Hero, Come Back (Cynster 9.50)

A volley of laughter followed, and Lady Finch hastily motioned for the musicians to start playing. From the look on her face, Jemmy knew it wouldn’t be long before she called out the local regiment to retrieve their guest of honor.

Determined to beat his headstrong mother at her own game, he raced toward the back stairs, up the flight, and down the empty hall to the guest room. There he found the door open and her room deserted. A glance under the bed confirmed his worst fears, for her valise was missing.

“Demmit,” he cursed. But why had she left? He’d promised her that he would see her safely to Brighton. On the floor near his feet lay her ball gown in a crumpled heap. He bent and ran his fingers over the silk. It was still warm to the touch.

If that was the case, she couldn’t have gone far. He went to the window and found his suspicions rewarded by the sight of her stealing through the rose garden, heading toward the south meadow, valise in hand.

At least she hadn’t decided to try the main drive again. Jemmy imagined Holmes had worn a groove into the road there from his constant and vigilant pacing.

Jemmy dashed from the room, amazed at how well his leg was cooperating. He knew now that Amanda had been right—he had lost his life when he’d stopped living it, just as his leg had stopped working when he’d given up trying to make it work.

As her arrival in his life had brought joy to his heart, she’d also forced him out of his careful daily schedule. He’d done more walking and climbing and hurrying about in the last few days than he had in years, and his leg felt as if it were awakening from a long sleep.

Yes, Amanda had done much for him. And once he caught up to her he’d thank her, and then beg her to stay with him until the end of his days. For even if she had only a few months to live, she’d remain in his heart until the day he left this world.

Jemmy didn’t have to travel to the ends of the earth to find his ladylove.

Mr. Holmes had accomplished that for him in short order. By the time Jemmy had reached the kitchen, the constable was coming through the door with the protesting bride-to-be in tow.

“Unhand me, sir. This is an outrage. I am a guest of Lady Finch’s.”

Jemmy had to hand it to Amanda, she had nerve.

He supposed that was one of the many reasons he loved her. And while he would thank Holmes later for saving him the trouble of having to chase her halfway across his father’s lands, he could take over from here.

“Good job, Holmes,” he told him. “But you can let the lady go now. I’ll see her to my mother’s care.” He tried to catch Amanda’s eye, to reassure her, but after her first tentative glance in his direction, she looked away.

What was that on her cheeks? Tears? She’d been crying? If Holmes had harmed her in any way…

“Oh, I won’t be falling for that trick again, sir,” the constable was saying. “The only person I’m releasing her to is the magistrate.”

Jemmy groaned. Oh, this was going to turn into the on dit of the Season if Holmes went marching into the ballroom with the supposed Bramley Hollow bride nearly in shackles and charged her with running away from her own betrothal.

For one thing, they’d never get rid of their houseguests then. They’d probably all stay for the ensuing trial, considering the spectacle it would make.

But Holmes was a man determined, and he continued into the house, ignoring Jemmy’s protests, as well as Amanda’s.

“Ma’am,” he called out as he came closer to the ballroom, having caught sight of Lady Finch greeting a bevy of late arrivals. “A word with you.”

She turned and took one look at the tableau before her and hustled forward, drawing the threesome into a small parlor across the hall.

Inside, Esme rose from a chair, her gaze flitting first from Holmes to Amanda to Jemmy, and then back to Amanda’s traveling clothes. But she said nothing, not that she would have had the chance.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Finch blustered, closing the door behind her.

“A misunderstanding, Mother,” Jemmy told her.

“I don’t recall asking you,” his mother said in a dangerously cold tone. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother so angry. “Holmes?”

The constable puffed up, proud to have his tale finally heard. “Caught her, ma’am. Escaping. Trying to leave afore her match was made. She had her bags packed and was making for the road.” The man paused, glancing at Amanda and then Jemmy. “And this isn’t the first time I’ve caught her trying to escape her bargain.”

One iron brow rose. Lady Finch turned to Jemmy. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” he said. “But there is a reason, and if you would just hear me out—”

She raised her hand to stave off any further protests. “Not another word, James. I see quite clearly what is happening.” She turned to the constable. “You say, Mr. Holmes, she was leaving—just as she is now.”

The man nodded. “Night afore last. But this time, I caught her red-handed. So if you would be so kind as to get His Lordship to swear out a complaint, I’ll be more than happy to lock her up until Mrs. Maguire can find her match.”