Page 15 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Fifteen

S ebastian was already in his riding gear when Mr Plum appeared to make the urgent request for a doctor.

Fortunately, nobody in his family was in a position to notice the oddity of his dress, nor the alacrity with which he volunteered to ride out to Appleby.

The cataclysmic rage he’d unleashed upon his father that morning had but one good effect, and that was that Horace Whitby had agreed to be honest with the entire family. The result was a great deal of upset, of questions, recriminations and exclamations of despair, and nobody had any cause to wonder at the heat in Sebastian’s cheeks or his surly disposition.

He galloped to Appleby at a pace that would have made any observer believe that he was desperate to call upon Mr Smythe, when in fact he would have given a great deal to be able to avoid their meeting.

Appleby was not a large town, and Sebastian had little difficulty in gleaning news of the recent arrival of a wealthy man from London and the location of his lodgings. He took a moment to stand in the doorway of the King’s Head, the best inn Appleby had to offer, and master himself.

He was not going to do Jenny any favours if he lost his temper. He had to treat Fitzherbert Smythe as though he truly believed the man was desperate to find his beloved niece – not as the blackhearted old miser who had tried to marry her off against her will.

He thought of what Beeston would do in this situation. When it counted, Captain Graham had never let a flicker of discomfort show, as cool when facing down a mutineer as he was commanding a ship in battle. He could negotiate with any man from the worst of pirates to the most decorated of admirals, and get what he wanted just the same.

Sebastian could do it, too. He could . For Jenny.

A servant showed him up into the comfortable rooms Mr Smythe had taken, and there he was quite astonished to be greeted by a slender young woman with reddened eyes and dark hair that, though it was pulled into an overly fashionable style with bobbing ringlets and shimmering pearls distracting the eye, was the exact shade of Jenny’s.

“Captain Whitby,” she said, rushing forwards to offer him her hand. “I am so glad to see you. My name is Elspeth – Elspeth Smythe – you do not know me, but I saw you for a moment last week in Plymouth, just before everything went so horribly wrong. I’m sure you must be longing for news of dear Jenny, but I’m afraid…” Her voice trembled. “I’m afraid it is all much worse than you can imagine!”

Sebastian took her hand and bowed over it, his mind going utterly blank.

He had been anticipating a battle of sorts with an angry gentleman. He had been fully prepared to raise his voice and storm about the place renouncing all knowledge of Jenny’s whereabouts and demanding satisfaction for the insult that Mr Smythe did him by accusing him of helping her run away.

He barely remembered Miss Smythe. They had not exchanged a word in Plymouth before the house erupted in uproar, and besides, only moments afterwards, he had met Jenny.

Jenny, who only had to smile in order to erase all honour and rationality from his mind.

“Miss Smythe,” he began, and a sudden mad impulse nearly overtook his tongue to beg her to give her blessing to his courtship of her cousin. As though she, or he, or Jenny herself had any say in it whatsoever.

Fortunately, Miss Smythe withdrew her hand at once to clutch at her handkerchief and use it to stifle a sob.

“I am so terribly sorry!” she gasped, collapsing back into an armchair. “Only it has been such a dreadful long journey, with Papa in such a frightful temper, and all I want is to return home to take care of her, but he simply will not listen to me, and –”

“Take care of her?” Sebastian cleared his throat. “Miss Smythe, why do you imagine she needs somebody to take care of her? She left Plymouth of her own accord.”

Miss Smythe looked at him as though he were mad. “Left Plymouth? Oh, no, sir. Poor Jenny has fallen terribly ill.”

“Ill,” he repeated blankly.

Miss Smythe gave another wrenching sob. “And to think she would have been a countess . Oh, Captain Whitby, it’s too dreadful. I can’t bear to think of her lying abed, subject to the worst sort of suffering, all alone save for the servants. I am not even permitted to see her! Jenny is the sweetest, quietest little mouse of a girl, and when I think of the sort of monster who would refuse to wed her after this –” A flash of pure rage lit her features. “I will kill that man if he jilts her. I swear it. Should anyone dare now prevent Jenny’s marriage, I will not rest until his black heart is cold in the ground.” She brightened. “Though I will not need to wreak vengeance upon anyone, I should think, for my father is meeting with the magistrate at this very moment to see what can be done to put everything right.”

“The magistrate?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes. Papa says Lord Beeston must be held to his promise, and that the presence of a constable or two might help him remember his obligations.” Elspeth gave a happy smile. “All the same, should the constables not persuade him, I will be ready to revenge her, just in case.”

Sebastian wholeheartedly believed her. “What about her note?” he asked tentatively.

“Note?” Miss Smythe looked up at him, frowning. “What note?”

“Miss Cartwright left you a note,” he said. “At least, I, ah, that’s what I imagine she would have done. Before climbing out of the window.”

Miss Smythe shook her head slowly. “Captain Whitby, I do not understand you. My cousin was seized by a sudden and violent illness the day she was to marry Lord Beeston. Father thought at first that she had been kidnapped, as one sometimes hears of happening to young ladies, you know, but she was soon found in a dead faint in an upstairs corridor, riven with fever. She certainly had no reason to write a note, and my father would not have missed it if she had. He searched the entire house for her, quite thoroughly.”

Except the hope chest , Sebastian added, in the privacy of his own mind. He made one desperate last attempt. “You know, I had a look around the house myself, after she disappeared, and I am certain that I saw a note which indicated she had left, possibly via the window.”

“But that is quite impossible,” said Miss Smythe. “Jenny has not so much as walked down the street unaccompanied a single time in all her life. Besides, what reason would she have to run away?”

Because she wanted more , Sebastian thought, while he stared helplessly at Jenny’s poor grieving cousin. Because she knew that her own value was greater than any sum Beeston could place on her head .

Oh, and because a damned fool of a sailor looked too deeply into her eyes and fell in love with her on the spot.

That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? The moment he’d seen Jenny, with all her fire and her sweetness and her own particular brand of mad practicality, the very thought of her marrying Beeston had outraged his soul.

Unfortunately, the notion of her marrying him instead was more impractical than ever. Fitzherbert Smythe seemed hellbent on bringing about Jenny’s match with Lord Beeston – even if it meant lying to his own daughter and sending her over the brink of despair. He would not flinch at the notion of having Sebastian arrested for kidnapping, should he discover who helped Jenny escape.

Sebastian had to admit it was a clever play. Beeston could not be expected to lower himself to marry a woman who had run away rather than wed him, but he might yet take pity on the poor girl who was tragically stricken down on her wedding day. Marrying her wouldn’t damage his pride.

Now Sebastian understood why Mr Smythe was searching for him. He was the only other person who had seen her note, and who knew she wanted to run.

He wondered grimly what Smythe intended to bribe him with to buy his silence. A businessman like him would doubtless have planned an enticing carrot as well as a constable’s stick.

“Miss Smythe, I wish with all my heart that I could ease your troubles,” he said, and meant it sincerely. He could not even begin to imagine a way of telling her that Jenny was safe without revealing his role in the whole tangled situation. “Please warn your father not to call at Whitby Manor. Particularly with constables. Lord Beeston is, uh, very displeased with him, and as a guest of my father, the magistrate will likely not wish to disturb him. I would not want Mr Smythe to suffer the embarrassment of being turned away at the door.” He spread his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I will do my best to explain the situation to his lordship, but what with his wound, you know, he is in a rather delicate state of mind.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Miss Smythe gave him a watery smile. “I know you will do all you can. Poor Lord Beeston. He must be worried sick.” Her eyes darkened as she pressed his hand in farewell. “At least, I sincerely hope Lord Beeston is worried sick. If he is not praying morning and night for her recovery, I shall have strong words for him on their wedding day.”

Lord Beeston was sitting up in bed, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a stack of letters in the other. He was barking out a dictation to Mr Plum in short, staccato sentences that came too thick and fast for the valet to keep up with. This was unfortunate, since Beeston did not enjoy repeating himself. Jenny, who was folding bandages in the corner of the room, had actually begun to feel sorry for him.

“What is the problem, Plum?” Beeston groaned. “Are your ears stuffed with wax? Is the pen too heavy for your delicate hand?”

“No, my lord,” said Plum, bowing his head to the writing desk. “I’m sorry, my lord. If my lord would please repeat –”

“ My lord this, my lord that! I cannot stand to hear it. I wish to blazes my cousin had thought to produce an heir before falling off that horse. The last thing I wish to be at this moment is Lord Beeston . Nurse!”

Jenny straightened up. “Yes…” She considered her best option for addressing him in this mood. “Sir?”

Beeston gave her a mirthless grin in acknowledgement of the change of address. “Can you write?”

“I can, sir.”

“Very good. Get out, Plum.”

“Yes, my lord.” The valet rose to his feet, shooting a glare at Jenny.

“Plum,” said Lord Beeston heavily, “the next time the words my lord cross your lips, you will be dismissed.”

Plum flinched. “Certainly, my… muh… Mmm.”

Jenny shot Lord Beeston a frown of admonishment. She could not help herself. Plum was a bully, true, but she did not like to see him bullied in kind.

To her surprise, Lord Beeston answered her frown with a wry shake of the head. “I did not mean that, Plum,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to give yourself apoplexy by using the wrong mode of address.”

Plum bowed. “Thank you, my lord.” He shot Jenny another dark look, thoroughly ungrateful for her intervention, and left.

“Better?” Beeston asked, cocking an eyebrow at Jenny.

“It’s not my place to say,” she answered, taking up position at the writing desk.

“No,” he agreed, “but I had much rather be scolded honestly than surrounded by a hundred sycophants like Plum.” He paused a moment. Jenny readied the pen and lifted it to show that she was ready. “I have become rather a beast of late,” he said, in a flat tone that betrayed neither embarrassment nor repentance.

Jenny lowered the pen. “You have had much to test your patience.”

“Patience? Ha. I never had much of that to start with.” He settled back against the cushions. “Read me back the last few lines.”

Jenny did as he asked, and took down the rest of his dictation with only a few pauses required. He was going easier on her, she noticed, than he had on Mr Plum.

When the letter was finished, she brought it to him to seal. He held it a moment without looking at it. “Hughes, do you really think there is a need for another blasted doctor to poke and prod at me? I thought it rather overzealous of you to send for one. I feel quite well.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she said, feeling a stab of guilt. She had only concocted the request for a doctor in order to give Sebastian an excuse to ride to Appleby. “The change of air seems to have done you some good already. I am sure the doctor need not examine you if you do not wish it.”

Beeston nodded, considering his options. “At least it’s kept Horace Whitby out of my sight. I don’t have the stomach to see him bowing and scraping and trying to weasel his way out of paying his dues. I doubt now that there’s any money to be had of him. That makes things difficult.”

“You don’t think he intends to pay?”

“I don’t think he can . Not after that little show he made of welcoming me here like an honoured guest. He had the whole household out to greet me, neatly revealing that his staff is down to about half what it should be.”

Jenny’s face must have betrayed her amazement, for Beeston gave her another of his dry, mirthless grins. “You wouldn’t know, of course, unless you’d worked in a place like this before.”

Jenny tried to remember the history of employment Sebastian had concocted for Mrs Hughes. Had she worked in a house of this size? She hadn’t been expecting it to come up.

She hadn’t expected a bit of this strange frankness from Lord Beeston at all. He seemed to like her. More than he liked Mr Plum, anyway, which perhaps was not saying much.

It felt unfair. She didn’t want to be someone he liked – even if he would never discover who it was that he had taken a liking to. She didn’t want him to be someone for whom she could feel sympathy. Someone whose friendship she could imagine enjoying, should they meet at a party or at the theatre, under different circumstances, with no threat of marriage hanging over them.

It would have been better if he had stayed as the monster she had imagined, ten times colder even than his icy letters. She had made her peace with betraying the beast. Now she had to betray a man, flawed but human, and she did not like the way it made her feel.

But no matter how much sympathy or friendship she felt for Lord Beeston, it would never be anything compared to the bone-deep, desperate, earth-shattering ache that filled her when she was near Sebastian.

“Might I ask a favour?” she asked. She drew out an envelope from her apron pocket. “I’ve a letter to send to my sister. Would you be kind enough to –”

“Naturally,” he said, nodding towards the pile of letters he had sealed and ready to send out. “Set it on the pile with the others. Now then, let’s see if we can get through another letter before this doctor appears. This one goes to Lewis, up in Yorkshire…”

Jenny sat back at the desk, the letter to Helen safely on its way, and forced herself to smile as she took down Lord Beeston’s instructions to the steward of a castle in Yorkshire that the other Jenny, in the other life, who had never once been kissed so passionately the aftershocks still trembled in her lips hours later, would by now be calling her home.