“Be that as it may, a debate on artistic license is not helping Livvie at this moment.” Anna turned her attention to Olivia. “I agree that Caro’s suggestion errs on the side of excessive fantasy, but to be perfectly pragmatic, there are a number of good arguments for waiting until after the earl’s speech. A distraction at this point might jeopardize all the good you have worked for.”
“True,” conceded Olivia. “I’ve been trying to convince myself of much the same thing. And yet, it somehow feels wrong. I—I can’t explain why.”
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the tap, tap of Anna’s pen point against a sheet of foolscap. “Then instead of trying to reason it out with your head, you must simply trust your heart.”
Trust.
Olivia rose, the next move in this complex chess game of politics and secrets suddenly clear as crystal. “You’re right. If I hurry, I can still pay a call at his sister’s residence during the proper visiting hours.”
“I’ll come with you,” offered Anna. “You’ll want to request a private meeting with the earl, and my presence may help keep Lady Silliman from becoming too curious about the reason.”
Grateful for the company, Olivia quickly accepted.
“Drat it all,” groused Caro. “It’s grossly unfair that I must always stay at home while you two are allowed to gallivant hither and yon having exceedingly exciting Adventures.”
“Caro, we are walking to Berkeley Square, not Kubla Khan’s fabled city of Xanadu,” pointed out Olivia. “So I don’t expect to encounter any adventure along the way. And ‘exceedingly exciting’ are not the adjectives I would use to describe the upcoming meeting.”
Exceedingly uncomfortable was more accurate.
She had no idea how the earl was going to react to the revelation. But she doubted that he would be overjoyed.
“You’ve a role to play here,” said Anna. “If Mama inquires where we have gone, you may tell her that we’ve taken a stroll to deliver a book to Lady Silliman. It’s close enough to the truth without stirring any marriage machinations directed at the earl.”
“Oh, very well. I shall—what is the military expression—hold the fort until you return.”
Olivia blew out her cheeks. It did feel a little like she was marching into battle. “Thank you. It won’t be for long.”
“Abducted!” It took a heartbeat for the word to sink in. A stab of fear lanced through John’s chest, but then all of his military training triggered to full alert, emotion giving way to iron-willed detachment.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” he said calmly.
Steadied by his voice, Cecilia recounted what she had seen, with Lucy supplying the rest if the details.
“You are a very brave girl,” he said when the story was done.
“I kicked the man hard and bit his hand,” replied Lucy with a note of savage satisfaction. “But he wouldn’t let go of Scottie. Then the other man hit me and I fell down.”
John felt a clench of cold fury inside his chest. “You could not have shown more courage, sweetheart. Now I shall take command.”
“W-will Scottie be alright?” asked Lucy, her bravado giving way to apprehension.
“Yes,” said the earl emphatically. “I promise you, nothing is going to happen to him.”
Lucy looked reassured, but Cecilia’s eyes betrayed her own misgivings. “John, I fear that I and the guards saw little that might help identify—”
He silenced her with a quick wave. “I think you should take Lucy up for a hot bath and put her to bed while I map out a strategy for what to do next.” That his sister had little in the way of clues to offer didn’t matter—he fully expected a ransom note would be arriving at any moment.
And he had an inkling of what the price would be for the safe return of his son.
As Cecilia shepherded the little girl upstairs, John tried to keep his thoughts in the present and not the past. It was, he knew, a waste of time and focus to second-guess his decisions. Still, he could not help but feel a knifeblade of guilt prick against his conscience. If he hadn’t let passion distract him from keeping a closer eye on his son…if he hadn’t reneged on his promise to be part of the Tower outing…
“Yes, I have made mistakes, but all is not lost,” he reminded himself. “As in chess, I must study the board and see how to move my pieces to regain the advantage.”
The difference between victory and defeat often came to seeing a subtle opening and seizing the moment. Prescott’s captors would demand an unconditional surrender. After all, they held the upper hand. But John had not survived the brutal Peninsular War without learning a few dirty tricks of his own.
Improvise—strike where they least expect it.
Fisting his hands, he returned to the study and found the small wooden chest where his brother-in-law kept a pair of deadly accurate Manton dueling pistols under lock and key.