Tangled Reins (Regencies 1)

‘Lady Rothwell tried to stop her, but you know what Cecily is. After that we came straight back here.’

‘One moment! Did anyone other than Lady Rothwell know what happened?’ asked Hazelmere.

‘No, luckily,’ replied Fanshawe. ‘And she’s promised to keep mum. Going to say Dorothea was unwell and Cecily and I escorted her home.’

‘She’s a good friend,’ put in Lady Merion. ‘She won’t say anything unhelpful.’

‘And then?’ prompted Hazelmere.

‘We found the letter from Buchanan waiting when we got here.’

‘Where’s this letter?’ asked Fanshawe.

Lady Merion and Ferdie tried to remember where they had put it. Then her ladyship realised it was on the escritoire. Hazelmere retrieved it and remained standing while he read the single sheet, Fanshawe looking over his shoulder.

‘Is the writing the same as the others?’ asked Fanshawe.

Hazelmere nodded. ‘Yes, all the same. So it was Edward Buchanan all the time.’ He folded the letter and returned to the chaise. ‘What happened next?’

‘I suggested we send for you. Seemed the best idea. Dorothea didn’t agree. Insisted there was no need. Couldn’t see it, myself. Then she suggested I fetch Lady Merion. Meek and mild as anything! Thought that was a good idea, so I did. Didn’t know she’d go haring off as soon as my back was turned! Didn’t let on at all!’ Ferdie’s anger returned in full force.

Hazelmere smiled.

Lady Merion frowned. ‘Well? Aren’t you going after her?’

The black brows rose, a touch arrogantly. ‘Of course. While I dare say Dorothea may manage Buchanan well enough, like you, I would feel a great deal happier if I knew exactly what was going on. However,’ he paused, hazel eyes fixed on an aspidistra in the corner, ‘it occurs to me that flying off in a rush might land us in a worse tangle.’

‘How so?’ asked Fanshawe, seating himself again.

‘At the moment Cecily is presumably at the Castle Inn at Tadworth, in the company of Edward Buchanan and associates. Dorothea must have left before midnight and it’ll take her close to three hours to make the journey. It’s now after twelve-thirty. We can probably make the distance in two hours, so we should reach the inn not far behind her.’ He paused for breath. ‘However, if we go flying down there we end with both Darent sisters mysteriously disappearing from London, and on the same night you and I, Tony, also mysteriously disappear. And what do we do when we catch up with them? Bring them back to London? But we wouldn’t reach here until morning. The gossips would have a field-day.’

As the truth of his words sank in, Lady Merion grimaced.

Ferdie’s pale face went blank. ‘Oh.’

‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Fanshawe.

Hazelmere grinned. ‘The problem is not insurmountable.’ Glancing at Lady Merion’s worried face, he added with a smile, ‘It’s a pity your inventive elder granddaughter isn’t here to help, but I think I can contrive a suitable tale. Ring for Mellow, Ferdie.’

Hazelmere asked for his groom to be summoned from Hazelmere House. While they waited he was silent, an odd smile touching the corners of his mouth. At one point he roused himself to ask whether Dorothea had gone alone.

Lady Merion answered. ‘Her note said she was taking their maid, Betsy, and of course Lang, her coachman, will be driving.’

Hazelmere nodded as if satisfied and relapsed into silence.

Jim entered the room, cap in hand. Hazelmere studied him for a moment and then, smiling, began in a soft voice that Jim knew well. ‘Jim, I have a number of orders which it’s vital you carry out to the letter and with all possible speed. The first thing you’ll do is fig out the greys.’

‘What?’ This exclamation broke from both Ferdie and Fanshawe simultaneously.

‘No! Really, Marc! Can’t have thought! The greys on bad roads at night!’ blustered Ferdie.

Jim, watching his master, merely blinked. Fanshawe opened his mouth to protest, then caught his friend’s eye

and subsided.

‘There’s no point in having the fastest pair in the realm if one cannot use them when needed,’ remarked Hazelmere. Turning back to Jim, he continued, ‘After you’ve seen the greys put to, get a stable-boy to walk them in the square. Saddle the fastest horse in the stables—Lightning, I think. And then ride first to Eglemont.’ Turning to Fanshawe, he asked, ‘Your parents are at home, aren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ replied his lordship, mystified.