

She stared blindly at him a moment “Oh, no,” she said faintly, dropping back against the thick squabs. “It’s my fault. I had no idea there was any—any serious feeling between them. I warned her repeatedly against him—but it was only to prevent her discouraging her other suitors. Oh, she couldn’t have run away with him. She couldn’t have misunderstood me so. I’m sure I never expressed any dislike of him.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he said while inwardly cursing his cousin and Miss Glenwood. Desperate or no, couldn’t they have considered how this woman would suffer?

“Still, I lectured. Too much, I see now. To think how the poor child must have wanted to confide the true state of her feelings—and didn’t dare. She must have suffered terribly, or she would never, never do such a shocking thing.”

Lord Brandon decided to keep his own counsel on the subject of Cecily’s sufferings. His cousin, he was convinced, had neither the forethought nor the intelligence to plan an elopement. This had obviously been planned. Had he known sooner about Miss Glenwood’s “illness,” the marquess would have smelled a rat. Cecily Glenwood was the type of girl who never took ill. Left naked in a monsoon, she’d come away without so much as a sniffle. Furthermore, unless he was very much mistaken in her character, Miss Glenwood had planned everything, down to the last detail.

Except perhaps the note. The girl would not have been so careless as to leave clues. The note must have been Robert’s own fevered piece of work. Quite the correspondent that boy was.

Miss Glenwood, as the marquess had predicted, was not in her room, or anywhere in the house.

All that turned up after a frantic search was one crumpled note—again Lord Robert’s. Emma found it by the wardrobe door, where Cecily must have accidentally dropped it.

Lilith read it, then handed it to Lord Brandon.

His lip curled as he glanced over it. “It only confirms the obvious. They’ve been planning this some time,” he said, thrusting the note into his pocket. “I’d better be off. They’ve nearly two hours’ start by now, and a speedier vehicle. Still, I have no doubt Sims will make up the time. With any luck, I’ll have them back before morning.”

“We shall have them back,” Lilith corrected. “You can’t believe I’d stay behind. My niece will need me.”

He paused at the doorway and turned around.

Lilith had been too overwrought to spare him more than a glance. Now, she was taken aback by the grim set of his countenance and the deep shadows round his eyes. He looked ill—as he had when she’d first met him. Or more ill, perhaps. His face was thinner, older, and his green eyes were dull with fatigue.

“You can’t come,” he said. “You’ll be jolted to pieces for hours on end. Besides, there’s always the chance I won’t be in luck, and you must be here to keep off the scandalmongers.”

Lilith turned to Emma. “You’ll see to that, won’t you?”

The plump lady nodded. “Certainly. I’ve only to mention the ailment is contagious, and everyone will keep away.” She threw Lilith a reassuring smile. “I’ll see to everything here. Naturally, you must go. If nothing else, Cecily must come back chaperoned.”

As she spoke, Emma was opening drawers. “I’ll put together a few things for Cecily—and you must take some necessaries yourself. You don’t know how long you’ll be upon the road.”

The marquess glanced from one woman to the other. “I’ll wait downstairs,” he said.

Chapter Seventeen

They sat in opposite coiners of the coach, staring out the windows. Not until they were well out of London did Lord Brandon break the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s hardly your fault,” Lilith made herself answer. “If anyone’s to blame in this, it’s I—”

“That’s not what I meant. Or at least, it’s not all. My aunt—Robert’s mother—has no high opinion of the men in our family. A lot of contemptible rogues, she thinks us. Some weeks ago she told me... well, it doesn’t matter— but I do wish it hadn’t been my own cousin, of all men, to bring you such trouble. You’ve been injured enough. By God, Lilith, I’m sorry.”

Her throat ached. She waited until she could control her voice then said, “They will have to stop to change horses. Cecily will not let him abuse your cattle. I shall pray the ostlers are very slow.”

“Lilith.”

“She packed very little. Perhaps they’ll have to stop to purchase—”

“Lilith, please. I’m not asking you to forgive me—but there’s something you must know.”

She returned her gaze to the window. “We shall likely be journeying together many hours, my lord. You had meant to travel alone. Perhaps it would be best to behave as though you were doing so.”

There was a moment’s heavy silence in the dark carriage.

Then he said wearily, “Yes, perhaps, as always, I am.”

Though the carriage stopped frequently so that Lord Brandon could make enquiries, he had by sunrise still no word of Cecily and Robert.

“I don’t understand it,” the marquess said as he climb

ed back in for what seemed the hundredth time. “How is it possible no tollgate keeper, no innkeeper, has seen them? Robert could not possibly have had sufficient funds to bribe every human being en route.”

The widow’s hand was pressed to her temples. Her head must be aching horribly.

“I begin to think they may not be headed for Gretna after all,” she said. “Perhaps the note was written to mislead.”

“But where else would they go? I doubt my cousin could have obtained a special license. It’s not as though the bishops hand them out to every hot-headed young idiot who comes along.”

“You’re right. Very likely they’ve merely made a few detours. But they must return to the Great North Road at some point, mustn’t they?”

Her voice, as always, was evenly modulated, low and controlled. Another woman would have spent the journey in complaints or hysterics. Not Lilith Davenant. For hours she’d sat mute, staring into the darkness. This was the longest conversation they’d had since his abortive attempt to... to what? Apologise? Explain? As though there could be any apology, or explanation.

He’d had ample time to reflect, and thus to wonder why he’d believed it could signify in any way that he’d wanted her from the first, and wanted her yet. Regardless the motive, his aim had always been seduction. He’d never had her best interests at heart. All that had moved him was desire.

He’d struggled, all these hours, to keep from looking at her. He’d been trying, all these last endless days, to banish her image from his mind. Now he must begin all over again. All the same, in spite of his resolutions, his glance stole to her white, still face. She had not wept—not once. But her fine, slate-blue eyes were red-rimmed, her proud countenance tired and drawn. She’d seemed exhausted even before they started out, yet she refused to rest, and she’d scarcely touched a morsel when they stopped. She remained calm and upright by sheer force of will.