As he galloped through rain and wind back to Alloway Chase, Leath had plenty of time to condemn his recklessness in taking the satchel to Derbyshire and his even greater recklessness in leaving it unattended. Although what else could he do but keep those letters with him? If they fell into the wrong hands, the scandal would put every other scandal dogging his family into the shade.
He should have stowed the satchel somewhere safe when he’d reached the cottage. But he’d wanted Eleanor for so long and so desperately that when he’d seen her, he could think of nothing else.
Too late for regrets. What he had to do now was find her and explain.
Wet, angry, worried sick, lonely, he slammed into the great hall well past dark. Even after one night in her arms, Eleanor’s absence carved a rift inside him. He’d hoped against hope that he might catch up with her on his way. No such luck.
He flung his dripping greatcoat at John and asked with a snap, “Is Miss Trim here?”
The footman looked startled. “No, my lord. Miss Trim has returned to her family. A relative’s illness, I understand.”
The story they’d concocted when planning their affair. Except one night surely didn’t constitute an affair, damn it.
If only Nell had waited to confront him.
He sighed. Today “if only” had been a constant refrain.
Might his mother know where Eleanor had gone? They’d always chattered away like a pair of magpies. In the days when he hadn’t trusted the helpful Miss Trim, that swift intimacy had troubled him.
Did he still trust Eleanor? Those letters could do enormous damage to the Fairbrother name and destroy his political career. Something in him insisted that the woman who had surrendered her virginity with such breathtaking sweetness wouldn’t betray his secrets.
So why had she taken the letters? He hoped he’d soon have the chance to ask her.
It was too late to disturb his mother. But if the marchioness had some clue to where Eleanor went to ground, he needed to talk to her.
He mounted the elaborate marble and gilt staircase two steps at a time and strode toward his mother’s rooms. A sharp knock at the door summoned Nancy, his mother’s maid.
“My lord,” the woman stammered, curtsying. He’d caught her at her mending. In one hand, she held a lacy fichu with a torn border. “Her ladyship has retired.”
To assuage her insomnia, his mother usually took a book to bed. She’d told him that since Miss Trim’s reading recommendations, she’d started to enjoy the hours before sleep. “Can you see if she’s awake, Nancy?”
He stepped into the sitting room and watched Nancy light a couple of candles before disappearing into the bedchamber. Impatiently he prowled to the window, staring into the stormy night. Was Eleanor out in this weather? He prayed wherever she was, she was safe.
“My lord?”
“Yes?” He whirled around and his face must have betrayed his frustration. Nancy, who had known him since he was a boy, retreated swiftly.
“Her ladyship will see you.”
Leath struggled for a shred of civility. Yet every hour without Eleanor pushed him closer to exploding. “Thank you.”
He entered the shadowy vastness of his mother’s bedroom. She was propped against the pillows, wearing a cream lace peignoir and a cap over her fair hair.
He hadn’t been in here in years. His mother guarded her privacy, although he knew that she suffered excruciating pains in her legs when it was cold and wet as it was tonight.
“James,” she said in concern, taking off her spectacles and extending her hands in his direction. “What’s the matter?”
He caught her hands and kissed her cheek. “Mamma, I’m sorry to barge in, wet as a herring and covered in all my dirt.”
“Has something happened?”
Damn it, he should have taken a few minutes to wash and change before intruding on his mother and frightening her. “Yes.” He frowned. “No.”
She patted the mattress beside her. “You don’t sound very sure.”
He sighed and slumped onto the bed, retaining her hands. It had been such a bugger of a day, he appreciated the loving connection. “I need to find Miss Trim.”
“Nell? You know she left last week.”