“I’ve recently purchased an estate outside Winchester. I settled some of my brother’s staff there, including Mrs. Penn.”
Relief flooded the blue eyes. “So we know where to find them.”
“If they make it that far.”
“Brandon’s clever.”
“Not clever enough to stay put, damn it. Both of them are completely pudding brained. If Carey had an ounce of good sense, he’d have told me what was going on. He must know I’d take him down to see Penny in a flash.”
“Perhaps he didn’t know you were due back in England.” She passed him her son’s letter. “Brand went with Carey because he couldn’t let his friend make such a journey alone.”
In the back and forth of trying to keep Lady Deerham safely at home, his rage and worry had retreated. Now, seeing her distress, he returned to wanting to shut both boys away on short rations until Christmas. “You sound like you approve,” he said sharply.
“I don’t. I want to box his ears for putting me through all this. But he’s acted from a good heart.”
“A good heart and a thick head,” Anthony snapped, seeing no excuse for the boys’ lack of consideration.
“That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is a bairn coddled to the point where he imagines he can do something unforgivable like this and face no consequences.”
She’d been pale with fear. Now twin flags of color marked her slanted cheekbones.
“It is you, sir, who is unforgivable.” Her voice was sharp and precise enough to etch glass.
He regretted his bluntness the moment he spoke, although he stood by his opinion. Only child of a clinging, overindulgent widow? Stood to reason that the lad was spoiled. Perhaps it was a good thing he and Lady Deerham were likely to remain strangers. “No matter. I’ll send your son back to you, shall I? Instead of letting him face the punishment he deserves at school?”
However hackneyed the image, he’d thought of her eyes as limpid pools. Now they flashed blue lightning and any idea of limpid vanished forever.
“You won’t send my son anywhere, Mr. Townsend. I’ll come with you to collect him, and make my own arrangements to bring him home.”
Not this again. Silly wench didn’t know when she was beaten. “Now we know where they’re headed, there’s no reason for you to join me. I give you my word I’ll find the lads.”
The audible scoff was incongruous coming from such a refined creature. “As if I’d trust you with my son, Mr. Townsend. You’re likely to coddle him into a beating.”
When he’d learned her Christian name, just now, he’d thought it suited her. Now he wasn’t so sure. A Fenella should be amiable and obedient, not a raging virago. Better she’d been called Boadicea.
At the top of the steps, the butler cleared his throat. “My lady, shall I take Mr. Harley into the kitchens for some refreshment after his long ride? And there’s no need for the footmen to stand in the cold if you and the gentleman wish to continue chatting.”
Anthony had lost all awareness of his surroundings, including the audience for his quarrel. An avidly listening, curious audience as one quick glance at Harley indicated.
This time, Lady Deerham flushed with chagrin. Never in his life had he met a female with such an expressive face. A quality he regretted now she glared at him with bitter dislike. She turned to Greaves. “Yes, of course take Mr. Harley. And please bring the gig around.”
Anthony barely bit back a growl, but he had the sense to soften his voice. “Don’t be a little fool. You don’t know where my estate is.”
“Outside Winchester, I believe you mentioned,” she said with a poisonous sweetness that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. “I’m sure even a little fool can manage to find her way from there.”
She was right, blast her. The prospect of her trailing him all the way to the Beeches was insupportable. For the first time when he surveyed her, his impulse wasn’t a mad urge to fall to his knees and worship her extraordinary beauty. Instead he fought the overpowering need to give her a good shake until she conceded he was in charge of the rescue mission. She should jolly well obey his instructions, and stay fiddling with her embroidery in her pretty jewel box of a townhouse, while he rode off to slay dragons.
He retained just enough self-awareness to recognize the essential absurdity of that thought. But only just.
So instead of flinging this troublesome female over his shoulder and marching inside to lock her in the attics, he did something almost as shocking.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” he snarled, catching her firmly by the willowy waist and tossing her up into his curricle.
“Mr. Townsend!”
“Be quiet and hold on,” he said curtly, rounding the carriage and leaping into the driving seat.