Fair Juno (Regencies 4)
‘Damn!’ Martin stood again, automatically falling to pacing before the hearth. With an effort, he forced himself to evaluate the situation coolly. ‘Luckily, the position’s not irretrievable. Once we marry, it’ll cease to be news.’
Hazelmere inclined his head in agreement. ‘True. But, if you don’t mind my curiosity, when, exactly, is the wedding?’
The glance Martin shot him contained equal parts of frustration and sheer exasperation. ‘The witless wanton wouldn’t accept.’
For once, the hazel eyes opened wide in honest surprise. Black brows rising, Hazelmere considered his wayward charge. ‘What on earth is she about?’ he eventually asked.
‘Damned if I know,’ Martin muttered. ‘But if I can lay hands on her, you can rely on me to shake some sense into her.’ Tired of pacing, he returned to his chair. ‘Have you any idea where she might have gone?’
Hazelmere frowned. ‘There aren’t all that many options. I know she hasn’t gone to one of my estates—I’d have heard by now. I can’t imagine her going to an inn or any such.’
Martin shook his head. ‘Too risky by half.’
Nodding sagely, Hazelmere continued, ‘Which leaves Heliotrope Cottage.’
Martin looked his question.
‘As I recall, I told you that none of Helen’s properties was saved from the collapse of the Walford estates?’ At Martin’s nod, Hazelmere said, ‘As far as substance goes, that’s true. But Heliotrope Cottage was considered beneath the dignity of any gambler. Consequently, it’s the one part of Helen’s patrimony that remains hers. It’s a tiny place on barely five acres. In Cornwall.’
‘Cornwall?’
At Martin’s incredulous exclamation, Hazelmere blinked. ‘Yes. Cornwall. You know—it’s that bit beyond Devon.’
Martin brushed his levity aside. ‘I know where the damned place is but, what’s more to the point, so does Hedley Swayne. His estates are there, too.’
Hazelmere’s hazel gaze was confused. ‘Quite a few people have estates in Cornwall.’
‘But,’ said Martin grimly, getting to his feet once more, ‘none of the others has tried to kidnap Helen.’
Hazelmere blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Pacing again, Martin threw his explanation over his shoulder. ‘I first met Helen not here but in a wood in Somerset, not far from Ilchester. She’d been grabbed from a ball by two ruffians. They were waiting with her for their client to arrive. From everything I’ve learned, that client was Hedley Swayne. Helen thought it was at the time.’
Hazelmere met his glance, then fell to considering the facts. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he eventually said.
‘I know it doesn’t make sense,’ Martin growled.
‘We’ve all seen Swayne dancing about Helen’s skirts, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d have any real inclination in that direction.’
Martin shook his head. ‘He’s definitely not one of us.’ A moment later, he added, ‘There must be some reason that we can’t see. But whatever it is I’d much rather Helen was safe before I shake the answer from Hedley Swayne.’
With that, Hazelmere was in complete agreement. ‘Will you go down or will I?’
‘Oh, I’ll go, if you’ll give me her direction. I intend having a very long talk with your wife’s dearest friend. After that, I rather think we’ll return by way of Merton.’ At the thought of taking Helen to the Hermitage, Martin’s features eased for the first time that day.
Hazelmere nodded and stood. ‘I’ll write the route down—it’s not exactly straightforward.’
Armed with a complicated set of directions which Hazelmere assured him would take him to the door of Heliotrope Cottage, Martin departed from Hazelmere House, pausing at the last to request Hazelmere to speak to his wife regarding her killing glances.
As soon as he crossed his threshold in Grosvenor Square, Martin issued a stream of orders, which culminated in his sending Joshua scurrying to harness the bays while he strode upstairs to throw a selection of clothes into a bag. Laying shirts and a supply of freshly laundered cravats in the base of the bag, Martin grimaced. He would have to get a valet if he was set on observing all the niceties. Men such as he were expected to have one, but he had managed well enough without throughout his eventful life. Nevertheless, if he was to settle down to socially acceptable wedded bliss, a valet seemed inevitable. The idea of marriage halted him mid-stride.
Who knew what situation he would face in Cornwall? Who knew to what lengths he might have to go to convince Helen to say yes? All in all, the insurance of being able to secure his prize the very instant she agreed to his proposal seemed advisable.
A wry grin twisted Martin’s lips. He resumed his packing, mentally rehearsing his plea to the Bishop of Winchester, a connection of his father’s who would doubtless be only too pleased to do what he could to entangle a rake past redemption in the sacred toils of matrimony.
* * *
The bed at the Four Swans was lumpy. Ruefully reflecting that easy living had exacted a toll from his tolerance, Martin stretched out and closed his eyes. The day had been unwarrantedly full.