Page 15 of Falling for the Earl (Improper Ladies #2)

T he housekeeper, Mrs. Boyce came into the breakfast room where Lucy was eating toast. “Your aunt wishes to see you. She’s in her bedchamber, miss.”

Lucy abandoned her breakfast and went upstairs. She was surprised to find Aunt Mary and Maisie in a flurry of activity, sorting through her gowns, bonnets, and Spencers. It was the first time since Anabel had run away with her lover that her aunt had smiled. “There you are, Lucy. I have the most pleasant news. Mr. Rattray has sent a note this morning. He has to visit his country house and has invited us to accompany him. Are we not fortunate?” She examined the hem of the plum velvet evening gown she held for tears. “I cannot leave you in London unchaperoned. Maisie will help you pack enough clothes for three days. An evening gown too, of course. I am sure we will dress for dinner. The carriage is to call for us at five o’clock.”

Lucy’s heart sank. “I’ll go and do it now, Aunt Mary.”

“Good. Take your night things in a separate bag, as Mr. Rattray plans to spend a night at an inn on the way.”

Surely, this meant Mr. Rattray was about to ask her aunt to marry him. While Lucy was pleased to see her aunt happy, she wished it was another gentleman and not one whom she simply could not like. Lucy suspected lies tripped smoothly from Mr. Rattray’s lips, seemingly of long practice. She was unsure of his motive but doubted it was passion for her aunt. If only she could have made her aunt aware of it, but the chance to trip him up in a lie seemed to have gone. And her aunt was so vulnerable now after Anabel’s elopement that she grasped at the chance for happiness.

Nearing five o’clock, William, groaning in a manner Lucy thought unnecessary as her portmanteau wasn’t very heavy, carried it down the stairs to add to her aunt’s luggage at the front door.

Precisely on the hour, a carriage pulled up outside. “Here is Mr. Rattray.” Aunt Mary hurried down, fiddling with the lace collar on her best traveling gown. “Smile, Lucy, and make yourself agreeable to the gentleman.”

William opened the door to Mr. Rattray. He entered the hall, rubbing his hands, his servant following. There was a gleam in Mr. Rattray’s usually opaque gray eyes. He kissed her aunt’s hand then hovered over Lucy’s, the smell of pomade from his red hair pervading the air. “It will be quite cool this evening. I hope you are rugged up well, ladies. We have quite a distance to travel before we can put up for the night.”

“We are looking forward to this delightful excursion, Mr. Rattray,” Aunt Mary said, fluttering her eyelashes girlishly. “It is so kind of you to invite us.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Grayswood.” He went over to Lucy, who was donning her pelisse. “May I be of assistance, Miss Kershaw?”

“No, thank you, sir.” She pulled it on hastily, not wanting his hands on her.

“Good, then we’ll be off, shall we?” He motioned sharply to “his man,” as he referred to his servant, to pick up their luggage. He was a rough-looking fellow with shabby clothes and greasy hair. Lucy felt uneasy, but her aunt was so keen to leave, there was nothing she could say.

Outside, his carriage waited. The coachman sat hunched on the box, his hat pulled low over his face. Lucy thought the vehicle quite shabby for that of a well-to-do gentleman. But perhaps it had become splashed with mud on the journey here. When she was helped inside, the stale smell from the squabs made her catch her breath.

Aunt Mary was gayly laughing at something Mr. Rattray said and didn’t seem to notice. She settled a bandbox with her best bonnet into a corner and sat next to Lucy, smoothing her gloves. Mr. Rattray followed them inside and took the seat opposite with his back to the horses. He thumped the roof with his cane, and the coachman’s whip cracked as he cried, “Walk on.”

Lucy looked upon this trip as something to be endured. But she would try not to spoil it for her aunt, who looked forward to it so eagerly.

As the carriage set off down the road, it was still light. The sun would not set until close to eight o’clock. “Where are we to spend the night?” Lucy asked, wondering how long she had to breathe in the stale air tinged with Mr. Rattray’s pomade. She had opened a window but closed it again when her aunt had put a hand to her bonnet and complained it was too breezy.

“A quaint inn, just outside St. Albans. You’ll find it both comfortable and charming, Miss Kershaw,” he said in jocular tones. “As we travel farther, we will pass through Cambridge, a wonderful historic town I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring.”

“Indeed we will,” Aunt Mary said firmly, raising her eyebrows at Lucy.

“It sounds delightful.” Lucy tried to sound convincing, although it was hardly the truth, while Mr. Rattray fussed over her aunt, covering her knees with a rug.

An hour later, Aunt Mary’s head began to nod. Lucy was sure her aunt had not slept well since the dreadful news about Anabel had reached them. In the stuffy air and with the rocking motion, she grew a little sleepy too, but for some reason she couldn’t quite define, she needed to be alert. Fortunately, Mr. Rattray folded his arms and sank into a silent stupor, not appearing to require any conversation from her. The miles passed by.

Nearing eight o’clock, the sun sank behind the horizon and night fell. Beyond the window, the sky was a vast, black arch overhead where a crescent-shaped moon hung suspended. The coach lanterns had been lit, sending a feeble glow over the dark road.

Lucy wondered again why Lord Dorchester had come to see her the other day, and if he had discovered anything about Anabel’s whereabouts that would give her poor aunt some relief.

Sometime later, the carriage pulled into the forecourt of an ancient brick inn, surrounded by woodland. The building appeared alarmingly ramshackle, at least from the outside. Her aunt woke with a loud snort. “Are we here already? My, that took no time at all.”

Mr. Rattray helped her aunt down, then Lucy followed quickly unaided. They were escorted into the inn and greeted by the innkeeper, as if they had entered the Prince Regent’s Carlton House. The inn proved as dismal inside as it did out, the furniture in need of a dust and cobwebs dangling in the draft. If her aunt was disappointed, she gave no indication of it. They were shown into a small parlor and served a late supper of bread and butter and cauliflower soup. Mr. Rattray flourished a bottle of wine he had brought with him for the occasion, which he declared was an excellent vintage. He poured her aunt a glass, but despite him seeming offended by her refusal, Lucy still declined it.

“I expect you have yet to develop a taste for good wine,” Mr. Rattray said, his mouth pulled down.

After they ate the small meal served by a surly, silent servant, she and her aunt were shown up to their bedchamber, which her aunt insisted she share for propriety’s sake. Lucy was glad of the company.

Aunt Mary still appeared exhausted, her movements heavy and slow as they washed, brushed their hair, and changed into nightgowns. They climbed into the lumpy, double bed and her aunt blew out the candle.

In the dark, Aunt Mary tittered. “I hope there are no bed bugs. Even the best inns have them. I usually bring my own sheets, but it was such a rush.”

Lucy feared it too, but as soon as they’d settled down, her aunt began to snore, and Lucy resigned herself to a sleepless night. But after only a short time, Lucy’s eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into sleep.

Waking suddenly, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep as she stared into the dark. Had she heard a noise? Lying still, she listened. Aunt Mary was still deeply asleep, and Lucy didn’t like to disturb her by lighting a candle. When she’d convinced herself there was nothing to concern her and was settling down again, the door opened and someone entered, holding a lantern. Mr. Rattray’s face appeared in the light above it looking ghoulish.

Fear tightened her chest and she gasped. “Is something wrong?” Lucy prodded her aunt, but she didn’t stir.

Before she knew it, he was beside her. “I wish you’d drunk the wine. It would make this so much easier,” he said, his voice a low growl.

She opened her mouth to scream and was silenced by a sharp blow to her chin. Darkness descended.

*

Hugh gained some helpful news from an Irish friend. Apparently, Aidan Connor, the man with whom Mrs. Grayswood’s daughter had run off, had come from Killarney, and it was likely that the couple had gone there. He drove to Westminster and knocked on that lady’s front door. The dark-haired young servant, clutching a sugared bun, answered it. “Mrs. Grayswood and Miss Kershaw are away, milord,” he said, swallowing noisily. “They left yesterday for the country, for a few days.”

That seemed sudden. Lucy had made no mention of it when Hugh had seen her only two days ago. “Where in the country, precisely?”

“Cambridge, I heard it said, milord. Mr. Rattray has a house somewhere in those parts.” The boy made a clumsy bow and shut the door.

Rattray! Fear rocketed through him. What was the fraudulent man’s intention? It made no sense that someone of his ilk would pursue Lucy’s aunt for marriage. She wasn’t a wealthy woman. And he didn’t believe it was a powerful emotion like love. But curse it, Rattray might believe Lucy was coming into money! Wanting to go in pursuit, Hugh climbed back into the phaeton and took up the reins. But could he in all conscience follow them? Rattray might be entirely innocent of any trickery. But it still left him deeply concerned for Lucy’s safety.

If everything went as planned, Isabel would have left England next week. Hugh drove home wondering what he might do and came to the conclusion there was nothing. Lucy was not alone—her aunt was with her. But the rest of the day was spent wishing he’d told her about Rattray. Needing to air his concerns, he decided to seek Luke’s opinion.

Luke had told him he would ride today if the fine weather continued. Reaching home, Hugh took up the groom and headed to the park. He drove to the South Carriage Drive and looked for Luke riding in Rotten Row.

Hugh spied him on horseback in a group of friends and hailed him. Handing the reins to the groom, the earl leapt down from the carriage and crossed to the Row, where Luke waited for him, his companions having ridden on.

“I have a problem,” Hugh said, when he reached Luke, seated on a tall thoroughbred. Luke dismounted, and they walked into the parkland while he explained.

“I don’t see that there’s anything I can do,” he confessed. “If I’m wrong, Rattray could cause a fuss, just when Sir Phillip Ashton wants Isabel’s wedding to go unnoticed.”

“If you decide to go, I’ll come with you,” Luke said thoughtfully. “But how are we to find them? Cambridge isn’t small, and his home might be in any of the surrounding villages.”

“That’s true,” Hugh said with a worried nod.

“I’ll excuse myself from my party and join you at your home,” Luke said. “We’ll think more on it, there.”

“I appreciate it. Thanks, Luke.” Hugh ran back to the phaeton.

As he approached the gates of Dorchester Court, he saw a small figure huddled against the stone wall. He pulled up the horses and Mrs. Grayswood, red-faced, struggling for breath, her bonnet askew, ran over to him.

“It’s Mr. Rattray,” she gasped out. “Lord Dorchester, forgive me for this intrusion, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. What have I done? ” she wailed.

Hugh leapt down, his heart in his mouth and took her arm leading her through the gates. He would have preferred his mother or Sarah to help, but they were away shopping. “Come inside and have some tea. Then tell me what has happened.”

Luke joined them in the drawing room, where Mrs. Grayswood sipped the tea. She had recovered enough to explain. “Mr. Rattray invited me to spend a few days at his country house.” She drew in a breath, stark fear in her eyes. “I thought the invitation perfectly respectable with Lucy accompanying us. And I couldn’t leave her alone at home.”

“Of course,” Hugh said in an encouraging tone, although he clamped on his jaw and wanted to shake her to hurry her along.

“We stopped at an inn near St. Albans for the night. At supper, Mr. Rattray produced a bottle of wine he’d brought with him. I drank some, although Lucy declined it.” Her eyes widened. “It made me dreadfully drowsy, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.” She took another sip of tea, her hand shaking, then put it down carefully. “When I woke in the morning, I had a horrible taste in my mouth and a throbbing headache, and… Lucy was gone!” She stared at them each in turn. “Imagine what a state I was in! I questioned the innkeeper, who said Mr. Rattray had left during the night. He had taken Lucy with him.” She dropped her chin to her chest with a sob. “I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought of Lady Sarah, who is such a good friend of Lucy’s, and called for a carriage to bring me back to London.” She glanced at Hugh hopefully.

“I’m afraid my sister isn’t here, Mrs. Grayswood.”

She clutched her trembling hands. “Then will you help me find her, Lord Dorchester?”

Hugh’s chest tightened and he gripped the arm of the chair, his knuckles turning white. He forced himself to sound calm or the lady would be in hysterics. “You can rely on me, Mrs. Grayswood. Do you know where Mr. Rattray’s country house might be?”

She mournfully shook her head. “That’s the trouble. He must have lied to me. He said it was near Cambridge. But we were nowhere near St. Albans, as he had said. On the way back to London in the carriage I hired, I saw a sign saying Chigwell and Epping Forest, which was only fifteen miles away. Rattray did say his home is surrounded by forest.” She sighed. “That’s all I am able to tell you. Does it help at all?”

Hugh stood and came to pat her shoulder. Indeed it does.” He glanced at Luke. “Fancy taking a drive to Chigwell, Luke?”

“Indeed, I do,” Luke said, his tight voice revealing his anger.

“I hope you find her soon, before…” Mrs. Grayswood’s voice faltered into silence and her shoulders heaved.

Hugh felt as if he was pulled into a nightmare. He could not lose the woman he adored before he had even had a chance to tell her, to hold her, to make her his own. “I will do my best to find her, Mrs. Grayswood. I’ll arrange for my groom to take you home.”

“Thank you, my lord. You are very good,” she said tearfully, her handkerchief balled in her fist.

He hesitated, wondering if he should mention her daughter’s whereabouts, then decided more was needed to be done to find her, and the poor lady had enough to contend with.

Hugh left the room with Luke.

“Surrounded by forest, eh?” Luke said. “So, somewhere near Epping Forest, then?”

“It’s all we have to go on,” Hugh said despairingly as he stalked the carpet. “That would mean close to Chigwell, Chingford, or Epping, which narrows it down to several villages.” Had he attacked her? That bloody monster, Rattray! He’d throttle the man with his bare hands.