Page 40 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

40

No more than half a mile later, the sound of galloping from the direction of Davenport Hall tightened my grip upon the reins. What now? I ducked my head forward, trying to make out who or what was coming our way.

We had come to a part of the road where the woodlands on either side shifted into the edge of the thick Clwydian Range forest, the wild winter boscage extending far back into gloomy darkness. At the corner of my eye, I caught movement within the wilderness, deer, perhaps, or foxes, but it was too dense to make out any particular animal. The horses were especially unsettled, though, so it must be foxes, I decided, or, more dangerous, wild boar.

Evan looked over his shoulder at me and held up his hand. His expression was hidden in the shadow of his hat brim, but from the tension in his body I knew he was alert to new danger. Could it be Mulholland this time? I halted the phaeton again, the two horses shifting and bobbing their heads. Evan and Mr. Kent both reached for the pistols in their saddle holsters.

“Weatherly, get Hades ready,” I said.

“Yes, my lady.” At the corner of my eye, I saw him settle the butt of the big blunderbuss against his shoulder.

Julia sat up straight. “Who is it?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “Nor does Lord Evan. And that is the problem.”

Julia flexed her hands in her lap. “I feel as if I should have a gun too,” she whispered.

“Do you want the whip?” I asked.

I was loath to give it up, but if it reassured Julia to be in charge of it, I would hand it over. Otherwise, I only had my little silver dagger still hidden up my sleeve; not much use in this situation.

“No, you may need it,” Julia said. “This is a terrible pair.”

The terrible pair had become even more unsettled. I allowed them to walk forward a few steps, the gray blowing its dissatisfaction.

A rider appeared a distance ahead, no detail visible: only a shadowy shape, the fact of movement, and the jangle and thud of swift approach. Only one person. Not Mulholland, then. The horseman was covering ground fast. Had he seen us? As he neared, the disparate elements coalesced into a man upon a thoroughbred, riding with a great deal of elegance.

Oh no, I recognized that well-tutored seat.

Duffy.

Good God, what was he doing here?

“That’s Duffy,” Julia said, a second behind me.

“Weatherly, put Hades away,” I said, then called to Evan, “It is our brother.”

Upon that gloomy identification, all guns were lowered.

“Stands to reason,” Evan commented, although he did not holster his pistol. “You left Davenport Hall in some haste and in the company of two men he does not know. If Hester had ever done the same, I would be out searching too.”

Duffy eased his mount into a trot as he approached, his face puffed and shiny with rage. “Where in God’s name have you been?” He pulled up his horse, the animal snorting at the rough halt. “I have been up and down this damn road looking for you for the past three hours. Lady Davenport said you went in the direction of Liverpool. Lord Davenport, Mr. Ellis-Brant, and I damn well rode nearly all the way there! They gave up an hour ago and, damn it, I don’t blame them.”

Three damn s in four sentences: Duffy was seriously displeased. I sent a wordless thanks to Charlotte for giving them the wrong direction.

“We did not ask you to follow us,” I said. Possibly not the most politic of answers, but I had no time for his overbearing tantrums.

“And what was I supposed to do?” he said through his teeth. “You go charging off in a phaeton, for God’s sake, with two men who, I discover, you blatantly lied to me about in London!” He cast a scathing look at Evan. “Oh yes, I know who you are now, Lord Evan Belford or Mr. Talbot or whatever you call yourself. Mrs. Ellis-Brant worked out the truth, and with her mouth that will not stay a secret long.”

Of course the Ermine worked it out. And Duffy was right; she would have the whole affair around the bon ton in no time. Even Charlotte would not be able to contain it.

Duffy’s attention snapped to Mr. Kent. “And you, a Runner, helping the very man he is supposed to bring to justice. Good God, I cannot believe my sisters even know such men.” He turned back to Julia and me. “You debase yourselves.”

Julia straightened at that, her hands clenched in her lap. “I beg your pardon. We do not debase ourselves. Mr. Kent has more manners and courage than any other man I know.”

Duffy ignored her staunch defense. “And why on earth are you helping Lady Hester defy her brother? Who do you think you are? Your behavior has made me ridiculous in the eyes of Lord Deele—I did not even know that you were harboring his sister. He is her lawful guardian and you—you two stupid, meddlesome old women—have no business interfering in his decisions regarding her situation.”

“Since I am Lady Hester’s other brother,” Evan said coldly, “I have every right to help my sister. Lady Augusta and Lady Julia have kindly assisted me.”

“No, you do not have any right to do anything. You gave up all rights when you killed a man,” Duffy said, shortening his reins as his mount danced to one side under his tense hold. “You have as little authority to interfere with Lord Deele’s business as my foolish sisters do.”

“He did not kill Mr. Sanderson,” I said, although the point was probably irrelevant. Still, I could not have such a falsehood repeated. “He was transported for no reason.”

“Well, there is reason enough now, isn’t there?” Duffy said. “Absconding, highway robbery, abduction. Enough for the gallows.”

“And I suppose you will turn him in,” I said.

“You have placed me in an impossible situation, Augusta. You are complicit in this man’s crimes. If I turn him in, I turn you in too. And your sister as well. Yet I am a magistrate and it is my duty to arrest him.”

Right at that moment, I despised Duffy with all my heart. I turned to Evan. “It is time we parted ways again, my love. You should go. Now.”

“Love?” Duffy sputtered. “Love? Are you telling me you have compromised yourself with this man, Augusta? This convict?”

“Not as compromised as I would like,” I said.

Admittedly, it was a little vulgar, but it did achieve its aim: spitting outrage from my brother. I heard Evan snort back a stifled laugh.

“And I love Mr. Kent,” Julia said, lifting her chin. “Yes, love, Duffy!”

This apparently was the first time Mr. Kent had heard that declaration, for he looked just as shocked as Duffy.

“Julia,” Duffy said. “You cannot be serious. He is too low for you. You will be shunned by every decent—”

Evan raised his voice over my brother’s harangue. “I will go, Gus, but first I will accompany you back to Davenport Hall.”

My brother glared at him; he was not used to having his opinions interrupted, let alone talked over. “Gus? You are calling my sister Gus?”

“I agree,” Mr. Kent said, ignoring our brother’s horror at Evan’s familiarity. “We will escort you both back to Davenport Hall and then go.” His eyes were fixed upon Julia. Both of them were smiling at each other a little foolishly. So, that was what mooncalving looked like. I suspected Evan and I looked at each other in the same way. As if the whole world was contained within the beloved face of the other.

“Is there any use insisting you go now?” I asked.

“No,” both men said in unison.

“To the gate, but no farther,” Julia said to Mr. Kent. “I will not have you in any more danger.”

“Well, that is settled, then,” I said, and snapped the whip over the pair’s heads. “Get out of the way, Duffy. It has been a long night and we wish to get back to Davenport Hall.”

With as much bravado as I could muster, I drove the pair past my furious brother.

The road through the forest stretched before us, the air colder than ever and the pale light from the sliver of moon hidden behind a dense overhang of trees. Although I would have dearly loved to leave Duffy behind at a jaunty trot, I dropped the pair into a walk, for I could not see beyond a few feet ahead and it would be madness to bowl along such a dark, ill-made road at speed.

“Debased,” Julia murmured beside me. “I will show him who is debased.”

Fighting words from my sister, but they did not change two sobering facts: Duffy now knew we were adventuring, and he would not sit by while his two sisters brought scandal and shame on the family by attaching themselves to a convict and a disgraced Runner.

Our judicious decampment did not last long. I heard hooves coming up alongside me, then saw Duffy, his usually perfect seat somewhat undermined by his anger, at the corner of my vision. I kept my gaze fixed ahead, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of my attention.

“I will not be ignored, Augusta,” Duffy said, keeping his horse in pace with the phaeton. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you will appear to those around you? Two women well beyond the age of such infatuations and foolish misadventures. I only hope it is laughed away and does not become a scandal.”

Julia leaned out from behind me and fixed him with a glare. “Well beyond the age? We are only forty-two, Duffy, not in our dotage.”

He looked past me, his expression one of kindly condescension. “I do not blame you, Julia. You are still suffering the sorrow of your betrothed’s death and easily led by Augusta. I am sure the novelty of such admiration will wear off once Kent’s base nature shows.” He returned his gaze to me. “It is you I am most concerned about, Augusta. I offered to forgive your absence at my wedding and you threw it back in my face, and now you are leading Julia into danger. This bizarre behavior must stop. I think, perhaps, you are a little unbalanced. Harriet tells me that it could be the older time of a woman’s life that is affecting your mind. Whatever the case, we are deeply concerned.”

“Concerned, Duffy?” I asked. “Or just irritated that I am not listening to you?”

“I am so concerned, Augusta, that I have engaged a doctor to visit you upon your return to London.”

“Ha! As if I would see any doctor you sent,” I said, and snapped the whip, setting the pair into a trot, away from his infuriating self-importance.

Julia clutched the side of the phaeton. “I think he means a mad doctor, Gus,” she said, her exhausted face tight with sudden fear. “I think he has been talking too much to Lord Deele.”

“Nonsense. He would not dare.”

“I think he would dare. He believes he is the arbiter of our moral conduct and he has always thought your independence a sign of a wanton mind.” She looked over her shoulder. “Here he comes again.”

I risked taking my attention from the road to look him straight in the eyes. “You do not control our lives, Duffy. We are well beyond anyone’s guardianship other than our own. You are sadly mistaken if—”

“Gus!” Julia shrieked.

Three men. Standing across the road. Guns aimed. In reflex I wrenched at the reins, the two horses bunching back upon their haunches, shrilling their distress. Beside me, Duffy’s horse reared. I heard him yell “Christ” as I struggled to hold my pair, the phaeton lurching back, beginning to tip. I saw Evan run past me, off his own mount and heading for my plunging pair. He caught the bridle of the nearside horse and brought its head down. The two horses surged forward, but I held them firm, Evan deftly bracing against their fear.

“All is well, all is well,” he chanted to the quivering horses.

“What on earth is this outrage!” Duffy demanded from behind us.

Panting, I checked on Julia—still beside me, hanging on to the edge of the now stable phaeton for dear life. And then all I could see were the rifles aimed at us, the men behind them a blur of worn coats and battered hats.

“Who are you?” Duffy’s voice again.

I looked over my shoulder. Three other men in worn military greatcoats, one struggling to hold Evan’s frightened horse, the other two with pistols aimed at Kent and my brother, who were both still mounted. Kent had clearly attempted to draw his Baker, for he had it half out of its holster, his hand still upon its grip. In the groom’s seat behind Julia and me, Weatherly had raised Hades but had never got the blunderbuss braced. He held it half-raised, his eyes fixed upon another scruffy man on the ground with a pistol aimed at his head.

“Get their guns.”

I knew that voice, the sudden recognition squeezing the breath from my lungs.

Mulholland.